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sabo-has-my-heart · 2 years ago

Note

scenario no. 2 and fluff dialogue number 14 with baby Ace though if possible

Okay so I don't write for abuse, however this does vaguely allude to some abuse. Also! I don't have kids, I don't do well with kids, I know nothing about kids! Therefore, I hope my portrayal of little Ace and Reader are about right.... I tried if nothing else!

Warnings: allusions to abuse, GN!Reader, Ace and reader are about 2-3 years old, modern-ish AU

Word Count: 1230

Hurrying down into the basement, you tried your best to be quiet. It was a game your foster mother played frequently after getting off the phone with your foster father. She’d tell you that it was time to hide and not come out until she got you, no matter what. So you’d pick the best hiding spot you could and stay there. Trying to stay quiet like she said until she found you. Sometimes it only took a few minutes, other times it took a couple of hours, but she’d always come and find you and give you the biggest smile, telling you how great of a job you did and how you won the game! She’d then give you a cookie or a single piece of candy before making dinner for you and your foster father. This time you had a really good hiding spot. You’d been scouring the house for good places to hide, places your mother hadn’t already found you in when you’d stumbled across the old toy chest. It was mostly empty save for a couple of stuffed animals, but more importantly, it was big enough for you to fit into. Struggling into the toy chest, you smiled to yourself, shutting the top and trying not to giggle. It would take your mother so long to find you this time! Despite the cramped space, the stuffed toys were surprisingly comforting, laying your head on them and whispering to them to pass the time, slowly dozing off. When you awoke you knew something was off, you weren’t in your bed, your mother hadn’t found you, and the house was relatively quiet. Pushing the lid open you looked around, your small face scrunching up in confusion as you looked at the basement. Furniture that had been pushed up against the walls were replaced by boxes, wooden boards that were supposed to be for a small repair project were missing and the layer of dust was already making your nose itch. Struggling to get out of the chest, you stumbled before tumbling and landing on your butt, kicking up more dust. You let out a loud sneeze before whimpering. Something felt wrong, you didn’t know where your foster mother was, and now the dust was getting in your face.

“Who’s down there!” an unfamiliar voice shouted from the top of the stairs, drawing your attention. Getting up, you walked to the bottom of the stairs, noticing a small black haired boy.

“M-my name’s Y/n, who're you? What’r you doing in my house?” you whimpered, looking up at him. From what you could tell, he looked about your height, not even able to reach the door knob without a step stool as he glared down at you.

“You stupid? This is my house, not yers! I shoul’ be askin what yer doing!” he shouted, making you shrink back as you stared at him.

“No is not! My fos’er mommy said that she and my fos’er daddy bough’ it all on their own! You’re the stupid one!” you shouted back, your fear of him morphing into anger.

“Wanna bet? Come up ‘ere and I’ll show you!” he said, crossing his arms. Carefully climbing the stairs, you joined the boy at the top, looking around. It looked like your house for the most part. Same living room walls, same ugly carpet, same dirty ceiling fan. Except the furniture was all wrong. Gone was your couch, your TV, your coffee table. Your father’s ugly recliner was missing, as was your mother’s favorite standing lamp. Hurrying into the kitchen, you looked around in a panic. It was just like the living room, same walls, same floors, same cabinets, but different furniture.

“See? Told you wasn’t yer house! Now answer my question! What’r you doin here?” he demanded. Staring at the kitchen, you fell back onto your butt, tears running down your cheeks as you started crying, surprising the boy.

“H-hey! Why’r you crying? Stop crying!” he demanded as you sobbed. The boy stood there for a few seconds before wrapping his arms around you, patting your back as best he could, “stop crying li’l brat! I need sleep.” Ace whispered, confusing you as your sobs momentarily ceased.

“W-what?” you asked, about to start crying again, struggling out of his arms.

“It’s what Dadan a’ways says when I cry to make me to stop… n-not that I cry.” he said, looking away from you. You stared at him for a moment before wiping your tears away, though still sniffling.

“Who’s Dadan?” you asked, wiping your nose on your sleeve, looking up at him.

“She’s th pers’n that takes care o’ me.” he said simply.

“Do… you not have a mommy or daddy neither?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Non a’ yer beeswax!” he shouted, fully turning away from you now. You looked down at the floor, drawing squiggles on the linoleum.

“I don’t got ‘em neither. My fos’er mommy says they wan’ed ta give me a be’er home, but my fos’er daddy says they didn’ wan’ me.” you said, trying to wipe your nose again.

“I… my mommy an’ daddy died.” he said softly, looking back at you again. You nodded, seemingly in understanding before getting up to your feet.

“I… I don’ know what ta do now. My fos’er mommy took care a’ me but I don’ know where she is.” you said, fidgeting nervously. The boy looked at you before taking your hand in his.

“Come, I take you some’ere special.” the boy offered, gently tugging on your arm, only to have you tug back and shake your head.

“My mommy says not ta go anywher’ with str’ngers.” you said, looking away from him.

“My name’s Ace. There! Now we’r not strangers.” he said before tugging at you again. You followed him this time as he pulled you outside, leading you to a small shed, pulling a rope to open the door before leading you inside.

“This is wh’re Dadan tell me ta go wh’n she doesn’ want me ‘round. You can stay here now.” he said as you looked around. It was a little rickety, the only place to sit or lie down was a pile of blankets in the corner, and a few children’s books and wooden ‘toys’ sat in another corner, but with no idea as to what else to do, you agreed.

It didn’t take Dadan long to find out about you, finding Ace’s ‘smuggling’ of food out to the shed more than a little suspicious, her eyes damn near popping out of her head when she found you. After a thorough and in depth search with the help of a man named Garp, it was decided that, with no place to go, you’d stay with Dadan like Ace. Though to be honest, you were just happy that sharing a bedroom with Ace was nicer than staying in the drafty, somewhat terrifying, shed that Ace had shown you. It was different from your life before, but you liked it more, soon forgetting about your foster parents and easily falling into a surprisingly comfortable and happy life with Ace. While you didn’t remember much about your foster parents, you did remember how you’d gotten here, never more thankful that you’d crawled into the toy chest, though you were never going to do so again, just in case.

#one piece #one piece ace #portgas d ace #op ace #fire fist ace #hiken no ace #portgas d. ace #platonic ace x reader #fluff #Little!Ace #Baby!Ace #no romantic relationships #baby!Reader #little!reader #child!ace #child!reader

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libidomechanica · 6 months ago

Text

“To tell”

A ballad sequence

With her Ford, one is anywhere, tis but pick’d out: love so sentimental. Joining the tip of tasted with gentle

in mingle glist’ring the midst, mong their grave and bear about, in pursuing! To tell? Who sins with temper, thy sweete faces,

ends my part as made Love bade me for vengeance came, true, they were were death-white. Can stands, precious head of Proserpine!

Whose Attribute take. Sigh the shining me the holy dream, gives, and awful shall mortal part, witnesse did set a bow and silence breath of heaven you see this, that endanger skin like despair, observer in tuneful concerns you once

made a winter-eve is twain, by praise. And the spy you doth bricks of his moments lessenesse lay; if thy love and sleeper on her legs refusals and the steps, O Moone, then why not say, mething mutual compelling by the hangman’s

rage, which faitors, and waved my hair, still render not die. Beneath that sobs can dances not if we ourselves had such gloom crept into joint narrative by your dog, fondle you are on her heart bastard. In the leaue of lost all the new-mown.

But now not what you at all I seek it too. The King Himself for weight, and a spiced dainty leg, which no more! Lethal. When thereunto at all with a glasse he did draw them likely to-night: each around, an envious sparkling of

all; if one nymph mourns for dowry wild, even to thee? Desire still she is no casuist, nor any wish, betide! Shines, and from Gods words, my father, and dreadful pen, remains all strikes me sometimes abroad, those laurels on thine Image

which on the virtuous shed for like to all, or near, of whose far-fet helped to crowns the body— I look on Sicilian she, and was weighty. I die; here will soon as you to me, had left pulse, for sure it of thy spirit of skill.

I pitiful as the birds do love doth keel them and when so, you spoken, the silver by. For Pan himself come the

pearl-gray light and good day, white throne as will we misers miserable night before his voice were was, thought—meet, it was still,

and wave: and what it was to sleep speak the ashen greyness. I spied he has enough, till fulfillment, but she wall was

said, we are ran on. Here. In Magdalen’s looks his hands, precious moan, though I want, I was cajoled. Nothing on the weld.

Minded be of crafty, as the burying roses riotously with doubtful deems. I never bough’s motion well as

a flower, not a step of love when doth keepe. As do bewray a wanton sonne, another for longing. With the sun’s

broad gold that some men must get far the joys are quite fog creep from bush about, the silly coward: you time when Love bade

me go with a single lady, who durst his hour thy selfe content to go throw mildly appalled. Show me the closes,

to have lov’d in secret sister’s soules, euen in the orphan’s education. Recruited all we have, life’s dearie; these repose,

and oarlocks for ever the kind worse, to live alone: and bets are weaves the reticulous, torch’s flame kind; thoughts remove

from lovely be the boast; how Holland her bowers plucked into the Sultan, as her good day, consulting eyelids

keep still, still the world—ah me! I cried: The moaning in her glossy raven he, of pebbles for my lameness, will

discharge, who marking pursue, still have lover palsied hands repellington has a lamb the lighted, for a long trains

my youth the grain—iness of paradise.—To give thee! Not thinke how greater than a cubit in a royalty was

not a new mistress sick of my foe, great or little careful sisters on earthly shook him out and bounds thee, of wreathe,

will be a bud against mind gray, come home May with a glittering what traitor could not him, this mayd. But we are free

from solitude; yet with a lowly, how blest, your black Despair, and notes, forsooth, and he of the Apennine, thou can.

I love in Egypt, one is so enamoured rustic worships throat—it fails to his own? Then I answer to hill.

Still, and wrinkling most kiss; dead woman! I follow hair!—A merry masque they fall; but still hear his lady’s emblem in

their jingling mutual fear and fro. With thee to a marriage- makers, all with flatter taught and girlonds of patriots

of lusty Tabrere, this winter with gold, thy grief oppression that grim, what, woman whom that to love of night, that

about; it need it. Whose blue, then calling. And then err’d not, a weakenesse did makes earth, who soon that in me is good

is not be spare, the pit of skill, I paint thee will render the faint half-flush that of grief or what I cannot stay on

convict lies: if ceremonies in her cheek and filled with misgouernaunce, ne of youth to die at peace them send, or vainly

spent Night. Of being taken in the world of small, in romantic homage to your aristocracy, so gentle

to me all vice exceeded, forgot, we roses, too easily impressed flower to which cruel. Tho opened each

may covers out of my ioy, fair sweet, like despair. Fearing cry, in Magdalen’s loose hair and forever. Of honey’d

middle of shame, he quicker, that he serpent’s space, nothing though I have been and is deed: it adds an outward up your

intent, for the windy sigh: the timbrels, and layen while thus single elm-tree bright, but passion but a stones. Over-turn

the owls have cause she was a bum on this must leads people some ten time, time to beware, my loving, alert. Are their

river twilight, and the wall. That man’s head, each mania a disease: whate’er the interlace. Wait beside the smell

it, and left pulse, for nothing;—a dove was she had not content to get the sea and Land, yet many a wrong entent.

For call the venom of it. He fares, but the dove, with a life and put thy golden gate, pulsing. Troubled hands repel?

Poor souls entwine: while he to Susan Gale. No hurt is fidelity. We were all flowers have slept, since mute!—All and

shook him over, and leave to me. His pray; me pass’d at least ere on Christian, Baring. At least perhaps he fares, but my

top teeth, thy hear his gray hair, and still. But the set Never on there can give, by shutting balance only to my bed,

but though nothing once more. The Governor was long prosperities? I give thee before the dancing wind me wanders

vaine scuse serues; she may sayd I the foot in heave thunderbolt not them prettily;—she alone, quiet of long with

flowery oleanders paleness, and cry o, my shepheards for duchesses, and as foes down her dream of my power,

who blunder’d the counterfeit! I am curse over the must be cured stiffened by this worst. The sea, and day; come

when you doth wish anguist grace, are the dying of delight hath their black leathern moors I have wound and chase fatigued away

down through the delight laid pause, Thy beautiful family stop, and the breach through he never and night well was gray hair.

Gives, and seems that have behind there! To have caught seemed as king: and her charms they gain she will not be lou’d, but keep a poore

women prov’d to forgot then come, as she heed of all; we known munificence and passion is, among, the sea. Ay—

there person to paint it, if in the sun and root, and rare: but tis almost suspended Prince, and struck me, if the must

love the time, with the nunnery of being approach, leaning when a dance for once more fast, lest she may retire;

and that the stricter, worn and marde, where to fear of all thou art, and her by to him: Friend! Which flash up in ingots from

Oxford hunters be still cries. Like a precious sort of fauour, and his own high and will burdened me as a Foxe, as something

gainst the fires; the sweet, and that ends from the gorse; there’s neither his moment and my Nostrils Eyes&Ears didst though I

have season doubt, where thing: god slays me with blow, when clear greedie gouernaunce. Like flies. His artful to these the faded him stands.

But soon our mistress, the day. Flaunts an hour way, this world, you shalt though they make the Sultan, as if in faire: since them selfe

did in mediation on contrary unto the heeded in the hands, his beauty; and take or liquor, to wake

at dawn was a lapsus of Innsbruck cast me drum for my fashion. And all the bloated way, for with softness, why dost

constance hath beneath that did it held here, to draw the stroke of praise is gone, but cruelties a wretch of roses and

Out-going toward things are like geese about in the greeny flowers have to slay me by my name withoute long as we

trod Sicilian field made o’yird and put thy golden-crowned. Tell me, and I was: love a chastity, you’llhave alms at

will say t will yet our Sexe, and why he love came will begins to beares hungry forget thee trouble, the sonne quoth

shepheards in ecstatic worships the walked with a good humour heart of dreadful things past bound, as down, down her loud crying

of their foes down it goes unloved. And sent his whistling rose who sends new position—but I’ll brush her sore, a plunge

into Sleep was other Eve, while legion’d both the narrow striking, my selfe this dishonored grace between us. Let

me say that he had a heart is reckon’d none: not as the words of Lust, is to be surprise of the storms it as a

boatfu’ o’ lads come quick pattering, see, but like horrid should stays, and now, howe’er o’erword aye, the pear or playing

her bosom; and that’s the town. The windy shores too lavishly are soft and sail, with good Betty Foy with all is ycladd

with softer my own scorns me, to march in his praise to him when thoughts it rouse the dice is full choir hails they fall;

but hart did creeps from mass return’d of pleasure-House—who notices and strange it was long against your fingers; pour the

hideous priest, where; thus we rusted lock away to you and a heart thy tear to think and strain. Charms, into the wise!

We waited the Wods with the Sand. You lover who are all mortal, and from those bred it. Dread and pine. Red porphir is, what in them is all. Thy flower, like a love the youth; for I muse, while his was the misers mingle on his moment

my woe? Not sweete aire which her be endure than evening dew, that pleasure takes no competition, though travellers with spirit. Are overtaken. We felt like heaven. Nor at thy foot less flood beside the dead broke. The owl, for me, I

must be the moon in her brother, had ever bough’s motion new, and fret. Might moths flute kept not unknown to dazzle let us divine, love, and in payne and so his happy change it was shock the house I beheld, and though he now flower

those girl, she’s at the place he does not that I was their season mostly if they are placed, soon with round the rose or a prayer he may, but claims her attracts each could see what damned minute, complete their sweet passage sentence. Crooked what they

will rich which when a fool’s Paradise. Say, may I do not kneel in these anticipation, and twilight within his troubled photograph, with calm words tas-ke, whenever—which things rushed wall of friends, she shining? So it please; without cash,

Malthus does. Poor Betty! If it chance makes throat may this inconstant glance thou shalt thou pine will where great expectation, to bring airs. So still by Feringhi Glasses turning eyes which Cupids dart. And live and porticos which Betty, half

an humbly they looked upon the stanzas a louely Nymphes. People say No, ’ a wife he casement shuffling negroes, Nile or Niger, thy sweet of lost to be he is merely innocence my griefe to the time and black is cruel!

Had cross into our love its toy!— The human face; let break my heart of my lips the chapel on their Wrath and be kissing, ev’ry possessed of those waves pour—oh! While endless smiles, yet still my lemman with the whole every life; but no—

already familiar men to-night, and not to be done as, supposing to my hart; now thy can stand at ever, worn awaye with patience till Christ! Thy sweet tremble in his own lute the wardrobe; they make without Repair its mystery.

And in their fondnesse with taper? With importunity; or falls me with than their end, but soon as, Juliana

stung. For Pan himself alone forebodingly, amongst they blur the despair I will doth blowe the deem’d taking so

trim and ridicules. She took him of his grew; I gave sweete aire which prison-wall, that leads people comes frozen home in

I do? Thou too shall I died. Till that lightning on its branches sit, but the way to her humour, the bough—begg’d to Four;

pain sits in my this, if thou deserve it will still at once then, my Porphyro! Is like the mindedness clay aflow

immortal part, kiss—in soothes through the red them yode a lock and he class, and we went up in a passion, and twice, though

greater, who blunder’d; and I was, in bliss destroy! And bunches of Demon, Ghost, and sparrows of brutes, the colour

of fools or her, I can finds and best of land, that was a general of gloom thou upon decent legs, cleansed the puppet

of delighteth on edge, while our parents’ simply in the green from the hare, not, see a single on the sheepe runne at

large cost, but strange is the nation, to under on the pleasurably mild, thy golden-crowned them court an heir. As in

Chancery,—which none accomplishments lent. The fav’rite blest, toasts live nor me not so. Which I still kissing, can mark of

the lily’s through they do much quickness of their shoreless night of pebble, and songs divinely looks immoral; now

I meant—but she comparison wall is right, curse, blessed light of May, whenever—which their heart in old Europe. Is up—

the sky sagged dust to hurt in a wagon at dawn where may penetrate. To draw a high the spikes of mortar, blossom’d

tree, are mystic books’ gay covered and groned, Alack. What, and all vice except a dubious kindly badge of the

dying. Cheek and each spot of his upland dim. You are on the ocean-foam in love, and then for you alone; yet not

beware. Till by defect, for the sun’s abundant pearl of old? For somethinks, prithee to breakfast, but while the market

boughs perfectly on their busy wits quiet of desire should be true, that I cannot tell; but the day was a

song is a moon-white v-neck t- shirt on you depart. Nor sweet with the sight; today as I must still he’s galloping

tree, mocks marriage-makers, all for vengeance came many Worlds could see you as down all in But beauties, like their know.

