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canarydarity · 1 year

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at another place in time, II

(Or, I wrote that one small limited life session 1 ficlet from Tango's pov and went "what if I just write a whole series of vignettes from Tangos pov as the season comes out, one for each session," and now have to do that by law. so. welcome to session 2's chosen tango reminiscing vignette)

[part I]

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He stood on the outskirts and watched everyone gather around, and Tango thought, well this is different; maybe it was the rule changes—their timers all counted down, but 19 hours was still more promising than not. It felt wrong to quantify their lives this way, hard to connect that number to the idea of the amount of time he had left to live; right now, it felt arbitrary. Tango was sure that would change as the numbers got lower. Their actions were still dictated by color, but yellow could now attack green and—

Yeah, that was probably it. The first free-to-fight was beginning to act, and this bloodthirsty crew wanted to watch it happen. That didn’t mean Tango wasn’t a little thrown off by the sight of everyone gathered around, a crude ring marked out on the ground. They all cursed the games when they ended, took time to recover from the violence they witnessed—but they forgot that it was violence they cheered for whilst they were playing; or, maybe they didn’t, and that was the problem; the part they struggled to absolve.

Maybe it was why they all signed up again and again.

He tuned out Bdubs explaining his rules, focused instead on searching who had shown up. He wasn’t looking for anyone in particular, he just thought he should take the opportunity to get a closer look at the teams that had formed while he had the chance.

Tango had somehow ended up directly across the ring from the rest of TIES, Etho finishing up flattening out a somewhat-decent circular border, Impulse standing behind Skizz, acting every bit in his corner, patting him on the back and giving all the encouragement a good coach would.

Scar was whispering to Cleo who had a hand to her forehead as if she were warding off a headache; Martyn and Scott looked properly judgemental and above all that was going on—surely they were too dignified for a fight so unrefined. He couldn’t see Pearl or Bigb, but last he’d heard they’d been taking their role as nosy neighbors far too seriously—if they were here, he was sure they were out of sight, giggling and whispering back and forth.

He wasn’t looking for anyone in particular, but that just left—

“We’re all standing so close?”

He couldn't help the speed at which he turned his head, he really couldn’t. Tango logically knew Jimmy’s landing on this side of the circle was due to the direction of Bad Boy Mansion, but he’d take what he could get. Joel was further away, picking fights where he could and riling up Bdubs from behind and Martyn from the side. Tango hadn’t spotted Grian yet. Speaking of taking chances…

“Well, if anyone gets too close we’ll just punch ‘em.” He held his breath, but it didn’t take longer than a second for Jimmy to turn his head in Tango’s direction. He was already smiling by the time they made eye contact; Jimmy had a lotta smiles—this was the kind that predated his laugh. Tango decided to take that as a challenge.

“Yeah, we’ll punch ‘em back in!” Jimmy said. “Just like in the movies.”

Tango nodded, “that’s right!”

“Keep fighting!” Jimmy added in a false voice he probably thought was gruff.

“Get in there and die!” Tango threw back; cruelty that was funny because it wasn’t real, the joke being that this was unlike their true temperament—settings-and-death-game be damned.

Jimmy got it, he tilted his head back and—what success, because there it was—he laughed. Tango smiled wider and stared maybe just a little; he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the sound.

Such as with all things bright and lovely, there was a moment where that feeling—that light and feathered thing—threatened to break out of the cage in Tango’s chest, and he had to look down to wrestle it back under control. When looked back up, across the circle Etho’s eyes were heavy on his. He calmly slid his gaze to Jimmy and then back to Tango.

Tango cleared his throat. Yup, that did the trick. He shuffled his feet, leaned his weight more to the right, and the distance it put between himself and that laugh was quantifiable in a way Tango felt much more than the numbers in his peripheral.

Grain had shown up anyway, and the bad boys gravitated towards each other with an ease Tango reminded himself he wasn’t jealous of. He tried to tune back into the event, but the excitement had kind of dulled.

“BDUBS! It’s you and me brother,” Skizz said, axe leveled in Bdubs’ direction. In a blink, Tango saw a different Skizz standing before him, weaponless and bare, my brothers left me to die. He didn’t dwell. Like he said, it was in a blink—one second there, the next gone; literally—he had the timer to prove it.

“Yeah right It’s you and me, you want revenge? Here I am, on a silver platter!” Bdubs held his arms out wide, sword in one hand and shield in the other—the cockiest come at me that he could offer. He never knew when to quit, did he? Tango hoped Skizz put him on his ass.

If not yet a harsh reminder of the time that he has left, the timer served the annoying purpose of counting the kind of seconds that ticked by in boredom. Every painstaking block in a build, every step he took on a long journey, every taunt Bdubs and Skizz sent back and forth that couldn’t be called anything but stalling; all of it cataloged and kept track of—it was the worst reminder that time doesn’t fly in the world (yet).

Tango was sure he’d change his mind about that later, but for now, he suppressed a groan and snuck another glance to the left.

Grian was offering weak cheers and ripping a loaf of bread to shreds then tossing the pieces around like confetti—or rice at a wedding. The area surrounding their little group was littered with crumbs and chunks of the stuff, and Tango watched as it attracted a chicken, pecking at the ground near Jimmy's feet. When it ran out of readily available food, it started picking at his shoelaces, and Jimmy tried shooing it away with little success; every step back he took, the chicken followed. Tango laughed under his breath as he watched Jimmy wave his hands at the bird again and then look around frantically hoping no one had noticed.

The crowd suddenly shouted in unison, calls of disappointment and boos radiating all over; the group mentality was also new—Tango knew that wouldn’t last either; once the fight ended, so would their new-found camaraderie. He turned back, but he’d missed whatever it was that had caused the outburst.

In the quick moment of silence that had followed, Scott said, “Skizz, did you eat an apple?”

Skizz was the only yellow name amongst them—the only one licensed to kill—and yet, Scott's question charged the crowd and made them every bit the audience above the colosseum, a thumbs down all that was needed to determine his friend's fate.

Skizz gulped, “maybe…”

The booing began again in earnest, and Tango had never before been so glad for the rules that Grian set.

“That’s nearly a cheat there!” Jimmy called out. He was an easy target, which Tango knew meant he was always fine-tuned to the things that might warrant being teased—cheating was one of them. A chance to put attention on someone else was always welcome.

Skizz spun in the bad boy's direction, “how is that a cheat?” Grian raised an eyebrow at the display, but he said nothing; he only liked to play admin when he chose to, not when others thought he should—especially if it was solely for their own benefit. “There’s no rule about not eating golden apples!”

Tango saw Jimmy’s eyes alight with it at the same time as he felt his own; accidentally or not, they made eye contact. Skizz was technically right, there were no rules about not eating golden apples—at least, not anymore. But he hadn’t been in double life.

Tango remembered when there were. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night to a knock on their door, answering Jimmy’s worried Tango… by telling him to stay where he was. There’d been no one there, but there had been a golden apple sitting on their porch—someone's idea of some kind of joke that neither of them had found funny.

He’d been so mad…it wasn’t until halfway through shoving his feet into his boots that he’d heard Jimmy call his name for what he was later told was the third time.

What are you gonna walk around in the dark ‘til you find who put that there?

He had been willing to if that’s what it took. Somewhere deep down logically he’d known—just like Jimmy did—that he wasn’t going to find whoever had left it, but it wasn’t really about that. He thinks he gets it, now, that it’d been about proving something.

Maybe if he’d done it then Jimmy wouldn’t have flushed and looked away today.

Tango was vaguely aware that the rest of the group had moved on around him, that he and Jimmy were really the only ones who’d hesitated at the mention of the apple at all.

He should’ve gone out anyway, walked around until the sun started coming up—hell, he should’ve started knocking on doors; at least that way, he wouldn’t have had to lay back down and have the conversation he hadn’t stopped thinking about since.

He’d known there was something coming, and he’d waited Jimmy out patiently to hear the slow drawl of;

If it weren’t against the rules, would you…

It is against the rules, Tango had replied. The wrong answer, he thinks now. But he hadn’t known why they’d been having such a conversation; it was against the rules. Tango would tell Jimmy he was sure as many times as he needed, but he wasn’t going to allow for the kind of negative feedback loop that Jimmy used to punish himself.

But if it weren’t—

No. He hadn’t needed to see Jimmy’s eyes to know that he didn’t believe him.

He wished he could tell Jimmy that believe it or not his answer still hasn’t changed.

“Fights over.”

“Hmm?” Tango turned toward Etho—now apparently standing in front of him—but he didn’t quite make it all the way. The scene had changed around them; sometime in his musings, people had started clearing out. The once rowdy crowd had begun to disperse, blood spilled and attention span exhausted.

“Fights over,” Etho repeated.

Tango blinked. “Who won?”

But his friend just let out a small huff and started in the direction of home. Tango looked down and kicked a pebble with the toe of his boot. He spared only a glance to the left where the bad boys were heading back towards their own base, donning leather jackets that must be sweltering in the day's heat. He couldn’t hear them, but he could tell Joel was arguing with Jimmy over something from here, watched as Joel reached around and smacked Jimmy on the back of the head, Grian moseying along beside them not caring to intervene. He sighed.

Tango turned after Etho.

#yes I did take a completely normal 4 sentence exchange and blow it completely out of proportions and add tons of unnecessary depth #and ill do it again.#ive actually now promised to do that. every session. so #worm writes #at another place in time #limited life spoilers #limited life #limited life fic #team rancher #team rancher fic #tango tek #tangotek #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #team bad boys #team ties #life series fic

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 2 years

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beneath a different light

A/N: so i know we're all freaking out about the flower husbands crumbs, and scott probably flirted with owen much more than he did martyn... but something about scott and martyn has grabbed hold of my brain. all of these rats are gay, i probably could write a whole series of vignettes of gay rat moments. anyway, enjoy!!

Warnings: arguing, flirting

Summary: Scott confronts Martyn about killing Olive. But then Martyn notices his fellow rat seems tense, and not just about the whole killing thing. Somehow, Martyn manages to offer Scott something familiar in a place of strange newness, as well as learn that new might not always be bad.

“Give me the knife, Martyn,” Scott demanded, holding his hand out. Martyn glowered at him a little.

“What knife? I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” he sniffed. Scott’s whiskers twitched.

“The one you killed Olive with, give it here,” Scott said pointedly.

“It wasn’t my idea!” Martyn protested. Truly, it wasn’t. He wasn’t completely sure what happened- he had been mostly joking around, and then he got this itch-

“That’s not what we do here, Martyn!” Scott shouted, snapping him from his thoughts. Martyn squinted at him a little.

“What d’you mean, that’s how things always are. Gotta be the toughest rat to survive,” Martyn said with a frown. A flash of… something, crossed Scott’s face. Martyn couldn’t decipher if it was hurt or confusion before Scott was back to fixing him with a disappointed glare.

“Give me the knife,” Scott said, quieter than before. And yet, Martyn found himself sighing and reaching into his pocket, aimlessly flipping his knife out and twirling it a little so that the handle was towards Scott. If Martyn hadn’t been so busy sulking about having to give up his knife (even though he definitely had the materials to make a new one) he would have noticed Scott’s near flustered expression at his movements before he gingerly took the knife. Scott tucked it into his front pocket, grimacing a little. There was a faraway look in his eyes, and despite not knowing the other rat for that long, Martyn’s heart twisted with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. Scott bristled, tail lashing.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” he snapped.

“I already apologized to Olive! You just looked… sad, I dunno,” Martyn said, rubbing the back of his neck. Scott sighed, and took off his hat to run a hand through his hair- dyed a pale teal color, with flowers braided in. Martyn wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before. In any case, Martyn was more focused on the way Scott’s ears drooped and how he clutched at his hat. He was tense too, like at any moment he would bolt if startled.

“Things are just… so different here,” Scott said, voice tight. Martyn frowned.

“How so?”

“I used to live in a field, all wide open spaces and a cozy burrow to go back to- but here it’s dark and cramped, where I have to figure out how to use this stupid chisel and- nevermind. You don’t care,” Scott said, abruptly ending his frenzied ramble and shoving his hat back on. He turned to walk away- but was halted by Martyn shooting forward and grabbing his wrist. An action that surprised both of them, frankly. Martyn sheepishly let go of him, an ear flicking nervously.

“I… I do care, actually. We’re all here together, right? So we should… care for each other,” Martyn said softly, not quite sure where this was all coming from. Scott squinted at him suspiciously.

“Like you cared for Olive?” he pointed out. Martyn winced.

“Not my best moment, I’ll admit. But they did sort of betray Oli’s trust- y’know what? Not important. I messed up, okay? And it seemed like you were stressed as it was so… I feel bad for making it worse,” Martyn explained. Scott relaxed at his words, only slightly.

“I… thanks. I think,” he said, giving a tight smile. Martyn huffed out an irritated breath, running a hand through his hair. This wasn’t going how he wanted it to- how did he even want this to go?

“What I’m trying to say is… I think I have something that might help? If you’d do the honor of letting me show you?” he asked, holding out a hand that definitely wasn’t shaking towards Scott. Scott blinked, staring at his hand as if it would somehow hurt him. However, after considering for a moment or two, Scott took his hand.

Martyn led Scott to the big window he had been crouched at before, wishing on stars so that the door would open. It was still nighttime, but morning would come soon enough. He and Scott could probably watch the sunrise.

He hadn’t told Scott where they were going yet, Martyn wanted it to be a surprise. But of course, since he wasn’t telling Scott what was happening, he was incredibly suspicious of the whole thing. He kept glancing around frantically, probably wondering if this was some sort of trap. That is, until they finally reached the windowsill.

“Up here, c’mon!” Martyn said, scrabbling up the wall. Scott followed, still a little suspicious- but that suspicion changed to pure awe once he saw the view. Sprawling countryside, with the night sky shining bright with stars and turning purple at the edges where the sun was slowly making its presence known. Yet all Martyn could look at was Scott, and how the stars reflected in his eyes.

“This is…”

“I know it’s just looking through a window, and not the same as actually being out there-”

“It’s beautiful,” Scott interrupted in a hushed voice, turning to look at Martyn. Something in the back of Martyn's mind said "you too." Where had that come from? Martyn shook it off and just smiled at Scott.

“I know it’s not the same as actually being outside but… I figured it’d help,” Martyn said instead. Scott smiled, bright as the stars, and looked back out the window.

“It does,” Scott was quiet for a moment, before he spoke up again. “I used to make up stories about the stars when I was younger.”

“Oh?” Martyn asked, intrigued.

“Yeah! I know the actual constellations now- it’s good for tracking the seasons and knowing when to grow what- but I used to make my own and tell stories about the pictures I saw in the night sky,” Scott explained softly.

“Can you tell me one?” Martyn blurted, before he could really think about it. Scott startled a little, but smiled and nodded.

“Sure- the Wolf Witch is out tonight,” Scott said, pointing to a cluster of stars that looked neither like a wolf nor a witch, but Martyn was willing to take his word for it.

“Sounds interesting,” Martyn mused.

“She was- she only found solace in the wolves after her soulmate abandoned her- or so she claimed. Her soulmate said it was the other way around, as she had grown close to another instead of finding her true soulmate. So he found a different soulmate as well, one he could choose. Funnily enough, the soulmate he chose happened to be the soulmate of the one the Wolf Witch had gotten close to,” Scott explained.

“Wait. What? I’m confused- how many people are involved here? How do they know who their soulmate is?” Martyn asked. Scott huffed out a fondly exasperated breath.

"Four, including the Wolf Witch. And her true soulmate… we’ll call him the Last Champion. The one he chose is the Undead Flower, and her true soulmate… the Wayward Wanderer,” Scott said, pointing to more stars as he spoke. Something about “Wayward Wanderer” struck a chord with Martyn, but he couldn’t quite place what it was.

“Interesting names,” was what Martyn commented instead.

“The Last Champion had won a deadly game, actually with the help of the Wolf Witch. But when they found each other again… their camaraderie wasn’t the same. The Undead Flower had helped him too- it’s probably why he chose her as his soulmate. Soulmates were connected by the pain they shared… and the Last Champion and the Undead Flower both shared the pain of their soulmates choosing someone else first,” Scott explained.

“I thought this was about the Wolf Witch,” Martyn said with a frown. Scott playfully shoved at him.

“I’m getting to her, don’t worry. The four of them had found themselves in yet another deadly game, where only a single pair of soulmates would survive. And they were the final four. They had come to an uneasy alliance at this point… and all it took was one to betray them,” Scott said.

“The Wolf Witch?” Martyn asked. Scott shook his head.

“The Wayward Wanderer. He was determined to survive, and as he felt he had reconciled with the Undead Flower, he attacked the Wolf Witch. Which in turn, caused pain to the Last Champion. The Undead Flower didn’t want to fight the Wolf Witch, for fear of hurting the Last Champion. But at that point, it was too late. The Wolf Witch set her pack on the pair, and it was just her and her true soulmate left standing,” Scott said.

“She killed the Wayward Wanderer? Even if she had chosen him initially?” Martyn asked, a chill going through him.

“He betrayed her first,” Scott said with a shrug before continuing. “So then it was just the Last Champion and the Wolf Witch. They weren’t sure what to do at first… until the Last Champion finally realized something. The Wolf Witch had helped him win once, and it was time to return the favor. He regretted not allying with her sooner- but with a final goodbye, he ended his life. And in turn, the Wolf Witch died as well- but the Last Champion had fallen seconds before she did. Technically making her the winner.”

“That’s… grim. Not really the kind of soulmate story I expected,” Martyn said with a nervous laugh. Scott shrugged again.

“I dunno how much stock I put into soulmates. Romantic ones, anyway. And this story… I never quite pictured them as romantic. Just… friends who were always meant to find each other. I think the Wayward Wanderer and the Undead Flower could have been something to each other… but it was too messy. And maybe if the four of them had managed to work something out…” Scott trailed off, voice a little dreamy.

