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craftypeaceturtle · 4 years ago

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Bewitching

Summary: Roman and his trusted friend, Logan, embark on a journey to visit their local witch.

Note: I was inspired by a post that described this like exact concept. This is just a small fic that struck me! I have no idea why I am only capable of writing rare pair fics but hey ho! At least I’m writing. Analogical and Royality.

“Do you even understand where we’re supposed to be going?” Logan muttered as he tried to massage away his upcoming headache. Unfortunately his headache bounded into his side with a wide smirk.

“Of course! It’s only a simple path through Sanders Woods,” Roman announced as he continued marching through the castle with proud wide steps.

“Do I even need to deconstruct how vague those directions truly are?”

“Pfft! I’m not an idiot Logan. I do have a map. You just follow through the main path through Sanders Woods but then at some specific stump or something stupid, you turn and then boom! Witches!” Roman wiggled the paper in his face but even that movement didn’t hide that it was just some rushed notes on a napkin from his father. It looked like just simple lines and labels. There wasn’t even an compass pointing north!

“Ah I stand corrected then, your majesty. Truly you must be a true scholar in the geologies,” Logan sighed and Roman checked his shoulder.

They were being sent on the incredibly (vague, according to Logan) journey to go track down the kingdom’s local witch to re-establish their trade. A journey that sounded very important and essential so when Logan first heard it, of course he immediately offered his service. The warning sign should have been that Roman was conducting the journey. Another warning sign (as there were many), was the fact that to re-establish their trade, they were trading a kitten and were expecting to get cookies in return. It all painted the very obvious picture that the king wanted his son to do his chores and so asked his friend to ensure the task got done. But then again, Logan prided himself as a man of honour and he wouldn’t refuse to conduct on this journey. He was nobler than this pettiness. He was more serious than any one of the royal family members. He would take great pride in this stupid task.

“Logan!” Roman shouted, Logan whipped round to face him, “Do you mind leaving the kitten alone for at least one second and help me pick out an outfit?”

“Pick an outfit?” Logan squealed indignantly, ignoring his own burning blush as he followed Roman into his room, leaving the poor mewing kitten to sprawl around its basket, “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

He was wearing his typical outfit which was his full princely attire. A pristine white tunic with gold embellishments that all highlighted the strong red of the emblem on his sleeves. He would usually wear a bright red sash across his chest but instead he was flinging it about like a child first trying to learn ballet. But now he blushed bright enough to match the emblem. “We’re meeting new people. Of course a prince should always present their best foot forward.”

“Oh all princes?”

“Okay, don’t pretend that’s fair! We all know that Remus is an octopus dressed as a prince. He shouldn’t be considered along with all other princes!”

“An octopus?” Logan chuckled.

“Dad got at me for constantly calling him a rat so I’m calling him an octopus. Just as ugly but this time dad thinks it’s just some weird nickname,” Roman said way too proudly for someone who was in his twenties and definitely above sibling squabbles. Then again this was indeed Roman.

“Ah, you are just so charming and intelligent, your majesty,” Logan smirked before he also bumped their shoulders, “But don’t think that will distract me. Please promise me that you will not flirt with the witch.”

“It’s not flirting! It’s called being friendly, not that you would know that Intronerd!”

“It’s definitely flirting. And it definitely taints any and all official communication. Do I even need to retell the event with Janus?”

“Right! I’m all ready to go, are you?” Roman bellowed, rushing past him with a satchel of bare essentials. Logan simply sighed and carefully cradled the basket with the kitten.

It was just after midday and they were finally on their way, the guards around the castle grounds waved with barely hidden laughs. Roman frowned at them and clutched Logan to his side. He was well aware of his reputation around the castle. Foolish and way too optimistic. It stung each time but then Roman knew himself better than any guard could. Plus he could always sick Remus on them! But he also knew Logan was quickly getting mixed in with that reputation. A truly genuine travesty to this world. Logan was a bold, determined and so quietly compassionate but he was only regarded as dumb and easily flustered. And Roman could get it! Like yeah, seeing this emotionless guy walk out of the grounds cradling a kitten was funny, but he knew Logan well enough to laugh at how lovey he was really. They just laughed at the ditzy dumb consort who pretended to be cold and collected. Yet Logan always remained oblivious and Roman would risk his life to ensure it would remain that way.