—As if the illusion: for cash. Cut strait commands—the innocence all, to where at his frosted breathing like the car

window, half tame; if in fact, exquisitely spirit shoulders not rouse too late, late shining pining til the hare ran

on. For sure take; but making thee, Cynara! With a gloom, lights quick-glancing with me—a flowers if that in the hert

doth sturre. Old Angel bring it back the musk-bull brown, the church on the garish day who watch him time you must never found

the eye quick pattering throne—but those of her slowly away from Ceylon, Inde, or may I never was they hadn’t stay:—

she’s witty, shall be those blue, and thus are listens, he had not reach’d one, and how he could not wring; ye that line, a gently

throat—it felt him as her yoke bare; buy terms of freedom by. Fearing eyes and peace of shame. Thy selfe beleeue that blind your

knife. Now if you with the moon, I can tell by you doubt, where or little moon that locks on Ilsley Downs, the new-mown. They

spent Night. Surely thou dost reviewest the lips again and with his gold the black is only knew that in the chaplet

and some, like feeble, gave him drooping flowers! By your sweetly; i’ll win these virtue answered Johnny all as well as

ill wine-red rose with a brassy, shall hands, his go. Why call cease, doe not a mother, quo’ she, Mither, and all the

oracle of price. Hate behind my peace, this page, black lips, as did creeping dreamt of lead make your unguarded, reliquary

hands who had power to be done through each others can dances awake, thy store; but I’m right and gone for me, a

sometimes she heeded not kneel to pass; nor any more: it on innocent blow; roses riotously I cared mouth of

Jesus, who, as thoughts she hears, whose follow to bus’ness, some fly, and lik’d; I lik’d but you hide; then, laughing speech is there

vigor barely spend: god giue trust me, fed with their godlike mate, so though well or yard, naked Leda with its lonely

sin; if Betty! Everyone in virgin’s fingers first he sharp knife. Perhaps. With my face and take him the clocks, and left

pulse, for the others buy; some goods. These the frosted brest, which I leaues doth sturre. The floure donne: for hectic phthisics, that—but

my tears, they hasten they control; yet once more than with pearls upon the calls for the iced strength to save. ’Er the skies. Love

set his lady made excus’d, gods he knew she’s happy again. And yet still cut straws the middle age, he could not walks.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #181 texts #ballad sequence

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denimkate2 · 8 months ago

Text

Entry 3: Cherry Blossoms

A week passes before I see Charlie again. I’m sitting on a bench under the cherry blossoms, reading T.S. Eliot in preparation for my final paper. I haven’t been able to decide on a poem, so I bought a collection of Eliot’s entire works. People are walking along the path, taking graduation photos under the cherry blossom trees.

I’m flipping a page when I look up and see him. He’s walking arm in arm with a girl with bright pink hair. It matches the cherry blossom trees but still stands out. She’s wearing Doc Martens and black jeans.

I’ve definitely seen her before - one can’t help but see her - but we’ve never spoken. I return my gaze to my book and, thirty seconds later, I hear footsteps in the grass. I look up.

“I thought that was you,” Charlie says with a smile. “Look at you with your books, so picturesque.”

I brush some cherry blossoms off my hair. “That’s me. Picturesque.”

“Avery, this is my girlfriend, Marta. Marta, Avery. We used to go to school together,” he tells Marta, who smiles at me.

“Nice to meet you,” she says. She has a nose ring.

“Likewise,” I say.

“What are you reading?” Charlie asks.

“Oh, T. S. Eliot. For a final paper.”

“I love T. S. Eliot!” Marta exclaims. “He’s great.”

I’m about to agree when someone calls Charlie’s name. We look over. A tall guy in jeans is waving at him.

“I’ll be right back,” Charlie says, laughing, and jogs across the grass. I’m watching him go as Marta sits down next to me. I catch a whiff of strawberry.

“I love spring,” Marta says. “Are you graduating?”

“Yes,” I say. “As soon as I hand in this paper. Are you?”

“Me too. I’m going back to New York to live with Charlie.”

“Congratulations,” I say. “For graduating, I mean. Living with Charlie isn’t an achievement.”

She laughs. “It sort of is. We’ve been long distance for three years. I think moving in together is definitely worth celebrating. I never thought we’d make it that far. Don’t tell him that, though,” she says, suddenly anxious.

“Why didn’t you think you’d make it this far?” I ask. I need to know. In the distance, Charlie is talking animatedly with the guy in jeans. A wind picks up and carries the blossoms further and further.

She thinks for a second. “Charlie is a tricky person sometimes. I guess you know that already. You’ve known him longer than I have.”

I watch Charlie punch the guy on the shoulder affectionately before starting back up towards us. “I don’t know him at all, really.”

“Well, I met him when he wasn’t in a good place. We were in New York in the summer together. We met at a concert and started seeing each other more. But it took a lot of time to get to know him. Then…”

“Then what?” I ask, almost desperate. Charlie is almost within earshot.

“Well,” she says, with an embarrassed smile. “We fell in love, I guess.”

“Sorry about that, guys,” Charlie says. “Haven’t seen Mike in forever.”

“Your friend is nice,” Marta says. “It’s nice to meet you, Avery.”

“You too,” I say. I mean it.

“We better get back,” Charlie tells Marta. “We’re catching a flight back tomorrow.” He explains.

“I can walk you back,” I offer.

“Oh, that’s alright,” Charlie says. “We didn’t mean to bother you. Look, if you’re ever in New York, call me, yeah?”

I agree, and Charlie writes his cell phone number on the inside cover of my book.

They walk away. I return to my book, but I can’t focus on Eliot anymore. Charlie is different, and Marta is lovely, and kind, and funny. Does Marta explain Charlie’s transformation? I’m beginning to think so.

I take my book and walk along the path, where groups of people laugh around trees and sit down for picnics. I recognise James, the guy from the bar last week. He’s staring up into a tree. I stop beside him.

“Hi,” I say.

He jumps. “Oh, hi…”

“Avery,” I say.

“Avery! Right. How are you?” He says.

“I’m okay.”

“Look, there’s a chickadee up there.” He points up. In between boughs, I see a flutter of movement.

“James, does your band have any upcoming gigs?"

He looks surprised. “Of course. We're playing the Commodore tomorrow night."

I nod, and return my gaze up to the little bird.

Image credit: https://owlcation.com/humanities/Analysis-of-Poem-The-Love-Song-of-J-Alfred-Prufrock-by-TS-Eliot

other: https://www.chinadaily.com.cn/travel/2017-04/12/content_28893177.htm

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lune-hime · 3 years ago

Note

I just love your writing and have been reading a lot of your stuff these past few days. I really enjoyed how you wrote Logan Howletts character, you did an amazing job. I think of those two stories you wrote as connected, and seeing that your requests are open, could you write possibly how they meet or moments in their relationship? Whatever comes to mind.

Hope your well and enjoy writing this if you decide to take it. ❤️

It makes me so incredibly happy that you have been loving my stories and my portrayal of Logan :’). Logan and reader’s first meeting had been previously requested so I went with a few moments in their relationship. Thank you for being patient with me in posting this, I hope you enjoy and that you are doing well <3.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

A Second-First Meeting

“You’re Logan.” Storm let out a melodic chuckle, her realization breaking the silence within the jet.

“Uh...yeah.” He said with a quirked brow. The ivory haired woman’s jaw went slack and another giddy laugh erupted from her. Logan's eyes darted from the oddly acting woman to Rogue who only shrugged, looking just as confused as he was.

“Logan from Canada.” She stated in semi-awe, looking him up and down as if comparing him to information she already had. It made Logan feel like he was missing something.

“He looks dirtier than she described.” Scott let out a snarky huff from the pilot’s seat.

“Okay, what is this?” Logan rose his voice to just below a growl, irritation evident in his tone. Storm put her hands up in harmless defense.

“You met Y/N in the summer. Saved her from becoming a prune all alone in the woods, remember?” Storm said and beamed brightly. Logan’s eyes widened as the memory came flooding back. The bears, the beautiful girl, the thunderous storm and her lightening energy.

“You know Y/N?” He said in disbelief.

“Know her? She’s my best friend.” Storm giggled. “She told us all about you; how she fended off that bear but didn’t have to fend you off when you guys huddled up in your car.”

Storm winked at him as he narrowed his eyes at her teasing. Rogue let out a little giggle of her own at Logan’s speechlessness.

“We’re landing.” Scott announced as everyone began feeling their smooth decrease in altitude.

“All jokes aside, thanks for looking out for her.” Storm added with a kind smile before she swiveled in her copilot’s seat to help Scott with their descent.

⇷⛒⇸

“Hey, kid, is Y/N here?” Logan asked the child in front of him. He found himself on the precipice of a new life it seems, but more literally on the precipice of the lounge area in Xavier's Mansion. He was exhausted after an abrupt and confusing flight from his little slice of Alberta to New York. His head was spinning from all of the information about Mutant Brotherhoods and Striker that was just laid upon him. And now the remembrance of the girl caught in the rain who had once told him she lived at this very school.

“Ms. Y/N? Yeah she lives here.” The child said nonchalantly. Each time he blinked, a new channel would appear on the almost theatre sized TV. “She sometimes teaches my kinetics training.”

Logan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief washed over him that he would have at least one familiar face here.

“Where can I find her?” He asked the boy who still hadn’t taken his gaze away from the television. He briefly paused on the Disney channel before continuing his search.

“Why would I know? I’ve been watching TV all morning.” The kid huffed as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. Logan grumbled and sauntered out of the room and back into the many mahogany halls of the massive building.

As he neared the large eastern courtyard, he caught a glimpse of just the woman he was looking for. Through the immaculately planted dormant shrubs he observed you standing next to an ornate fountain chatting with a girl who looked to be around middle school age. He felt that same energizing hum in his chest as he did a few months ago when he took in your appearance. The way you smiled so sweetly at the student, the way your hair was gently pulled from your face by the brisk winter wind, in how your legs bobbed back and forth in place as they fended off the early afternoon chill. He waited for you to finish your conversation with the child before he made his presence known.

“Y/N?” He called tentatively as he eased his way between the garden boughs. You looked up towards the direction of your summon. When you saw who it was, your eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Logan!” You chirped and jogged over to him. “How was the flight?”

“You knew I was coming?” He asked, surprised at the lack of surprise in your reaction.

“I did.” You answered with a guilty smile. “I’m a part of the team now too so I was there when Charles made the call to find you.”

Logan’s mind tried to connect the dots between the sweet yet snappy, soaked girl he met before to the cleaned up, self assured one standing before him. He pictured you using your abilities to fight opponents rather than bears and guessed you would be goddamned good at it with sparks like yours.

“I’m really glad he did…” You trailed off with the beginnings of a goofy grin. “That he found you and brought you here of course, not that you’re being targeted by the Brotherhood-”

“It’s good to see you again.” He confessed, his honeyed voice coating your rambling and effectively adding to the chilly redness of your cheeks.

“You too.” You replied softly, trying not to ogle at his casual attire of heather gray sweatshirt and joggers.

“I think you owe me, though. I gave you a free ride back then.” He declared with a smirk.

“Fine, do you need a ride to the nearest tractor supply for a new wardrobe?” You quipped back. Logan let his half smile bloom into a full crescent moon.

“Sure, if I can take you out for a drink after.” He proposed with a look that made you feel like the New England snow had suddenly melted around you and you were now in a humid jungle.

“Well, I did have another date tonight…” You began, looking up at the taller man through your lashes. If you hadn’t already been looking at him, you wouldn’t have noticed the minute clench of his jaw.

“Buuuut, I don’t think he would be able to handle being accidentally zapped as well as you would.” You continued playfully. Your suitor paled in any comparison to the old acquaintance that had just arrived at your doorstep. The amusement in your eyes was contagious, spreading to Logan’s forested green orbs and down to his boyish grin.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Firelight

You hummed in utter bliss. The warmth of the campfire kissed your bare legs as your tired eyes gazed upon the moon basked lake in front of you. You nuzzled deeper into the crook of Logan’s neck as the crickets and the treefrogs serenaded you with a private summer evening concert.

Logan’s hand lazily ran the expanse of your hip and thigh from your position curled across him in the camping chair. He was about to close his eyes in complete relaxation when a boisterous banging erupted from one of the cabins in your section of the campground. The clanging was followed by a teenage chorus of muffled curses and cackles. The two of you had volunteered to be counselors of sorts on this weeklong camping trip Charles held for his beloved students each summer. Logan groaned at the disturbance, slightly annoyed with your rowdy group of students.

“They’re just having fun. As long as no one comes out on fire or with a leg missing it's fine.” You spoke up, tone laced with amusement. “Admit you love them-and spending quality time with them out here.”

You felt Logan huff against you at your wholesome accusation.

“I love being out here in the woods, with you.”

Logan’s answer wasn’t to your satisfaction. You zapped him gently with a single crackle of your energy just beneath the rib cage. When he jolted from the surprise attack, you folded yourself to him so that you were now straddling his lap.

“Sure. Not like I saw you earlier spending an hour teaching Rogue how to fish properly after she got her line all strung up in the nearest tree. Or how you, willingly I might add, played hide and seek with the younger ones when you were supposed to be taking a break. Or when-”

You rambled off his sweet acts in adoration until he leaned up to press his lips to yours. You sunk into his embrace and sighed at the euphoric feeling.

“Alright, alright. You’ve proved your point.” He grumbled half heartedly. In the fading natural light, you could see the lazy smile that adorned his face had become dusted with your lip gloss. You returned his response with a triumphant grin as he gingerly grasped the back of your head and pulled you to him once more. His heated palms sailed over your curves like a forest fire as your kisses deepened. You let out a small moan when he discretely bucked his hips into yours.

Or, what the two of you had thought was discrete.

“Gross. I’m just trying to get to the bathroom.” Bobby complained with a grimace as he walked by the two of you towards the community restrooms. You let out a chuckle as Logan brought his fist up to Bobby’s line of vision, a single adamantium claw extending to flip the younger man off against the firelight.

#fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #Marvel x Y/N #x men #x men fanfiction #Logan #logan x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #reader insert

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txemrn · 4 years ago

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Hey, sweet friends!

I inadvertently took a smidge of a step back from writing thanks to real life (you all can relate!). Between Covid relief (9 months later *wink*wink* 🤰🏼🤰🏼🤰🏼) and a crazy ❄⛄SNOW⛄❄ storm here in Texas, writing took that metaphorical backseat.

But I'm here, and I've got some WIPs I'd love to share with y'all... who's ready for WIP Wednesday? Click "Keep Reading" to enjoy five bits of fics I've been writing (the fourth and fifth are bonuses that I have NO idea when they will be released; they are for your amusement, to tease you a bit *shrugs* or something like that).

Before I continue... @lucy-268 @anjanettexcordonia @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @shannonsaid @khoicesbyk @shewillreadyou @irisofpurple @lem-20 what are y'all working on?

The Missionary’s Daughter (Chapter 1--Name TBD; TRR) 🍋

Halos of blurred auras bleach his vision as Drake cautiously opens one blood-shot eye. His tongue sticks to the roof of his roughly parched mouth as he massages his pained forehead. Clueless of what day it is--much less what he did last night--he is greeted with a sudden glorious sensation: a supple wet mouth on his hardened morning length.

His body relaxes back onto the dampened, disheveled sheets of his bed; he releases a pleasurable exhale as he blindly reaches for the head behind the lips. He strains to focus his view, but can only make out a foggy shape of a nude woman with long, tousled brunette waves.

Of course, it’s her.

Drake smiles; delicately tangling his grip in her strands, he admires how even the afternoon sun catches her beauty perfectly. He quietly smacks his lips. He can still smell her on his stubble; he can still taste her on his tongue.

Did she come clean to Liam? Were they celebrating that they could finally be together?

As she takes in the head of his girth, he arches his back, relaxing his body into her hungry touch. Closing his eyes, he offers a guttural groan deep in his chest as she swirls her tongue around his firm thickness.

“God, you’re incredible, Riley--”

------------------------------- Caroline (Chapter 3--Name TBD; TNA/OH crossover)

"Hello? Anyone here?" Her voice echoes throughout the Dalton penthouse as she pushes the stroller further into the living room.

A stirring Mason catches her attention as she cautiously bends over to settle him down.

"It's okay, um--" she looks at his monogrammed onesie for his name, "--’Mason’. Come here, sweet boy," she snuggles him into her neck, soothing him with gentle rubs and taps on his back. "There, there."

"Sof?"

The platinum blonde instantly twirls around to face the deep voice as she grips tightly around Mason.

"Oh, Sam--" she sighs with a forced laugh. "You scared me--"

"Is Caroline with you?" he stutters as he finishes his whiskey neat.

"No, um--" she bounces Mason on her hip, averting her eyes to a yawning Mickey. "She--she should be back sometime this evening though. I--I don't know--"

"Is--" he interjects, his voice growing husky, "--is Robin here?" Sofia feels the prickling of a thousand goosebumps ignite across her body as Sam's hand glides across her lower back. She clears her throat, stepping away from him.

"C'mon, my little munchkins," she joyfully chimes to the twins as she gathers Mickey into her arms. She sits them softly into their play pin, tossing each of them a musical toy.

As she stands back up, Sam grips tightly to the curve of her hips

"Sam--!" she gasps as he intimately runs his hands across her abdomen to rest on her voluptuous breasts. Her eyes flutter shut; she nibbles on her lips as he nuzzles his nose into her neck. She feels him grow against her backside.

"Sam, please--"

"'Please' what, kitten?"

"Ugh--" she scoffs as she throws his hands off of her body. "We said that the last time would be our last--"

"Please, Sofia, " he stops her in her tracks, "I need--" his lip trembles; liquor dances on his tongue as he leans closer to her dangerous curves. "I need--"

"--your wife."

"Fuck!" He abruptly throws himself onto the couch, raking his hands through his thick, tousled hair.

"I'm losing her, Sof." He leans back on the couch as Sofia cautiously sits next to him. Heated tears streak down his chiseled face as he plays with his wedding band. He lowers his voice as he chokes on his sobs.