“What would’ve it been like? The four of them?” Martyn asked. Scott let out a sigh.

“Well for starters, the Last Champion never struck me as a guy who liked women. Probably kinda rolled his eyes at the universe for sticking him with the Wolf Witch. So things with her probably would have been the same as they were with the Undead Flower- fiercely devoted life partners who would go to the ends of the earth for each other,” Scott said.

“And what about the Wayward Wanderer?” Martyn asked, heart rate picking up for reasons he couldn’t explain. Scott turned to look at him again, blue eyes sparkling.

“I think he and the Last Champion could have been very close. If things were different,” he said softly.

“Maybe things could be different,” Martyn murmured, his hand drifting towards Scott’s. Scott slowly reached towards him too-

And then the sound of slow, heavy footsteps startled them apart.

“Humans,” Scott gasped, darting to hide behind a plant on the windowsill. Martyn scurried to hide along with him, having to press close to Scott in order for them both to stay hidden. The close proximity seemed jarring now, even if it was what Martyn had wanted before. He was practically curled around Scott, and for a moment he tried to give Scott a little space- but then he grabbed him by the shirt and tugged him closer with a hissed “they’ll see you!” And no, Martyn was not at all thinking about the ease Scott had yanked him or the tone of his voice or replaying the moment over and over again in his head. That would be ridiculous.

Fortunately, the human had left soon enough. (And unfortunately, a ridiculous part of Martyn thought, that meant that he wouldn’t have to stay huddled close to Scott anymore.)

“We should probably head back,” Scott said wistfully, glancing back at the view one last time. The sky was lighter now, the sun beginning to peek over the earth.

“The window will always be here for us,” Martyn pointed out softly. A mischievous grin came to Scott’s face.

“Us?” he asked with a giggle. Martyn felt his face heat up.

“Or just you! Sorry, you probably don’t need me tagging along all the time, you know where it is-” Martyn was halted by Scott’s finger to his lips.

“Us sounds nice,” Scott said with a smile decidedly softer than the mischievous one he had before. And with that, he leapt off the windowsill with ease and landed with grace, leaving Martyn utterly speechless in more ways than one.

He shook himself slightly, scrambling down after Scott. There was an apparent “us” to explore with him, after all.

general mcyt fic taglist: @actuallymothman @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @gattonero17 @hetapeep41 @meowdy-pickles @space-ace123 @vyeoh

#mcyt #rats smp #scott smajor #martyn inthelittlewood #scottyn #treestar #<- i dont know if they have a ship name but these are two i came up with that i liked!!#if anyone knows of a diff ship name lemme know #ratshipping #i'll just tag that to be sure #sage writes

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pumpkincarriage3 · 1 year

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Sam Character Analysis

Sam is a character that we see during the first chapter of the game, much like the rest of the members of staff. Interestingly enough, instead of being a teacher like the rest of the staff, he runs a shop on school grounds.

A shop that's said to have anything and everything. If someone needs something, chances are Sam has it. Somehow.

Sam himself is portrayed as a confident, charismatic, business-suave, relatively easygoing person. He has a good relationship with a good portion of the student body. He can be found going back and forth on prices with Ruggie, helping out students with what they need (for a price), and he even offers jobs out to the students during New Years.

Now, Sam can definitely be shady, considering he always seems to know exactly what someone wants. Making various references to having "friends" that people can't see, and even calling some of the students imps. It's heavily implied that he's probably made a few deals with a couple of demons, or something close to it. Which in turn helps him watch things around campus so he can see exactly what people want, how much they want it, and how much they can spend on it.

It could be debated as to why Sam decided to settle down in NRC of all places. He's relatively young, and the shop is his, so the shop itself is probably a new thing to school grounds. It can be assumed that students went to the town on Sage Island to get things before, since various characters have dialogue suggesting that they can in fact leave campus at various points, so why did Sam choose to settle down in NRC?

If he settled down in town instead of NRC, he would have many more costumers than what he currently has, and chances are the student body would still go to his shop.

Realistically, I could think of about four reasons. Firstly, he can monopolize the student body by being in the closest range of them. While students have talked about going to the town on Sage Island, there have been other dialogues that suggest that they need permission from Crowley to do so, and Crowley probably wouldn't give them permission if there was someone on school property they could go to. Secondly, NRC hosts a lot of important people. Important people that have more than enough money to spend. Thirdly, with the nature of NRC students, they might have something that Sam himself wants. We see this in Floyd's Dorm Uniform Vignette, where Floyd give's Sam a priceless gemstone in exchange for a recipe and monopoly on a drink he was sealing. And fourthly, as it can be summarized that Sam has dealings with something, that he probably shouldn't, there's a chance that it's heavily frowned upon. NRC isn't known for having upright individuals, so he can stay at NRC and be as open about his "friends" without having to hide it.

Sam himself is a businessman that will try and turn most situations in his favor to gain a profit. Hence, taking advantage of the market that is NRC students as he does. Though, he either has a better set of morals then some of the students, or he's contracted to be limited in what he can do (unlikely with how Crowley is, but it's a possibility). I say this because he is willing to haggle with prices with students he knows don't have a lot of cash, but he will whole-heartedly take advantage of Crowley when Crowley himself is in a pinch.

This might be because Sam himself might know what its like to grow up and struggle with money, it would explain why he's so set in his business-suave ways by the time we meet him in the series. It might be why he also has the "friends" that he does and henceforth is willing to haggle with prices with students that don't have a whole lot of cash to spend. Or maybe it's because he knows they don't have cash to spend, but he still wants to them to spend it to make revenue, so that's why he's willing to haggle the prices.

(Though, even though he is willing to haggle prices, he won't do anything that will risk him losing money. He can also be pretty high pressure, throwing in items last minute to trick the students into buying them without consideration.)

There's really no telling, simply because the staff members don't give a lot of information about themselves. Sam less so than the others, especially since he doesn't even have a last name. Though, considering, depending on the folklore, creatures of the veil are willing to trade with names, he might have given away his last name to make the "friends" he has.

In fact his "friends" might be the entire reason why he sells some of the strange items that he does. Considering the fact that they are probably demons, they might be looking for other people to latch onto. NRC, with the fact that it's a villain's school, would be a good place to latch on to someone. Which might be another reason why Sam has chosen to station himself on the school property of all places.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #twst fandom #disney twisted wonderland #Disney twst wonderland #twst sam #character analysis

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transformers-mosaic · 1 year

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Transformers: Mosaic #477 - "Strength & Honor"

Originally posted on April 22nd, 2010

Story, Letters - Carlos Oliveros Art - Iván Mas

Seibertron | TFW2005 | BotTalk

wada sez: Per deviantART, this was actually a test for an IDW comic featuring Overlord! IDW didn’t do anything with it, for obvious reasons. I’ve decided to serialise it here for the archive, as it’s basically an extension of Mas’ and Oliveros’ work on “Human Component”. I’ve included various bits of commentary from Mas, from various bits of ancillary artwork.

Well, here are some designs I did for an acquaintance who had a project related to this character and that will be rotting in some drawer in San Diego.. to the detriment of other things that are being edited.... say...... different........ is what there is........... a shame, because the thing looked pretty good.

In fact I think I like this person quite a lot how he does things, he has good and clear ideas, projects that are more than interesting and he is serious.

About Overlord... oof! what a great character! his toy seems to me one of the best that were released in the Transformers line, very playable, with many possibilities.

Let's see if I can put the complete "base" mode.

Well.... here is a scene that recreates a little bit the chapters of Masterfroce in which Ginrai is defeated by Overlord and in some way the duality that the character has due to its human components...

I really would have also liked to show the previous battle... but... everything can't be.... even so, it wasn't bad at all, although it is true that once finished I would have preferred to change the second panel, or add some other....

It didn’t turn out all bad.

This is a panel for a Mosaic about Overlord, which also at the time served as a pitch for an IDW project about this character. In the end, the project was dismissed because he was a Japanese character, and they claimed that he had no market in the US because he wasn't a well-known character.

For a project that I imagine IDW would have discarded, because it's not very much in the editorial and sales line they have.

It's always fun to do this kind of things... don't look too much at the drawing itself, the anatomy is not right, I corrected it, I have a file with a good drawing. I focused basically on the shapes and details of the armor. There are also some perspective errors etc... but well, for what I was interested in, I didn't care.

In any case I wanted that the aspect of these armors had a somewhat different look from the rest, those of Giga and Mega are more threatening, they look more organic, they are more violent, perhaps more exaggerated and lavish, as they spend almost all the time in an underwater base, I thought that perhaps it would be good that they had the aspect of a crustacean or something like that.

I eliminated the exaggerated spikes on the forearms, they are uncomfortable to draw and neither functional nor anatomical, but I replaced them with smaller ones and for more quantity respecting the spirit of the character, the ones on the shoulders, I had to keep them, they were too characteristic.

In any case it is an armor with a lot of detail, it was a challenge to draw it in each vignette, but well, I don't know what was more complex if it was the challenge of doing the intricate and complex script or the realistic and detailed drawing. But it was worth it. You would have liked it...

It's cool, the basic shapes are very similar to the old design, the basics are kept, here Giga appears without a helmet, the helmet was intended to be retractable, that somehow was collected behind, and when he wanted to start to pile up many pieces around the face to form the helmet.

So nice. maybe now that I will have a few days with time, I will dedicate myself to draw the whole scene where this man appeared in this pose....

One of the designs for the Masterforce series that I prepared and that has not been carried out. I tried to respect the original design as well as the outlandish colors as much as possible "correcting" some things that actually, were not quite right.

A little bit of quick color to have more or less clear the range, and ... the cape is an original creation, I think it simply looked good and brought that majestic air that the category of the character has in the original series. I thought that maybe like the helmet, it could simply be retractable and ready.

#Transformers #Transformers Mosaic #Maccadam #Japanese Generation 1 #Carlos Oliveros #Iván Mas #Overlord #Optimus Prime #Godbomber

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takingcourage · 5 years

Text

Additions: Part 1

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 2,850

Summary: Several years into marriage, Jaime and Arden make an important decision about their family’s future.

Note: This mini-series is a departure from the sorts of things I’ve written before, but it’s been part of my headcanon for these characters for ages and I just had to get it out.

With that said, I know that this story isn’t going to be to everyone’s taste. If you’re currently being tagged for this pairing and want me to leave you off my list for the rest of this series, just let me know! I promise I won’t be offended or upset.

September, 2026

Arden was no stranger to the fact that her entire world could change in a matter of minutes. The lightning strike, her mother’s death, that fateful gubernatorial debate – each had heralded new epochs in her life. But even with all of that previous experience, this particular set of minutes still managed to surprise her.

It was the first time she’d been speechless on camera, knowing that tears would begin pouring if she even tried to make use of her vocal cords. Ellen had covered for her admirably, but Arden’s palms were still sweating when she left an hour later.

She pulled out of the studio parking lot, punching buttons on the LED display of the dash.

Dialing.

A repetitive dulcet tone echoed through the vehicle.

“Arden?” her husband’s voice broke through the speakers and the tears threatened to rise again.

“Jaime, where are you?” she managed faintly, blasting the air conditioner in an effort to preserve her composure.

“In my workshop. Are you okay?” His strained concern brought her back to reality.

“I don’t know – but don’t worry about me. I’m not in danger or anything.” The sniffling wasn’t doing anything to add to her credibility, so she shifted tactics. “I just need to talk to you.”

“Sure. I’ll be home for another hour before I need to head over to the worksite for a meeting. You on your way back?”

“Reschedule it, babe,” she commanded gently, ignoring his question.

“Arden, you’re scaring me.” From the jostling on the other end, she could envision him pinning the phone close with his shoulder, hands occupied in searching for his truck keys.

The slam of the workshop door confirmed her suspicions.

“I’m almost home, Jaime. Stay there.”

His sigh dissipated through the vehicle.

“And I’m scaring me too…” the confession was almost a whisper. “But I think it’s a good scared.”

_____

Jaime was waiting on the front step when she arrived home, Opie sniffing at the bushes that lined the side of the house. As she rolled into the driveway, he ushered the dog inside and met her on the pavement.

“You’re trembling, babe.” He held out a hand to steady her at the elbow, but she rushed on ahead.

“Jaime, I saw our kids.”

He almost tripped up the doorstep, leaving Arden grateful that she hadn’t taken the assistance he’d proffered. “What do you mean?”

“I know we haven’t talked about it in a while, but you know how we always said we wanted to adopt someday?”

He just gawked at her, dumbstruck.

“We were doing the Wednesday’s Child segment this morning and I don’t even know how to explain it, but the kids we featured in the video? They’re ours.” Taking a seat on the couch, she drew out the laptop from her satchel. “Here, I’ll show you.”

For the space of several moments, the house was silent save for the sound of her fingers clicking on keys. Having found the webpage, she slid the device toward Jaime, reading the familiar text along with him.

Sophia, age 11. Sophia is a lively girl who enjoys spending time with her brothers and making new friends. She loves to sing and hopes to continue playing flute in band at her new school. When she grows up, Sophia wants to teach kindergarten or be a pediatrician.

Alexander (Alex), Age 9. Alex is a talented artist who loves to draw and make things with his hands. He can be shy around people he doesn’t know, but he’s very sensitive and affectionate once he warms up to you. When he isn’t drawing, he loves to watch movies or build with LEGO.

Will, Age 7. Will is very energetic and enjoys playing outside. His favorite sport is soccer and he dreams of one day playing professionally. He is friends with everyone and always has stories to tell. Will loves animals and hopes to have a pet of his own someday.

Sophia, Alex, and Will are very close and need to be adopted together. They would do best in an active household that has a backyard so that they can spend time outside. They deserve an adoptive family that can provide structure, patience, and lots of love.

When she came to the end, her eyes darted back to his face, heart thundering wildly at the conflict she saw there. She ran her hands against the skirt of her dress and waited for him to speak.

“Arden.” Jaime shook his head and swore under his breath. Blinking, he pushed the laptop a few inches across the coffee table.

“See?” The tears were threatening again, called forth by the raw emotion in his tone.

He nodded vigorously.

“And there’s a video,” she continued, scrolling further down the page. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Feeling Jaime tense beside her, she extended a palm toward him and clicked the play button. The musical interlude began, followed by June’s voiceover.

Every week, we introduce you to a child in our community that needs a family. Today, we’ve chosen three very special siblings who need a forever home...

Arden’s eyes stung as she saw them again, heart skipping wildly just as it had done before. Curious as she was to know Jaime’s reaction, she couldn’t tear her attention away from the screen.

These were their kids.

There was no question in her mind.

Jaime’s grip tightened around her fingers as the voiceover resumed. “How do we bring them home?”

Her finger trailed the trackpad, hovering over the link for more information. “I can fill out the preliminary paperwork tonight. After that, it’s going to be a lot of training and home visits and a lot of waiting. It’s not going to be easy.”

Jaime pulled her hand to his lap, thumb tracing anxious circles through her skin. “When have you ever been known to back down from a challenge?”

“Basically never,” she laughed ironically. “But are we sure we’re ready for this?”

The enormity of the decision rolled over her like a freight train. Talking about wanting kids and actually pursuing them were two very different things.

Jaime leaned back into the couch, and her heart beat erratically in the long seconds before his response. What if she was wrong? What if he didn’t feel as strongly as she did? It was early, sure, but despite her fears, Arden had her heart set on seeing more of those three small faces.

“We’ve been planning to have kids for forever.”

“We’ve just been waiting for the right time,” she added softly.

“I think we’ve found it.”

She clicked to open the new tab. “This isn’t committing us to anything. At this point, it’s really just an expression of interest. If we change our minds later...”

Jaime recognized the implication. “I don’t think we will.”

Releasing his hand, Arden lifted the computer to her knees. “Neither do I.” She started filling in the blanks slowly. She was an expert typist, but something about this particular form encouraged her to linger over every word.

Jaime shook her sleeve gently, the motion stirring her to look back at him. “Let’s talk for just a second.”

Her posture straightened, hands falling back to her sides. He changed his mind. Arden drew a shaky breath as she met his eyes.

Jaime looked back steadily. “We’ve been doing the no-kids thing for a while now. Having three of them all at once is going to mean a lot of changes. We’re financially stable, so I’m not worried about that, but this isn’t just sponsoring them or visiting sometimes -- this is an all-day, every-day commitment.”

Arden rubbed the pad of her thumb in contemplation. “We’re not exactly used to being home consistent hours, but I think we could change that. I’ll still have to go to the studio every morning, but I can be home around noon most days. Your schedule is fairly flexible and my dad and Julie are literally next door. I’m sure they could help fill in some gaps if we ever needed them to.”

“It would still probably mean cutting back on our work hours.”

"I’m willing if it comes to that. I’ve got parental leave for several weeks and other than our time fliming, a lot of my work can be done remotely.”

“You’re sure?” His velvet eyes shone with the question.

“I’m sure. We have so much love to give, Jaime. Look at their faces and tell me that we could seriously say no to helping them have a family.”

“We can’t. And I don’t want to.”

_____

November, 2026

“Are we crazy?” Arden asked as they walked out of their first training meeting several weeks later. “Are we even old enough to have an eleven year old?”

Jaime’s head fell back with laughter. “We would have had to stop pretending not to be in love with each other much, much earlier than we did. Like, right after high-school graduation.” He flashed her a wink from across the hood of his car. “But I don’t think that’s going to matter too much. When I first moved in with Paula, I thought she was too old for me, just because she had a few gray hairs. Clearly, I was wrong,” he stated, fumbling in his pocket for the keys. “In the end, all that mattered was being part of a family.”