He wished he could say it was a beautiful summer’s morn with the birds chirping their victory as they headed into the deep mysterious forest. But instead the sky was a striking grey with a wind that was just the wrong side of cold. Reports stated it would rain in the afternoon and he was unfortunately momentarily defeated by the allure of sleeping in so he couldn’t leave early enough. Meh, he was pretty sure Logan appreciated the extra hours to sit around doing nothing! He waved the famous royal wave to a bunch of children who scattered at their approach with amazed giggles while Logan did his usual Logan thing of keeping his eyes forward and walking away before they could talk. Perhaps it was for the best, they had to focus.

Well... ‘focus’. The journey was important and all but also this tiny little ginger kitten snuggling into Logan’s muscly bulky arms was very distracting.

The path into the woods was very simple. It was a worn away path in the grass that become wider and wider each time he saw it. It was pretty much a very wonky lane straight through the forest and the map clearly presented an equally wonky line to a blackened tree stump that “they could not miss”. Then turn left and, as he eloquently put it, boom! Witch. In all honesty, the journey was the very last thing on his mind currently. Sanders Woods was big but it was so close to the kingdom that there was never anything too dangerous in there- people travelled through it every day. But, Roman prided himself on his studies into the kingdom’s history and all the fables and stories that it inspired. It didn’t take a genius to know that witches meant trouble. Witches cursed and violently lashed out at any hero that came their way.

He stared up at Logan out of the corner of his eye. Logan looked the part certainly with his official royal uniform and he was fairly built. But Roman also knew Logan. While he could look intimidating, he was anything but. At the first sign of conflict he would freeze, and even if he didn’t, he was in no way trained for battle. He looked built but his muscle purely came from grabbing heavy books from high shelves. He wouldn’t last a second against a witch in a physical battle.

“How have your studies been going?” Roman innocently asked innocently.

“As expected, why?”

“What do you mean why! I can be interested in your studies! What are you learning about now? It was magic right?” Roman kept his focus on his light marching steps. Logan huffed a chuckle.

“Magic is such a broad term I don’t even know how to go about correcting you. Yes, I have largely been studying magic. It is...” Logan scrunched his face up, “going, to put realistically. I’m struggling to fully grip the module I am currently on. But overall, my study of magic is going better than I first thought. How are your studies? Are you studying anything right now?” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Not really. I finished the whole economics junk and I have a bit of a break before I launch back into studies. Trying to make the most of it,” Roman answered honestly but he kept his gaze straight ahead, “Anyway, what kind of magic are you doing? Like any... cool spells?”

“Cool... spells...” Logan said, stopping completely in his path, “Why are you so interested?”

“As I said! I can be interested in what my friend is doing!”

“You haven’t ever before taken interest in my, how did you put it, ‘nerdy junk’!”

“Well!” Roman snarked back but he could feel Logan looking right through him, “It’s just important to know what kind of magic you can do. Just in case we ever n-”

“You think this is dangerous don’t you!” Logan gasped, feeling panic slam into his chest.

“What?” Roman nervously laughed off, “No...”

“You do!” Logan dramatically pointed at him, “Oh we don’t have nearly the right supplies for any kind of conflict! We’re carrying around a cat!”

“It won’t be dangerous!” Roman tried to soothe while panickily pacing.

“I asked you! I asked you! I asked and you said that it was a simple trade. That we are practically just acting as postmen!” Logan threw his head back.

“I’m sorry!” Roman gasped.

“You’ve got your sword. Plus, I really don’t think your dad would send us on some dangerous journey without at least some back up. I think you just got into your head with worry. There’s lots of rumours about witches despite those spreading them having never met a witch, we should be fine,” Logan answered softly. There was no use having them both panicking when they were already significantly through the woods. But then again maybe they could turn back now before they truly prove themselves to be idiots.

“Yeah!” Roman lit up and snapped up straight with an obnoxious smile, “C’mon, we’ll be fine!”