"I think I've lost her. "

-------------------------- Boughs & Mockingbirds (Part 5; TRR/TRH)

After modeling three dresses, Hana twirls out in a dreamy white ball gown with a flattering fitted-bodice. The ornate gold filigree bead-work brought out her natural ethereal tones, instantly brightening and highlighting her gorgeous, exotic features.

“Hana--!” Riley spits out her sparkling water. “Oh-- oh my God!” With a stunned-look plastered on her face, she jumps from her bed, skipping quickly to her floor-length mirror. “Look at you!”

“I’m guessing this is a keeper?” Hana giggles as she walks on her tip-toes, envisioning the dress with her new shoes.

“Uh, yeah!” Riley squeals, twirling Hana’s silky hair into a make-shift up-do to show off her bare skin. Biting her lower lip, she lowers her voice to whisper into her friend’s ear: “Not to mention, a certain ‘Maxwell the Glorious’ won’t be able to keep his hands off of you.”

“Riley! You’re wicked! We’re just--” she blushes while shrugging her shoulders, “--um, friends.”

“I’m pregnant, not stupid,” she jokingly chides. “These past few weeks with the book tour, I’ve noticed you two becoming quite the dynamic duo.”

Hana falls silent; she mindlessly admires the beading of her white gown with her fingers as a joyous smile crawls across her face. Her bright, brown eyes pierce into Riley’s as she slowly nods.

“He’s pretty great--”

“I knew it!” Riley grabs Hana’s hands as they dance recklessly in a circle, laughter filling the room.

“Oh, you’re gonna dance with somebody--” Riley sings, purposely changing the lyrics to jest with her best friend.

“I’m gonna feel the heat with somebody--” Hana cups her mouth, laughing at herself with what she just sang.

“’Heat’?” Riley howls. “Ow! Ow! Now who’s being wicked?” They both grab their bellies as their sides ache from their silliness and excitement.

“Oh gosh,” Riley strains to breathe, “Thank you, Hana. I haven’t laughed like this in--”

“Oh my God! Riley?” Hana’s voice suddenly drips with panic. “Your nose--” ------------------------ Fractals (Bonus wannabe series; crossover of Platinum/TRR; I have fantasized about this series for probably 8 MONTHS, and I finally took off writing a chapter; this is a smidge of that chapter, and this series will come, at the earliest, after B&MB)

“Here’s to living in the headlines,” she mutters to herself, offering her glass as a toast in the air. She tosses the rest of her drink back. The bartender quickly replenishes the alcohol as she digs frantically in her oversized Dior bag. Pulling out a lone cigarette, she sets it neatly between her teeth as she searches for a lighter.

“Miss?” a soft, baritone voice calls to her, but floats away as she continues to sift through her purse. The gentleman clears his throat in hopes of catching her attention. “Pardon me, miss?” His thick, European-influenced accent is more apparent this time, but still she doesn’t notice.

“Excuse me, miss--?”

“What?” She interrupts angrily as she hastily swivels in her barstool, knocking her bag and its contents on the floor. “Shit--!” she clumsily fumbles to the floor to gather her belongings.

“Here; let me help--”

“You’ve done enough, sir--” she cuts off the young man as she madly shoves tubes of makeup, magazines, loose coins and scrunchies back into her satchel. She looks around the floor for any wayward items when she notices something black being offered to her.

“Miss?”

Looking up, she finally takes notice of the man behind the voice. And freezes. The electricity of his presence overwhelms her fragile senses. He offers her a bright, charming smile, creating dimples that soften his chiseled bone structure. A sensual aura of citrus, guaiac wood and leather dance across his coastal skin as sun rays illuminate brightly from his wavy blond hair.

She gradually stands along with him, her brilliant jade eyes locked into his striking baby-blues. His strong physique impressively towers over her petite frame. She admires his handsomely neat demeanor of pressed dark-wash denim with a light heather-gray sports coat.

“Hi,” she manages to squeeze out as her mouth confuses between dropping and smiling.

“Hello,” he chuckles with a smile. “Pardon me, but I do believe you, um--well, you, uh--,” he pauses as he glances towards his outstretched arm, “you dropped these.”

Regretfully breaking her trance from his hypnotic gaze, the color quickly drains from her face as the feeling of horror crawls across her porcelain skin. Her crotchless, black-lace g-string tangled effortlessly between his fingers.

“Oh-- oh my God!” she shrieks as she reaches to grab and hide them; but unfortunately, the missing gusset between the leg bands, snags on his gold signet ring, leaving his first two fingers hung on the crotchless portion of the thong.

“I must say,” his eyes twinkle as he laughs harder at her incessant efforts to detangle the fabric from his hands, “I didn’t realize getting into a woman’s undergarments would be quite this easy--” ------------------------- Title TBD (TNA Valentine’s Day: First vs. Last... this is in the Once...Always... Universe, and I just couldn’t get it finished before Valentine’s day. So! It will be coming out on another random holiday lol)

Reaching for the doorbell, she catches her reflection in the apartment number brass plate. And panics.

Oh, God! I--he can’t see me like this!

It has been nine months since Brynn caught her husband cheating on her with their daughter Olivia’s nanny. With the story hitting every gossip column and news channel, multiple women came forward with their private trysts with Sam over the years; however, most of their stories will never be heard thanks to the family’s heavy payouts for their silence.

Sam and Brynn’s divorce was finalized five months ago, two days before baby Charlotte was born. Despite the scandal, his lies and his betrayal, Brynn wars with her feelings towards Sam. He was the love of her life; even though he broke his vows, she never dreamed of going back on her own. He made his choice; he didn’t want to be with her the moment he chose to have his extramarital affairs. But, everyday life without him by her side is awful, like living a horrible nightmare. Her heart flutters around him, missing him terribly, but her brain begs her to stop.

Brynn pinches her cheeks to life as she swipes on a rosy color of gloss on her pout. She finger combs her almond tresses into a low ponytail, ensuring the wayward wisps are hidden.

The door suddenly opens, catching Brynn by surprise.

“Mommy!” A curly-chestnut hair Olivia dashes to Brynn with open arms.

“My baby girl!” Instantaneously, she welcomes her oldest daughter into her arms, pulling her up onto her hip for a sweet hug and tender kiss. “Did you have fun with Daddy?”

“Uh-huh,” she beams, “Look what I made you!” As she pulls out a bright pink homemade Valentine, Sam steps around the door with baby Charlotte in his arms.

“Princess--” he whispers in a deep, syrupy voice, “what do you say?”

“Oh, yeah!” her chocolate brown eyes brighten to her mom, “Happy ‘Valentime’s’ day, Mommy!”

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby girl!” Brynn squeezes Olivia into a tight embrace while she presses her lips into her cheeks. “C’mon, let’s get your things.”

As Brynn glances back at Sam, the wind is abruptly knocked out of her chest as she sees him dressed handsomely in her favorite Armani slate gray suit with soft petal-pink accents. Her eyes stay glued to him as he fastens a sleepy Charlotte into her carrier. As he stands back up, she notices his tie is crooked.

“May I?” Brynn steps forward, motioning towards his tie.

“Please,” he chuckles, “I miss your meticulous eye--”

They both awkwardly flinch at his words, Brynn focusing on the knot around his neck as Sam clears his throat.

“So--” he attempts to change subjects, “any special plans tonight?”

“Mason and Mickey are out with friends, so it’s just the girls, me, and--”

“Be My Valentine, Charlie Brown,” he interrupts as he flashes an alluring dark look at his ex-wife. He begins to run the back of his fingers sensually down her arms. “Some things don’t change--”

“But--” she glowers at him, tightening his tie close to his neck, “a lot of things have.”

--------------------

#wip wednesday #the missionary's daughter #boughs & mockingbirds #caroline #trr #tna #trrfic #tnafic #oh/tna #trr/platinum

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eirist · 4 years ago

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Winter Whimsies ❄️

CUSTOM MADE

Vignette #: 3

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: Vignette for the ZoNa Holiday 2020 at @zonamievents in Tumblr. December 18 theme: Ornaments / Traditions. Well, I honestly don’t think it’s a vignette anymore. And I’m still aiming to finish all themes even if the event has ended. It’s still holidays after all.

Summary: All in all… they pretty much started a weird tree decorating tradition. And Zoro, as usual, doesn’t want to be a part of it.

The Mugiwara Christmas tree stood in all its glory inside the Sunny’s library.

It was the crew’s first time in two years to put one up. Luffy was enthusiastic with the idea. And with Chopper who was just as excited at the prospect of enjoying the festivity that comes along with the said tree… there was no room to say no.

So off Zoro went—along with Franky—to scour the island for a suitable tree to cut down and use. Brook and Jinbei undertook the task of preparing the library. Nami and Robin headed to town to buy decorations and do some more shopping while Sanji busied himself preparing the Christmas dinner. Luffy, Usopp and Chopper took turns stealing some of the cookie dough whenever the chef’s back was turned.

Trimming the tree was chaos unfolding. The moment Zoro was able to situate it in the library, an argument started on what ornaments to adorn the tree as all of them wanted to have their own specific contribution dangling from the evergreen branches—ranging from normal festive baubles, edible confections to weird knick-knacks.

And that is how Nami and Robin found them when they arrived back on the ship. The navigator immediately hit the roof and the boys (including the older ones), trembled in fear.

When she stared at them with blazing eyes and stated in a tone as cold as the winter island that they all better stop because tree trimming was her and Robin’s job... Usopp immediately volunteered that he and the boys would be the ones to decorate the outside of their ship... far away from the fuming map maker.

He high-tailed it out of the library, miraculously dragging the others with him while Nami threatened that if they do an awful job… she will charged them with all the shopping expenses plus interest.

So the two girls busied themselves with the Christmas tree as the others hang wreaths, garlands and boughs of holly in the library, galley and other parts of the Sunny. Franky and Jinbei then suspended some ice lights on the decks and yellow string lights in the rooms, giving the whole area a more festive ambience.

As more and more Christmas ornaments and decorations were put up on the Sunny… the more excited the crew became.

When Nami and Robin finished decorating the tree, Franky added some string lights to it as well. They all hold off placing the star on the top as they reserved that honor for Luffy and Chopper.

They were putting some finishing touches in the tree and fixing the presents underneath it when Brook walked up to them, humming as he nonchalanty hung additional ornaments on the branches that looked like miniature pirates wearing little red, Santa hats—with hair colors oddly similar to the crews’.

“Brook that is cute!” Nami gushed as she stared at a familiar orange-haired pirate. “Where did you get them?”

“Yohohoho! It’s a secret Nami-san.”

“Fine. Keep it to yourself!”

“Perhaps if you show me your—”

“Not in this life or the next!”

“It’s really charming Brook,” Robin interjected as she studied the mini pirates while Nami smacked the musician with her Clima-tact. “Good find.” She touched one that looks just like her.

“Yohohoho! Thank you Robin-san!”

The sound of Sanji’s voice, crooning for his beloved ladies pulled their attention away. He had baked some Christmas cookies and prepared tea for the girls’ snack time.

With the Christmas tree done and decked out they decided it was time for a break.

-------------------------

When Nami stepped inside the library later that afternoon she was surprised to see that the Straw Hats’ Christmas tree got additional decorations.

Aside from the mini pirates Brook has placed earlier, there were also the cardboard drawings of their faces that Usopp made back in Punk Hazard when Trafalgar Law shambled half of the crew and some flowers from Robin’s flower bed. There intricately-made trinkets obviously made by Franky and transparent Christmas balls with little sea kings inside which looks like Jinbei’s.

Nami’s lips twitched a little. She had just left Luffy and Chopper stringing popcorns and cranberries under the direction of Sanji. Aside from the candy canes they wanted to place on the tree, the blond cook also suggested they make an edible garland to circle it… much to the reindeer and rubber man’s delight.

And since pretty much everything eatable hung on the tree will not go to waste—thanks to Luffy—Nami decided to affix some of her precious mikans on it. She carefully wrapped red ribbons around them so she can string it on the branches for all to enjoy after tonight’s dinner.

A loud snore interrupted her as she was beginning to hang the fruits.

With brows furrowed, she slowly peered behind the tree and was surprised to find their swordsman snoozing against the wall, hidden behind the all that green, without a care in the world.

Was he here all the time?!

Damn the man unwittingly camouflaged himself using the Christmas tree!

She stared at him for a good few seconds, pondering if she should wake him up.

But she remembered that it was Christmas and that she promised to play nice and that Zoro was the one reason why they currently have a tree on display.

“Tch! Guess this is your contribution then, you lazy ass,” she muttered as she continued with what she was doing.

There was silence. Before she heard a ‘hmph’ and grumble.

“Yeah… you try lugging that back here while your idiot companion decides to play in the snow.”

Nami rolled her eyes even if he cannot see her. “Fine,” she groused. “I’m letting you off the hook since you did a good job with this tree.”

“Tch.”

She tilted her head slightly to peer at him again. “Just so you know. Everyone have something distinctively theirs in this tree.”

Zoro studied the tree for a moment before scoffing. “That’s overkill.”

Nami glared at him. “It’s called Christmas spirit idiot!” She frowned as she hung the last two of her mikans. “If it’s not too much for you, maybe YOU can also join us in this activity!”

“Maybe it is too much for me.”

“Ugh,” she groaned out in frustration. With her hands on her hips she glowered at him. “Really Zoro?”

“Yeah.”

Nami scowled. Sometimes his lone wolf persona grates her nerves. Especially at times like these when the whole crew is involved and he’s acting like he doesn’t give any rat’s ass about it.

Still she doesn't wanna start a fight with him today of all days. Instead, she just sighed and settled on glowering at him. “Just get your dumb self in the galley in half an hour. If it's not too much for you to join your crew for dinner."

There was a bite in her tone. Then she swiveled around to leave him, ignoring the wondering gaze he was now giving her.

All in all… they pretty much started a weird tree decorating tradition. And Zoro, as usual, doesn’t want to be a part of it.

And that makes her feel a bit disappointed.

Yet when he didn't appear when they started the Christmas dinner, she was the one who went to check if he was still snoring in the library.

Why her? The hell she even knows.

Maybe because the others are already busy celebrating in the galley that she was the only who noticed that he wasn't there?

She opened the library door. The lights on the tree were already lit. Franky or Usopp may have switched it on. It looks more beautiful even if it was decorated with random trinkets, baubles and food the crew decided to hang on it.

Yet the star still needs to be placed on the top—which Luffy and Chopper will do after dinner and before they start exchanging presents.

To her surprise, Zoro was still where she had left him earlier.

She strode towards him to wake him, when she accidentally snagged something from the tree, causing it to fall.

She stared at the object quietly sitting on the floor. It looked like paper folded into a shape of...

She picked it up and studied it.

A bird?

"Paper crane."

She spun around and saw Robin standing in the doorway.

"In Wano, it means good luck," Robin explained as she approached her, lightly touching it with one finger. She smiled at Nami. "It also means a wish for someone to get their heart's desire."

Nami just stared back at her amazed.

"And there are ten of them." Robin observed, eyes crinkling with mirth at the tree before returning her gaze at her. "One for each of us."

Nami's eyes settled back at the crane in her hand.

Robin chuckled. "Thoughtful isn't it Nami?"

"I guess..."

The older woman gave her shoulder an affectionate pat. "See you two at the galley." She nodded at the still sleeping Zoro.

Nami watched her leave before shifting her attention again at the green-haired man, still slumbering peacefully against the wall, the red scarf she wrapped around his neck earlier hiding the lower part of his face.

He may appear cold and uncaring, but sometimes looks can be deceiving.

She crouched down beside him. Leaning forward she kissed his exposed nose.

"Not bad Zoro. Not bad."

Addendum: I went and tweaked the paper crane legend a bit. Though I honestly think it’s not really that far from the original one.

#zoro x nami #ZoNa #zonami #zonalove #zona vignettes #zoro nami fanfiction #ZoNaHoliday2020

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meimi-haneoka · 4 years ago

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Translation differences and comments for Clear Card ch. 45

Man this time around it felt like forever.

No, I’m serious, I can’t even remember when was last time chapter 44 was published. The break this time felt so long, and it was, usually they take just one issue of vacation.

I’m really glad they decided to have Tomoyo on the cover, since a good part of the fandom was complaining about not seeing her as often as before, with all the reasons, and so this was a nice return ❤ The text you can find on the double color spread sounds more or less like “If I am with you, then everyday can be happy”. It’s really cute, and as usual, CLAMP balance out the creepiness and heaviness of the chapter with a cute cover. Impeccable. That’s CLAMP for you. 💢

The first translation difference can already be spotted on page 3, when in English Syaoran says “It’s surprising, isn’t it? I remember when I first met his dad” when actually in Japanese he’s way less chatty and limits himself to a “I was surprised too, at first/the first time (I saw him)”. You see, making the translation more “personal” is okay and all, but not when your choices modify the talking style and the personality of a character. Syaoran is really a taciturn boy, and when he talks, he makes sure to say the less words possible, so much that sometimes he eats up entire parts of the sentence and makes it hard to understand the context. Same thing when he says “I’ll never forget it” in English, when in Japanese it’s actually “That was such a shock”. Aside from this, I found this scene pretty hilarious and of course now everyone wants to see Yamazaki dad’s face 🤣🤣🤣🤣 I’m also really really glad the side characters are getting a bit of attention here, I love their group of friends!!

And here we come to the explanation of Yamazaki’s joke on page 04, which isn’t really clear by the ENG translation: what he says seems directly connected to a Japanese proverb “ 実るほど頭を垂れる稲穂かな “, which I’ve seen translated in English as “The boughs that bear most hang lowest” or “the more noble, the more humble”. Here Yamazaki is trying to say that he will back off from telling one of his lies because a friend is in need of an advice, and so his ever-rising finger will bow down, together with his head (in fact Yamazaki does say -which the ENG didn’t translate- “So I’m going to (bow) my head too”) because he’s a good friend and he can be noble, when needed. ^___^ I found it very cute and interesting too, digging up this proverb I wasn’t familiar with.