“I hope our kids feel the same way.”

“Even if they don’t, I think we’re doing the right thing.”

“I do too.”

He unlocked the door and paused in the seat before starting the ignition. “Growing up, I never really understood why Paula was so excited to have me come and live with her. I think I get it now.”

Arden fiddled with the zipper on her purse, her mind having traveled in a similar direction. “We didn’t even know they existed six weeks ago.”

And now we can’t imagine life without them.

His thought tallied with her own. “Exactly.”

“We’ve got a long road ahead of us,” she continued, thinking of all they’d heard. Ready as she was to have the kids under their roof, part of her was grateful that the drawn-out process gave them so many months to adjust.

“I’m glad you’re the one taking this journey with me.”

“I wouldn’t do this with anybody else.” Arden clasped his knee firmly, eyes on the road ahead. “Still want to go home and talk about remodeling?”

“Yep.” He slowed for the approaching stoplight.

“You finally going to take out that wall downstairs that you’ve been complaining about for ages?”

Jaime took the opportunity to cast a scrutinizing eye over her features. “Open-concept designs are on their way out. And it’s a load-bearing wall anyway. We’ve talked about this.”

Arden giggled into the sleeve of her jacket, arching a brow at her husband.

You’re just trying to wind me up, aren’t you?

She squeezed his knee in silent confirmation.

_____

April, 2027

Mommy is changing the walls!

With a start, Arden shifted the roller to one hand. Her other pinched the pause button on her earbuds, putting the podcast to an end. “Opie, how’d you get in here? You’re supposed to be in the kitchen.”

Jaime’s step sounded in the upstairs hallway. “That was me. I didn’t realize you were painting -- sorry.” He coaxed the animal back into the hall and locked him out. Once inside, he cast an appreciative gaze around the bedroom. “This is looking really good. Are you sure painting walls isn’t your day job?”

She rolled her eyes at the compliment, but couldn’t hide the curve of her lips as she continued working. “You should see me assemble furniture. I’ve got mad skills when it comes to flat packs. But enough of that. How was your meeting with city council?”

“Really good,” he told her with a dazed grin. “They want me to draw up plans for about a dozen more buildings downtown.”

Arden watched him as she came to the end of a stroke. “That’s excellent news! Everyone at work raves about those gardens -- I told you they’d want more.”

He raked a hand through his hair, but her eyes were drawn to the blush that spread across his cheeks. “I thought they might want another three or four, but a dozen? I’m going to have to contract some of the work out to get it done in time. It’s going to be a busy few weeks.”

“Then let’s finish up in here and take the rest of the night to celebrate. We could go out for dinner or catch a movie if you want.”

“We could. Or...”

She pulled the roller down in a long, even line, not daring to look away from the wall again. “Or?” she inquired along with the final swipe. Wall completed, Arden returned the roller to its tray and turned to face him.

“I was just thinking that we’re running out of nights to have the whole house to ourselves. Maybe I’d rather just stay in with you.” With a mischievous slant to his smile, he worked the knot of her bandana loose and slipped it off her head. Fingers delving into her hair, Jaime’s lips met hers in a kiss that banished all other desires from her mind.

Arden tangled her hands behind his neck, legs latching onto his waist as he hoisted her up by the thighs. “I like this plan.”

“Good.” He tightened his grip and began to move. Staggering into the hallway, Jaime paused so that she could pull the bedroom door to a close. I’m definitely not doing this with kids in the house.

“That’s probably wi---” The first in a trio of kisses to her throat brought her statement to a premature end. Arden was never sure how he managed kiss her and walk at the same time, but she wasn’t going to complain. As they continued making their way to the bedroom, she heard their door bounce against the wall with a hollow thunk. She flashed a sassy grin when he deposited her on the bed. “In a hurry?”

“We’ll have plenty of chances to sneak around later,” he promised as he joined her.

“Does that mean we can be as loud as we want tonight?” she asked coquettishly, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

It’s like you read my mind.

_____

June, 2027

Jaime closed the bedroom door behind them, the click of the latch quickly giving way to an unnatural silence. Arden took a few tentative steps, crossing her arms in an attempt to relieve her feeling of uselessness.

They rallied in the middle of the room, weary bodies falling to the mattress as they tried to absorb everything that had happened over the space of the last several hours.

“I can’t --”

“I just --”

Words overlapping, they laughed at the sudden break to the stillness.

“You go first,” Arden urged, tucking one hand up under her cheek as she studied her husband’s face. His eyes were sagging from lack of sleep, but she’d seen the spark of delight more times today than she could count.

“It’s nothing I haven’t said before. But I can’t believe they’re actually here.”

She mirrored his radiant grin, muscles straining with her thousandth smile of the day. “It still doesn’t feel real.” Arden scooted toward him, turning to her side so that her back was to his chest. “This isn’t like visiting them with the caseworker. We’re the ones responsible here.” Breathing sharply, a fear came to mind. “Do you think I should go and check on them to make sure they’re still breathing?”

Jaime pulled her close, the weight of his arms drawing away some of the anxiety that been solidifying since the morning.

“I’m sure they’re breathing,” he reassured, the words ghosting over her ear. “And they’re probably as exhausted as we are.”

“I know, but they’re in a new place. What if they can’t sleep?” Idly, she toyed with the smooth band on Jaime’s finger.

"They’ll learn to sleep here sooner or later. If we wake them up by going in to check on them, it’s just going to make adjusting even harder.”

She hummed her assent as her mind wandered. “Did you see how long Will sat and played with Opie? I’ve never heard that dog have such happy thoughts.”

“Having kids around is going to be good for him. He was starting to get a little pudgy.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true. He’s not a puppy anymore and Jinx doesn’t let him chase her around as much as she used to. It’ll be good for him to have someone to play with him more often.”

“That’s probably true,” she conceded, falling silent once more.

“We ought to start getting ready for bed.”

Arden nodded, but made no attempt to leave his embrace. “How long do you think it will take for this to start feeling real? Right now, it just feels like we’ve got guests in the other end of the house.”

He sighed into her shoulder. “Probably sooner than we think. We’ll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings.”

End Note: I know that I cannot begin to capture what it’s like to be a foster or adoptive parent, especially since my writing is coming from research rather than lived experience. If you have a more complete understanding of fostering or adoption and have concerns about the way I’ve represented these topics, I would be forever grateful to hear your suggestions for improvement. : )

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #wishful thinking #jaime lewis #jaime x mc #welcome to the land of awkward transitions #somehow this whole thing turned into a series of vignettes #when in doubt #end with dialogue #right?#please ignore my nervous rambling in the tags

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morgana-greenleaf · 2 years

Text

Bucky Barnes Whump Fic Recs

so, I did a rec list a while back but i've read a lot of fics since then. this is not even close to all the fics i've read, or even all of my favourites. i'm already putting together another list. but hopefully this helps people find something to read.

close your eyes (& don't look up) by stark2ashla (@stark2ashla)

Teen, 1.7k

“Name.”

The electricity stops and Bucky looks up, throat still raw from a scream he can’t remember hearing. Fire dances along his upper body. He’s so tired.

“James,” he says, and pauses to catch his breath.

“Hit him again.”

I've Got Red In My Ledger by undertalefa

Teen, 0.9k

For some people, this is all he can offer. They don’t want flowery words or excuses, no ‘I’m sorry’s or ‘there was nothing I could’ve done’s. They want the satisfaction of causing pain, the catharsis of hurting someone who hurt you first.

It won’t fix anything, won’t change the past, but they both know that.

Bad Things I by bittercape

Teen, 0.1k - winterhawk

Whumptober prompts 12: Torture | Made to watch

Not that graphic violence (because how graphic can you get in 100 words), but nothing good happens here.

My spidey-sense is tingling by undertalefa

Not Rated, 2.3k - sambucky

“I would say you gotta speak to me man, but…”

He’s sure if Bucky’s eyes were open, he would be rolling them. Instead, he very clearly enunciates something Sam interprets as ‘Ha, ha. Funny.’

Whumptober 2021, Day #7

the shock from isolation by Lies_Unfurl (@lies-unfurl)

Mature, 8k+ - sambucky

Bucky goes to drastic measures to avoid being triggered by a newly-rediscovered set of words. Afterwards, he and Sam heal together—physically and emotionally.

Unquiet by ealcynn

Teen, 44k

Sam knows if anyone is not to blame for this clusterfuck, it’s Barnes. He’s a victim in all this. A murderous, terrifying, weaponized, six-foot, 260-pound cyborg victim.

Bones of Some Contention by LivingProof

Mature, 14k

For once, it’s not a dark specter from Bucky’s past that’s come back to haunt them. That, as far as he is concerned, is great. A nice change of pace. Something he can bring up next time Sam complains about all the skeletons that are hiding in Bucky’s mansion full of closets.

He’s the one with the gun to his head right now, though, so maybe Sam’s at least got a point with that whole “you can’t even get out of bed in the morning without running into something dangerous” bit that he does.

Or: Somehow, Bucky keeps ending up on the wrong side of the past. Even the pasts that don’t belong to him.

Barium Nights by LivingProof

Mature, 88k

Sam vanishes on what should have been a simple mission to clear out a few wannabe terrorists. And come hell, Hydra, or high water, Bucky is going to find him. Even if the trail takes him to the seedy underbelly of Madripoor, and a host of situations he’d rather avoid. Even if finding Sam might get him killed. Even if the thing that kills him…might be Sam.

Not Your Incentive by MelanieKS (@itsfeistyred)

Mature, 9k

After Sam takes on the mantle of Captain America he tells Bucky to take some time for himself. He deserves it. Begrudgingly, Bucky heeds Sam's advice and goes on a solo road trip cross-country. Of course, nothing ever goes according to plan in the life of Bucky Barnes and he finds himself stranded on the side of the road with a stalled rental, and an unknown number of hostiles surrounding him.

Just a normal day...

The Making of the Winter Soldier (series) by CluckU, Mumble_Bee (@clucku, @mumble--bee)

Mature, 13.7k +

A collection of vignettes exploring the ways in which HYDRA turned Bucky into the Winter Soldier. Can be read as standalones, but may hold more depth if read in order.

one foot by kickflaw (@kickflaw)

Teen, 0.7k

It's on the long, nerve-wracking trudge out from behind German lines, back to the Allied base that this weird big Steve promises is within a day's march, that the first hint of suspicion unfurls in Bucky's mind.

bring me back a dog by accrues

Teen, 1.8k

‘It wasn’t the dogs' fault,’ he told his therapist later, after he put himself together enough to process the memory. ‘They were just doing what they were ordered. They didn’t know how to say no. They couldn’t say no.’

The fallout from Bucky's first escape attempt from Hydra helps Bucky process his trauma later.

Homecoming by winteratdusk (@winteratdusk)

Not Rated, 44k + - stucky

After the fight on the helicarriers, the Soldier means to disappear, but without HYDRA's "maintenance" he isn't able to get far. Steve finds him sick, confused, and in desperate need of help. Over the course of a night, Steve and Bucky both grapple with the damage HYDRA's done, doing their best to weather the storm and make it through to morning.

Aftershocks by Lapwing_Em (@lapwing-em)

Gen, 1.2k

After Walker threw Bucky into the power cables he's more banged up than he wanted to admit. Sam finds him and helps.

on the outside looking through by junipermoss

Not rated, 1.7k - sambucky

He doesn’t know when it was, if it was a year ago or twenty, but he’s seen that face. He’s seen it when he was strapped to a table, or the chair, restraints on his skin and hard rubber between his teeth and electricity splintering through his bones. He’s seen that face a picture of cruelty, a dark smile in a dizzy whirl of pain.

The man shoots him.

Or: Sam is there for Bucky when a mission goes south.

The Last Train by PlaceByTheRiver

Teen, 2.7k

Inspired by a TikTok asking the question: Did anyone ever feel compassion for Bucky while he was held prisoner?

We know what happened to turn James "Bucky" Barnes into the Winter Soldier. This is the story of one of the individuals who helped make the transformation happen.

Brilliant Soviet scientist Galina meets an injured American soldier and tries to comfort him at first; then, she is told what she must help the government do. When you work for the Soviet military, non-compliance is not an option. Even the tiniest deviation from directive must be shrouded in complete secrecy . . .

(This is a prequel for a longer story I am writing, which takes place in present day.)

#please let me know if i've missed any authors' tumblrs #i'm not very good at finding people on tumb;r #bucky barnes #whump #bucky barnes whump #fic recs #bbwfr

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iwrestlenow · 3 years

Text

Sexy Poison, Sultry Venom (Part 1 of This Is Not How You Flirt)

TITLE: Sexy Poison, Sultry Venom (Part 1 of This Is Not How You Flirt)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Poison and venomous spiders are apparently hot.

They're not, but try telling Virgil and Remus that.

SHIPS: Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, violence, death, spiders--it’s Remus and Virgil so proceed accordingly. Mostly for this one it’s explicit imagery and a whole lotta spiders with mentions of death & violence thrown in.

Too many of you liked this on my Tumblr, so it's gonna be a frickin' series. XD

These flirty vignettes will take place throughout the stories coming after the events of MANY MORE TO DIE--you get cool points if you can spot references to them throughout the other stories? :P

One more warning for the fact that Remus is Remus and Virgil is Virgil, this whole series is gonna be explicit, slightly disturbing, and fluffy when it SHOULD NOT BE. XD

Per usual, unbeta’d self indulgent drivel, all mistakes are mine. ONWARD TO SHIPPYTOWN!

Also located at AO3 over here.

“Gonna hit the showers—meet you in the mess?”

“I'm right behind you, Terrence!”

Virgil was sweaty, grinning, and for the first time in a long time, he was happy. He'd never wanted to be a soldier, not even an attendant for the Black Dogs. He joined the guard for Logan, to save him...

Now it was something he actually loved. His anxiety made him more alert, more cautious, the exertion helped with some of his panic attacks—and he was good at it. Fighting, surviving, and now fighting for things he believed in and cared about.

And, thanks to Roman, others of his tribe could be fighting by his side—like Terrence, his best friend since childhood.

Virgil was so caught up in euphoria and nostalgia he nearly missed the box and note on his pillow when he reached his bunk to get his toiletries.

He opened the box first, and nearly had a heart attack.

Then he opened the note, and suddenly everything made sense.

Sweets for the sweet!

-R

...Sacred Souls be damned, Virgil was gonna fucking kill him. He was going to be the one to kill royalty, because he was gonna strangle the crown prince of the Kingdoms.

So...why was he taking the lethal fucking weapon he'd just found on his pillow and putting it in his pocket? Because he'd lost his mind, that's why.

“Private Storm!”

Crumpling the note hastily, Virgil shoved it into his pocket after the box and spun to face his commander.

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Lord Janus wants a word after chow.”

“Understood, sir!”

As the officer continued past Virgil's bunk, Virgil relaxed and reached into his pocket to pull the note out again—and the gift.

The gift was a small box—a jewely box, really. In it sat a tiny vial of clear liquid with a barely there shimmer to it, along with a tasteful yet somehow ostentatious ring. It was silver and beautifully wrought, deceptively delicate with its slim band and dazzling emerald set in the center.

Except the emerald was actually dyed iron crystal, and had been discreetly honed to a point that, if the ring were turned inward, was just sharp enough to scratch skin. That was all the accompanying poison needed to do its work.

A Sugar Kiss, designed to be delivered intimately and discreetly. The administration was tidy, but death by a Sugar Kiss was...

Well, it was terrible. Virgil knew—part of basic training for the royal guard included learning poisons and how they worked. Mostly by being poisoned.

This is not sexy. This is not charming. This is messed up and disturbing and I hate it.

His heart didn't feel too big for his chest, and his belly wasn't clenching with a pang of longing, imagining being close enough to him to curl a hand against his nape to strike...to pull him in and seal their mouths together, feel an answering dig of nails into the skin of his own nape as he took his mouth the way Virgil imagined he'd take his body...

Nope. Nope. None of that was currently happening.

Virgil pocketed the small box again...but stopped to try and smooth out the crumpled up note so he could fold and stash it in his pillowcase before he dashed off to see whatever it was that Janus wanted.

********** He had Virgil pinned to the wall, mouth open and slack under his as Remus fucked it with his tongue. It was glorious—Virgil was glorious as he tunneled his fingers into Remus's hair, the point of the Sugar Kiss scraping his scalp while Virgil's hips finally began to move, shamelessly grinding on Remus's thigh with high, breathless noises he swallowed greedily--

“Remus, can you OH SHADOW'S SWEATY TAINT CHEESE!!!”

...Remus. Was going. To kill him.

Opening his eyes, the fantasy ruined and his hard on already flagging, Remus dragged himself out of the bath and dried off, soft by the time he finally stomped out in the his main bedchamber, only to find...

...oh.

In the middle of the room, Roman stood with a hand over his mouth, features waxy looking as he stared at the massive spider sitting on his pillow, one roughly the size of a full grown house cat.

Remus couldn't quite breathe right as he walked over to the bed and knelt, his heart doing funny, glorious little flips in his chest, where his lungs ought to be—those were crammed into his heart space, too tightly packed to work properly.

“It's a violet star.” he sighed, admiring the namesake purple of the creature's glittering eyes and sleek-haired pedipalps. “Their venom can kill a man, erode the corpse, and dissolve bone in less than a day.”

“THEN WHY ARE YOU PETTING IT?!?”

Remus giggled, continuing to stroke one fuzzy leg. The spider seemed to enjoy it, hissing quietly as it lifted the limb into the touch, then raised its pedipalp in the air, as if waiting. Remus raised his hand, palm out, touching the center to the fuzzy limb, making the spider hiss and start dancing gleefully in place.

“Because they're also the smartest of the metaphysical arachnids—some brave mages defang them and keep them as pets. Cruel, if you ask me, like declawing a cat...”