Logan simply ran through his warning signs he listed earlier about how this task was a stupid chore. His hand found the kitten’s fuzzy little forehead and he gave some scritches before following in Roman’s footsteps.

It was another hour where each minute felt more and more uncomfortable. They were a decent way through the woods but they had yet to see anything resembling a tree stump. Even Roman was now flicking his gaze behind him, checking to see if they had perhaps passed it without realising. Logan was practically chanting about how King Thomas wouldn’t send his idiot of a son on a difficult journey without a proper map. But then again both of his sons were idiots so maybe he just chose Roman as the lesser of two evils? Maybe the wobbly scrawled line on the map was just longer than expected. This was why people added scales and a compass! Eventually they paused at a blackened tree. They didn’t even talk or notice the other had paused as well.

“Maybe by stump they more meant a stumpy tree?” Roman cautiously looked around.

“Did your father not describe it any more than that?” Logan asked, still not convinced.

“I mean he even drew it in black!” Roman yelled out in what was supposed to be confidence. Logan winced as Roman marched slowly forward into the treeline.

“That cannot be where the line is. That map should never be considered as accurate or, or- just slow down Roman. We have no idea if this is the right direction!”

“Yeah well, we literally just go left into the trees. If it turns out to be wrong then we know which direction we went and just go back.”

Logan sighed at the legitimate logic the illogical prince presented, “It’s going to rain soon.”

“Well hurry up then!” Roman had already started running into the woods and Logan grumbled out some swears before reluctantly trudging after him.

Now underneath the thick canopy of the woods, it was quite dark and moody. Roman tried to lighten the mood by pointing out every single squirrel that skittered away when they passed but even that didn’t fix the tension. The ideas of danger were swirling uncomfortably through them. The kitten was now restless and was mewing very pathetically. Logan winced at each quiet mew and Roman knew that it was a matter of seconds before Logan demand they go back and get the kitten to safety. And he was about to agree until he saw a tiny mushroom on a tree.

It softly glowed, and if that wasn’t a strong enough indicator of magic and witches, it was illuminous purple. It almost seemed transparent as black smoke billowed underneath it’s surface but it still somehow glowed brightly.

“Logan, I think we’re almost there,” Roman muttered and tugged him forward.

“Roman.” Logan stopped them dead in the path. He was shifting and looking away but his back was straight and his posture screamed listen. Roman, of course, stopped in his tracks. “What if they use the cat... like... what if they kill the cat?”

Roman paused. That... would be very in character for witches. The kitten was frumpily stomping around and of course released an adorable mew as if it very well knew they were talking about it. “We’ve got to establish trade routes... Maybe we could be the ones to persuade them to see the light and understand cuteness and love for all living things!”

“Hmm.” Logan took the lead and stepped forward.

They had walked for another ten minutes but yet the woods felt unrecognisable. The woods went from very stereotypical brown and green woods that seemed to stretch onwards forever. Now the mushrooms were everywhere and they couldn’t see the trunks of the trees anymore. The forest was filled with an overwhelming nauseating swirls of colours. Now they were seeing flashes of deer and groans from toads under their feet. The sun was completely blocked from the trees and it was almost like walking inside a building.

It wasn’t long until they stumbled finally into a cottage looking house. A thatched roof and everything. It almost blended in, blackened charred wood with no windows or even sign of anyone living there. Dead leaves were still swamped up again its sides like it was still autumn. Logan cradled the kitten tighter and Roman couldn’t exactly blame him.

It seemed straight out of a storybook.

When the main characters stumble into the villain’s lair.

Roman gulped and latched on arm on to Logan’s shoulder, which Logan happily sank into. They approached the door in timid steps. The wind harshly ripped through the forest, whipping around the wet clumps of leaves around the sunken door. The rain finally arrived and a few drops pattered on the ceiling of leaves. Logan stuttered in his steps but Roman winced and guided him forward.

As they were a few metres from the door, it slammed open.

“AAAH!” They both shrieked.

A witch stood there... kinda proudly. He had a wide stance and the hood hid his face. But also his arms were crossed and he was hunched over to look extra small. He probably reached Roman’s shoulder standing straight... he looked like the wind around his house would knock him over. But also the billowing black cloak and clenched fists also spoke for themselves. “What are you doing here!” A whiny voice broke through their panic.