From page 3 to page 4, there’s an omission that drags from one page to another, actually changing Tomoyo’s first speech on page 4. When on page 3 Naoko talks about the story that she can’t come up with, she actually says “It’s about the story for the play, I can’t come up with one that would make me say “that’s it!” “, to translate it a bit more closely to the original speech (which might sound less fluent, though it fits perfectly with Naoko’s reaction on page 6). In the ENG version there isn’t the mention of “play”, which comes up only on page 4, by Tomoyo, when actually she says in JP “You mean the (play) for the all-school festival?” (I’m sorry I can never come up with a better translation for that festival, it just appears to be a collective festival for all the classes of the school 😅). So in the ENG translation the festival thing ended up left out completely. Also, still on page 4, Naoko in her speech in JP expresses concern that since the play will be short, people would find hard to understand a completely new story.

Page 7, Fujitaka doesn’t say “twin Alices”, but simply “The two Alices?”. They look alike but they aren’t twins 😅😅😅 “That’s (sounds) amazing” gets turned into a “she must be quite the writer” which okay, the meaning might be the same in the end but I really don’t understand all this need to change the original words. By the way Fujitaka is such a dorky loving dad, hehehe!

And so, without even realizing it, we come to page 9, the page where everything in this chapters changes color and gets....darker. Sakura doesn’t like, for some reason, Fujitaka’s answer to her question “but do we really look that alike?”. Not only Fujitaka confirms, but he also expresses how (and this is a hint for us readers) Akiho and Sakura look more alike now that in the beginning, when Sakura showed him a pic of her on her phone. So this is not something still, it’s a situation in continuous progress, and their similarity gets stronger and stronger with time. Dad says it must be because they spend a lot of time together being good friends, but Sakura’s can’t shake off that pain that is piercing through her chest. What is happening? I’ll tell you what is happening. Her powers. Her foretelling powers. Expect something bad soon. And there might be even more behind that piercing pain, because if I’ve got the main message of the Clear Card story right, Sakura is unconsciously rebelling to what is happening under her nose. I won’t go out on a limb yet about this, but I think we’re in front of a big thematic about the uniqueness of the human being, and how any of us is one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable.

Let me also mention that, personally, I found Akiho and Sakura’s scenes together the creepiest of the entire series. They were supposed to be cute, and yet how can you see THIS

as cute, when you have a history in Tsubasa PTSD and realize that they’re becoming undeniably the same thing? I mean, look at those g*ddamned specular cowlicks, it makes me want to burn them because Sakura had 2 in the beginning and now it’s just one, to resemble Akiho as much as possible! And do we want to mention how they basically do the same movements and mimic for the entire chapter? This is getting out of hand, I’m telling you.

Sakura, Kero and Suppy all get inside their beds (how cute, the little basket!!!), and this is where my picky self comes out again with a translation correction, especially because we’re talking about an important scene. So when Sakura is wondering about what happened earlier, in the ENG version she says “ When dad told me Akiho-chan and I look more alike than ever...that should have made me happy, right? Then why did it hurt right here?”, but in the JP the sentence comes off quite differently. She says “When I was told Akiho-chan now looks more like me, I was happy, and yet...I wonder why my heart started hurting...” . That 嬉しいのに expresses clearly that Sakura partly felt happy to know that Akiho is so similar to her. “That should have made me happy” made me think that in Japanese I would end up finding “嬉しくはずだったのに”, but it wasn’t the case. This isn’t what Sakura meant. So here we have a dangerous misunderstanding: Sakura still loves Akiho and she still feels okay around her, it’s just that she feels this inexplicable, piercing pang at her heart that makes everything so confusing for her. Saying “that should have made me happy, right?” implies that she’s not happy to know that Akiho is similar to her, and somehow puts in the head of the readers the fact that Sakura is growing some kind of repulsion for Akiho, which is absolutely not true, not at this stage.

But it’s not over yet, no, because you can rest assured that when an important scene ensues, higher is the chance to mess up somehow the meaning of the sentence! 👍👍

Pag.13, ENG: “Whose voice was that? And...who were they talking to...?”

JP: “Whose voice was that? And...who is the one...who can’t go back anymore?”

It might apparently be the same, but it’s not, because in the JP version it gets even more specific. While the ENG version seems more “general”, Sakura in the JP version gets right to the core question: WHO can’t go back anymore? WHO IS IT? So with this scene, we have the big comeback of the Mysterious Voice, and honestly? I could do without this! But this is CLAMP’s story, and a chapter without a good dose of creepiness isn’t a whole chapter, so there it goes, gimme all the creepiness, dammit!

When Kodansha USA will explain why do they have to add unnecessary words that don’t exist anywhere, and even make up stuff entirely, I’ll probably be a happier fan. But since it doesn’t look like they’ll stop anytime soon, then here you go: Page 14, ENG: “Alice is wandering out in the garden, when suddenly, she hears a song...And when she goes to investigate, she finds herself in Wonderland...” JP: “Alice goes to Wonderland beckoned by a song she hears coming off somewhere” I mean??? Okay sure, the ENG version might be more interesting and embellished, but why making up that she’s wandering in the garden?? What happens if in the play she's actually, I dunno, in her house during this scene?? Come on.

The girls are stretching out for their cheerleading practice, and...surprise surprise?? What do we see here?? CHEERLEADING BOYS?? That was such a great surprise, honestly...I’ve never really seen boys doing cheerleading stuff, but I mean, everyone can do anything right?? I LOVED this subtle but firm message by CLAMP. Great idea, bravo!!! And we can’t avoid some different translation here as well. Pag. 17, ENG: “What isn’t he good at?” “I don’t know, telling the truth?” JP: “I wonder what he isn’t good at?” “Avoiding to joke around, I guess” “Telling the truth” wasn’t exactly what Chiharu was pointing at, she was aiming more at Yamazaki’s general playful nature. Even though, in the following page, Chiharu does mention Yamazaki’s lies ending up in the lyrics, so I guess they wanted to connect those two statements....

The chapter suddenly catches fire when Sakura drifts thinking about the dreams she has, and how scary they are, with those damned clocks, and probably that damned Cloaked Figure too...and guess who appears standing on the fence of the sports field???

whooooooohooooooo resident Squid is back in the house!!

At long last (unless this is another f*cking dream) she’s seeing them in the real world!! Yeah because, remember, she had yet to see them in the real world, in the manga.... And lo and behold, what does my girl do??

She, hear this, uses 3 f*cking cards at once with a nonchalance that probably not even Clow Reed, takes the flight and f*cking charges at Cloaked Figure!!!! I mean!!

I MEAN!!!

MY GIRL

IS SO

FED UP.

You can see it in her eyes, dammit!! Look at her! She’s got a fire that would burn a thousand houses down, she wants to end the agony right there and then....she wants to yank MCF’s cloak away, for real this time. She knows VERY well that she can’t go on living with this fear in her heart, she gotta know if that dream is true. Yes, that dream.

And maybe this is why she’s so fearless , because if it’s really Syaoran, there gotta be a reason why. She trusts him, and she knows that he wouldn’t hurt her.

This fierce resolution is reflected also in the editorial text at the end of the chapter, “Sakura, stands up against (them) with resolution, in order to open the door to the truth!”. The question is, will CLAMP finally leave us witnessing a g*ddammned plot point without having Kaito rewinding the sh*t out of it?

Mmmhhh good question that will probably get answered in next chapter, out on August 31st!! See you next month!! ;)

#cardcaptor sakura #Card Captor Sakura #clamp #clear card manga #chapter 45 #ccs spoilers #sakura card captor #translation differences

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magnus-the-maqnificent · 4 years ago

Text

Flufftober Day 3

(Boy)Friends

The fire was crackling high that night. Magnus sat on one of the logs, Alec right beside him, and watched as Jace struggled with a kazoo.

“He’s so bad at this,” Magnus muttered to Alec, resisting the urge to cover his ears.

“I doubt you’d be any better,” Alec muttered back, and earned a jab in the ribs. It only made him chuckle.

“Give up, bro,” Simon drawled, shin propped up on one hand. “You’re terrible at this.”

Jace paused his work on the kazoo and scowled at him. “Just because you’re in a band doesn’t mean you look down on other’s natural talents.”

“I’m afraid your natural talents don’t lie in the kazoo,” Simon said.

Jace looked like he was about to protest, but then Clary stopped him by placing her hand on his arm. "Just forget about him. You're doing great."

"See!" Jace grinned, triumphant.

"Clary," Alec drawled. "Don't encourage him."

Magnus chuckled. “Biscuit, don’t encourage him. I know you two are in love but his kazoo skills are horrible.”

Clary snorted. “As if you and Alec wouldn’t do the same.”

“Actually, he’s roasted my charango skills several times,” Magnus said. "Perhaps things would be different if we were actually dating, but alas, we shall never know."

"Even if we were dating, I'd roast your charango skills every chance I got," Alec said, shooting Magnus a derisive smirk.

Magnus laughed, albeit a bit awkwardly. It was no secret, at least not to himself, that he was extremely in love in his best friend, who simply had no idea about Magnus’s internal turmoil. Alec and Magnus had met sometime during the first week of school and became fast friends. Alec had been the first person Magnus had come out to, and vice versa. They'd had several sleepovers at each other's homes, had stayed up late binge-watching Netflix and exchanged hushed conversations at three in the morning. They'd given each other comforting hugs in school washrooms, hidden their laughter behind their hands in the middle of classes, had each other's backs throughout the years. And now, Magnus’s feelings threatened to upend all of that in a matter of moments. Which was exactly why he'd decided never to tell Alec about it. He'd rather still be friends with Alec than lose him for good.

A cold wind blew past at that moment, and Alec shivered, arms coming up to wrap around himself, despite the hot fire. “God, it’s cold.”

Magnus sighed. “I told you to bring an extra jacket.”

Nevertheless, he pulled off his uppermost jacket and offered it to Alec. “Take it.”

Alec spluttered in protest, but Magnus simply made an impatient sound and moved to drape the jacket over Alec’s shoulder himself. If his hands lingered a moment too long on the collar of the jacket, no one needed to know.

“I could’ve just gotten my own jacket, you know,” Alec said, but there was a small pleased smile on his face as he pulled the sleeves on.

The night went on, and it wasn't long before everyone decided to retire to their tents. Just as Magnus stood up, though, he heard Clary call out to him.

"Magnus!" she yelled, waving him here. "Can you help me hang up my bags?"

"Sure thing, biscuit." He turned to Alec. "You go ahead, I'll come in a minute, okay?"

Alec murmured something in agreement and headed for their shared tent, while Magnus followed Clary to hers. Jace was lying in the tent with the flap open, looking at his phone and paying absolutely no attention to Magnus as he hung up one of Clary's bags in the branches. The tents they had were the kind with a cushy floor, so they could directly sleep on top of it without resorting to sleeping bags. But it also meant that they needed more room, hence a few of the bags went up in the trees, while all the essentials would be inside.

"Why can't he do it?" Magnus grumbled, but it was all in jest. He didn't mind, really.

"Because I'm not as tall as you are," Jace said, giving Magnus a dismissive wave. "Get to work now."

Magnus sighed and grabbed another bag, ready to hang it up, when Clary asked, "Can I ask you something?"

"Go on."

Clary hesitated, biting her lip, and then blurted out, "Are you in love with Alec?"

Magnus froze. Then he blinked, and said in a voice as cool as he could muster, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You are, aren’t you?"

Magnus sighed, realizing that there was no escape. Clary could be very stubborn sometimes. "Okay, maybe I am. How do you know, anyway?"

"I had my doubts," Clary said, looking extremely smug with herself. "But I knew for sure when you gave him your jacket."

Magnus blinked. "I don't see what that jacket has to do with any of this."

"Well, it's just…" Clary shoved her hands into her pockets. "I have this belief that the kind of love you have for a person influences your actions, you know? Like, a good friend would walk all the way to the tent and back to fetch the jacket, but a lover would give their own jacket to the person."

"Sounds stupid," Magnus commented, hooking the last bag onto a bough.

"It's not," Clary protested. "Simon used to offer me his jacket all the time, you know, when he was in love with me. Now Jace is the one who gives me his jacket, while Simon cracks jokes about it. Well, it does sound a little stupid, I guess, but-"

"Okay, whatever." Magnus shrugged, and then turned to look Clary in the eye. "But… don't tell anyone about my feelings for Alexander, will you?"

"I won't," Clary promised. They both turned to Jace simultaneously, but he had his headphones on and appeared to be watching a documentary about plants, and had clearly not heard much of their conversation, so Magnus let it go.

He waved goodbye to Clary and walked back to his own tent, which he shared with Alec and was located a few meters away from Clary's. When he reached there, it was to see Alec standing outside, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, cold wind whipping his air.

"Alexander!" he chastised, stepping closer. "What are you doing out here?"

Alec shrugged. "I was waiting for you."

"You didn't have to do that!" Magnus reached out, brushing his fingertips along Alec’s cheek. "Look, you're all cold now."

Alec shuddered. "It's fine. You know my skin gets cold easily."

Magnus shook his head in exasperation. "Come on, let's go in now."

The two of them got into the tent, Magnus sitting on his knees on the floor-cum-mattress as he shut the flap behind him. Magnus turned back to Alec, and his voice got stuck in his throat.

Alec was sitting there, the zipper of his jacket open halfway to his chest, nervously fiddling with it while staring at some point on the ground. On one hand, he couldn't help but admire Alec's beauty - his jet black hair tumbling over that soft pale skin, delicate cheekbones that made him look like an angel, not to mention that he looked absolutely stupendous in Magnus's jacket. On the other, he was avoiding Magnus’s eyes, a small frown marring his face. Was something wrong?

“Alexander,” Magnus said softly. “Is everything alright?”

Alec jumped, blinked a few times in the dark, and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Magnus frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Alec assured him, then lowered the zipper all the way. Slowly taking off the jacket, he looked up at Magnus through thick eyelashes and said, “I’m just cold.”

“Oh.” Magnus watched as Alec carefully put the jacket aside, and then stretched, his arms going above his head. He turned away abruptly, pulling his gaze off Alec, and pulled off his shoes.

“Magnus?” Alec said in a low voice.

“Yes?” Magnus asked without looking at him, stowing his boots aside.

He heard rustling, and then a pillow thwacked him in the head, followed by Alec’s laughter. Magnus stared at his shoes for a moment, defeated, and then grabbed his own pillow, attacking Alec with a growl. Alec shrieked and attempted to shield himself with his own pillow, but failed. Magnus grinned, briefly stopping his onslaught to look at Alec, who had his arms up and was breathing hard.

“Okay, fine, I surrender,” he said, grinning and breathless, and Magnus felt something like a firecracker explode in his heart. “You win.”

“Great!” Magnus exclaimed, falling onto the soft cushioned floor beside Alec, and pulled the large fluffy blanket over the both of them. “Let’s go to sleep now. We have a long day ahead tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Alec said, and to Magnus’s surprise, shifted closer to him. "Good night."

“Good night-“ Magnus broke off abruptly when Alec snuggled into him, throwing an arm around his waist. “Um, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, not that I mind, but there’s uh, plenty of space around.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not hog up all the blankets again,” Alec said, snuggling in closer, and Magnus tentatively wrapped an arm around him. “Also, I’d rather have you close.”

“Oh.” Magnus’s heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t dwell on it. It didn’t have to mean anything.

“Also, I heard everything you and Clary said. There aren’t any walls here, you know,” Alec added, looking up at him.

Magnus froze. The tent seemed a little too warm all of a sudden. He tried to subtly wriggle out of Alec’s grasp, but Alec didn’t let him budge.

“And just so you know,” Alec went on, his eyes shining in the dark. “I’m in love with you, too.”

“Oh,” Magnus said softly, lying still in Alec’s arms. “Well, then-“

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” Alec said, and resting his head on Magnus’s chest, let his eyes slip close.

Magnus had no idea how Alec managed to find solace in that moment. He was bursting with life, Alec’s confession ringing around in his head.

Sighing to himself, he tugged the blanket up to their chins, wrapped both his arms around Alec and got comfortable, lulling himself to sleep as best as he could.

Tomorrow was a big day for him.

#alec lightwood #magnus bane #malec #flufftober #flufftober 2020

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libidomechanica · 1 year ago

Text

Untitled (“Tho shame, giving”)

A limerick sequence

Tho shame, giving eyes, which made bail succeeded no more the drreams intender fail: she new lose opened upon that must white hath love let’s Parably it take our less.

The many rustice to consumed, soon the music. With undaunted. Then my vision, think is now it’s the paved by the prime! In autumn’s suffering to sum was take here?

Stay hastened us. From others can friend, looks on a glory from side-long experience show how boughs joined to make my time bled by news rare, it gets and peace, sir!

Look were damps did me i want though the promise to save a wind blow-’ and sad! Yet, so kind or condescends his strain wintry of seed save there, if she dwell: You rideth!

Sometimes dimly burdens, as if you. I would weary ways first breach act, and look abroad. Fast, is must north of one into the tender which you canst praying: Daddy!

He had ne’er for with another,—not a jury her complexity; they renew thee! Moment dancing up an armed, then we never the last anguid smile, the course.

Pages nor pride; or soft word. Prize: for loss of Albion her beast die an in her white was stillness that Sage said this being quite stared not the surprising hole mine.

Breath, that though into rhyme, and to a dishonour more. Think on my own Blood shows that then she winters seen, and the very tempests droop the can bred; a shawl’d to go.

Of its state receipts in her bacon. The wonder’d her mankind. In the West thousand stuck into a pains, who taught into the began to shore, I would his action.

No more grief unutter’s best of clear the dead? But words for study on that seruices e’er found it was bleak back her beauty, he will bring crown in thee her within.

Change in the you might&see forms go by, a deserve? In all it all that Fame caprices man life to me, and wakeful guise machine. ’Tis a tale white. With you by!

A moment, on the wine more thing to be Cato, no man dance more the wave? Cast though I be good in this, and in ram that we’llhave tied threw such the solemn content.

Of hope from that drawn freedom faring wheel it has heart. An occasion of an answered; you wishes backward repeat night be not was not; societies away.

All his quarter mortals! Who ne’er soul. It mock me, that for perpetual fact to do, we live a Shaking but—pronunciation: a thou doe take molten late.

—Now raise that he mild bind his hour of the made field of Leonidas, was higher her life you see, that hours to death. Our free! Day and Wesley, she had not June forsworn.

When gardens, and she’s outrun thrills else many hearts? The red that steps. You marks upon life and flower anger is could not wearing giaour, and a maid I never girl?

She was Nimrod’s functions, garden? Thinking our immortal genials, do you an evil cheek out world’s crowds before the conceive hundred-year my pipe is nod, why,&c.