Remus trailed off, looking over his shoulder at Roman—who was still white as a sheet and swaying visibly on his feet.

“...oh, relax, Ro Bro! They only produce venom four times a year, and only if you let 'em.” Remus huffed, turning back to the spider with a blissful coo he couldn't quite stifle.

The spider flinched, then suddenly scuttled away to the pillow again. It started digging at something with its pedipalps, the soft sound of paper crinkling alerting Remus to the fact that she was trying to show him that there was a note.

“Thanks, sweet girl.” Remus crooned while Roman continued muttering in terror from his spot frozen in the middle of the room. Grabbing the note, he unfolded it—and promptly melted.

Something to cuddle while I'm not there.

A cuddly, lethal spider—one that only produced venom after mating.

Cute and hot...damn it, why did that sexy little creep have to be a soldier?...

“REMUS!”

“Calm down, Roman.” Remus huffed as he lifted the spider into his arms, cuddling her against his chest and cooing some more as her soft little pedipalps began pressing gently against his skin, then relaxing—not all that different from a content kitten kneading.

Whatever fresh surge of lust came from the mental image of his own little spider, biting his shoulder as Remus fucked him hard, releasing his own poison with the scrape of the Sugar Kiss melted into something softer, sweeter as the spider tried to skitter higher on his chest to get closer still to him.

“I think I'll call her Amethyst.”

“Remus, you're cuddling a deadly spider.” Roman reminded him tensely.

“And?...”

“And, you're bare-assed naked.”

Remus looked down at himself, fresh out of the bath—and in his birthday suit.

“She's a spider, what does she care?” he mused, shrugging. “And it's not like we don't have the same junk, twins and all--”

“REMUS!”

“All right, all right, I'm getting dressed...”

#sanders sides #fic #necromancer au #virgil sanders #remus sanders #dukexiety #this is not how you flirt #my name is liz and i swear to god i will fic again

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popcultureoverdosed · 2 years

Text

I wanted to be Hurt by Love Manga Review

This is a manga I found increasingly hard to write a review for the more I thought about it. While the initial few chapters and overall quality of the story is indeed above average, this manga includes a scene that has completely soured my enjoyment of the series and all potential readers should be warned before reading this: The protagonist hires a group of men to rape her bully. More of that will be discussed later in the review.

Kanae has it rough. The harsh treatment she receives from her "friends" reminds her of her severe bullying history and Kanae's mother talks down to her like garbage for not being an exemplary student. Even her brother hates her because he feels that his mom forces him to study extensively to make up for Kanae's mediocrity.

The only light of hope in her life comes in the form of Hiroshi, a cute baseball player she develops a crush on after meeting him at a mixer. This crush on him turns into a domino effect of drama and degradation.

This manga is in many ways a spiritual successor to Metamorphasis by ShindoL. Both featured troubled socially awkward girls plagued by abuse and bullying. The problem is that Kanae becomes less sympathetic as the story progresses. The first chapter already establishes her being a teen prostitute and getting angry at Hiroshi when he becomes concerned for her. It's implied she chose this lifestyle on her own rather than getting roped into the profession like Saki from Metamorphasis.

The manga keeps showing vignettes of how bad Kanae's life is, but readers are never given the full details. We aren't shown enough of her backstory to understand why she is the way she is. We know that her current friends are fake as hell and her family hates her, but it feels like more bark than bite.

Seeing the mental breakdowns of the characters as they confront their own trauma is certainly a highlight. Even Ichika, the previously mentioned bully, gets her sympathy points. Speaking of which, let's talk about her and the downfall of the manga.

Ichika got into a messy love triangle with Kanae because she also had a crush on Hiroshi. Ichika bullied Kanae into backing off from Hiroshi and that infuriated Kanae. She used her connections to get a group of men to abduct and rape Ichika while Kanae watched the whole thing with sadistic joy. That scene was godawful. Ichika may have been a horrible person, but nobody deserves to be raped. Kanae becomes much more morally repulsive than her own bully. Because of that one scene, I can't give this manga a high review.

Kanae somehow become the worst character in the story with her constant self victimization and sociopathic tendencies. She doesn't care who she hurts as long as she gets her happiness.

It was such a shame the manga ruined itself by going down that route because it was a compelling teen drama before that infamous scene. Kanae is far too much a two faced detestable character to care for and I'm not even sure if I went to continue reading this manga. It is because of this vileness that the manga indulged in, I cannot recommend this manga. It is simply too sickening.

#I want to be hurt by love #manga #review #assualt #analysis

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momentofmemory · 4 years

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FICTOBER 2020 - day twelve

Prompt #12: “Watch me.”

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Characters: Melissa McCall, Scott McCall

Words: 1306

Author’s Note: A series of four vignettes featuring Melissa & Scott’s relationship, culminating with the fallout of 2x10 (Fury). Fluff that slowly descends into angst. Melissa POV.

>> i saw your eyes (they looked like they were mine)

“Watch me, mama!”

Scott’s head just barely peaks up over the counter, his hands reaching up to grab for her attention. “Look!”

Melissa laughs, gently hip checking him to the side so she can cover the bolillos with a towel to rise. “Just a minute, mijo, I’m coming. You don’t want flies to get into your food, do you?”

Scott pauses, having somehow managed to get flour in his hair already. “Do flies need it?”

“I’m very sure they can get food somewhere that isn’t my house,” Melissa says, dusting Scott’s nose with flour until he falls back, giggling. “Now, what’ve you got for me?”

Scott’s eyes light up as he grabs her by the hand, decorating the floor with even more flour, and drags her into the living room.

“I fixed Roxy!”

The dog in question is sitting placidly on one of the couch pillows, the McCall’s medicine kit open and its contents strewn all over the floor. She’d gotten into a fight with the neighbor’s cat the day they’d gotten her, and while the cut she’d sustained on her ear had long since healed, Scott’s been rather taken with making sure she’s okay ever since.

Which is probably why there appear to be over a half dozen bandaids covering the poor terrier’s ear, along with an incorrectly though painstakingly placed Ace bandage.

“Wow,” she says, making sure to give Roxy a few extra scratches as a reward for her patience. “You do this all by yourself?”

“Yeah!” Scott bends Roxy’s ear up, eager to show off his handiwork. “I even got one on the—scapha, like Dr. Deaton said.”

“Oh ho, I see. Scapha’s a big word.” She moves from ruffling Roxy’s fur to Scott’s hair. “You gonna be doctor someday? Dr. McCall?”

Scott shrugs. “Is that what you do?”

“Sort of, sweetie. No doctorate here, but. Yeah. Close enough.”

“Then I’ll be close enough,” Scott says. “So I can be like you.”

Melissa feels a swell of warmth, and kisses the top of Scott’s head. “You’re already far better than that, mijo. And I’ll be there to watch the whole thing.”

_________________

“Mom.”

Melissa looks up from the pamphlet she’s been reading, and Scott looks so small on the hospital bed. “Yeah, sweetie?”

“Am I breathing?”

Melissa’s heart twists in her chest. “Yeah, baby. You’re breathing. Does your chest feel okay?”

Scott nods, his lips pursed close together. “It felt okay before, too.”

“I know.” The signs were there—the coughing at night, the perpetual fatigue, the muscle and determination for sports but not the stamina. “But you’re okay now, I promise. The doctors have got you fixed all up and you’ve got plenty of medicine in case it happens again.”

Scott frowns, staring down at his hands. “So it’s going to happen again?”

“Not this bad, mijo. Not this bad.” She nods towards the inhaler on his bedside table. “That’s what the medicine’s for, remember?”

She wishes, sometimes, that she didn’t know quite so much about everything that was happening in her baby boy’s body. The bronchodilator via nebulizer to open his airways. Corticosteroid drugs in his IV to lower lung inflammation. Oxygen via nasal cannula to bring his blood oxygen levels back up. The trigger that’d caused the swelling and mucus production to threatened him to begin with, still lurking in his genes to strike at any moment.

Not that she’d tell him that.

“You’re okay, Scott,” she says. “I promise.”

“But what if it happens again while I’m sleeping?”

Melissa sets the pamphlet down and goes to sit on the edge of the bed. She takes his hand into hers. “Then I’ll be here the whole time, okay? If you stop breathing, I’ll make sure you start again.”

Scott bites his lip, tracing patterns on the hospital sheets. “You’ll watch me?”

“I won’t look away for even a second.”

She doesn’t, and Scott sleeps, uninterrupted and unafraid and breathing, through the entire night.

_________________

“You couldn’t have picked literally any other extracurricular?”

Melissa frowns at the dollar signs on the sign-up sheet, mentally tallying the costs of the uniforms, equipment, and not to mention rescue inhalers he’d need to play lacrosse, of all things.

“Lacrosse is like, the football of Beacon Hills!” Scott says, all but bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I can definitely do this.”

“I don’t know, Scott,” she says. “Your asthma’s been even worse than usual this season, and I don’t want you to commit to something like this and have to bow out halfway through.”

“I won’t,” Scott says, with all the total confidence only a teenager could have.

“Uh-huh.” Melissa sets the paper down and folds her arms over her chest. “Scott, I know you’re angling to get more popular than you were in middle school—”

“Mom!”

“—but I don’t think picking something that’s going to be—” Melissa hesitates, fishing for the most tactful word—“unconducive to your health is the best way to go about it.”

Hurt blossoms across Scott’s face. “You don’t think I can do it.”

‘Oh, no,” Melissa says. “You wander around the house without a shirt on more than enough for me to know you’ve got the muscle tone for it.”

“Mom.”

Scott’s incredibly tenacious once he gets his mind set on something—which is what moves his chances up from snowball’s chance in hell to snowball’s chance in, say, Nevada.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” she says.

“And you won’t. I can do this, mom—just watch me.”

It’s a bad idea. From definitely a financial standpoint, and probably a health one, too..

She sighs. “What time to tryouts start?”

“You’re coming?”

It’s painfully obnoxious and incredibly adorable how quickly he goes from sullen and determined to exuberant.

“Yeah, you dumbass,” she says. “If you’re going to go on some ill-fated mission to rise through the ranks at risk of life and limb, I’ll be there.”

His answering grin is so bright, she thinks he might actually do it after all.

_________________

“So.” Melissa licks her lips, fingers threaded together on the counter in front of her. “You’re a werewolf.”

They’re standing in the kitchen, the single unburnt bulb in the ceiling light shining down on them. Scott’s slouching, or maybe hunching, in the corner of the room; the island staking out the neutral ground between them. He’s not meeting her eyes, or maybe she’s the one that’s not meeting his.

Scott clears his throat. “Yeah. I’m, uh—a werewolf.”

It feels like the setup for an interrogation.

(She wishes she knew which of them was on trial.)

“Uh-huh.” Melissa taps her fingernails on the granite, waiting for him to expound. He doesn’t. “Okay, so how does it—is this a once-a-month thing? You change when the moon’s out?”

"No. I can—I can shift whenever I want, now.”

Now implies it hasn’t always been that way. Now implies a then. Now implies her son’s been a werewolf (a werewolf) for more than just a few days, and she hasn’t noticed anything other than a few slipped grades and out-of-character absences. Now means he did all that without her.

“Do you want to watch me do it?”

Melissa flinches before she can think twice about; Scott flinches in return. “Watch…?”

“Watch me shift,” he says. “I can control it really well, I could—we could just do claws maybe, or my eyes?”

Scott’s beautiful, deep brown eyes stare hopefully at her, eyes he got from her, and the thought of them turning the angry gold he got from someone else hurts too much.

“That’s okay, baby,” she says. “Maybe—maybe not right now.”

“Okay, yeah. Sure.”

His lips quirk up in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and Melissa can’t get her mouth to open far enough to handle the promises he needs.

She says nothing.

#fictober20 #fanfiction #melissa mccall #scott mccall #teen wolf #memsfic

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roseskiesandbutterflies · 4 years

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Pain Is So Close To Pleasure (modern!Queen x platonic!reader) - Chapter 2

Summary: As a recently promoted Soloist for the Royal Ballet, you move closer to Covent Garden with your three-year-old daughter, Rose. But your new neighbour turns out to be the last person you'd expect to pop up on your doorstep.

A/N: This chapter, but really this whole fic, has such a specific vibe and I love it?? Like I can relate to a lot of the things I describe, and I don’t know if that’s a me thing, or a British thing, or just a thing. Anyways I’m here for it. And if you’re not British and don’t relate to this fic in the way I do, and you’ve wondered what it’s like to live in Britain, this might give you a rough idea.

The chapter count for this crept up again because I’ve had about two or three more ideas for this. I think now would be a good time to mention that I’m treating this as more of a load of one-shots set in the same verse, rather than a story with a plot. That’s why it will start to seem more like a series of vignettes, not as a storyline.

As always, I hope you’re all doing okay with everything that’s going on, and I hope to have another update for you all soon. I hope you enjoy!

Warning(s): swearing

Word Count: 3.3k+

Inspiration: Incandescent by @immistermercury on AO3, Outed by @platawnic on Tumblr, Rock Angel by @mirkwoodshewolf on Tumblr, Brian’s Instagram, Modern Times Rock ‘N’ Roll by @rhapso-kei on Tumblr and AO3, this silly lockdown business, the fact that I should have gone to see Queen over two weeks ago but it’s fine

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26

Series Taglist: @banana-tree-freddiemercury @lillycarlyn (darling you didn’t say which taglist so if you want me to put you on the perm one then let me know)

Ask to be on either! Make sure to specify!

You popped your head round the door to the studio and smiled to yourself when you found it void of people. You switched the lights on, the charcoal-grey clouds outside casting a darkness over the Opera House; uncharacteristic for midday, but then it was London, and it was February. You couldn’t expect too much from good old British weather.

It wasn’t often that you had the opportunity of having a studio all to yourself, so when you did, you simply had to make the most of it. The way your timetable for the day had worked out meant that you had a longer lunch break than everyone else, not by much, but fifteen minutes was more than enough time to go over a routine you’d crafted yourself. So, seeing as you could afford to eat later on, and everyone else was either in the canteen or some café in Covent Garden, you decided to book one of the studios for your own use.

You connected your phone to the mostly unused speaker in the corner of the room and quickly found the song. Time was of the essence here, and you were most conscious of that. You lightly ran to the centre of the room, making sure you weren’t facing the wall-length mirror for watching yourself dance made you rather self-conscious, replacing passion with technicality. This dance was your own, you had created it, cradled it, held it oh-so-close to your heart; unlike anything you’d ever done professionally, this dance was all about the enthusiasm and the love with which you danced.

Freddie’s voice rang out through the studio, clear as day and filling each and every particle with the richness of his voice. The singular note was soon accompanied by harmonies and then the familiar piano motif of Somebody To Love. You smiled despite yourself as you began the routine.

You promised yourself that one day you’d perform this to someone, even if it was just Rose. But that day was a long way off yet.

The way you danced was unlike how you had ever done so on stage. You performed with a vivacity that many dancers lost so early on in their careers when they valued the physical quality of their dancing over the raw emotion of it. You considered yourself quite lucky that you hadn’t yet surrendered to that particular temptation.

You considered this song to be a crescendo in and of itself, just building and building as its many layers unfolded. You’d made sure that this was reflected in the choreography. Each section was grander a more extravagant than the last. You quite liked the simultaneous challenge and familiarity of it; it made for a good dance to return to when you found your head overflowing with your thoughts and anxieties. You made more and more use of the space as the song progressed, like you were contained by an invisible circle that gradually grew.

When the third verse came around, and Freddie’s voice temporarily faded into silence, fooling the nonchalant listener into thinking it was the end, you had a second to pause. You used it to inhale deeply before starting the fouettés that accompanied the acapella. One, then another, then another, more, more, more until you genuinely thought you were going to fall over. You persevered, however, pushing through all forty of the turns, and even though by the end you wanted nothing more than to lay on the ground and watch the world spin, you couldn’t stop yourself from beaming because holy shit you’d never done them all before. You shook off the feeling, allowing yourself to revel in it later; right now, you had the rest of the dance to get through.

You breezed through the rest of it, the highest jeté seeming insignificant compared to the dizzying hell you’d just put yourself through. When everything quietened down once again, and Freddie faded back into his falsetto, you came to a still in the centre of the ‘stage’, going up on pointe and gradually raising one leg into the air so that it was parallel to your upper body and then to your face. When the music kicked in again, you dropped it back down and returned to your original flow. With the last tiny piano chord of the song, you did a cheeky little jump with the biggest grin on your face, before curtseying to your non-existent audience.

Or so you thought.

A slow clap sounded from the doorway and you whirled round to look at the intruder, blushing furiously with the embarrassment of being seen without knowing. Your smile made a comeback, however, when you recognised the face.

“Wow, that really was something, (Y/N),” Brian whistled, “I’m impressed, truly.”

“Thank you,” you ducked your head, panting heavily. Your muscles screamed with exhaustion, and even though you wanted to just lay down and maybe have a nap, you stayed strong, refusing to appear rude to Brian.

Somehow, he seemed to read your mind, “You can sit down, you must be knackered. Don’t mind me.”

You smiled at him gratefully before sinking down in the corner of the studio next to your bag and grabbing your water bottle with desperation. You gestured to the spot next to you which he took gladly. “How much of that did you see?”

“Pretty much all of it,” he laughed, “I was about pop in for a chat but I saw you put the song on, and I thought I might as well watch.”

“Gosh,” you muttered, beginning to take off your pointe shoes to relieve your aching feet. You’d had back-to-back classes all morning and doing a routine such as that one after all of that just didn’t help.

“I didn’t know you guys danced to non-classical music,” he said.