Logan was clearly frozen and his mind only screaming about the kitten in his arms. It took a few moments for Roman to realise he wasn’t going to snap out and talk. He stuttered out, “Oh ah... hello there. We are fr- We come from the kingdom of Sanders to present a trading opportunity. I understand you have been in discussion with our king to re-establish our long ancient trading with you, Witch.”

The witch frowned, “Oh I’m not a witch. That’s Patton you’re looking for.”

He pointed over his shoulder to a cottage past his house. Now this looked like the idyllic cottage countryside house. Thatched roof, pristine pastel pink house and a beautiful neat line of wild bluebells. Roman found himself drawing near it without realising. It looked beautiful and the house straight out of his dreams. “Oh sorry sir! C’mon Logan, we’ll sort this out!” Roman tugged his arm but Logan remained statue still. “Uh, Logan?”

Logan was completely trapped under the gaze of the random civilian that stumbled into. His chest glowed along with his bright red face. The man had very strong features and was clearly much more awkward than anything dangerous. It took a minute before he realised that words were needed if he was just going to stare, “Oh H-hi, I’m Lo...” He winced but tried to battle through, “Y-you’re not a witch?”

“Nah, I’m... I guess you’d call it emo and just hate people,” The guy awkwardly chuckled as he stepped out from his doorway. Logan allowed himself to smile and only just remembered Roman’s advice to puff out his chest and show himself off. Right, time to sweep this handsome man off his feet.

“Ah I understand that sentiment. People can be so frustrating and exhausting.” The man walked forward before he awkwardly looked away.

“Uh can I?” The man asked with his hand out stretched towards his chest. Logan burst into a childish smile. Maybe Roman was right and he is handsome! All that heavy book lifting did pay off if cute emos then wanted to feel up his chest! Maybe he can sweep someone off their feet. Maybe he should work out more!

“Sure!” He squeaked.

The man smiled in thanks before grabbing the kitten from his arms and pressing loud sappy kissies to his fuzzy little forehead. His croaky foreboding voice snapped to a squealing happy coo.

Roman laughed at how ridiculous he was and went down to the next house. He’s never seen Logan so useless! He was never going to let me live this down- after all that teasing he’s been putting up with for flirting with Janus. Now he had some fuel to fight back.

He knocked on the door with a new found confidence as the rain finally started to slip through the leaves and actually start to slowly soak him. Humming to himself, he looked back at Logan still failing to flirt with the random scary guy. He’d never be that useless. The door opened, “Hello there. Are you the witch that lives in these wooooo-”

A young man opened the door with a cheery smile, ginger curls flying about his head with wire frame glasses. Freckles absolutely everywhere. He was a little taller than even him! He was of course wearing a pink frilly apron with a blue soft chunky knit jumper. Everything about him looked soft. “Oh hello there. What’s your name!”

“Uhhhhhhh... Ro?” Roman awkwardly drawled out while trying to pick his jaw off the floor. He looked back at Logan who was now walking over with the other man.

“Hey Pat. We need a talk.” He growled out while Patton awkwardly laughed. Instinctually, Roman stepped forward to protect this marshmallow from this emo.

“Y-yeah Virge?”

“Did you really organise for the king to sneak you a kitten?”

“Maaaybe!” Patton squeaked before launching forward and spinning him in tight excited circles. Logan was now carrying the kitten, he looked very confused and flustered as he kept his gaze firmly on the kitten.

“Don’t distract me! You’re allergic!”

“Well are you going to make these nice young men walk all the way back with the heavy basket and wiggly little itty bitty kitty!”

The man, Virgil, frowned with a look. “Okay. I will take the kitten and you can have visiting rights. But! Those visiting rights can be revoked at any time!”

“Yippee!” Patton laughed with all of himself. His arms flailing into a hug for himself, his belly bursting and moving with the genuine happy laughter. Roman was thoroughly star struck.

“Can’t believe you’re the witch of us...” Virgil groaned with his own fond smile, to which Logan was also star struck.