Longer blood, the Gold! Which robes, here, you give the cornfield, each other eye and weed spotless deep pass’d her for meridian climes, at did mats of love not to answer.

Was it mighty verse subtil model. Of clustere a man’s sunlight most believe them all, are lonely sunflowers of worm erected. A commanding roguish een.

So as I using much wish to me, i’ll not me!—My hearts of old, whose whisper’d his courtesy; and some to human looks when the plac’d to thee! Which is the ivory.

For all, a comforts wheel our path the west—I miss occurr’d to wretch’d in atmosphere in a much as still find. Hid from the tyranny, might was return a bullets.

He blood buzzing out slack, there’s fresh and clasp one that thy with words court forc’d, the name unnamed boating high deep purple royal mind; not vsde to be should not. Ah! Dead!

The rose-coloured through it thee; nor from the with thin, that thilke same time, and neat lust on pass; no pause, thou would be calm, yet no motion the sky. And cheeks as goods of light.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #188 texts #limerick sequence

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prophecy-is-inevitable · 4 years ago

Text

Indulgence of Divinity: Chapter 3

Michael Langdon x OFC

Michael and Ms. Mead follow the Divinity deep below the Sanctuary proper after accepting a dinner invitation. The court's private rooms are unremarkable--with one enormous exception. The woman and Michael reach an understanding of sorts.

Chapter Warnings: mild language, bad-mouthing religion (maybe?)

Word Count: 3756

(Also posted on Ao3 under the same title.)

--------

Chapter Three: Into the Sanctum

“If you have the time, I would be honored if you could join me for dinner this evening.” She turned to smile at the older woman, her face once again stern and protective as she stepped to her king’s side. “Ms. Mead as well..."

Evening had descended throughout the halls, artificial though it may have been, when Michael and Ms. Mead found themselves in the presence of the “Divinity” once again. Head held high and hands clasped daintily in front of her, she moved with a grace and fluidity unexpected for someone that had been restricted from the rest of the Sanctuary. Once again, she was clothed in delicate white. It was much simpler than before; Michael caught himself musing on the swaths of white linen wrapping over her shoulder, around her waist, sweeping around, and the forest green cords crisscrossing over her abdomen. Quite the contrast to his elegant all-black ensemble of fitted pants, knee-high boots, and satin black dinner jacket with red velvet lapels and Ms. Mead’s usual onyx authoritarian pantsuit.

Murmurs followed in the wake of the trio. Sometimes she would cast the residents a polite smile and a nod that sent them off kilter. Who the hell was this bitch waltzing around like she owned the place? And wearing white in the presence of the Antichrist? How pretentious! Clearly, Michael hadn’t been the only one unaware of her existence within the Sanctuary. Again, the remarks were met with the gentle bowing of her lips and a knowing glance. The air around her simmered with restrained reprisal, something lurking just beneath the serene exterior. No wonder she’d been cordoned off from the others. She couldn’t help wondering if their treatment of her would be as callous had they been made aware of her purpose from the beginning. In hindsight, she would have taken the risk if it meant a chance for true socialization. Each couple or group they passed celebrating the holiday of love with lustful acts filled her throat with a suffocatingly bitter sensation.

Their strides carried them through the towering mahogany stacks of the library. Anything salvaged before the bombs fell was stored within the large interconnecting chambers and provided with the proper care and protection to ensure their survival. Whether it was for educational, historical, cultural, or entertainment, all texts deemed valuable in any fashion rested here for survivors to pluck and peruse. Glistening spines of newer volumes winked from the shelves in the candlelight and then faded from view as the three ventured further. The air grew thick with the musty organic smell of the immemorial collections. Tomes and documents of the most importance were sealed and accessible only with supervision for those that had received the lead historian’s permission.

A large relief carved into the farthest wall depicted a massive tree bearing various fruits. The sculpture was polished and otherwise devoid of embellishment with the exception of two areas. Each fruit depicted was inlaid with gems of their respective color. The focal point, however, was the great serpent woven through the branches and entwined around the thick trunk. Scales of ammolite covered the body in dark iridescence. Candle and firelight refracted within the individual shards to bring life to the inanimate; every flicker of flame gave breath to the creature and the illusion of the rigid body ever-winding around its arborescent host. A golden crown rested atop the serpent’s head and a gleaming cinnabar heart within the fangs poured red water into a fountain below the tree’s carved roots.

Michael watched as their guide reached forward to situate a circular ruby into the hollow depression of the serpent’s eye. The fountain ceased its flow momentarily, the sound of water diverting behind the wall, and propelled hidden mechanisms. One of the dark wood shelves retracted into the floor to reveal a staircase that descended further still into the depths of the Sanctuary. Flames ignited in the channels lining the stairs to provide light when the first footfalls landed on the top stair.

“I apologize for the theatrics. The court was adamant that our chambers not be something a resident could simply stumble upon,” the younger woman explained as she retrieved the red gem she had placed in the sculpture. The bookshelf returned to its original position after Ms. Mead passed through the threshold. Michael heard the patter of her steps quicken just a fraction to stand nearer, and he turned to offer her a slight nod of reassurance. He would never let harm befall her ever again.

The steps carried them deeper into the mountain and below the main construction. Portions of the walls next to the stairs had long been eroded, giving way to caverns of mineral pools and natural ornamentation of calcite draperies, flowstone, stalactites, and other formations. Michael found his eyes greedily drinking in the splendor that he hadn’t known lurked beneath feet since the very beginning. His preoccupation with ending the world had left little time for him to explore and appreciate the wonders below the surface.

“These caverns and passages have been here longer than any human construction above ground. It was part of what made it the perfect place to house the vestiges of humanity. Half of the work to create a habitable city had been done ages ago by nature. Of course, it needed some refinement and polishing to reach the exceptionally high standards of the world’s remaining elite. I preferred for our area to remain more natural.” Her fingers danced over the rough-hewn wall when it reappeared beside them.

A landing appeared around a slight curve illuminated with an inordinate amount of light. The air grew warmer with each step towards the rays streaming through the doorway until they reached the crest of another staircase. The sigh of annoyance was barely restrained when it passed Michael’s lips. The invitation had been one for dinner, not a hike into the bowels of the mountain. When they passed through the doorway, the gentle scuffling of his boots on the floor came to an abrupt halt and nearly caused Ms. Mead to walk directly into his frozen form.

Sensing that her charges were no longer at her heels, the woman turned and observed the slackened jaws and wide, darting eyes of the pair for whom she was quickly developing a fondness. There was almost a reverence to their expressions, and it filled her with gratitude and satisfaction. It showed on the widening smirk gracing her tranquil features. She was happy to let them admire her work for as long as they liked.

The tunnel opened up into a room of immeasurable size, and the elevation of the stairs provided an excellent vantage point. No palace ballroom, no exquisite cathedral, came to mind as an equal comparison. Even the Orangery of Versailles fell dismally short of the grandeur and expanse of the sanctum before their eyes. Towering column reliefs patterned the chiseled walls, and natural springs had been converted to focal water features that bled across the floor--the earth and soil--below in creeks and streams. The rest of the walls were tiled up to the vaulted ceiling in square, mercury glass mirrors. The reflections blurred the reality of a boundary existing within the room and added to the enormity of the space. Climbing vines of greenery and clustered purple flowers rooted into some cracks and crevices and dangled from the ceiling. An ornamental sculpture of a compass had been carved out of the domed ceiling and indicated the cardinal points.

Despite the low symphony of sounds and sights, their eyes were drawn to the burning orb casting light around the room as it sank towards a pond at the western edge. Ms. Mead was the first one to ask what they were both wondering. Almost.

“Is that…?”

“An affectionate imitation of it, yes. It’s hard to compress such a force to fit in this space, but it helps simulate natural growth cycles and circadian rhythms. I’ve been working more within biomes, and it’s helped with determining what areas of the sanctum can maintain which regions.” The younger woman tilted her head and extended a hand to indicate down the stairs. "I'd be happy to show you more if you'd like."

They reached ground level, below the oak and pine boughs, below the rainforest canopy, at the same moment a pale gray sphere rose from a small pool at the eastern wall. She grinned at the appearance of the lunar resonance and stopped next to the water.

“Perfect timing; I’m glad it rose early enough for you to see. The moon was much easier to create. I’ve been banned from creating fire, at least for the time being,” she turned with a slender finger pointed at Michael, “since that’s your job.” She was certainly looking forward to her restraints coming off now that they had been introduced and would soon be testing their abilities together. It was going to be spectacular if the atmospheric tension crackling between them was anything to go by.

Michael wasn’t quite sure what to make of things. For the moment, it was easy to believe that they were no longer underground. Trees stretched above their heads, branches curving around the pathways in verdant embrace, and birds and other small animals flitted along in interest. All of this...had been destroyed by the bombs and nuclear winter, yet here it was in an impossible place miles beneath a mountain. He craned his neck and nearly danced as he spun and twisted to view as much as possible, and he noticed the shifts in flora and fauna the farther their journey took them.

“Gargano used to be the last remaining area of ancient oak and beech forests left in Europe. Many of those trees here are from acorns and beech nuts I was able to salvage when we first came here years ago. It seemed a shame to lose something so beautiful because of the failure of humans.” She gingerly plucked an acorn from the ground and cradled Michael’s palm in her own to deposit the seed in his hand. Her hands gently closed his fingers around her, her fingertips trailing over his hand lightly when she pulled away.

“Repeat after me. ‘Cum mea vita, et vos vivetis.’” Michael did as she bade him and repeated the words softly. They echoed one another as they continued the chant, breath ghosting over each other’s cheeks when she stepped closer and covered his hand once more, and their gazes locked. Spindly roots wrapped around his wrist, snaked through his fingers, and a stem rose through the gap between. “With my life, you will live,” she finished, stepping away to let him observe his work.

Michael’s hand holding the seedling remained outstretched before him. Roots continued to curl along his skin as the stem grew further until two fragile leaves unfurled. Michael stared, eyes wide and glassy, at the vulnerable greenery in his grasp.

“How is this possible?” His voice was soft and bewildered. He’d burned away the souls of others with those very same hands. How could they also bring prosperity?

“While your powers may be unholy, their origin is still heavenly. Your father used to be the most favored of all angels, remember? He was never stripped of his power; it simply corrupted to fit the purposes he needed. All it needs is a little push to remember what it’s truly capable of doing.” She bent and scooped a small hole in the earth beside them. “Ms. Mead, would you mind carefully extracting that seedling and helping me plant it here?”

Ms. Mead looked to Michael for direction. There was a glimmer in her eyes that closely resembled fear. Was their plan to awaken the divine side of Michael’s powers and forsake their master? Would he forsake her? She swallowed thickly and glanced down at the woman kneeling in the dirt. Her Michael had done such wonderful things before, but never anything like this woman had enabled him. More than likely they had only just scratched the surface. Perhaps against her better judgement, Ms. Mead dismissed the doubts and began unwinding the delicate roots from around Michael’s fingers. The smile on his face was one she hadn’t seen in quite some time--one of excitement and delight, and for some reason it called to mind the warm smell of french toast. His eyes were sparkling with newly rekindled purpose.

Once the roots were free of Michael’s jeweled fingers, Ms. Mead stooped to place the seedling in its new home in the rich soil. The younger woman placed a clean hand gently, reassuringly, on Ms. Mead’s upper back until it was time to pack the earth to support the delicate sprout. Very briefly, the women’s hands both covered the dirt and they exchanged a small smile.

“Perfect. Thank you, Ms. Mead,” the younger of the two sighed contentedly. It was important to Michael that Ms. Mead felt included in his endeavors, and he extended his hands to help both women stand. He appreciated this stranger’s consideration where others would usually overlook his maternal figure. “You’re both welcome to visit the sanctum whenever you’d like, but I must ask that you refrain from bringing other guests. It’s better for them to think that their food comes from hydroponics and ingenious animal husbandry than...here.”

It felt like hours passed while they explored the eden. Woodland forests turned to lush foliage and bright flowers with humid air, arid sands grew resilient plants and faded to open water at one end while grasslands turned to frigid tundra at the other.

“How long have you been here?” Michael asked upon losing count of the different species of wildlife roaming around.

“The bombs fell almost two years ago, and you were planning for three years before that… I’ve been here for about five years, then.” Five years. Time had moved quickly while she was occupied with her studies. Now it was time for it all to come to fruition. “They moved me from the safehouse in New England to the Sanctuary here in Italy as soon as you made yourself known.”

They arrived at the far edge of the room and slipped through an archway to a dining hall. It was nowhere near as extravagant or embellished as the common rooms in the Sanctuary proper. The walls were unrefined and the same rough texture as the cavernous hidden stairway. The table was simple cherry wood surrounded by eight unimpressive matching chairs. One of the chairs was currently occupied. Michael tensed at the unexpected guest. He had been under the impression the three of them would be alone to converse leisurely.

“This is Aldair. You might recognize him from this morning. He is the High Priest in charge of my instruction in Neopaganism, which I’ve honestly found to be some of the most useful. The focus on nature has been very beneficial. He’s acting as my chaperone this evening.” The man stood to greet them, his wavy chestnut hair slipping into his olive eyes for a moment when he bowed, and he smiled brightly when turning to face his divine lady. His close cropped beard glinted in the dim light from the large fireplace and tall candelabras as he moved to pull out her chair.

She sat to Michael’s left so that Ms. Mead could remain at Michael’s right hand as he took the seat at the head of the table. Aldair made his way around to hold Ms. Mead’s chair out for her as well and gave her one last courteous bow when she was seated. The domes over their plates disappeared with a quick wave of the Divinity’s hand, and revealed lightly steaming fillets and baked vegetables in a sweet and savory glaze. There seemed to be an absence of meat on her plate, and a wider range of vegetables and grilled fruits took its place.

“I hope that you will find the meal to your liking. Everything is fresh from today. Please, enjoy yourselves, and feel free to ask anything you like. I’m sure you must have a lot of questions, and we can speak freely in front of Aldair. He’s considered a close friend.” She reached over and gently squeezed the high priest’s hand with an affectionate smile before returning to her meal. Michael’s shoulders immediately straightened at the display. Close friend? Discreetly, his icy eyes narrowed and he stared at the man with every intention of reaching into the deepest, most secluded corners of the man’s mind.

“Mmm, this is delicious,” Ms. Mead chimed after finishing a piece of the fillet and subsequently broke Michael’s concentration. “What is this?” The smirk that tugged at the other woman’s lips was nothing short of mischievous in conjunction with the gleam in her resin eyes.

“It’s venison,” she replied, and took a bite of her own food. Michael’s lips stretched tightly over his mouth in an attempt to hide his amusement at the slight cough from Ms. Mead. “I’m glad that you find it satisfying.”

“You said that you are open to any line of questioning?” Michael received a nod from the raven-haired woman on his left. “If you have been here for so long, and known who I am, why haven’t we been introduced? Santori gave his explanation. Now I want to know your truth.” She nodded again and politely wiped her mouth with her napkin. Michael’s eyes bore into hers with the same fire he’d used when conducting interviews months ago; however, he found her to be frustratingly unreadable as his glare unfocused.

“Honestly, I’ve been given the same reasoning as you. We needed time to develop our powers individually. You had a purpose to fulfil far sooner than I did, and they didn’t want to cause any distractions for you. Since the Apocalypse has begun, your abilities have grown tenfold. As you grow stronger, so do I. Now, the only way for us to increase our abilities is together.”

As you grow stronger, so do I. A surge of recognition forced him to genuinely focus his eyes on her and found her gaze already upon him. The same satisfied smirk graced her lips as it had this morning. The words, and the sensations they conjured within him, were more than familiar.

“Are you involved with the Cooperative?” Her smirk grew wider by a fraction.

“Yes. I receive all communications sent to and from the Cooperative. I also helped draft some of the Outpost Construction Plans, picked the location for and designed many areas of the Sanctuary, and worked with Research and Development on sustainability and resources.” So she’d been involved all along. He’s probably been in direct communication with her at some point and hadn’t even realized.

“You know Jeff and Mutt?”

“Oh yes,” she chuckled lightly at the mention of the coke-addled geniuses. “They’ve been working on something for me for a little while. I haven’t been in to see their progress lately, actually.” There was a brief moment of silence where her thoughts on the project took up her attention before she caught the others still waiting for further elaboration. “Of course, they don’t know who I am exactly. My credentials and my email are under a pseudonym, for obvious reasons.”

“You really do not have a name?” Michael crossed his arms and leaned against the table to watch for any flicker of emotion or tell for a lie. He was skeptical at best, and she could tell.

“I do not. My mother--she was a nun--was told not to name me, not to get too attached, because I was ‘a sin’.” She rolled her eyes as she made quotation marks with her fingers. “It’s amazing how people who call themselves believers seek to invalidate something genuine when it doesn’t fit exactly into their archetypes.” Michael hummed and smiled in reminiscence. He knew very well how those of a faith could quickly turn on their own when not precisely conforming to a given image. “I went from the convent straight into the care of my court. There was never much time spent with one person to charge with the task of naming.” Her indifference surprised him for a moment, though he supposed this had always been her reality and was simply considered normal. He leaned his chin on the back of his hand and let his gaze slide over her form.

“And so that responsibility falls to me.”

“You and I are expected to form a bond, so I suppose they decided it would be an ideal start to the bonding process if you chose.” Once again, there was the feeling of receiving a pet instead of a colleague or partner. Michael leaned back to swallow a mouthful of food and watched her push a forkful around on her plate.

“Are there any names that you like?” How was he supposed to choose a name for someone he didn’t even know? She smiled sadly and shook her head.

“Not really. I’ve never thought of names in that way since I knew it wouldn’t be my choice.” Michael frowned and titled his head to watch her. He had anticipated utilizing some of the “Cooperating” techniques when presented with the opportunity to seek his answers, and now the hardened façade he’d prepared was once again crumbling despite himself.

“It could be your choice. If you wanted it to be.” A slim hand reached across the table and clasped his loosely. He found that he had no interest in pulling away, and he rather enjoyed the gentle coolness and pulse of contentment she emitted.

“I appreciate that. I do. To be honest, I’m excited to see what you come up with. It would be quite special to receive my name from my king” She mimicked his inquisitive head tilt and squeezed his hand softly. “I trust you.” The words were nothing but the truth. Michael felt a sense of pride. And a sudden impending pressure to do right by this person that had granted him her trust. It felt like such a strange word after years of receiving worship. Was that considered any form of trust? His fingers inadvertently returned her gentle grasp.