You managed to get one shoe off, and you started on the other one, wrinkling your nose at the quite frankly disgusting smell that Brian was politely showing no reaction to, “We don’t. Well, I haven’t heard of it anyway. Even if people did somewhere, it would be an awfully long time before the Royal started doing it.”

He shot you a confused look, “Then how…”

“It’s my dance. I choreographed it a while back,” you shrugged, not really understanding what the big deal was, “That’s probably the best run I’ve done of it.”

“Wow, I,” he ran a hand through his hair, “That looked like something from an actual ballet.”

You ducked your head again with the kind of embarrassed pride that comes with compliments, “Thanks, Brian, that means a lot. I only made it a while ago. I,” you laughed self-deprecatingly before saying, “I’d just done quite possibly the worst audition of my life, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how shit it was. So, I just freestyled to some of my favourite songs and that happened.”

“You just made that up?” he asked incredulously.

“It wasn’t nearly as good as it was just then. I’ve been working on it for months until it became what you just watched. It’s been my little side project,” you mused, shoving your phone and both of your pointe shoes into your ballet bag. You poked your head up and peered through the huge window on the opposite wall, cringing at the heavy rain and how that wasn’t a good mix with the non-waterproof trainers you were now putting on, “Oh, shit, I thought it wasn’t going to rain until later. I don’t think I packed my umbrella,” you said, forgetting about your shoes for a second and rifling through your bag.

Brian placed a hand on your arm, “Relax, I have one, we’ll just have to share, if that’s alright with you?”

“Thanks,” you looked at him gratefully before returning to doing your laces.

“Where are you going anyway? You haven’t finished work already, have you?”

“Oh, I wish,” you laughed sadly. You did love your job, but today was just one of those days where you had no energy and just wanted to cuddle up on the sofa with a cup of tea and a box of Quality Street chocolates all to yourself and binge watch Miranda on Netflix. “No, I didn’t bring any lunch with me, so I thought I’d have a look and see which cafes have free tables. You’re more than welcome to join me if you want.”

About five minutes later, you found yourself running through Covent Garden Market while it was hammering it down with rain, sharing an umbrella with Brian that was way too small for the both of you. You were trying your hardest not to slip on the shining cobblestones beneath your feet, while also trying not to knock into any other pedestrians who, like you, were also running for cover. It wasn’t long until you reached your destination, a café that was a favourite haunt of yourself and Rose. It served at Rose’s Friday treat after she had finished preschool for the day, when the weather wasn’t too good and you couldn’t go to the playground in St James’s Park. You also frequented it on bank holiday weekends or half-terms where you’d been in the flat for three days straight and were in desperate need of some fresh air but had absolutely nothing to do.

You held the door open for Brian, hearing the little bell ring when it came into contact with the door, and you grabbed the umbrella from him as he entered. You shook it rather aggressively outside and popped it into the bucket next to you, filled to the brim with the umbrella of fellow patrons who unluckily got caught in the rain and had dived into the nearest establishment for sanctuary. You made your way to the only free table left while Brian queued up to order your food and drinks.

This wasn’t actually the first time you two had done this, though it was the third. The first time had been rather awkward, as from the second you put your shoes on to leave to the second you said goodbye, you were both repeatedly stopped by people wanting to talk to Brian. And even though neither of you ever complained, you had later admitted to each other that you had found it rather annoying. The second time wasn’t as bad, though at one point you had been stopped by a guy from some tabloid you’d never heard of asking for an interview. Much to your amusement, and Brian’s embarrassment, the guy had actually been looking to talk to you instead of him. You’d politely declined, offering to do it another time, but as soon as you’d sat down to eat, you teased Brian mercilessly about it, and still did every now and then. All it took was for you to say Brian look I’m more famous than you for him to blush furiously and ask you to please change the subject. Considering this was the third time now, the initial shock of oh my God I’m just casually having lunch with Brian May this is fine had passed. Now it was merely having lunch with a friend. Just that that friend just so happened to be an international icon. No big deal.

You looked up to see Brian making his way over to you, carrying a tray of food, and you smiled when you noticed that he’d remembered from last time when you’d told him what, in your opinion, was the best food this particular café had to offer. He sat down opposite you and plonked the tray down on the table, as you both started to work out who’s food and drink was who’s.

“How’s work been this week?” he opened up the conversation as he stirred his latte that had fake milk in it because I don’t know if their milk is locally sourced, (Y/N)!

“Not too bad, actually,” you said, taking a sip of your own drink and cringing when it scalded your tongue, “We’re just in our last week of rehearsals for The Winter’s Tale right now. Someone got injured on Tuesday, and our first performance is next Tuesday, so that’s not exactly ideal. But we’ll get through it, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” you shrugged. The show must go on, you supposed. Pun not intended.

“Listen, (Y/N),” he started, his more serious tone intriguing you already, “I need to talk to you about something.”

You nodded slowly, “Okay…” You weren’t all too sure where he was going with this, and it was impossible to tell if the news he was about to impart was good or bad.

“I know this is very sudden, and there’s no guarantee that this will even happen, but I thought I’d ask you first,” he rambled for a moment.

“What, what are you on about?” you laughed impatiently.

He took a deep breath and said, “I have a business proposition for you.”

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

The after-school pick-me-up was carnage at the best of times, let alone on a Friday which also just so happened to be the last day of half-term. Parents crowding around the doorway, desperate to reunite with their child and careless of who they had to shove out of their way in order to reach them. Children spilled out of the school, arms full of lunch boxes and month-old paintings that were meant to be rainbows and dragons but resembled something similar to an oil spill. Teachers waved goodbye with the odd word to the overly concerned parent, not-so-secretly relieved that their week off was edging closer, and hurrying everyone off because the sooner they left, the sooner half-term started. Something which parents had very split feelings over.

Not for you, however. You were more than happy to get Rose to yourself for the week, finding the flat way too still and silent and void of a child’s laughter for you to find remotely comfortable. And even though half-term would always mean a busy show week for you due to the sheer amount of families desperately needing something to do, you were still grateful for the time you got together. That may or may not be because you had spent the far majority of your adult life being a parent, but you weren’t complaining.

As per usual, you heard Rose’s shout long before you saw her face, but you decided that you wouldn’t have it any other way when you saw her run straight towards, “Mummy!”

You crouched down and hugged her tightly when she collided into your arms, almost overbalancing from the sheer force of it, “Hello, darling, did you have a good day?”

She pulled away and grinned at you, “Yeah! We had a dance party and we played games and we played musical chairs and I won and I got some chocolate!”

“Oh, wow, that’s really good Rose, well done you,” you bopped her nose and turned to the things she was holding, “What’s all this?”

She thrust a piece of sugar paper under your nose, “I did a glitter painting yesterday and it’s dry now! It has every colour in the whole world!”

You took it from her and looked at it, pretending to inspect it like a pretentious artist and putting on the poshest voice possible, “Well, I do think it’s rather splendid, if I do say so myself. Absolutely spiffing.”

She dissolved into giggles, “Mummy, you’re silly.”

You gasped in mock offence as you took her hand and started to lead her out of the crowd, “Excuse me, I’m not silly! I’m a very serious grown-up, don’t you know?”

“I don’t want to be a grown-up! Grown-ups are boring. I want to be little forever and ever and ever.”

“I’m a grown-up, do you think I’m boring?” you asked.

“Only sometimes,” she said very seriously, “Only when you talk about boring grown-up stuff.”

You chuckled slightly, “What about Rog and Bri? Are they boring?”

She laughed again as if you’d just said the funniest thing she’d heard all day, “No! They’re fun because they give me ice cream and they think of really good games,” she paused for a second, “Mummy, are we going to the park today?”

“Well, it is Friday so if you want to go then we’ll go. It is a very sunny day today,” you said, frowning when you noticed Rose’s face, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

She pouted as if deep in thought, “I don’t think I want to go today.”

“It’s perfectly alright if you don’t want to, darling. It’s half-term next week so we can always go another day,” you assured her, “Why don’t you want to go?”

“I feel a bit tired,” she said sheepishly, “I don’t want to fall asleep on the swings and fall off!”

“Oh, baby,” you said, heart swelling with the simultaneous silliness and adorableness of her logic, “I’d catch you before you fall, don’t worry. But we can go home if you want. We’ll find something else for your Friday treat.”

Her eyes lit up, “Can we have cookies? The nice ones with the big chocolate bits?”

“Good idea, darling, we can have cookies,” you did a quick mental run-through of what your biscuit tin was looking like at the moment and said, “I don’t think we have any of those ones at home so we’ll stop off at the bakery on the way home.”

“Yay!” she squealed before singing, “We’re having cookies! We’re having cookies!”

Rose spent the entire journey home singing that song, and even though you wanted nothing more than to never hear that tune again, you wouldn’t dare burst her bubble of joy. Besides, you didn’t think you could tell her to stop if you tried; she really was that cute. Or maybe you just told yourself that, so you didn’t feel like a terrible parent. You guessed you would never know. At least the lady who worked at the bakery found it endearing that a child could be that excited for something as relatively simple as cookies.

By the time you’d shoved the key in the door and the two of you had spilled into your flat, it was around half past four and Rose was positively exhausted, despite her best attempts to look and sound awake. You’d decided to have the cookies with some milk you’d warm up once you’d sorted out Rose’s stuff and gotten her changed from her long day at preschool. Then you just supposed you’d have some cuddles, and, with any luck, she’d fall asleep because the poor girl really needed it.

You put the radio on in the background before snuggling down on the sofa with her comfortably in your lap and your favourite honey-golden blanket draped over the both of you.

“I love you, Mummy,” she murmured against your chest before nibbling on the cookie that was bigger than her hand.

“I love you too, baby,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and feeling her snuggle in more, as if that was even possible. You suddenly remembered your lunch with Brian, and the news you needed to impart, “I had lunch with Bri today,” you started, feeling her nod and carrying on, “He had a very cool idea, darling.”

“What was it?” she whispered, large, curious eyes looking up at you.

“He asked me if I wanted to work on a film, and I said yes,” you smiled, watching her face light up with the muted excitement that was usually paired with some element of confusion.

“A film? Is it a big film? Like Tangled?” she asked, suddenly much livelier than before.

“Yes, sweetheart, a bit like Tangled, except there’s going to be real people in it instead of animated people,” you explained.

“What’s the film about?” she was getting more curious by the second and it just made your heart leap with pride.

“It’s about the band that Rog and Bri are in, darling. It’s the story of how they got famous,” you grinned.

“Who are you in it?”

“Ooooooh, I couldn’t possibly tell you that yet, I’ve got to keep it a secret,” you said judiciously, smiling when she pouted at you, “I’ll tell you another day, sweetheart, don’t you worry.”

“Promise?” she asked hopefully.

You brought her into a hug again and whispered, “Promise.”

#ballet #royal ballet #queen band #ballet au #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #Brian May #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #Queen #queen x reader #queen x reader platonic #queen imagine

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lightofthemoonglow · 4 years

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snippets from the end of chapter two of ‘howl’

[note: chapter two of ‘howl’ is a series of vignettes. this is from the final part. Dan’s in the hospital, recovering from his injury. Also, it was written in third person because I fell out of practice with that and since this was only a rough draft, i decided to kill two birds with one stone. I wrote this before my final draft of chapter one, before the mouth scars were added in. Also, I was on adderall. Don’t forget their whole thing where they mocked Dan and Meg’s happiness because they are jealous of how easily they could find intimacy while these two dumb birds are stifled by their own fears of rejection, among other issues.]

The average medical student has zero near death experiences. The three former residents of 666 Darkmore are outliers and should not be counted.

Once she’s topless in front of the mirror, Jess stares at her chest scars for a few moments, remembering the fear, the pain. And that she had somehow survived, despite how close that blade had been to her throat more than once. Though she knows that someone, rather than something, was why she is here today.

When she turns her head, she can see that someone is staring at her, and he’s also half undressed.

But right now, as his hands began to clean the dried blood from her chest, his gaze wasn’t impassive, indifferent.

It’s the same look he had given her that night when his mouth had been on the same scars that his soap covered hands are currently all over. Though unlike that night, his hands are soon all over her breasts, tentatively cupping them before she nods and then he’s frantically pawing, the bar of soap dropping to the floor of the shower. Jess’s arms wrap around his neck and she arches her back, offering herself to him. It’s only when she feels his erection press against her hip do both of them remember that they’re in this shower for a reason. Herbert pulls away, his face flushing pink for a moment before he picks up the soap, using it on himself this time.

But that Pandora’s box had been opened and as hard as they could try, they would never be able to shut it again. Those tastes of intimacy have given them a craving that only the other can satiate.

What he feels as his hands explore her body is almost like a cousin to the desire to consume.

“You are…” Herbert can’t find the words as he looms over her, between her spread legs. Jess is laid out before him, a feast for him to devour. He wants, he needs, to have her, but the magnitude of what he feels is almost threatening because of the power that it has over him, the power that it gives her.

Jess sits up and kisses him, her mouth wet and needy, the two of them tasting the same after spending what had felt like a millennium kissing. “Show me,” she whispers against his mouth

When he finally pushes himself inside of her, both of them have to muffle the little surprised noises that threaten to escape them. This feels right, it feels like something they have been looking for has finally been found. Only neither of them had been aware that they had been searching for something until that very moment.

For a while, Herbert just remains still, watching Jess as pleasure wracks her body. She’s coming on his cock, he realizes through a haze of pleasure. He can feel her body’s reactions to the pleasure he gave her . And it makes him feel powerful in a whole new way, one that he’s never felt before. In a way that he wants to feel again. His body feels right here, it isn’t the usual crude flailing of limbs that is followed by silence and in the case of whoever he’s on top of, near stillness. Jess is like a live wire under him, her eyes closed and head thrown back as she expresses her pleasure, the only real word leaving her mouth being his name.

When her eyes snap open, they meet his. And in that moment, they realize oh that’s what this is all about, this is what all the fuss is over.

Grabbing her hair, Herbert kisses Jess fiercely, shoving his tongue into her mouth as he begins to move again, his hips moving faster, gripping hers tightly. Their foreheads are pressed together when the kiss is broken, Herbert not halting his pace, despite him being torn between continuing towards his climax and not wanting this to end.

Their hands go to each other’s faces, gently, as if the other is the most precious thing in the world. Jess is gasping, her voice stuttering and halting when she tries to speak. When she starts to sound almost pained, Herbert stops. But before he can ask her if she’s alright, she speaks.

“I love you.” The words seem like they’re as much of a surprise to her as they are to him. Neither of them have ever heard it from someone that wasn’t a parent. Herbert has never said it in his life and Jess has only said it to friends and family. Never to a lover or even someone she wants to love. But right now, it’s her only truth.

Because she actually does. The revelation comes after her declaration and Jess clings to him, afraid that he’ll see it in her eyes and leave.

Herbert does see it, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he kisses her again because he knows what he feels and this time, he knows he can’t lock it away. So when he says it back, it is when his mouth is practically still on her mouth. It’s so soft that she almost doesn’t hear it, but she does and she feels his mouth saying it.

Note 2: of course this does not end happily, there are five parts (at least) to this story. obviously they run away from their own feelings.

#might delete later

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chantillyxlacey · 5 years

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Holiday Spirits Gift! An OT3 mer-AU in a series of vignettes

Merry Xmas @fishbones-wishbones!! I had so much fun writing this! Your prompt was about as tailor-made for me as it could possibly be lol-- I may have gone a little overboard with it, to the point where it might not even stop with what I’ve got written here-- I’m highly tempted to spin off these vignettes into a long-form fic-- thank you so much for the inspiration!! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :3 Merry Christmas!

One: In Which Vivi and Arthur have become castaways

Vivi woke up sunburnt, sore, and salt-crusted, the taste of that same awful stuff burning her mouth. The last time she’d woken up to comparable discomfort had been the day after she’d been arrested by the Regnate’s men-- but no matter how unpleasant the waking up was, it did at least mean that she hadn’t drowned. ‘I’m still alive’ was always a good square one to start from.

Despite easing her eyes open slowly, the bright nearly-noon sunlight still stung like needles, so harshly that her optimism was nearly overcome by the urge to just roll over and go back to sleep for awhile. She valiantly resisted the temptation and sat up, ignoring the aching protests of what had to be every individual bone, muscle, and tendon she had to her name.

Even breathing scraped at her lungs and aggravated her rib cage, but the air was fresh and clean, and with each breath the fog cleared from her head more and more. The more sensible she felt, the more miraculous it seemed that she had really made it to see today. She’d more or less resigned herself to death last night, though she’d refused to just give herself up to it for as long as she had the strength to cling to that swath of wood with--

“Arthur!” she gasped, prepared despite her weariness to launch to her feet and scour the beach inch by inch to find him-- but that didn’t turn out to be necessary. He was sprawled on the sand right beside her, still unconscious but clearly breathing.

He looked about as worse for wear as she felt: his skin was an angry red from the sun and peppered with bruises and scrapes from the impact that had scuttled the ship. When she leaned down to shake him gently, trying to rouse him, she could see salt crystals clinging to his eyelashes.

“Arthur-- hey, Arthur!” she called softly, and after a moment he started to stir, a thin groan ekeing between his lips. It turned into a sharp hiss through his teeth when he tried to open his eyes-- Vivi didn’t know if it was the sun or the salt that had stung him more.

She helped him to slowly sit up, and couldn’t stifle a laugh at the way his hair had dried into stiff peaks that stood almost completely vertically.

“If you’re laughing at me that’s a good sign I’m not dead, I guess,” he rasped, then coughed and rubbed at his eyes.

“You guess right!” Vivi thumped him lightly on the arm, careful to avoid his sunburn. “Congratulations on not drowning!” He laughed at that, though it still sounded a bit like a cough.

“How--?” he asked.

“No idea!” Vivi said cheerfully, and he grinned at her for a moment before turning to stare pensively out at the sea.