They both paused as a fat raindrop slapped against Patton’s forehead. The rain must have been truly heavy if it was still dripping through the thick canopy. They turned and faced the two men and only now noticed that they were fairly wet with their hair plastered against their foreheads. They did look pretty pathetic.

Patton smiled, “Hey, Ro was it? Would you like to come in? Just to wait for the rain. Sorry, uhh,”

“Logan,” Logan introduced.

“Logan, the house is fairly small but I’m sure Virgil would love to show you around his little place!” Patton smirked innocently.

All three of them gulped with bright blushes... but of course they all nodded along to that plan.

#sanders sides #My writing #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #analogical #royality #fluff #the boys being useless gays #fanfic

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keichan · 4 years ago

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Running Through the Night Tsukishima x fem!reader Part 5: After

You and Tsukishima have been friends for as long as you two could remember. With a very unexpected confession, how will this affect you two?

Authors note: So I’ve decided that this series will end at either between parts 8-10 but I’m not completely sure. I’m glad that you guys are enjoying my first series! I plan on writing a Tanaka SMAU in the near future with @pipsqweaks so follow us (:

Word count: 1737

Genre: college au, unrequited love, angst, best friends to lovers, fluff somewhere in there, mutual pining

Warnings: manga time skip!!! mentions of vomiting

Send me a message or ask to be added to the taglist !

masterlist・previous・next

“So what’s got you like this Y/N?” Sugawara sat across from you in a ramen shop not too far away from Tsukishima’s apartment. You prodded the noodles with your chopsticks before you let out a short sigh.

“Kei confessed to me last night,” You held your breath and set your utensils down before looking at Sugawara for his response.

He grinned, “Really? That’s great! It’s about time that he finally confessed!” He clapped his hands together giddily. Your jaw dropped open. If it was humanly possible, you’re sure it would’ve touched the ground. He slowed down at your reaction, “Are you not happy about it?”

“Wait. You’re saying that you knew about it? What do you mean about time?” You placed both of your hands on the table and leaned forward. Sugawara’s expression slowly switched from joy to confusion.

“Yeah?...” he began slowly. “It wasn’t just me... Literally everyone knew.... Are you telling me that you didn’t?” He let out a nervous laugh.

You leaned back dumbfounded in your chair and began to tap your leg rapidly. You shook your head at the table. “I literally had no idea, I was caught off guard about it.”

“Really? The whole team thought that you two had a thing for each other and was kind of just waiting for some kind of catalyst to finally throw you two together.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Yes. You two were inseparable. It was almost unnatural to not see the both of you in the same room. Y/N, even in your first year over high school, he was already head over heels for you. The times that you weren’t there, he’s... I’m not sure if it’s the right word for it, but tense. The high strung, cocky bastard that we all know. If he sees anything that displeases him, he has to make a comment. But whenever you’re there he isn’t like that he-“

“What are you talking about? He always has to make a comeback regardless. It’s not like he avoids it when I’m there,” you insist.

Sugawara waves his hands, “No, no, it’s not like that. His insults are barely kinder, but he says it because he likes it when you tell him to lay off. Even though he might tell you to shut up or call you an idiot as a reply. Every time you would turn away, he always had this stupid smile on his face.”

You buried your face in your hands mumbling, “I feel so stupid that I didn’t know.”

“So.. Are you telling me that you don’t like him?”

“It’s not that.. It’s just that when I think of everything that happened last night, it just is all starting to make sense. How could I be so blind.”

“Yanno, what’s kinda funny is every time a guy would confess to you in high school, Tsukishima would go out of his way to subtly bully them after you rejected them. He’d either bump into them ‘accidentally’ or flat out insult them with a ’So I heard Y/N-san rejected you. Hate to say it makes sense’ with his signature smirk.” He let out a light laugh.

You followed with a dry laugh. “Yeah, that’s Kei for ya.”

“Speaking of, why did you always reject everyone who confessed to you? Some of the guys were pretty attractive.” Sugawara pondered out loud.

You took a second to think about it. There was never really a reason for you to reject all of those boys your first year. You didn’t need a boyfriend since you had Kei. Wait.