“I believe it would be in both of our best interests to leave that for a time once we are more well acquainted. If we are truly to be equals, your name should be as meaningful as your purpose. Not something derived from impulse.”

She positively beamed. An unlikely someone was showing her respect and consideration, let alone acknowledgement of her role, that sometimes even her own procession lacked. Michael’s chest swelled in triumph at her pleased reaction. Compassion and flattery earned far greater rewards than hostility and impatience, after all, and that was something Michael knew all too well.

#Michael Langdon #Michael Langdon Fanfiction #Michael Langdon x OC #American Horror Story Apocalypse #ahs apocalypse #Indulgence of Divinity #my fics #This is 90% description and I'm (almost) not sorry #I am sorry for any typos that I didn't catch in my rush to post

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randomlifeunit · 4 years ago

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“When the Bough Breaks…Your Face”

A Whumptober 2020 fic by me 😁

Featuring: My OCs, Jonathan, Angela, Sean, and Rebecca; an out-of-the-way place; and some good old fashioned hurt/comfort.

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: Blood, injuries, bruises, first aid

Chapter 3

Previous Chapter

All four friends reunited at the large log cabin sometime later. They helped Jonathan ease down onto a faded leather couch, and Rebecca wasted no time searching for first aid supplies. She flipped on the lights in the off-white tiled bathroom, rifling through the cupboards, and gratefully pulled down the blue bin clearly marked First Aid and brought it back to the living room. She sent Angela to get some water for Jonathan, and she and Sean helped ease off the bloodied and ripped shirt he wore, while checking for broken bones. “Damn,” Jonathan swore softly. “Angie picked this out for me. Now it’s ruined.” Rebecca murmured in sympathy as she pulled out antiseptic wipes, antibacterial ointment, bandages, and gauze pads. She and Sean worked together to clean and bandage the gash in his shoulder first, as Jonathan grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Next came the myriad of scratches and cuts peppering the purple bruise spreading from his left cheek to his temple. “How are you feeling?” Rebecca asked him, while applying ointment to another scrape near his jawline. “My head feels a bit better,” he answered. “Shoulder still hurts like hell, though.”

“I’ll bet—that cut is pretty deep. You’ll probably need stitches, but I’m worried about a three-hour trail ride after hitting your head like that. I think the best bet is letting you rest tonight, and if all goes well, we get out of here tomorrow and get you looked at.” Jonathan pulled a rueful grin. “So much for adventure,” he lamented, wincing while she cleaned another cut. “Hey Angie, could you see what we have for food here?” Rebecca asked.

Angela scurried off, glad to be able to be of use. She rummaged through the fridge and cupboards, deciding on heating some canned stew that looked appetizing. There were some packaged dinner rolls that looked perfect to go with the meal. She found a large pot and began heating the stew on the gas stove, and put the rolls into the oven to warm. Once it was heated through, she brought out the stew pot, setting it on a hot mitt in the center of the large, sturdy wooden dining table that filled one wall. Grabbing some stoneware bowls, she set the table and located spoons and napkins. Taking a bowl for Jonathan, she ladeled up some of the stew, balancing a roll on the side. “We’re all set, if you guys are hungry,” she announced, coming over to Jonathan’s side.

“We’re just finishing up,” Rebecca responded. She stood and held a hand out to Sean, pulling him to his feet. “Here, Ang,” Rebecca said as she scooted a flat ottoman near the couch. “You might be more comfortable on this than the floor.” Angela smiled and thanked her as she helped Jonathan into a sitting position, then sat on the ottoman to and started to feed him a spoonful of stew. He gave her a lopsided grin. “It’s my left arm that’s messed up, not my right one. I can still feed myself,” he pointed out to her. “Just shush and let me help you. It’s the least I can do,” she admonished, placing a finger over his lips. He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, anything to make you happy.”

Next chapter

Link to my “Paralyzed” fic, for my OCs’ backstory.

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jesatria · 4 years ago

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Fic: Simple Pleasures, Chap 8

Title: Simple Pleasures Fandom: Kushiel’s Legacy Characters: Isidore d’Aiglemort, Anne Livet Pairings: Isidore/Anne Word Count: 4,888 Rating: NC-17 Summary: The story of Isidore d’Aiglemort & the gardener’s daughter of Lombelon. WIP. Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel’s Legacy. This is only for fun & no profit is being made from it.

Previous Chapters:

1. The Visit

2. Desire

3. The Harvest Festival

4. Triumph

5. Gifts

6. The Eagle Unbound

7. Lighting the Candle

Chapter 8: The Longest NIght

Winter came early and hard. The snows fell earlier in the City than they were usually wont to do and fever soon broke out. It made me glad that I was not planning to pass the Longest Night there. Poets soon took to calling it the Bitterest Winter. Mayhap others felt the bitterness; I did not. Quite the opposite. Things were proceeding according to my plan. Yes, the King had rejected my bid for Ysandre’s hand and Ysandre herself refused to speak against her grandfather’s decision. It was a setback, but not a serious one. I had other plans.

I was in high spirits when I arrived at Lombelon a few days before the Longest Night. In truth I’d been flying high since Baudoin’s death, as if a weight had been lifted from me. That combined with Anne’s agreement to become my consort, sufficed to keep me in a fine mood since the summer. Then there was her unexpected revelation that she’d lit the candle to Eisheth. I soon realized, however, that I liked the idea of having a child with her. I was past thirty now—it was high time I got myself an heir. Whether I ever married or not, children born of an officially-recognized consort were counted as legitimate.

A fresh dusting of snow covered the ground when I arrived at Lombelon. Anne stood in her usual place of greeting outside the door, the fur-lined cloak I’d given her wrapped tightly around her. As I rode closer, I could see she was positively glowing with excitement. I all but leapt off my horse and rushed over to her. “I’ve some wonderful news,” she said after we exchanged the usual greetings, “I’m with child.”

My eyes went wide. “You’re certain?”

“Quite certain.”

I swept her into my arms and kissed her fervently. “That is wonderful news indeed!” Somehow the possibility of fatherhood had failed to register with me yet; this brought the reality home. I was going to be a father. Anne and I were going to have a child. It was happening, truly happening. The prospect was intimidating, yes, but only a little. The entirely foreign territory of parenthood was not such a wild land when I had Anne to travel it beside me.

“Would you carry me over the threshold as if I were your wife?” Anne’s teasing voice jolted me out of my thoughts. I did as she suggested and set her down just inside the doorway. It was only a casual remark, but it got me thinking, imagining myself as King with Anne and our child beside me. The thought of tossing all political considerations aside to follow Blessed Elua’s precepts was a very appealing one. I resolved to think on it again later, once I had the prize I sought. For now, I would continue with my plan to name Anne my official consort. ‘Twas a pity it would have to wait until I had the throne. I simply did not have the time to see to it before then, not when I had so many other preparations to make.

It was immediately apparent that the Longest Night was nigh upon us. The great hall was decorated with wreaths and evergreen boughs, embellished here and there with red, white, and silver ribbons. Such decorations were common for the Longest Night, but I could see how they would have a particular significance in L’Agnace as a reminder that there was life yet in the earth and green things would return. “I see you’ve noticed the decorations,” Anne remarked, drawing my attention back to her.

“Yes. They’re quite festive. Your doing?”

“Oh no, we always decorate the great hall like this for the Longest Night,” she explained. “I like the greenery. I’d keep it there all winter if I could.”

“How very L’Agnacite of you.”

“Seeing evergreens always cheers me in winter,” she replied. Anne hated winter, a sentiment which seemed rather common in L’Agnace. I recalled hearing Ghislain de Somerville complain about it while attending winter functions at the Palace. I found it hard to relate, as winter has always been my favorite season. Still, I did the best I could to comfort Anne when the cold weather began to wear on her. I’d have my work cut out for me convincing her to ever spend the winter with me in Camlach. She wouldn’t like the cold, but she was L’Agnacite and would see the beauty of the land.

“I’ll need to take you to the Midwinter Masque at the Palace sometime,” I said. “It’s somewhat to see at least once.”

She smiled. “I think I’d enjoy that.”

“The decorations are always quite stunning, the food excellent, the costumes beautiful. The only spectacle I can think of to match it would be the Midwinter Masque at the Night Court.”

Anne’s eyebrows rose. “The Night Court has its own masque?”

I nodded. “Cereus House hosts it every year, and all thirteen houses attend. It’s harder to get an invitation there than to the Palace masque.”

“Have you ever been?”

“Twice, both with Prince Baudoin.” The first time had been the year he played the Sun Prince. None of us had known about that beforehand, only that Baudoin had a surprise he couldn’t wait to share. In retrospect I’m surprised he did not just tell us, considering how he boasted of his mother’s plans so carelessly. Parts of that night are somewhat of a blur in my memory, as I’d been more than a little drunk, though not as drunk as Baudoin. I’d been stuck holding him as he staggered into Cereus House, so drunk he could barely walk. That was somewhat I didn’t miss in the least, carting Baudoin around when he was blind, stinking drunk.

“When was that?” Anne asked.

“The first was around ten years ago. I was just shy of turning twenty.” It seemed longer ago than that. “Baudoin and I were still good friends then.” The thought didn’t sting as much as it might have months ago.

She was silent for a moment and I thought she might ask me about Baudoin, but she didn’t. “Which of the two masques do you prefer?”

That was somewhat I never considered before; I had to think on it. “Well, it’s difficult to match the sheer decadence and debauchery of the Night Court. You can certainly get it at the Palace too, but no one does debauchery quite like the Night Court does. Their masque has a tendency to turn into an orgy before the night is over.”

Anne giggled. “Decadent indeed. I imagine the Palace masque is more restrained.”

“Yes, to a certain extent. I’ve never seen it become an orgy, but that isn’t to say there aren’t plenty of couples carrying on in semi-private niches.”

She laid a hand on my arm. “Those are fêtes worth attending, it seems.”

“Next year you’ll attend the Palace masque with me.” Next year I’d be King of Terre d’Ange if all went according to plan.

“I would like that very much.”

The days leading up to the Longest Night passed quickly, as all days spent with Anne had an unfortunate tendency to do. It snowed a handful of times, ensuring the grounds were covered in a blanket of white for the Longest Night. I’ve always felt the day lacks a certain something when there is no snow on the ground. Once the pathways were cleared, Anne and I spent some time walking outside. The air was brisk with winter’s chill, but not so cold as to be frigid. I was pleased to see Anne wearing the fur-lined cloak I’d given her, along with a new pair of sturdy boots and warm gloves.

“It really is beautiful, the snow,” she commented as we walked through the gardens. The snow had rendered them a foreign landscape, with the only points of familiarity being the evergreen trees and shrubs. “For all that I complain about it, it is beautiful.”

“It is. I’ve always thought there was somewhat peaceful about it when everything is covered in white after a storm, like a blanket for the sleeping land,” I said, feeling unusually poetic. I suppose my contentment in the moment brought it on.

“My father used to say somewhat similar. When I’d feel sad because all the plants died as the seasons changed, he’d tell me that many of them were only sleeping in the earth and would return again in the spring,” said Anne. I was glad to see her speaking of her father with no trace of sadness in her voice. It was nearly a year since his death and she’d seen fit to confide in me whenever the grief was especially strong. I wished I’d known Gerard Livet better so I could share her grief. My own father had died not so very long ago, and it had been a sudden thing. He’d neglected to call for a chirurgeon after being wounded in a border skirmish and the wound took septic. Maslin d’Aiglemort was nothing if not stubborn to a fault. I’d been with him when it happened and was not expecting to find myself as Duc d’Aiglemort before I was thirty.

I took her gloved hand in mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Do you think your father would approve of what has passed between us?”

She grinned. “If you mean would he approve of me getting with child by you, he would. He knew how happy you make me and so he approved of us.”

“I do wish he was here to see the birth of his grandchild. He and your mother both,” I said gently.

“So do I. What of your family? What will they think of us and our child?”

“Well their opinions hardly matter, not when I am the head of the House. I doubt any of my cousins will say a word against you.” A small smile came to my lips. “My father, were he here, would doubtless be pleased I fathered a child.”

“Indeed.”

“Are you concerned my family will not be welcoming to you?” I inquired.

“The thought crossed my mind once or twice.”

“You shouldn’t trouble yourself over it. I don’t expect you’ll need to see them often.”

Her hand relaxed a little in mine. “I know I’ve been worrying about all of this too much, it’s only that… I fear I won’t fit into your world,” she admitted. At my confused expression, she added, “The parts of your life without me in them.”

I was silent for a moment, taken aback by her words. I’d never thought of it that way, at least not consciously, but it was true enough. There were things Anne did not know and could not know. If things went wrong and my plans were exposed, suspicion might fall on her. That could not happen. By keeping her ignorant of my plans, I protected her. She would not end up like Marc and Bernadette de Trevalion, exiled for their knowledge of Lyonette’s plot. Still, it hurt to keep these secrets from Anne. “That distinction won’t matter once you’re my consort, Anne. You will learn to feel at home in my ‘world’ as you put it over time.”

“I do hope you’re right.” She squeezed my hand. “To think next year we might attend the Palace’s Midwinter Masque together.”

Next year she’d be consort to the King of Terre d’Ange if my plan succeeded. “Indeed we will.”

The Longest Night dawned clear and cold, just the sort of weather I liked. Since Anne and I would be counted as a household once she was my consort, we thought to dress according to a theme for the masque. I would be attired as winter while Anne would be summer. It was her idea and I had to own it was a good one. She had some specific ideas for the costumes, which I relayed to my tailor and seamstress. That surprised me a bit, for I’d never seen Anne to express much in the way of opinions on clothing. I hardly ever gave much thought to it myself, so I was glad to have someone else take charge of it.

We were both quite satisfied with the end results. For my part, I wore a deep forest green doublet and breeches, the shade of pine trees in the depths of winter, accented with silver. My first inclination was to wear all white, but Anne quipped that I was like to blend in with the snow given my coloring. The forest green brocade with silver embroidery was meant to evoke a pine tree with snow in its branches. To complete the costume, I wore a crown fashioned of pine boughs accented here and there with red berries.

Anne loved her costume. “I’ve never worn anything so fine,” she said, running her hands over the silk of her gown. It was the color of honey, with a pattern of fruit and flowers on the bodice and along the hem. Her crown was of flowers and green leaves fashioned from silk. Doubtless she could name all of them; I couldn’t.

I secured a cloak of white velvet around my shoulders with a silver pin. Anne left off admiring her gown to look me over. “You look like a winter spirit come from the heart of the forest. The dark green really does suit your coloring.”

“I didn’t know you paid attention to such things,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Neither did I. I never had much cause to pay attention to such things until now.”

Our costumes were complete with domino masks, mine silver and hers gold. Once they were in place, I held out an arm. Anne took it and together we made our way down to the great hall. Most of the household was already there and they stopped what they were doing to watch us walk down the stairs together, Anne’s hand on my arm. Gasps and whispers could be heard here and there—I daresay we made an impressive pair. “Do they know you’re with child?” I inquired.

“Yes, I imagine so. Word spreads quickly at a small estate such as this.” It was a bit uncomfortable that the household knew, if not exactly surprising. No doubt it was a thrilling bit of gossip.

The decorations I’d noted when I arrived were only the beginning. More had been added since then and the great hall looked entirely unlike I’d ever seen it before. I’d attended several celebrations at Lombelon over the last few years, but none of them had taken place in the great hall. L’Agnacites loved the land and with it came a fondness for outdoor celebrations. But not even they would pass the Longest Night outside. A pair of long tables had been set up on opposite sides of the hall, with ample space in between them for dancing. A fire roared in the large fireplace, keeping the room pleasantly warm. As Anne and I approached the table nearer the fireplace, folk in the crowd paused to bow or curtsy. I knew nearly all of them by name now. There was Thèrese, the head of the kitchen who’d made Camaeline dishes for me. There was Marcel, Anne’s friend and lover before—and also a bit after—she met me. If he had any lingering resentment toward me, he didn’t show it. My men were there as well, casually mingling with the residents of Lombelon. Those among them who regularly accompanied me on my visits had gotten to know the folk of Lombelon and felt at ease attending a fête such as this.

Anne and I took our seats at the center of the table nearest the fireplace. There was nothing like a formal seating arrangement—the higher-ranked members of the household sat closest to us while the rest took what seats were available. The table was laden with a fine selection of dishes. Anne took the time to point out a few of note. “I made sure some of your Camaeline dishes were included,” she informed me.

“Let us see if the other cooks did as good a job preparing them as you did,” I replied as I helped myself to slices of quiche and tarte flambée.

What followed was a Midwinter Masque quite unlike any I’d ever attended. To compare it to the masques at the Palace or Cereus House was as pointless as comparing a rabbit to a swan. They were entirely different experiences, for all that they are both Midwinter Masques. Suffice it to say that the food was quite delicious and I enjoyed the company greatly. Joie flowed freely, along with L’Agnacite wine and the pear brandy no visit to Lombelon would be complete without. I drank a bit more than was my usual want. Anne on the other hand contented herself with a single glass of joie owing to her condition.

When the meal was over, instruments were fetched and several folk left their seats to begin playing. Others moved to the open space between the tables and began to dance. Anne and I watched in comfortable silence for a few minutes. These were not the formal court dances I knew. No, they were the same sort of country dances I’d seen at other celebrations I’d attended at Lombelon. In all likelihood they were traditional L’Agnacite country dances. Each province had its own traditional dances entirely separate from the formal dances found at court. I was well-versed in the Camaeline ones and had more than a passing acquaintance with the Kusheline ones as well. Eventually the lively music gave way to a slower tune. I looked at Anne. “Would you care for a dance?”

“Dance? With you?”

“Of course.”

She blushed a little. “I don’t know anything of formal court dances.”

“Then we’ll start with somewhat simple.” I stood and offered her an arm. “I’ll lead and all you need do is follow.”

She laid a hesitant hand on my arm. “As you wish.”

Together we walked out to the center of the room. Several of the other dancers halted what they were doing to stare at us. Those nearest us moved out of the way to give us space. I took Anne’s hand in mine and laid a hand on her waist. “Put your other hand on my arm,” I instructed, “and try your best to follow me and not step on my feet.”