“Okay then-- What do we do from here?” he asked.

“No idea,” she said, more soberly. She’d read her share of stories about shipwrecked adventurers, but how much could those stories help them through the real ordeal? “We’ll figure things out as we go, I guess.” She willed confidence into the words. Arthur hummed softly, still watching the waves.

His brow furrowed and he squinted, then suddenly shot to his feet, craning his neck and shading his eyes from the sun.

“What is--? Vivi, do you see that?”

“See what--?” Before she even finished asking she spotted it too-- a huge, fast-moving shadow under the water’s surface several yards out from the shore. Distance and the blinding glitter of the sun on the waves made it impossible to guess what it might be, and within moments it vanished entirely, fading into the endless blue.

“What do you suppose…?” Arthur murmured, more to himself than to her. Vivi shrugged, more to herself than to him. For awhile they watched the sea bob and roll, but the shadow did not reappear.

Two: In which Vivi and Arthur explore

The myriad of books Vivi had read about exotic locales, swashbuckling novels and natural histories alike, combined with Arthur’s practical experience travelling served them rather well as they took stock of their surroundings.

It was an island, or could loosely be called that at least; they’d swept up on what seemed to be a ring of clusters of sand and marsh, held together by tree roots that started several feet before ground level, as though the trees themselves were balanced atop scuttling insect legs. Vivi had read about mangrove forests like this one, but had never seen so much as an illustration before and hadn’t imagined just how eerie the whole tableau turned out to be; Arthur had seen them before but had never learned the name.

The marsh ring wrapped around a lagoon where the water was the clearest, most shining blue Vivi had ever laid eyes on. To their great surprise it turned out to be entirely fresh, despite opening up into the mangroves in several places, where seawater should have been able to leak in and render it too brackish to safely drink. They weren’t about to dwell on the impossibility though; instead they drank until the burn in their throats cooled and the taste of brine was washed from their mouths.

No longer distracted by thirst, they contemplated the second, smaller island nestled in the center of the lagoon. It looked to be real, solid land rather than marsh, but it was difficult to tell: trees clustered there even more densely than in the mangrove, trailing weeping curtains of leaves to brush the water’s surface and shroud the little island from sight.

“I’ve never seen trees that look like these before…” Arthur murmured. “Have you ever read anything about something like that?”

“I’ve read about trees with colorful bark before,” she answered. “But in greens and reds, not blue. And I’ve never heard of a tree with white leaves at all.”

The lagoon was too deep to wade across, but not too wide to swim-- or it wouldn’t have been if they weren’t still tired and aching from the shipwreck, and not too keen on getting into the water again from the same. They’d have to investigate it later, after they took care of the more pressing need to find food and a place to take shelter.

When they returned to the beach they’d woken up on, Arthur’s arms laden with fruit picked from various of the island’s trees (none of which should be growing in a mangrove; but again, they weren’t about to look any gift horses in the mouth, no matter how impossible they were) and Vivi’s with bits of dry wood for a fire, they were surprised to find that more had washed onto the shore while they were away.

Swathes of sailcloth of varying sizes were heaped just out of reach of the rolling surf, along with a mismatched pile of tools, two knives, several planks of wood and lengths of rope, and one badly dented tin bowl. Strangest of all, though, was the large fish stranded far enough up on the sand that it couldn’t have scuttled itself there, still alive and twitching weakly.

“There’s no way this happened just on accident,” Vivi said.

“No…” Arthur agreed, sounding nervous. Vivi didn’t blame him-- if anyone else from the ship had survived and made it to the island as well-- They wouldn’t be terribly thrilled to share a sanctuary with a prisoner and a traitor to be sure, and neither of them were in much of a state to put up a fight.

“We should get back into the trees,” Arthur said, clearly thinking along the same lines. “And just wait and see-- right?” He was already backing up as he spoke, and Vivi followed.

They waited amongst the strange, ghostly roots until the first lavender tinges of sunset crept into the sky and the fish had long since stopped moving. No one came, but they crept back out into the open with caution anyway.

“Arthur, look--” Vivi gestured at the sand when she’d put the firewood down. “There’s no footprints.” “That’s-- Hm. That’s worse somehow, actually. So... what does that mean, exactly? Did a ghost do all this, or what?”

“Thoughtful ghost,” Vivi mused, starting to arrange the firewood and shave off some bark to catch sparks. “Do you know how to cook fish?” “Uh.”

“We’ll figure that out as we go, too,” Vivi laughed.

The fish ended up unevenly cooked, but they were too hungry to care much, and it tasted alright anyway. They ate their fill and slept like the dead.

Three: In which Vivi and Arthur develop routines

The days passed much like the first-- they foraged and tried their luck fishing, and they built a fairly sturdy lean-to between some of the more tightly packed trees, which they shared. The first few times they had woken up to find that the chill of the night had nudged them into each other’s arms as they slept had been awkward, but now they were so used to it that they dropped all pretense, and fell asleep holding one another from the start.

There was plenty of opportunity to explore the central island once their lingering aches subsided, but they never did. Something about it was-- offputting. It had the air of an intensely private place, and even Vivi’s usually insatiable curiosity was cowed in the face of its forbidding aura. They ventured into the lagoon itself to bathe, but never past the deepest point.

Each day also saw a new cache of useful flotsam awash on the sand where they had first woken up: more boards and rope, metal utensils, and one especially lucky morning, one of the smaller iron cookpots from the galley. Something like that could never have just floated up on its own, but they never saw any sign of whoever it was helping them.

Their anonymous angel also left them food. Sometimes it was another fish, sometimes a pile of live clams left in a pit full of seawater dug into the sand, and once a pile of seaweed that Vivi had vaguely recalled could be boiled to make a broth. Whoever it was, they never left any footprints, or any other evidence of their existence but their gifts.

“Maybe it is a ghost,” Vivi mused one evening as she dug a roasted clam out of its shell with a twig.

“What kind of ghost would be so interested in feeding a couple of castaways?” Arthur wondered back, taking a gulp of the sweet water they had recently discovered was hidden inside the hard green fruits that grew on some of the island’s trees closer to the shore. Vivi chewed her clam thoughtfully, but ultimately had no answer beyond a hum and a shrug.

“Getting better at cooking these,” she said instead, reaching for another. “Not that you’d know.” She wrinkled her nose at Arthur, who preferred to eat his raw. Vivi found it detestable. He grinned at her, unrepentant, and held the palm fruit out to her. She drained the last mouthful, then flopped against Arthur with a sigh and hooked one arm into the crook of his elbow, sliding the other around his waist.

She couldn’t be absolutely certain, between the night’s darkness and the orange cast of the firelight, but she’d be more than willing to bet that the color in Arthur’s face wasn’t just from sunburn. She snuggled closer and closed her eyes, smiling to herself when she felt Arthur’s cheek lean against the top of her head.

They sat like that for awhile, warm from more than just the fire, and listened to the night sounds. Vivi spent a few minutes weighing the pros and cons of letting go of Arthur long enough for her to lean up and kiss him. She gradually became aware of a new sound-- something that stood apart from the sigh of the waves and the rustle of leaves, and shook her from her thoughts. Arthur shifted, raising his head as though listening too.

“Artie? Are you… singing?” She already knew the answer before he shook his head-- the sound was distant, so far away that it had to be coming from out at sea. “Could that be a whale? I’ve read that they sing but I never thought I’d get to hear it-- Can you hear whalesong from shore like this?”

“You can,” Arthur said distractedly, staring out at the waves with his brow furrowed. “But I’ve never heard any whale that sounded like this before, though… This sounds too much like…”

“It sounds like a person singing, right? Maybe a ship…” She didn’t finish the thought. The moon was full and fat tonight, and if a ship had been so close they should be able to see it, but nothing interrupted the smooth, dark line of the horizon.

“Most captains are smarter than to risk their ships sailing through this part of the sea,” Arthur murmured. The captain of the Morgause had thought himself above those stories, and everyone but the two of them had paid for it dearly.

Four: In which Vivi and Arthur meet someone interesting

Whatever she’d thought they’re mysterious benefactor would be like-- she’d never have guessed he was a real-- living, breathing, real and right there-- merman.

He was enormous; had he been a man standing on two legs he would have been at least ten feet tall, even if she estimated on the conservative side. The broad, sinuous tail that trailed in the surf behind him was nearly that long all on its own, covered in ink-dark scales that glittered with startling violet iridescence where the sun hit. White stripes marched along its length, looking for all the world like he’d simply had ribs painted on.

His huge hands, each big enough to cover Vivi’s entire torso, were webbed and the fingers tipped in blunt claws, but they handled the gift they’d left for him with utter delicacy. Pale slashes of gills lined his sides, standing out starkly against his brown skin. Other than those details however, from the waist up he looked remarkably ordinary.

Well-- perhaps ‘ordinary’ wasn’t the right word. Remarkably human was probably more accurate; ‘ordinary’ simply didn’t take into account just how astonishingly... appealing his appearance was. Even with half his face covered by an overhang of dark violet hair, Vivi could already tell that he had to be the most attractive man she’d ever seen in her life. Arthur looked just as gobsmacked as she felt, standing beside her and looking down at the same impossible figure on the beach.

“Are you--” Vivi started to call out, and the merman’s head snapped up, his face a mask of shock for a single moment before it-- disappeared.

That handsome, almost-entirely-human face was replaced in an instant with a fanged skull, twin sparks of magenta burning in the empty sockets where eyes should belong. Arthur yelped a curse and tried to scrabble backwards so fast that the powdery sand under his feet gave way and he crashed down on his back. Vivi sucked in a gasp, but it was more amazement than fear.

“Wait!” she called, darting forward even as the merman started to retreat backwards into the surf. “Please, wait-- don’t go just yet!”

As she got closer, she realized that he hadn’t actually shape-shifted or dissolved into shadow and bone-- his skin had simply changed colors, as she’d read certain sea creatures were able to do. Most of his color had deepened to a shade nearly identical to his tail, with patches leeched of color in shapes that mimicked a skeleton.

The patterns faded and his skin returned to human tones as she approached; his eyes, however, remained the same. The whites weren’t white, but as black as his pupils, and the irises were vividly pink. The look in them was guarded and uncertain.

“Was--” She paused. There was no guarantee he’d understand her. There was no reason to assume he could speak English, or any human language at all-- but what else could she do but at least try to communicate? “Was it you who’s been helping us?”

For a moment she thought he didn’t understand, and felt a stab of dismay at how to bridge a language gap that vast-- but then he nodded, face still tight with wariness. “You rescued us, too, didn’t you?” Another nod, although there was an odd hesitation to it, his eyes downcast in something almost like-- shame?

“Did you sink the ship?” Vivi gaped at Arthur, who by now had stood back up and come to her side, aghast that he’d jump to that conclusion. When she looked back to the merman, however, he nodded again.

“It came too close to the island,” he lamented. His voice surprised her: a soft tenor that didn’t seem like it should belong to someone so huge and imposing looking, and laced through with an accent she couldn’t quite place. As he spoke, she could see sharp, triangular teeth flashing behind his lips like pearls. “I’m tasked by My Lady to keep any intruders away, by any means necessary.”

“Why save us, then?”

“You didn’t deserve to drown. You kept each other afloat through the storm, you helped each other even though it put your own safety at risk.” He sounded as though he was reasoning it out to himself as much as explaining to them. “I couldn’t just… Duty or not, I couldn’t just let you die.”

Vivi and Arthur shared a glance. Neither of them were quite sure how to respond. After an uncomfortable silence, the merman offered back the amulet they had made. Vivi blinked.

“You don’t like it?” she blurted.

“N-no-- that isn’t it. I thought you would want it back. That you wouldn’t want to give a gift to someone who…”

“Someone who saved our lives, and has been looking out for us ever since?” Vivi offered.

“Your lives wouldn’t have needed saving if it hadn’t been for me.”

“We kind of needed saving before the ship sank, to be honest,” Arthur said. “There wasn’t anything good waiting for a couple of prisoners when we made port.” “Prisoners?” He sounded horrified.

“Vivi was arrested unfairly and I got caught trying to help her escape. That kind of mutiny gets you hanged-- If it hadn’t been for the storm they probably wouldn’t even have waited ‘til we came ashore.” “I’m sorry,” the merman murmured.

“You don’t have to be. Like I said, you saved our necks.” Arthur offered a wry half-smile, but the merman still looked unsure.

“What’s your name?” Vivi knelt on the sand before him-- even lying on his belly and sunk low in shame, his gaze was even with hers.

“My-- what?”

“Oh--” Vivi wondered if she’d just asked something incredibly stupid, or perhaps even insensitive. “Do you… have a name? Something you call yourself?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, still sounding completely baffled. “I’ve just-- I’ve never had to introduce myself to someone before. My name is Lewis.” It was an astoundingly ordinary name for a mythical-- or supposedly mythical-- being to have. Vivi had to stifle a laugh that was wholly inappropriate for the moment, but she did smile at him.

“Thank you for saving our lives, Lewis.”

He ducked his head again, though this time it seemed more like a flustered movement than an ashamed one.

“You’re… welcome,” he mumbled.

The rest of the afternoon was spent sitting on that beach, trading further introductions and asking Lewis questions about the island.

They learned that the smaller central island, which they still hadn’t yet dared to explore, housed a temple hidden among the weeping trees. It belonged to goddess who Lewis would not name, only calling her “My Lady.”

There were not-- at least as far as Lewis knew-- other merfolk, and he had no parents or family. His Lady had created him with magic for the sole purpose of guarding her island and her temple from any intruders-- the second-to-last line of defense after the enchanted storm she had concocted with magic stole from an ancient rival; he was under orders to sink any ship that braved that tempest, though thankfully crews that were bold or foolish enough to do so were a rarity. Past him, there were wards growing within the trees on the central island itself to repel trespassers. Vivi and Arthur were the first humans to ever set foot on the isle to test them.

“Is it safe here?” Arthur asked. “If your, ah-- your ‘Lady’ comes back to find us here…”

“I wouldn’t expect her to. There are decades between her visits, and she was here less than a season ago. She won’t be returning any time soon.”

Most other questions about his Lady Lewis was cagey at best about, but on any other topic he was happy to give thorough answers. He had apparently never had a conversation with anyone other than the Lady he served before, and he seemed to be enjoying it immensely. They talked through the entire evening, parting ways only when it grew so late that sleep became impossible to fight.

Five: In which Lewis procures a very strange looking fish for lunch

Arthur eyed the lumpy creature with amused skepticism. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Lewis, but I really hope this guy tastes better than he looks.”

Lewis didn’t seem the least bit offended. “He isn’t much to look at, that’s true,” he laughed. “But we don’t know-- perhaps among fish he’s a real Prince Charming.”

“Isn’t that you, instead?” Arthur grinned, then realized just exactly what it was he’d said. His and Lewis’ faces were mirror images of wide-eyed surprise until Arthur went pink from the tip of one ear across to the other and he turned his attention to the cookfire with sudden enthusiasm. “So uh-- how’s the best way to cook his highness? Does the fire need to be hotter, do we need more firewood--?”

Lewis didn’t blush-- Vivi wondered if he could blush at all-- but he looked equally flustered as he explained that this kind of fish needed a more delicate heat, and how they should wrap it in palm leaves. Vivi smirked to herself, eyeing the way that their hands seemed to ‘accidentally’ brush far more often than could be entirely accidental as they prepared the fish together.

Six: In which Lewis and Arthur have a heart to heart

“I’ve been wondering something,” Arthur hesitated. Lewis flicked the very tips of his fins against Arthur’s arm.

“You can ask anything, Arthur. I’ve told you that before.”

“How did you learn so much about the world? You said you’ve never left this island before, but you know a lot-- did-- did you used to be human, Lewis?” Lewis looked surprised, then sad.

“No, Arthur. I’ve always been this.”

“Wait-- I didn’t mean it like--” “I know you didn’t; I know you’d never. I just…” He sighed. “There was a man that My Lady used to create me. I never really was him-- I don’t have any of his memories-- but whatever knowledge he had is now mine. So I know a great deal about a world I’m not a part of.”

“That’s-- so she turned him into you? I’m not sure I understand.”

“No. I wondered myself, when I was new. She told me that he did not become me any more than the earth a seed is planted in becomes the tree.”

“....I still don’t really get it.”

“I didn’t either,” Lewis laughed ruefully. “She said that whether I understood my origin or not didn’t matter, as long as I understood my purpose.”

Without thinking, Arthur laid his hand over Lewis’.

“Why haven’t you ever left?” He asked. “You said your Lady only even comes around every few decades, you could just… go, and see the world for yourself.”

“I was afraid.” Lewis drew abstract shapes in the sand with one blunt claw. “My purpose here isn’t much, but it’s more than I’d have anywhere else.”

“Didn’t you ever get lonely though?” “Not really. And now I never am,” he looked up at Arthur, and finally smiled again.

Seven: In which Lewis invites Vivi and Arthur over for dinner

“Where on the island do you live, anyway, Lewis?”

“Not anywhere on it-- Under it. Beneath the temple there’s a large cavern, and that’s where I live.”

“Oh,” Vivi hummed thoughtfully. Lewis tilted his head, seeming confused.

“Did you want to see it?”

“Isn’t it underwater?” Arthur wondered.

“The entrance is, but there’s a pocket of air in the cave, and a little beach. It might be too far for you to swim on your own but I could carry you--!” He broke off, folding his hands sheepishly. “Ah-- if you didn’t mind me doing that, of course.”

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” Vivi said with a flutter of her eyelashes that was playful but nonetheless made Lewis duck his head shyly.

Lewis met them at the lagoon and they waded in until the water reached their chests. With absolute gentleness, Lewis scooped them against his chest, one of them in each of his massive arms.