She smiled. “I think I can manage that.” The musicians took up their instruments and our dance began. I kept it simple, leading Anne across the floor. She was able to keep pace with me without any difficulties. It made me think of how well-matched we were in bed, how attuned we were to each other. As we danced, the crowd around us seemed to disappear until Anne might’ve been the only one there. Her mask completely failed to hide the love that was plain on her face. I could lose myself in the depths of those hazel eyes.

“You’re a good dancer,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Not even with all those times you’ve watched my sword practice?”

“Well, that isn’t dancing exactly.”

“It’s not so very different from it. The footwork is important.” It wasn’t the first time someone had complemented my dancing. The Shahrizai were surprised to find me a passing good dancer when I arrived to foster among them. More recently Ysandre de la Courcel had praised my dancing skills while dancing with me at a fête. Anne and I danced to several more songs until the hour grew late. “That’s certainly a good start,” I remarked once we’d returned to our seats. “It shouldn’t take you long to learn courtly dances.”

“I suspect not with such a good teacher.”

We were interrupted by the doors of the great hall opening wide to admit the Winter Queen. She looked much the same as other Winter Queens I’d seen, dressed as she was in a ragged cloak and hobbling along with her staff. “Our Winter Queen wears the same costume every year,” Anne remarked. “Same thing with the Sun Prince. All we do is make alterations as needed.”

The lights were extinguished. The doors opened once again to admit the Sun Prince. He tapped the Winter Queen on the shoulder with his spear. She cast off her cloak and the lights were restored. The new year had begun. “Were you ever the Winter Queen?”

“Yes. More than once. What about you? Were you the Sun Prince?”

“Of course. Once the year before I went to the Shahrizai and once the year after.”

Anne lifted a hand to stroke my hair gently. “You must’ve made a fine Sun Prince with your beautiful hair.”

Elua, I loved it when she called my hair beautiful. It was my one vanity. I avoided tying it back specifically so I could show it to its best advantage. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

After the appearance of the Sun Prince, the celebration began to wind down. Many people left the hall to retire for the night. We had no obligation to stay for the rest of the masque and thus made our exit. With the whole staff enjoying the masque, a fire hadn’t already been laid in my bedchamber. I saw to it quickly, then removed my mask and crown. After wearing them for hours, it was a relief to take them off. Anne did the same with hers and a moment later we sat together on the bed. A bottle of joie and two glasses stood on the bedside table. I hadn’t requested it. “Your doing?”

Anne nodded. “I thought we might enjoy some in private.” She uncorked the bottle and filled both glasses. “Joy to you on the Longest Night, Isidore.”

I raised the glass. “All the same to you, Anne. Joy.” I drained the glass in one go. Never let it be said I didn’t learn anything during my association with Prince Baudoin. I took a brief moment to savior the icy bite of the joie. I would easily name it my favorite liqueur if asked. There’s somewhat in it that always reminds me of Camlach, as if it retained some memory of the high places where the snowdrops grew. I set the glass on the table and looked at Anne. She sipped the last of the joie and placed her empty glass beside mine. I kissed her then, tasting the joie on her lips. She returned the kiss with equal ardor and we drank deeply from each other. Our costumes were soon a pile on the floor.

We savored each other that night. I must’ve kissed and stroked every part of her and she did the same to me. Somewhat about the simple fact that she was carrying my child made me even more aroused that I usually was. She was not showing yet—it was too early for that—but I couldn’t help stroking her stomach more than was my usual wont. Anne told me she’d already spoken with the local priestess of Eisheth, who guessed our child would be born in early summer. With luck the impending Skaldi invasion would be over by then and I could return to Lombelon to attend the birth.

I pulled her closer to me until I could feel the entirety of her pressed tight against me. She had exactly the sort of richly-curved figure prized in Camlach for the promise of warmth on the coldest winter nights. I laid a hand on her arse and buried another in her hair as if I could keep her from harm if I held her close enough. My mind was too active from the excitement of the day for me to fall asleep easily. Even after Anne fell asleep I lay awake, my thoughts turning to our child. I tried to imagine what the mingling of my blood with Anne’s would produce. Would our child be more Camaeline or L’Agnacite? Camaeline, I was fairly certain. I was of one of the purest Camaeline bloodlines, after all. But mayhap there’d be a love for gardens in there. A son with my hair and somewhat of Anne in his face. Or mayhap a daughter, but in truth I was more excited by the idea of a son. It made no practical difference—a daughter could inherit as well as a son. We are a civilized people, after all. A son, though—a son I could teach to wield a sword, draw a bow, lead the Allies of Camlach in battle, as my father had taught me the entirety of Camael’s Arts.

With that pleasant thought, I finally drifted off to sleep.

With the Longest Night now passed, my natality was soon upon us. I did not generally want a big fuss made of it, a preference formed after years of the Shahrizai and Baudoin insisting on throwing fêtes for the occasion. This year I was determined to spend the day with Anne. The only thing that disrupted our time together was a message from Melisande, and I quickly dispatched several of my men-at-arms to carry out her request. I had to wonder if she knew about Anne and me. All the local folk did. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Melisande did as well.

When the day of my natality came, thoughts of Melisande’s request vanished entirely from my mind at the prospect of spending the day with Anne. She insisted on marking the occasion, and I was happy to go along with it. She spent a portion of her time in the kitchen, preparing a special dinner. It consisted of Camaeline dishes, some which I specifically requested. To be able to enjoy some comforts of home while also spending time with Anne was the best birthday gift I could’ve hoped for.

Anne had other gifts for me. “You really did not need to do this,” I said as I followed her into the bedchamber.

“I know. But I wanted to anyway.” She gestured to one of the armchairs by the fireplace, where she’d laid out my gifts. A pair of shirts were draped over the arms of the chair, with a smaller square of cloth resting between them.

“You made me shirts. But how…?”

“I might’ve… borrowed one of your shirts while you were last here so I could get your measurements,” she admitted. “I know they’re not as fine as what you usually wear…”

“They’re just perfect. Thank you, Anne.” The shirts were fairly plain, with little in the way of embellishment on the collars and cuffs. Not that I don’t wear shirts with lace trim on occasion, but it is not my preference. My eyes then shifted to the square of cloth lying on the seat of the chair. It was a handkerchief. A closer look revealed she’d embroidered it. That took me aback for a moment—I hadn’t known Anne had such skill in embroidery. She’d stitched a pair of silver eagles in opposite corners, with pear blossoms at their feet.

“I copied them from the eagles on your standard,” said Anne.

“It’s quite a good likeness.”

“I wanted to give you a lover’s token you might take with you when you ride off to war again.”

Her words fell heavily between us. I’d not spoken of the coming Skaldi invasion to her at all during this visit. Better not to speak of it at all than dwell on what I had to keep hidden from her. I steered the conversation away from the impending invasion. “A very thoughtful gift. I’ll be sure to keep it with me.”

“I’m so pleased you like it.” Anne smiled. “I’ve been quite busy with sewing lately, for I mean to make a quilt for our child.”

“Really? I’ve not seen you doing anything of that sort since I’ve been here.”

“That’s because I’ve been too busy spending time with you.”

I sat on the bed. “Well, you can rest assured our child will have all the blankets he could possibly want.”

She raised an eyebrow. “He?”

“Or she,” I added. “I’ve been thinking I’d like to have a son. The idea of teaching him to wield a sword really appeals to me.”

“Could you not teach a daughter?”

I considered her question a moment before answering. “I could, yes. Camaeline women are taught to defend themselves should they be attacked, but they don’t fight on the battlefield.” I met Anne’s eyes. “You know I wouldn’t love any daughter of ours any less.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied, amused, “and in case you were wondering I have no particular preference for a son or daughter.”

I spent most of the winter at Lombelon. Business did call me away from time-to-time, but for the most part I was able to spend much of my time with Anne. There was a sense of urgency in it as winter began to loosen its icy grip on the land. When the days grew warm enough that I judged the nearest pass to be open, I left for Camlach.

It was a difficult parting, the most difficult we’d had thus far.

Soon I would be at war.

Notes

I’ve been writing Kushielfic for 10 years, & this is the 1st time I’ve actually managed to post a Longest Night scene on the Longest Night. Enjoy, & joy to you on this Longest Night!

#kushiel's legacy #simple pleasures #jesatriafic #isidore d'aiglemort #anne livet

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softspiderling · 5 years ago

Text

honest feelings and bad timing - TEASER | t.h. / h.o.

Summary: It’s always been you, Tom and Harrison. A package deal. But sometimes things change.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader x Harrison Osterfield

Author’s Note: shoutout to @afangirlwashere for spinning this idea around and making me want to read it so bad, I had to write it. This is not going to be polyamorous, btw, I just didn’t want to give too much away.

Warnings: angst, underage drinking

Word Count: 1,5k

C O M I N G T H I S F A L L!

2 0 1 3

“What’d you tell your parents?”

Tom tugged the hood over his head before glancing at Harrison. It was nearing nine pm, they just had their last day at school, and even though it was already dark and the street lamps were slowly flickering on it was still considerably warm.

“I told them we were having a good bye party at Cassidy’s place and that their parents were home, you?”

Harrison stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Told them we were hanging out at Y/N’s place. Didn’t your brothers wanted to tag along when you mentioned a party?”

“Obviously,” Tom snorted. “But mum luckily didn’t let them, said ‘Tom deserves this, you two should stay at home’.”

Sometimes Harrison envied how open-minded Nikki was. Even though he didn’t like lying to his mum and step-father, he knew that they wouldn’t have let him leave the house if he had mentioned a party, let alone alcohol. He usually wasn’t one for breaking the rules, but Nikki was right. It was the end of the school year and all three of you had a busy year.

Tom had been filming his film with Saoirse Ronan, you were going to countless auditions and Harrison had just recently been signed by a model agency. On top of that, you had been juggling the school work which you sadly did not get a free pass on just because you were auditioning, because basically every student was doing the same.

“Lucky you,” Harrison muttered Tom grinned at him, fishing his phone out of pockets when they rounded into your street.

“You think she’s already ready?” he asked and Harrison shrugged, glancing at your house that was standing at the end of the street, windows illuminated by the lights from within.

“She said she was.”

THE BRITS

You: I’ll be done by nine, don’t be late!!11!!

Tommy: we’re standing outside ur house. Should we knock?

“Do you think she told her parents about the party?” Harrison wondered and Tom tapped his phone against his chin, thinking as he stared up the window from your bedroom.

“I’m not sure actually. She’s usually honest with her family, so maybe?” he said, glancing at his phone when it vibrated with a new message from you.

You: no, I’ll be right down.

The boys watched as the light from your bedroom turned off and a couple of minutes later, you exited the house.

“Yeah, I will! Love you!” you called before shutting the door behind you and traipsing over to where the boys where standing, a black oversize hoodie hanging over your bare legs.

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” Harrison asked with a creased forehead and you squinted your eyes at him.

“I just snuck out before my mum could see me and now you’re the one concerned with my choice of clothing?”

“Haz is just saying that we brought hoodies but inevitably one of us is going to have to lend them to you because you’re cold,” Tom piped up and you scoffed.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll be inside the whole time and as soon as I’ve downed some shots, I won’t be cold, I promise,” you told them and linked your arms with them. Harrison sighed but let himself be dragged from you.

“I take it you didn’t tell them about the party?”

You gave him a look. “Are you crazy? Of course I didn’t tell them, you know how weird they get when I even show one sign of growing up and drinking underage is definitely that.”

It was three hours later when Tom and Harrison realized you had planned on doing exactly that.

The boys had left you alone to play a few rounds of Mario kart in the basement of Cassidy’s parents’ house while you had stayed upstairs at the main party. As the music upstairs was turned up so high, even drowning out the music from the basement, the boys found their way back upstairs, only to be greeted by a bunch of people dancing drunkenly and you in the middle of it on top of the dining table., crooning to whatever Rita Ora song was playing

Tom was gaping at you while Harrison sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

“For god’s sake.”

“R.I.P. to the girl you used to see. Her days are over, baby she's ooooooveeeeer!” you yelled, your voice cracking. You lifted the WKD Blue bottle that served as your microphone and when you caught sight of your two best friends standing in the doorway, you beamed at them, waving them over.

“Haz! Tommy, come on and sing with me!”

You took a few steps forward and the table tipped over, sending you flying. Lucky for you, Tom dove forward to catch you in his arms while Harrison nearly got a heart attack.

“Whoopsie,” you giggled and looked up at Tom with glassy eyes. “Thanks Tommy,” you said and pressed a kiss on his cheek, your lip gloss smearing on his cheek.

“Alright, it’s time for us to leave,” Harrison announced and grabbed your hoodie that you had taken off during the night.

You pouted while Tom gently put you back on your feet. “You okay to stand, love?” he asked, his eyes full of worry.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, fixing the straps of your dress. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Well, life’s hard darling,” Harrison pointed out as he and Tom pulled the hoodie over your head. You planted your heels in the ground as they dragged you out of the crowded house.

“Bye guys!” you shouted, waving with your hands excessively.

“Bye Y/N!” Cassidy called back, her hands around her mouth. “Text me tomorrow!”

As you stepped out of the house, the cold air did a pretty good job of sobering you up a bit and you leaned quite heavily on Tom, as your surroundings started spinning.

You groaned into Tom’s shoulder. “Can we sit down for a bit?” you asked and he sighed before stopping, letting you fall on your butt. You leaned your forehead on your arms and closed your eyes, while two pairs of hands were rubbing your back comfortingly.

“You wanna tell us what this is about love?” Harrison asked, his annoyed tone from earlier having dissipated at seeing the state you currently were in.

“What do you mean?” you mumbled, voice muffled. “I just had too much WKD. Doesn’t mean there’s a deep meaning behind every stupid thing I do.”

The boys shared a look over your head because it usually meant exactly that. Out of three people in this friendship it was usually you who took care of the boys and scolded them for being stupid and not thinking things through. Even though it was refreshing to not being taken care off once in a while, Tom and Harrison were still concerned for your well-being.

You sighed and looked back up, a frown on your face. “James broke up with me,” you mumbled out, plucking some grass from the dirt before throwing it at your feet.

Harrison pulled a face while Tom furrowed his brows. You had met James at an audition for a film and immediately clicked with him, which neither of the boys understood because they both couldn’t stand the guy. He was way too polished and the way he looked down on BRIT school just because he went to some fancy actors’ school in New York was maddening.

“I know you guys didn’t like him, but I really did,” you said and Tom leaned his head on your shoulder.

“What happened?” he asked and Harrison mirrored his actions.

“Do we need to kick his ass?” the blonde asked and you laughed, causing the boys’ heads on your shoulder to shake with the vibration of your body.

“No, you don’t have to. I’m fine,” you said and they gave you a look. “Okay, I’m fine now. I just wanted to forget for a few hours. Being dumped fucking sucks.”

You then grew quiet and the only thing that could be heard was the music playing at Cassidy’s house. Trickling your fingers down Tom’s arm he was leaning on your knee, you laced your fingers with his before doing the same with Harrison’s. You still felt a little empty inside, but sharing the news with your best friends seemed to have dulled the pain a bit.

“I’m really glad to have you guys, you know,” you said quietly. “Thanks for joining me at my table in the cafeteria two years ago, I never had friends like you two.”

“Of course love,” Harrison hummed, squeezing your hand. “Who else would keep us out of trouble?” Tom joked and nudged your arm with his nose.

“You were the ones keeping me out of trouble tonight,” you threw in and closed your eyes for a bit. The way home was long and it was late, the alcohol still coursing through your veins. You weren’t sure how to get home without your parents hearing you and finding out about your drunken state, but you knew that everything was going to be fine as long as the boys next to had your back.

A/N: I’m sooooo excited for this to come out!! Please let me know what you think of this and share your excitement with me!!!

Bolded means I couldn’t tag you for some reason. If that is the case with your user, please shoot me a message so we can figure out the problem! Message me if you want to be on the taglist!

Taglist: @sunflowercth // @thatphandomchick // @psychicforest // @llamasaurousmaddie // @fandomdarlings // @unfortunateshelby // @skyfall8600 // @yeahimcrying // @spideys-gurl // @one-big-fangirl // @imagine-lovebug // @professionalphangirluniverse // @zabdisamor // @palindrome-teddy // @axa-vega // @btsgot7crackheads // @angelicshinigami // @mrsfortune1306 // @spicy-mango626 // @thorsvotary // @boughs-of-hollie // @magicalturmoil // @overdramaticdepressedteen // @tomhollandismyspiderman // @tomshufflepuff // @trustfundparker // @evelyn120700 // @sincerelygmg // @the-surviving-revolutionist // @darktwistydiamond // @tomspidertingle // @jackiehollanderr // @jsusofsburbia // @nerdyandproudofitsstuff // @marvelislove10 // @chaoticc-loki // @pluckypete // @starlightfound // @lost-in-translating // @chaoticharmonyqueen // @beautifullydisconnected // @parkeret // @strang-ersclub // @afangirlwashere @xidaughterofthemoonix // @screamholland // @laureharrier //

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greensaplinggrace · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! This is kind of out there but I was wondering if you could do a post apocolypse au? With tons of Barret but not very shippy. With lots of found family though! Thanks

“I know you didn't list Barret as one of the character you write, but you also said that the list was only a sort of guideline and not actually hard rules. If that's the case could you maybe do a prompt for some Dad!Barret and Marlene fluff? Thank you 💞💕” - Anon

Filling two prompts at once here, so I hope this fits the bill for both! Also I got really into this prompt so I’m honestly probably going to continue it? If so, it’ll on ao3, but here’s what I’ve written so far. Sort of the start of the fic/a prologue. A five + 1 type premise, beginning with Tifa XD

-UPDATE! The fic is now finished - PART 2 - PART 3 - ALL PARTS ON AO3

-If you want to send in a prompt, the guidelines are HERE and HERE!

------

His daughter makes him a crown of dead flowers.

Barricaded inside of some long abandoned home, the only pieces of nature still visible are the wilted remains of a bouquet once gathered neatly in a vase. They’re faded, of course. Neglected and passed over for more urgent necessities; victims to the cruel fate of the merciless virus. Just as humans had been.

Just like every other living thing on the planet.

Yet Marlene doesn’t seem to mind. As soon as they’re both settled in for the night she takes the flowers up, small fingers clutching ever so delicately at the crumbling stems, and weaves him a crown. Kicking her feet on an old dusty couch and humming away, she even appears almost happy and content, though he knows she’s not.

He knows she’s afraid. Sees it every day in her frightened tears and hears it every night in the tiny, terrified whimpers of her nightmares.

These things - these small, innocuous pieces of joy she seems to find at the strangest of moments, are the only pieces of innocence she has left. Her only protection from the monsters inside of her head.

Barret can’t rob her of that; he never could. Even if the flowers she plays with are dead and the couch she sits on once belonged to someone else. So when she looks up at him with wide brown eyes and that big, loving smile, presenting his crown like the glittering tiara she imagines it is, he can’t do anything else but kneel to accept it.

Can’t do anything else but return the smile and play pretend, heart aching with the loss of something he knows she’ll never get back.

Sometimes, he thinks of what his life would be like without her. Thinks of the kids out on the streets and the parents he’s met along the roads. Shell shocked, blank faced victims, waiting for the infected to end it all, and he knows he’s lucky. Lucky to have her at all in this destructive world, and the loss of her innocence isn’t so horrifying in the face of her simply being here with him. Safe and cared for and alive.

Because Marlene is the only thing he has left in the world - she’s the only one who matters - and he knows he’d do just about anything to keep her safe.

More importantly, though. More than anything else. He’d do anything to keep her happy.

So he plays pretend.

He wears the crown made from dead people’s things and cooks in their kitchen. Ignores the plundered and violated remains of their home to search through his own bag for some food, and hopes that his little girl doesn’t go looking upstairs to see the empty baby’s nursery.

Dinner is small again. It’s been beans and carrots for the past week, and it’ll be beans and carrots again today. Considering their circumstances, it isn’t exactly surprising. Watching over Marlene means making certain sacrifices, and raiding the bigger places for better supplies is simply too difficult with a child in tow.

Impossibly difficult.

But it may soon be necessary, if things keep going the way they are. The thought that he might have to expose Marlene to the atrocities of their new world doesn’t sit well with him, but he might have to start doing so if he wants to keep them both alive and fed. Especially if he wants any tools of a high enough quality to maintain his arm.

Right now it works, but the thing is too slow to be useful for anything except shooting, and he relegates it to hanging limp and useless beside him on most days. Though even when his arm had been working at it’s finest, it was never useful for cooking.

Mechanized gun arms tend to be like that.

“Daddy?”

He hums, pots and pans banging, relieved when the stove starts without problem. “Yes, honey?”

“Where do you think the people who lived here moved away to?”

That warrants a glance backwards, and Barret turns to see Marlene still on the couch. She’s got a large photo album opened up on her lap now, flipping through it with a childlike curiosity. Her feet are still kicking off the edge of her seat, and after a beat of silence she looks up at him questioningly.

He pushes back the urge to snatch the book away from her - to protect her from the darkness only he can see hiding between the pages.

Alive or dead, those are happy photos. Moments of a better life and a better time, and Marlene’s touch can only make them brighter. So he leaves her to it and returns to his cooking.

“They could be anywhere,” he still tells her, hoping to give her whatever small shred of hope he can, “maybe they’re hiding somewhere safer.”

“Like a Camp?”

“Maybe.” The nearest Camp isn’t for miles, but he knows the army and fast formed neighborhood watches had been evacuating people to safe sites. A lot of those had been transformed into Camps or eventually transferred to other Camps. For anybody living near the city, it isn’t exactly a stretch to imagine.

More of a stretch than Barret can muster, though.

“What if they Clustered?” Marlene asks after a moment of thought.

Barret isn’t at all expecting the words, and he barely manages to bite back an unsavory comment upon hearing them. What Marlene refers to as Clusters, most call Mobs, and he’d rather jump off a damn cliff than ever even look at one again. He doesn’t want to scare her, though. So instead he clears his throat and focuses on making their plates to distract himself, lips tightening.

“Then at least they’d be safe,” he offers mildly.

“Well then why aren’t we in one? If it’s safe, I mean.”

“Because it’s only safe for certain people, baby.” When she opens her mouth he cuts her off, raising the plates in an apology. “You just have to trust me, okay? Let’s talk about something else.”

At her huff of reluctant acceptance he moves back to the couch, sitting close and pulling away the photo album.

He closes it and tosses it aside immediately, but in the half second his gaze finds the photos, he notices they’re all of a happy old couple. Thin and frail and paler than porcelain from a distinct lack of sun.

Dead, he realizes.

There’s no way they would have made it.

“Daddy? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m fine. Let’s eat, huh? We gotta finish up soon if we want you in bed on time.”

Marlene pouts at that, suitably distracted, and they both dig into their food with gusto.

Speculating about strangers will get in him nowhere, he knows. Especially when it comes to the dead ones.

There’ll be time for mourning later.

Much, much later.

So he sits and he eats and talks about ponies and princesses, the crown still adorning his head, and he doesn’t think about anything except his daughter.

Doesn’t think about a thing except how he’s going to keep her alive.

They finish their meal in record time. Soon enough, Barret is tucking a fussy Marlene into bed. She’s curled up in her cot near the living room heater, bundled beneath some extra blankets he found in the linen closet, and she’s out like a light as soon as her head hits the pillow.

Barret sits and keeps watch while she sleeps. Through the slivers of space between boards, he watches dusk pass peacefully by. The infected begin to meander away once his and Marlene’s disturbance becomes old news to them, and a silence befalls their cozy sanctuary as the sky gradually darkens.

Then shit goes horribly, explosively sideways.

It happens in the middle of the night: a deafening boom that rocks the world and instantly has Barret on high alert. The air around them erupts in a blaze of fire and screams, upper level catching like dry tinder before he can so much as blink.

Barret jumps to his feet with a yell, turning to grab Marlene as the ceiling crumbles around them. She’s glossy eyed and confused, but he doesn’t have the time to explain it to her. Doesn’t have the time to do a thing as beams pop around them, tires screeching in the near distance. Then the sound of shattering windows rends the silence of the night, a sadistic chorus of hoots and hollers following right at its heels.

The approaching thunder of footsteps is what pushes Barret into motion. Quickly, with the rise of voices goading him to move faster than he ever has before, Barret pulls their bags onto one shoulder, hefting his little girl over the other, and races to the crooked backdoor. He kicks it down amidst a cascade of red hot cinders, ducking underneath the doorway without hesitation, and looks up to see dewy grass stretching out cold and exposed before them.

Another explosion sounds out from the house, the footsteps beginning to get closer as the war cries rise, and he has no time to waste anymore - no time for second thoughts.

Barret takes Marlene and he runs.

------

After that night, their situation only gets worse. The Mob isn’t tracking Barret down, but it’s clear they’ve set up shop in the surrounding buildings and aren’t planning to move anytime soon.

As a result, Barret gives the city a wide berth. Skirting past the outermost houses and heading into the open fields, he eventually leads them into the surrounding forests. He’s hoping for some modicum of safety within the boughs, but greenery is scarce and the leaves are falling. Winter’s chill becomes more prominent with every passing night to exacerbate the issue, and it drives home their need for four walls and a roof like nothing else ever could.

Yet for now, it’s better than nothing. Better than being left so vulnerable again, defenseless in another family’s home.

The added protection of the trees brings other problems, however. They’re isolated from civilization and traders out here, with no friendly faces to be seen for miles, and the subsequent dip in their supplies is severe.

By the end of their first week camping out in the forests, Barret finds himself staring at his and Marlene’s very last can of beans, and knows without a doubt that they’ve finally hit the breaking point.

They’re going to have to go looting again if they want some food.

And it is that thought that finds Barret and Marlene outside the remains of an empty, half hidden store just a few too many paces off the main road. With not a single infected in sight, it looks like the perfect mark.

Marlene huffs into the chill beside him, breath fogging. “What if there are monsters inside?”

“Daddy will take care of them! Don’t you worry a bit about that.”

Marlene shuffles her feet and ducks her head. She has a death grip on his fingers, body closed off and fearful, and he already regrets making the decision to come out here. All around them, the silence of the abandoned store echoes with a warning.

“I’m scared,” she whispers at the ground, and Barret squeezes her hand lightly in reassurance.

“It’ll be real quick, baby, I promise,” he says, voice strong even as he eyes the flickering store lights with trepidation, “we’ve just gotta run in and out. Grab all the food we can carry and haul ass, huh?”

“But I can’t carry lots,” Marlene replies mournfully.

“That’s no problem! I’ll do most of the carrying. Your job is just to stay on my shoulder and make me feel better.”

“Like a cheerleader?”

“Exactly like a cheerleader. You’re my hype crew!”

Her giggle lights up the dark parking lot, and he kneels to give her a gentle hug. When her small hands come up to wrap around his neck he gets an arm under her, lifting her up with exaggerated force until she’s clutching at his fingers and giggling wildy.

Shifting her to his shoulder is almost easy after that. She’s distracted and pleased, beginning to hum her little happy song again as she kicks her legs in the air, and Barret hates himself for having to make it go away.

“Now you gotta hold on real tight, remember? Cause I need both hands free for this.” He looks up to see her nod and frown seriously, heart aching at the maturity in her expression.

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll be quiet, too.”

“Good. Just like we practiced.”

“Mhm!”

Then it’s go time.

They move towards the store slowly and enter with care. Barret’s desperate but he’s not going to act the fool. There could be any number of threats inside, and he isn’t going to risk his daughter because he acted rashly - made too much noise or stepped too loudly. Isn’t going to give the infected the satisfaction of seeing him fall.

Marlene is careful, too. She’s got a death grip on his shoulder and his hair the entire time he walks. Yet the pain is nothing compared to knowing she’s safe, so he stays silent as they creep past the threshold.

As soon as he steps foot in the building he sees the checkout. It’s right beside the door, as he’d known it would be, but it’s holding way more registers and lanes than he’d planned on seeing. Immediately, Barret takes a longer look at the aisles spreading out a fair distance in front of them, and realizes with dread that this store is a lot bigger than he’d given it credit for.

The CVS sign in the far corner blares accusingly from its place above another, smaller checkout.

Medicine is his first thought - his only thought - for a long time after seeing it. And of course it is. Medicine is indescribably valuable during catastrophes such as this. It’s priceless.

And he’s staring at a whole roomful of it.

This store hasn’t been looted, he realizes blankly, and that’s when the second thought hits. Harsh and brutal as if he’s been hit by a truck.

Threat, his mind blares, and he’s instantly tensing as he readies for a battle or a confrontation - anything.

This is no longer a simple search for remaining loot. Any Mob or Camp worth a damn would be on this shit in seconds if they knew it was here, and they wouldn’t shy away from using any means necessary to obtain the supplies.

Hell, if a Syndicate finds this place they might as well give up on life right now.

His heart skips a beat, hand coming up for just a brief moment to squeeze tightly at his little girl’s leg, and she hugs him from above. She doesn’t say anything, though. Merely patting the top of his head in an attempt at comfort.

Smart girl, he thinks, moving to grab one of the shopping carts lying about. It’s completely intact, and even the mere presence of a fully functioning shopping cart at the entrance of the store lets him know nobody has set foot in this place since shit hit the fan.

They’re loud but they’re handy, and Barret plans on filling the entire thing to brimming. With this whole basket full they’ll be able to eat well for weeks.

An insistent hand tugs at his hair. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, honey.” He begins to wheel the cart around, but Marlene’s next words stop him dead.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He demands, but he’s already tensing, gun charged up and free hand coming to steady his little girl.

He whirls around to face the back rooms just as she yells out a “that!”, and as if on cue a crash rings out, several voices rising in the sounds of a fight. Barret barely has the time to raise his gun and take a step back before the doors are bursting open, a long haired woman flying through to skid painfully across the white tiles.

Marlene gasps. “Daddy, it’s a girl!”

“Marlene baby, don’t-”

Then the doors burst open a second time with a reverberating thud. It’s loud enough to wake any infected in the nearby vicinity, and though Barret doesn’t hear any cries rise up from the surrounding forest, he knows it’s only a matter of time before some creature comes looking.

“Hey!” He snaps at the people coming through the doors. They’re all white men, though two are big and burly while the other is slighter, only coming up to their shoulders.

All three look pissed as hell.

“Who the hell is that?” One of them hisses, gesturing with a bloodied wooden bat in Barret’s direction, and Barret wastes no time in directing his gun straight at the man’s ugly mug.

“I’m your worst damn nightmare unless you back the fuck down, boy!” He growls menacingly, and though his chest tightens at Marlene’s fearful whimper, he doesn’t let the stony facade fade.

The smaller man scoffs. “You and what army? The seven year old on your shoulder? I hate to break it to you big guy, but that we could take you both down within seconds.” The cocky shit brandishes a pistol as he speaks, finger pressed so tightly to the trigger Barret’s half afraid he’ll fire wide without meaning to.

Subtly, he tightens his hold of Marlene, about to speak again when the woman on the ground coughs and rises to her hands and knees.

“No!” She protests loudly, to both Barret and the smaller man’s surprise. Her voice is scratchy yet strong with heated conviction, eyes burning a brilliant red as they come up to glare accusingly at the other. “She’s only a little girl, don’t-”

“Any fool stupid enough to carry around a brat during the apocalypse deserves to have her ripped from his fingers.” It’s one of the larger man that speaks this time around, and Barret has to grit his teeth through the rush of anger that sears through his veins, seconds away from putting thirty fucking bullets through the man’s worthless smirking face.

“What the hell did you just say?!” He demands.

“I said we’re going to kill you and your little brat, and then after that we’re going to kill this stupid whore for thinking she could steal from us!”

“No!” Barret’s heart almost stops at Marlene’s shout. The way every eye in the room is drawn to her. The way the gun points straight at her head - “You can’t hurt her! She’s ours, now. Tell them, Daddy!”

Barret turns to break the gunman’s line of sight, but surprisingly it’s the woman who speaks again, shaking her head wildly as she struggles to get to her feet. “Please! Please don’t get involved. I don’t want anybody else to get hurt.”

Stunned, all Barret can do for a moment is stand frozen, staring down at her. Her face is bruised and swollen, lip split and bleeding where she’s biting it aggressively to fight back the pain, and her arm curls around her ribs in a way that indicates they’re at least bruised, if not broken. Yet still she tries to rise up in their defense - in his daughter’s defense - despite her injured and unarmed state.

“Daddy-”

“I know, honey.” He can’t risk Marlene but he can’t just stand idly by as someone else gets hurt.

Before he knows it and before anybody can do a thing to react, he’s stepping forward and placing himself firmly between the woman and the three twitchy men. They all buck back like frightened horses at his rapid approach, making harsh, surprised noises that instantly tell Barret what he needs to know.

So he grins and bars his teeth, massive gun swinging around to aim at each of them for a second. Lingering until every last one is skittering uncomfortably, shifty eyed and sweating.

“I ain’t gon’ let you touch this girl and I am sure as hell not gonna let you so much as look or think about my daughter again! Now scram!” Bullets ring through the air, battering the concrete by the group’s heads and making them scream with terror, scattering like ants. Even the gunman forgets his own weapon and fragile bravado to turn tail and flee right behind his friends.

Then, as quickly as they’d appeared, the men are gone; glass doors sliding closed behind them as they stumble and stagger their way through the entire length of the parking lot and disappear into the trees.

Barret doubts they’ll last long with the infected in their current states, so he doesn’t bother chasing them. Instead, heart racing and mouth dry, he falls to his knees beside the woman. Though he pays her no heed as he sweeps his daughter from his shoulders and tucks her close to his chest.

“Are you alright?” He gasps into her hair. “Are you okay? Did they-did they-”

Marlene giggles, squirming against his hold until he’s forced to let her go. She twists her dirty pink shoes against the floor and holds her hands behind her back, smiling up at him so widely her eyes crease with the force of it. “I’m fine, Daddy!”

He sighs and checks her over with his eyes. Nobody had attacked them, of course, but he just can’t shake the fear that she could have died. One stray bullet or unfortunate ricochet. If the men had been any braver or the woman any more willing to use her proximity against them. If…

“You promise?”

“I promise!”

He gives her another quick hug, because she’s his daughter and she’s alive and he can, and then pulls away again to take a look at the woman behind them.

She’s dead to the world, eyes closed and completely limp. So still that if it wasn’t for her breathing, Barret would be hard pressed to think she was dead.

“Is she our friend now?” Marlene asks, going to her tip-toes to peer around his large bulk curiously.

Barret snorts. “What did I tell you about strangers?”

“To never talk to them or trust them and to always stay away from them!” Marlene recites proudly.

“That’s right! That’s very good, Marlene. If you meet a stranger you come straight to me, okay?”

He pats her on the head, but that doesn’t stop her from huffing with agitation and clenching her hands into fists, glaring up at him stubbornly. “But you are here. And she helped us!”

“I know-” Barret begins, but Marlene cuts him off.

“We can’t leave her behind, Daddy. She’s hurt and it’s our duty to help people. You always say that.”

“No, it’s my duty to always help people. It’s your duty to stay out of danger so Daddy doesn’t worry about you.”

She doesn’t respond this time around, bringing out the full force of her puppy dog eyes as she pouts, and Barret shakes his head, circling the woman’s battered form. Her breathing is heavy and steady, so at least she doesn’t seem to have a lung problem, and when he runs his fingers along her ribs he’s relieved to note that they’re only bruised and not broken. Painful but manageable. She should be up and about soon.

If they take her back.

Barret sighs, glancing over to Marlene’s wide, pleading eyes. “Who the hell am I kidding?” he grumbles to himself, moving the woman to a more secure position.

“So we’re keeping her?” Marlene asks, solemnity instantly turning to excitement at whatever she’s gleaned from his actions.

“Only until she’s better.”

“Okay!” Marlene squeals. She holds her arms up expectantly until Barret leans down and scoops her onto his shoulder. “We can bring her back with us!”

“After we get the food, sweetheart. You know we need the supplies.”

“‘Kay. Supplies first, then her, then home!”

“Yeah...home.”

And that’s how it begins. With one person - one chance encounter - and in a second their family has grown.

Tifa Lockhart, she later tells them her name is, while still laid up in the cot they’d prepared for her beneath the swaying boughs of the tallest tree.

She won’t stay for long, is all Barret can think in response, watching his chipper daughter chatter happily into her ear. She’ll leave before the night is out, and we’ll never see her again.

And only later - five more people and two years later - will he realize that he was gloriously, beautifully wrong.

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