“Take as deep of a breath as you can,” he said, and waiting until they had before diving down with them. The water was warm at the lagoon’s surface, but it rapidly cooled as they delved deeper and the light that filtered through her eyelids dimmed. If it hadn’t been for Lewis and his warmth, she didn’t think she would have been able to stand the cold, even though it was mercifully brief. The water warmed back up, and the light returned.

Just when Vivi’s chest was starting to burn with the need for air, the water broke above her head. She sputtered and drew in a long, grateful breath, swiping water from her eyes until she could focus.

“Oh--!” She didn’t know where to look first-- The cave would have been beautiful even unadorned: the ceiling was high-- so high it must have breached the surface and belonged to the ground of the island itself, and peppered with holes that let sunlight stream in. Embedded in the rich black stone of the walls were freckles of micah, which glimmered faintly and reflected like stars in the water’s surface. Even the sand making up the cave’s beach seemed to have a pearly sheen to it.

Garlands were strung in a complex web throughout the cave. Abalone shells and bits of sea glass clinked gently along their lengths, throwing dancing blots of color around the chamber. A band of colorful mosaic, stretching from just above the water line to presumably as high as Lewis could reach, wrapped about two-thirds of the way around the cavern walls. Even clearly incomplete it was gorgeous-- a lovely and chaotic mix of abstract shapes, pictures of sealife, and even maps of constellations. In the water tiny, colorful fish darted around them like living jewels.

Along one wall were natural ridges of stone that Lewis had utilized as shelves, which were covered with an array of dishes and vessels. Some of these were made of stone, some were fashioned from large shells, and a few seemed to be human-made and had probably been salvaged from the seabed. A fire pit sat in the middle of a stretch of pebbles further away from the water’s edge, and a wooden rack nearby seemed to be a setup for drying out firewood. The trinket Vivi and Arthur had made was set in a prominent niche in the cave wall, directly in a beam of golden sunlight.

“It isn’t very much,” Lewis said sheepishly as he set them on the sand.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Arthur nudged him lightly with his elbow. “Lewis, this place is incredible!”

“It’s like something from a dream!” Vivi agreed, beaming up at him. She clung to his bicep, having to use both her arms around just to reach all the way around. He cast his eyes down and clearly would have been blushing if he could. He’d let them go, but his arms curled gently back around them now.

After a while, Lewis lit a fire with a flint and steel, and prepared a pot of soup for them that was more elaborate than any Vivi had seen before, and was also about the tastiest thing she’d ever eaten. They spent hours sitting by the fire, so absorbed in talking and sharing their meal, that they hardly noticed as the light filtering into the cave from above shifted into rosy hues, then faded. Rather than face the cold of the depths, especially not in the chilly night air, Vivi and Arthur opted to bed down in the soft sand of the cave’s beach.

Eight: In which Vivi is happy precisely where she is

Vivi woke up warm and serene. For a few blissful minutes she didn’t open her eyes or think about where she was, just basked in the comfort of the moment. When she did open her eyes at last, her field of vision was filled with a swathe of skin-- Lewis’ specifically.

Though he’d fallen asleep alongside them on the main beach plenty of times before, Lewis had always kept a respectful distance between himself and the two of them. Now, in the much smaller space of the cave, the three of them had gravitated together as they slept. Vivi was tucked against the expanse of Lewis’ chest, and she could feel Arthur’s arm draped over her waist, as well as the tickle of his breath against the back of her neck. Lewis’ tail was curled up around her and Arthur both, as though holding them in just his arms wasn’t enough.

Vivi was who knew how far from home, from any kind of civilization at all, and at the moment she had no idea how or even if she’d get back. Somehow, she didn’t find the thought distressing-- in fact, she’d never felt as safe or as much like she belonged somewhere as she did right now, wrapped up in Lewis and Arthur’s warm embraces.

They’d figured things out for themselves as they went pretty well so far, and Vivi didn’t doubt that they could keep right on doing so. She craned her neck up to brush a kiss under the edge of Lewis’ jaw, which was as far up as she could reach, and threaded her fingers through Arthur’s. Sighing contentedly, she settled back down into sleep.

#msaholidayspirits2019 #Mystery Skulls #MSA #Mystery Skulls Animated #lewvithur #Lewis Pepper #Vivi Yukino #Arthur Kingsmen #the ot3 #lacey writes

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wulfrann · 4 years

Text

As you watch the snow fall, ch 3 (Andreil Jack Frost AU part 3)

All for the game

Rating: General Audiences

Relationship: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Andrew Minyard & Nicky Hemmick

Additional Tags: Jack Frost!Neil, Writer!Andrew, Succession of vignettes, Non-Chronological, Family, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff

[Part 3 of the When the frost is in bloom series - Chapter 3/? - 7640 words - Updated 2020-06-05]

Summary:

Nicky (finally) gets to meet his cousin's mysterious boyfriend. It doesn't go exactly as he'd expect.

(Set after Frost Bite, somewhere in the same winter)

(TW: Self-harm scars)

[Read on Ao3]

Chapter 3: Ice Rabbit

Pale sunlight bounces off the snow piled up on the balcony and inundates the room. Neil has left the window clear of frost today, content to absorb the unfiltered morning rays with his eyes closed.

“If you were a cat, you would purr,” comes Andrew’s voice from just below his neck.

Neil trails lazy fingers through the layers of Andrew’s curls and smiles. “So would you.”

A noncommittal grunt answers him. Neil lowers his fingers to scratch at the back of Andrew’s neck, and turns it into a sigh. Andrew’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into Neil’s chest, and the hand that was holding up his book drops upon the couch.

He’s sitting curled up in Neil’s lap, with his feet up on the cushion and his back to the armrest, Neil’s right arm draped across his middle. They’ve been dozing in the living room since the scent of warm coffee coaxed Andrew out of bed. Finding a good position took a few minutes, but Neil would be lying if he said it wasn’t worth it.

He presses his fingertips to the sides of Andrew’s nape, and massages a low hum out of him. “You’re tense,” he notes. He lifts his free hand up to pick the glasses off Andrew’s nose as he keeps massaging the knots out of his neck, startling Andrew’s eyes open.

A sigh. “People have been asking about you.”

“Oh,” Neil says, and puts the glasses down by Andrew’s feet. There’s a smile dancing on his lips. “You told them about me?”

The idea sparks tiny fireworks in his chest. Somehow, it never occurred to him that he’d get to be a part of Andrew’s life even when he’s away.

“They think you work abroad,” Andrew says matter-of-factly, dismissing the implications of people knowing about Neil with a wave of his hand, like it’s nothing.

He knows better than that, though. The steady weight of his gaze holds Neil for long seconds, unwavering. And Neil watches back. He sees the carefully guarded hope cradled in the crook of a palm, and so he holds Andrew’s hand in his own and smiles.

I’m real, he thinks, meaning to speak.

Real, real, real, his magic sings beneath his skin.

“What did you tell them we were?” he asks, grinning wildly now.

“Involved,” Andrew answers.

Neil thinks his ribcage might explode. He kind of wants it to. Instead he hums, and squeezes Andrew’s hand in his. “Is that what we are?”

Andrew lifts an unimpressed eyebrow.

Neil doesn’t think he’s ever felt this stupidly happy in his life. He starts massaging the back of Andrew’s neck again, amazed as he always is to feel the dense mass of Andrew’s body slowly mellow under his touch. There is another hum, and then the sound of a book falling shut.

“When you say people…” Neil trails off.

Andrew opens his eyes with a sigh. “Mostly Nicky. He’s been - nagging.”

“I thought that was his default?” he asks, a little distracted as he works his way up the occipital bone, extending the massage to Andrew’s scalp.

He feels a slight dip in the couch cushions as Sir joins them, snuggling her round little body between them, half on Neil’s lap and half on Andrew’s stomach. She starts purring almost immediately. The rumble only intensifies as Andrew starts scratching slowly behind her ears.

“He wants to meet you,” he tells the cat.

Neil’s hand freezes in Andrew’s hair.

If he had a heartbeat, it would have stuttered in his chest. It’s the magic, instead, that trips - a wild, electrifying surge of ice. It courses quickly through his veins, seeking an outlet, so he directs it at the window by reflex. The whole pane frosts over, and then some.

Andrew raises both eyebrows at him.

Neil just smiles.

He huffs, a little aggravated laugh, and drops his gaze upon the cat. Neil goes back to rubbing tiny circles into his scalp, but his ribcage feels tight.

“How would I meet him?”

Andrew looks up, then down again as Sir headbutts his hand for more petting. “You don’t have to decide now.”

“I know,” Neil assures him. “But I’m curious.”

Another small huff. He leans back against the armrest, so Neil lets his hand drop. “People see you when they believe in you. We’d just have to give him proof.”

“You want me to magic him into believing in me,” Neil guesses.

“Something like that.” Andrew shrugs.

Neil blows a magic-infused breath at the window from just over Andrew’s head, and the frost withdraws its petals from the glass in one swift motion. He contemplates the snow-covered city beyond and says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Neil looks away from the window and nods. “Sure,” he says, smiling. “I’m not the one who’s going to look stupid if it doesn’t work.”

He earns a poke in the ribs for that. It only makes him grin wider.

Convincing Nicky to come over is the easiest part. He’s surprised, at first, that Andrew would be the one to invite him, instead of having to ask (and ask, and ask, until Andrew is finally in the adequate disposition to say yes), but elation quickly takes over.

“You didn’t tell him why he’s coming over,” Neil remarks when Andrew’s hung up.

“I’m not leaving him a whole week to come up with annoying questions,” he says.

Neil just laughs.

It happens a week later.

It’s a Sunday, which means Nicky’s not working. On the phone, Andrew agreed to lunch. Nicky would buy the groceries, and he’d cook.

They wake up late. They set up an alarm around 11am just in case, and barely emerge just in time to avoid the blaring ringtone. Last winter, they’d had no use for alarms. Neil was always awake bright and early with the first rays of sun. But this year, sleep has a better hold over him; not that he really has a need for it, but - he likes the warmth. He’s still always the first one to wake up, but it happens slowly now. The blanket draped over them is heavier, the pillows inviting, and Andrew’s presence a comfort he’s loath to leave. Getting out of bed before him is starting to feel more and more like stepping away from a fire, each step colder than the last.

Which is why on Sunday, when Neil wakes up, he isn’t really surprised to see that it’s already a few minutes past 10. Light slants through the shutters and pools at their feet. Andrew is turned towards him, face slack and soft in the dimness and crowned with his usual morning mess of curls. His left hand has disappeared under Neil’s pillow, but the other one lies slightly curled between them.

Something vast washes over Neil as he stares. It feels important, this moment. Everything about it.

The curve of Andrew’s fingers. The orientation of the hairs in his eyebrows. The slight bump of his collarbone peeking out of the oversized shirt.

It says something. Not in of itself, but in the resonance it finds in Neil’s chest.

It’s important. It might be the most important thing in the world.

Neil threads his fingers with the ones lying lax underneath his pillow. A sigh seeps out of somewhere deep within him, and the air brushes against a few stray strands of blond hair.

When Andrew opens his eyes, the movement of his eyelashes is slow. Neil follows every single one and he would count them, too, if his ribcage didn’t feel so tight. He could freeze over the whole wide world right now, if he wanted to.

He doesn’t. He drags their intertwined hands to his mouth instead, and brushes a kiss over the back of Andrew’s.

Andrew brings his other hand to the back of Neil’s neck and shifts closer, pulls Neil in with eyes like molten gold.

It’s a lazy kiss, sleep-soft and lingering, all sluggish lips and morning breaths.

When they emerge from it, Neil’s hair is well and truly mussed. In-between them lie their hands and Andrew’s bare forearm, the flesh grooved and carved by wounds deeper than their scars.

“Can I?”

Andrew nods. Neil carefully pulls his fingers free and drags them down the curve of Andrew’s palm. He brushes along the faint lines of the veins tucked on the inside of the wrist, follows a slight dip between two tendons, and reaches the first ridge. It feels different against his fingertips, the skin smooth and stretched out of its usual elasticity. Strange, that it should not feel jagged. Strange, that the edge of the blade should not leave sharper marks upon the flesh. The skin rises and drops like valleys, like a secret language born out of pain and healing, control and the will to go on, even then. It’s a testament to both Andrew’s weakness and his strength.

Neil goes on past the scars to the elbow, covering Andrew’s forearm with his own. The hand at the back of his neck clenches lightly. Neil leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of Andrew’s brow - the center of the cheek - the edge of the jaw. Andrew hums and steers him in the direction of his mouth, and they both sigh into the kiss.

By the time they get out of bed, they only have a couple minutes left before the alarm is set to ring. Andrew turns it off before it has a chance.

Nicky shows up right on time.

He’s holding two bags full of groceries, and he’s got snowflakes clinging to his knitted cap. His smile is blinding.

“Hello Andrew! How’s my favorite cousin in all the world?”

Andrew rolls his eyes and steps aside to let Nicky in, taking the bags from him to carry them into the kitchen. “Take off your shoes.”

“What do you think I am, an animal?” Nicky calls after him.

Andrew doesn’t answer. He puts the bags on the counter and starts unloading them. He’s pleased to see the two tubs of brownie ice cream, which he quickly puts into the freezer before they start melting. Not that the temperature outside would have endangered the goods, but one can never be too careful.

A gust of ice, and Neil’s voice comes tickling his ear.

“Isn’t it a little cold for ice cream?”

“Not in here,” Andrew says, and pushes the fridge’s door shut. Neil is sitting on top of the counter, mouth curved in an easy smile and white hair crowned with silver light.

Behind Neil, Andrew can hear Nicky making his way into the living room. He busies himself with serving the coffee he readied earlier, then brings a cup to his cousin. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Neil swivel in his seat to face them.

“Thank you!” Nicky beams, curling his hands around the cup. “It’s so fucking cold outside. I swear winter lasts longer every year. Anyway, how have you been?”

“Good,” Andrew answers, already bored of the small talk. “Do you know what my last two books have been about?”

“Sure. They’re your best ones,” Nicky says as he pretends not to snoop around the bookcases.

“You read them.”

“Well, of course. I’ve read all your books,” Nicky says offhandedly, then crouches to pet King.

Andrew very carefully does not react.

Nicky doesn’t read much. He’ll pick up a few queer romances, non-fictions about whatever subject has caught his fancy, psychology material for his work. But that’s it. He doesn’t like fantasy, and he’s far older than the target demographics of Andrew’s books.

Strange, how it’s the little things that still surprise him the most.

Strange, how Andrew knows that Nicky taught him everything he knows about love, and yet he can still be caught unaware when his cousin shows him exactly that. Perhaps it’s the noise and the stubbornness that makes him forget, sometimes, the image Nicky bent over parenting books at night, pushing all three of them through therapy with what money he could save, the hours upon hours spent helping them learn the specificities of a whole new language and a whole new country.

Without him, neither Andrew nor Aaron would have made it past 20 - let alone college.

He snaps out of his thoughts as Nicky brushes past him towards the couch. His eyes follow, and then automatically land on Neil, who’s still balanced on the counter. He’s looking at him with one of those aggravating smirks etched upon his face.

“Is that a new mug?” Nicky’s voice calls. He’s pointing at one of the two empty mugs that they forgot to put away yesterday. It has a bright orange fox on the front, and tiny pawprints curling all around it.

“No.” It isn’t. Andrew’s just never used it himself.

Nicky is looking at him like he expects an explanation, so Andrew just stares until he gets the message. Somewhere to his left, Neil snickers.

Andrew grabs both mugs off his desk and takes them to the sink, making sure to bump into Neil’s leg on his way to the kitchen. While he’s there, he fills the cats’ water bowls to the brim and puts a few stray items away where they belong. Neil’s gaze doesn’t leave him the entire time.

“Staring,” he mutters, and closes a cabinet.

“You’re stalling,” Neil retorts.

“Did you say something?” Nicky asks from where he’s sitting upon the couch.

“Just talking to the cats.”

He lets out a breath, and glares at Neil. He gets a grin in return, but there’s a tension in the way Neil holds himself that mirrors the one Andrew’s been feeling since Nicky rang, so Andrew flicks his forehead. Neil retaliates by pinching his arm, and Andrew’s about to poke him in the ribs when Nicky walks into the kitchen.

“Andrew? Everything alright?”

“Yes,” Andrew huffs. Neil’s grinning like he’s just won the fight, and Andrew wants nothing more than to eat the smugness directly off his face.

But Nicky’s looking at him quizzically, so he opts for going back into the living room instead. Nicky looks like he might want to ask if Andrew’s okay again but he follows, and when Andrew gestures at him to sit on the couch he complies without question.

“I called you for a reason.”

“Aw, and here I thought you just wanted some quality family time,” Nicky jokes.

“Isa Holle is real,” Andrew says.

As predicted, Nicky’s mouth falls shut. Then a grin takes over his face. “I knew it!” he crowds. Andrew very much doubts that he does. “He’s inspired by that mysterious boyfriend of yours, isn’t he?” he goes on, then gasps. “Is he here right now? Am I going to meet him?”

“Nicky.”

“You weren’t lying when you said he’d be excited,” Neil comments.

Andrew ignores him. “Yes,” he tells Nicky, and immediately raises a hand to shut him up. “He’s in the room right now.”

Nicky’s smile falters. “What?”

“He’s here,” Andrew repeats, and points at Neil. “Right by the desk. And he’s going to frost my window.”

Neil does. Nicky gasps.

Then Neil presses his hand flat against the glass, and the whole sheet of ice comes to life.

Flowers bloom. Cats run wild among them, morphing into mice mid-jump and then growing into trees, a whole forest of them, realistic at first then abstract, shapes and patterns without sense. They come together slowly, merging into a single round shape with two long ears.

The rabbit jumps out of the window. A spatter of snowflakes trail after it as it bounces in the air, then floats down to the floor and trots up to a gaping Nicky. The rabbit presses its head against Nicky’ shin and instantly dissolves out of existence, leaving only a breath of fluttering snow in its place.

Neil’s hand hasn’t left the window. He’s grinning.

“Show off,” Andrew says.

Neil flips him the bird.

Nicky looks at Andrew, and then back to the window where Neil’s hand is. He squeezes his eyes shut then opens them again, several times in a row.

And then his eyes snap right upon Neil’s face.

Neil flinches.

“Holy shit,” Nicky breathes. “Holy fucking shit.”

Neil turns towards Andrew with his grin back in place. “See? This is how normal people react.”

“You weren’t as flashy when we met. And I had time to wrap my head around it.”

“True,” Neil concedes. “But this is way more fun.”

“Not for him.”

Neil’s attention drifts back to Nicky, who’s still too shell-shocked to move. He’s gaping at Neil like - well, like Andrew just pulled him out of a book, which isn’t that far from the truth.

“Hi,” Neil says. He steps away from the window, and the frost melts away in the blink of an eye. “I’m Neil. Andrew’s boyfriend.” He extends his hand. Nicky stares at it like it might bite him. “Also a winter spirit.”

Nicky reaches forward slowly, eyes fixed where his and Neil’s hands meet. Neil’s smile is blinding at the contact.

“This is real,” Nicky mutters, looking up at Neil’s face. “You are really real.”

“I am.”

“Did you come out of Andrew’s book?” Nicky blurts out.

Neil’s eyes widen for a split second, and then he’s laughing, head back and free, loud gasps of cold air popping out of his throat. The day Andrew gets used to the sight, he’ll probably be dead. Neil’s laughter quietens down too quickly, but his face is still radiant when he exchanges a look with Andrew.

“Other way around. I came out of a lake, actually.”

Nicky gapes. “Wh - a lake?”

“Long story.” The tone is light, but subtly dismissive. Nicky’s mouth shuts close with an audible click, but it’s only a matter of time before the questions start pouring out. Andrew, reluctantly, steps in.

“Nicky.” His cousin’s attention fixes on him, more out of reflex than anything else. He looks stunned - understandably so. “Come help me make Spätzle,” Andrew orders.

Nicky steals a glance in Neil’s direction, then nods.

The key, Andrew assumes, is to keep his cousin too busy to talk. Let the questions simmer down. Let him process the crack in his reality. Nicky has always had a tendency to spill his thoughts before they’re fully formed, but he’s grown past the overly cheery teenager with too many shame-drenched blades in his own flanks to notice where others might hide theirs. A small nod in Neil’s direction is enough to keep him out of the kitchen - Nicky doesn’t need a physical reminder of what’s already wreaking havoc in his mind.

There is no thinking needed to make Spätzle dough. It’s an activity they have practiced many times before, just like this - a whisk, eggs, flour, milk and salt, and the automatisms of two people used to operate in the same space. Andrew had intended to take care of the meal all by himself, originally, but Nicky needs the familiar, mindless gestures more than he does right now. There’s the chicken to take care of, anyway - leftovers from a past meal to reheat while he sautés mushrooms with onions, some garlic and a generous splash of cream.

There’s no need for Nicky to keep whisking for as long as it takes Andrew to be done with the sauce, but he doesn’t comment on it. He pulls the Spätzle maker out of a drawer and slams it down on the counter once the pot of water is boiling. Nicky startles, and smiles, settling the tool over the pot and pouring in the dough slowly, with the kind of pointed focus he really doesn’t need for the task.

The cats choose this moment to rub against Andrew’s leg and whine for their reserved pieces of chicken. Andrew pushes them away with his foot and a grunt.

“Watch the sauce,” he tells Nicky, then grabs the tupperware where he left a couple pieces of meat and walks over to the cats’ bowls, over on the other side of the L-shaped counter that separates the living room from the kitchen.

Neil is sitting cross-legged on his desk, and he raises a tentative look when he notices Andrew stepping out. He’s smiling, but he looks unsure, one hand playing with the hem of his hoodie in that lost kid way of his.

“Come set the table.” Andrew gestures towards the kitchen with his chin. “It’s almost ready.”

Neil’s face lights up. He jumps off the table gracefully, propping his staff against a bookshelf on his way to the kitchen.

Andrew wants desperately to follow, to supervise - to make sure that Nicky won’t freak out, or that neither one of them will say something stupid - but he forces himself to remain in the living room instead. Pulls his desk away from the window and into the center of the room. Removes his laptop to make room for the plates and the cutlery. Brings over the two additional chairs he keeps folded by the balcony door.

By the time he’s done, Neil is emerging from the kitchen with plates, cutlery and glasses (magically) balanced in his arms, and Nicky follows carrying the pan, where the Spätzle joined the chicken in its sauce.

“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” Nicky comments as he sets the pan down in the middle of the table. “Last time you invited me over, I think it was last Spring. I made asparagus.”

The last sentence is directed at Neil. Andrew grabs the big wooden spoon and helps himself to a portion of Spätzle, handing the spoon over to Neil when he’s done.

“I haven’t had asparagus in forever,” Neil tells Nicky, a flutter of hesitation in his eyes as he passes him the spoon. The next sentence he says too casually, carefully eyeing Nicky as he speaks. “They don’t grow well in the snow.”

The Spätzle are good. The chicken’s a little dry, but that’s what happens when you reheat leftovers.

Nicky swallows his first bite of food and sets his gaze upon Neil.

“About that,” he starts, quickly glancing at Andrew before going back to Neil, “I have a few questions.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” Neil shrugs. He doesn’t look uncomfortable - just slightly apprehensive.

“What else can you do? Besides ice rabbits?”

Neil grins, that little bit of tension simmering down as he lists the extent of his powers. Satisfied, Andrew shits his focus back to his meal.

As it turns out, Nicky has a fair bit more than ‘a few’ questions. Whether by intent or not, however, he leaves the more personal parts of Neil’s story untouched. Neil answers everything dutifully, most of the time amused, if not puzzled, by the things Nicky’s curious about.

(What does he do in the summer? Sleep. Like a reverse hibernation? Kind of. What does he think of Isa Holle? They’re good books. Not very truthful, though. Can other people see him? Yes, but only those who already believe that he exists. Does he pull tricks on people? Sometimes. Was he there when Nicky visited before? A few times. Does he need to eat? No, but he likes it. Are there others like him? Yes. Has he met them? No. When did he meet Andrew? Three years ago.)

And so on, until their plates are empty and one and a half tubs of brownie ice cream have been consumed. (Neil only had one spoonful. He’s not interested in sweet things, let alone cold ones. Blasphemous, but Andrew isn’t about to complain.)

In the end, Andrew doesn’t have to kick his own cousin out. Nicky gets a text from his husband and makes his excuses all on his own, leaving with sweetness on his breath and the promise of another time tucked close to his chest. The flat is eerily quiet in his wake.

Neil stares at the door for a while, lost in thoughts as Sir purrs from his lap. He looks frazzled, and tired, the movement of his hand in Sir’s fur slow and absentminded.

“That was a lot,” he says eventually. Andrew levels a careful gaze on him, but Neil just smiles. “I can see how he’d be the person who raised you.”

Andrew quirks an eyebrow. It is a well-known fact that he is nothing like his cousin, physically or otherwise. Neil leans back into the couch, dropping his head sideway so he’s looking at Andrew instead of the door. His hair falls like wild threads of silver around his face and his eyes are blue, blue, blue.

“He’s a good person.”

Andrew doesn’t dignify that with a response, lest he be tempted to say something stupid. He pushes Neil’s face away and stalks towards the balcony instead, snowflakes making knots of his guts as he inhales his first cloud of smoke today.

If only feelings were as easily burnt as lungs.

Andrew has a feeling there wouldn’t be much left of him if he tried.

#tfc #aftg #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #all for the game #the foxhole court #nicky hemmick #jack frost au #i'm big on domestic fluff lately can you tell?#as you watch the snow fall #when the frost is in bloom #ice rabbit #fanfiction #wulfrann writes

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clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 24: Better the Devil You Don’t (Epilogue)

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Someone does right by Cadence.

note: And with that Bound by Circumstance is ended! I’ll start posting book 3, Bound by Choice, in a day or so! Book 3 is the only book in the series not based off of an existing Choices book, and follows the story of the Trinity in a series of flashback vignettes. Taylor and the Nightbound gang will return in book 4!

Also, Bound by Choice is currently in-progress, as opposed to books 1 & 2 which were completed at the time of posting. Once I catch up on the last chapters posted, my updating schedule will go to the weekly update my AO3 is on.

[READ IT ON AO3]

A few weeks later…

[TEXT]: hurry up [TEXT]: where r u??? [TEXT]: ur loss I’m not waiting [TEXT]: BUZZKILL!!! [TEXT]: pic.jpg

The picture does it — finally draws his attention away from his computer to where his phone screen changes from 01:07 to 01:08 as if to taunt him.

It takes Cadence a moment to realize the woman next to Kathy in her (blurry) self-taken photo is supposed to be Ivy. So used to seeing her true form in person — but glamours don’t fade on digital recording.

And who else do they know dresses like she’s always ready to attend a Victorian funeral?

In his friend’s defense Cade was supposed to be at the Shift over an hour ago.

She’ll hear his excuses and his apologies, pretend as though he’s committed the greatest sin in history — but come sunrise and sobriety he’ll be forgiven. The Nighthunter likes to make everyone think she’s the picture of cool nonchalance; the human equivalent of a cat.

But anyone who feeds strays knows just how affectionate cats can be when they so choose.

He shuts down his work, fighting the instinctual habit to leave most of it out and make his space look clean by pushing it to the sides of his desk — actually putting things back in their folders and boxes.

Tap-tap.

His head jerks up quick enough for his glasses to threaten flight. Working in this particular space for over a decade now, there isn’t anyone who doesn’t know about Odd Cadence and his odd hours; how he refuses to work in the daylight due to a debilitating allergy.

Even Gary from night maintenance wouldn’t bother.

Tap-tap.

He listens for a heartbeat. Can hear everything from the rush of water through old plumbing to the coo of pigeons scavenging on the outside Square.

Tap—

Isadora de la Rosa doesn’t get to finish her genteel knocking; pale hand hovering just shy of the taller vampire’s collarbone as he holds the door open.

She looks a little dumbfounded for him to have answered. That’s silly, though, since she was in his territory now.

The air is thick with a tension not felt since Mardi Gras those weeks ago. She looks ready to turn and leave without a word between them. He almost lets her.

“Izzy,” by way of greeting, and even though she now runs the dynasty her father built he struggles to call her anything but the petulant youthful human woman he first met her as, “I was just heading out.”

He gives her a chance; sees the opportunity for escape that flickers in her weathered eyes no longer young but no less defiant by nature.

Some people were just born ready to stand their ground. He always admired that about her.

“This won’t take long.”

One step forward, one step back. A familiar dance neither acknowledges as Isadora invites herself into his space. She’s not the oldest thing in the room by far, nor the most expensive. Still she commands the air around her to whisper softer, for the floorboards under her heels to wait until she passes to creak.

“Sure, come on in…”

She makes a point of trying to keep an arms’ length between her body and any clutter. He won’t apologize for it, not to her. She was half the reason he’s like this.

“I’m glad to see the Museum is treating you well.”

“Uh-huh.” He’s never met a de la Rosa good at small talk. He still hasn’t.

But she keeps trying. It’s hard not to cringe at every forced word, how she purposefully finds something to look at and mention; “New project, I see.”

Cadence doesn’t answer. She switches a black leather briefcase from one hand to the other; a poised woman’s version of shuffling her feet.

“You always were best kept —”

“I have somewhere to be.”

Her quirked brow says it all; how she definitely doesn’t believe him but calling him out on it is somehow counterproductive to why she’s here.

Why is she here?

Because the only reason he can conjure up has to do with the Coven, and the Council, and that’s why they’re enjoying nights like these at the Shift. To forget about everything that happened — to move on.

“Look, Izzy — if this is something that can wait, can it? I’ve got office hours tomorrow night—or hell, I’ll even come ‘round to the family house. But I do have somewhere to be, and I’m already late.”

When she takes stock of the room again he understands. It’s a tactic — and not a very good one — to allow her to think.

They’ve never been like this before. So why now?

It’s a brief flicker; blink-and-you-miss-it type. But Cadence doesn’t miss it — how Izzy stares at the chair claimed by Katherine in permanent marker.

“You’re going to meet her, the Nighthunter.”

“My friend Katherine, yes. Among others.”

“She treads dangerous waters in this town.”

It sounds a little too much like a threat for Cade’s comfort. Makes it a real effort to keep from letting it get to him.

“I think the same could be said for any hunter.” For Katherine, for Ryder.

“Yes, you would know,” she clasps the case handle with both hands over her front; a shield between them, “though this one — she’s different, isn’t she? She’s well-connected.”

Like he’s been fumbling around in the dark of his head — he finally finds the lamp chain and tugs. Lets the light flood through with an “Ah” of understanding.

So that’s what this is about.

“Contrary to what you may believe this isn’t the same world Carlo built his dynasty in. Humans — even Nighthunters and especially out-of-towners — they don’t whisper the rules to one another anymore.” Then, with firm conviction; “Katherine didn’t know she needed to ask your father for permission to bring Adrian Raines into town.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah, I did.”

If she’s here to enact some sort of delayed punishment, Cadence can’t promise he’ll stay civil. “I weighed the risks carefully,” he continues, “and decided it was best for everyone that no one knew who didn’t need to know.” Not that it had been a good choice. Maybe it could have saved Raines at his trial.

Sometimes he wonders why the two of them didn’t work out — especially when she was Turned. It wasn’t because of her perceived age, and obviously being his boss’ daughter hadn’t stopped them from getting involved in the first place.

He always remembers not a moment later. There’s a reason the term is ‘opposites attract.’ They were too similar — too hot in the head and both prone to speaking and acting without thinking ahead. Without considering the consequences.

So when she isn’t sneering an insult at him on the heels of Cade actually admitting to his wrongdoing… he knows something is very wrong.

“Izzy…?”

And the smile she offers is too forced, too fake. Sends shivers down his spine. “I’m glad you see things that way.”

“What way?”

She unclasps the briefcase with a flick of her little fingers. “That sometimes, in rare cases I think, withholding knowledge from someone is for the best; for all parties involved.

“I had prepared to give you this the night of the Minotaur’s championship fight…” The leather bound folder she pulls free is familiar only in that he’s seen the de la Rosa lawyers carry them like extensions of their hands. “And I have spent many hours since debating whether or not I made the right choice in keeping it close. Watching you in the cage — that made it easier.”

“Something’s happening, Kath—”

“Don’t fight it. Let it swallow you whole.”

Let it swallow you whole.

Katherine couldn’t possibly have known just how accurate she had been.

How it felt to stand at the edge of a yawning abyss no one else could see… and how it felt to have the ground fall out from under his feet the moment he decided to jump.

Memories of what happened after his meeting with Isadora still only came to him in clusters. It was less the act of remembering than feeling the same way — sensory triggers like the smell of blood or the tinny grate of a chain link fence.

Of course she had seen the fight. There were members of the underground community still who approached him on the street with praise for his ‘performance,’ or thanking him for standing up to the illegal deals Persephone covered with velvet and glitter.

But there’s a difference between knowing something and knowing it. Knowing the same hand he used to caress her cheek had also torn off the Minotaur’s horn. Knowing she was witness to it…

Isadora’s touch is solid, without the heat humans bring or the chill they feel. It simply is as she gives him the folder with no other choice. Whatever secrets rest inside they are his burden now.

“What you see here… I ask that you please not think less of me for keeping it from you. I was…” she doesn’t give an excuse — not a single one, “I was doing what I thought was right. But I cannot be the one to make that choice anymore. It’s too much Cadence; it’s far too much.”

He means to find comfort or some understanding in their hands. But there’s none to be found.

They pull away as intimate strangers. The space between them cavernous and echoing — and it only grows wider as he realizes she isn’t the one creating it.

He doesn’t need to ask what mystery he now holds.

What other mystery is there but the thing that has plagued him from their first “hello” to this their last “goodbye?”

Cadence’s voice is calm, even to his own ears. “Is this everything?”

“All that my daughter could find among his possessions.”

“And if I have any questions…”

“No,” she interrupts, “no you may not bring them to me. I would rather meet the sun than invite the conflict this will bring into my city, to my family’s doorstep.”

He wants to call her selfish but can’t say he wouldn’t be the same way were their roles reversed.

It’s a nice fantasy—altruism, kindness, doing the right thing so as not to hurt someone close—but it is a fantasy.

So what if he carried the ring she returned to him for a decade in mourning?

And intuition is a very separate thing from mind-reading; that he knows. In Isadora, though, the lines between them have always been a little smudged.

“In case you have any ideas of this meaning…” she breathes and tries again, “just know this has nothing to do with our past, Cadence. Consider this to be an act of release. Beyond what the Council will ask of us, I wash my hands of you.”

Isadora’s decision is as clear now as it was then. She will always choose her family over him. He can’t begrudge her that in the least.

“If only it were that simple.” But it’s probably for the best.

She leaves as abruptly as she arrived. Somehow with the ability to disrupt everything in his space without touching a single thing. As he looks around the office now it feels tainted with secrets and lies; all the things he still doesn’t know that now rest in his hand.

He need only look.

The chair is less than five steps away but he can’t muster the energy to move both his legs and arms; chooses the latter because what comparison is comfort to answers?

Cadence opens the folder and begins to read.

#nightbound #bloodbound #playchoices fanfiction #choices fanfiction #choices nb #oc: cadence smith #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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