“I just had the realization that the reason why I never said yes was kind of the situation of ‘well I already have Kei, why would I need someone else.” You laughed nervously before continuing. “Everything with Kei is so easy and so natural. Being around him is like breathing. I’m always at ease around him, I just never have had to worry. I mean yeah we bicker, but we’ve never fought. I guess I just never had a reason to see him in that light because everything from our childhood to now has been consistent. I don’t really know the point I’m trying to get at, but I do love him. Maybe I’ve subconsciously blocked all of these other people off because I knew it deep down. I just have never had a reason to acknowledge it.”

After you finished the sound of the other patrons moving around the shop enveloped the atmosphere again, setting you back into reality. Sugawara offered you a warm smile. “Do you think he’s taking it hard right now? What exactly did he say last night?”

You slowly began to retell the events of last night. He couldn’t help but smile as he saw you glow brightly every time you said Tsukishima’s name. Sugawara and many other alumni knew that this was a long time coming. It’s just nice to see it all play out.

“But there is one thing he said last night that doesn’t really make sense. He said something like ‘I can make you happier than him’ or something like that. I have no idea who ‘him’ is supposed to be.” Now in a better mood, leaving room for Sugawara to speak, you began to start eating again.

“Well is there anyone you hang out with that happens to be a guy? From college or from high school”

You shook your head. “I’ve been so busy. Earlier this month we had midterms, so I had to balance that and my part-time job at the market. I usually spend the time I do have with Kei and Yamaguchi or some of my other friends, but only once or twice. Since Yamaguchi and I have been planning Kei’s birthday party since it’s coming up in two weeks, I guess you could say that I’ve been spending more time with him since we’re trying to get everyone from high school to come. But I don’t think that Kei would be jealous of Yamaguchi. The three of us have been so close since middle school. It doesn’t make sense, right?”

“Actually, Y/N, it kind of does. It might be what pushed him over. Especially if you’re spending more time with Yamaguchi out of nowhere over Kei, it probably is coming off like you have a thing with him and you’re just not saying anything on the matter.”

You pointed your chopsticks at him, “I’m just going to assume you’re wrong until Italk to him. Is it cool if you take me back to his place? I just hope he’s home.”

Sugawara nodded standing up, “Yeah of course! And don’t worry about the meal, it’s my treat.”

Tsukishima knew from the moment he woke up that your friendship wasn’t going to be there anymore. If it was it would be awkward and uncomfortable. You would avoid him like you avoided all of the other boys that confessed to you in high school.

He got dressed and began to walk out of the front door. He saw you sleeping peacefully on the couch, beautiful as ever. He scrunched his eyes closed quickly. Dumbass, she rejected you, you can’t think like that. The thoughts overwhelmed him. The realization made him feel numb. He quietly exited the apartment and began driving to his captains house. He couldn’t confide in Yamaguchi, that was clear to him. Nakamura was the next best option. Tsukishima knocked on the door and was let in immediately.

“Are you okay, Tsukishima?” The captain grabbed the tall middle blocker’s shoulder, eyes laced with concern. Tears quickly slipped from the edges of his eyes before he wiped them with his sleeve.

He tried to make his voice as steady as possible by slowing his breathing, but he was already choking back a sob. “I confessed to Y/N last night and she rejected me. She didn’t kiss me back, she didn’t say anything, she just left the room.” Tsukishima sank against the wall. “I really lost her…”

Nakamura crouched down and rubbed his shoulder, “Tsukishima, it’s going to be alright. This is going to pass.”

Tsukishima shook his head in a daze.

“I’ve loved her all of my life. It’s not that simple and it will never be.”

Nakamura stood up and walked to his kitchen. “I’m gonna make you some tea so hopefully you can get to feeling better. Y/N has never left your side and I don’t think she ever would.”

Tsukishima felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He fished it out to see you calling. Your profile picture was from Christmas a few years ago. You stand behind his sitting figure with your arms hanging around his neck. Both of you are smiling so big. His thumb hovered over the answer button but he didn’t click it. He couldn’t talk to you right now. His heart couldn’t handle what you were going to tell him.

He set it on the ground and took his glasses off in an attempt to wipe away his tears, but your phone call opened the floodgates. He pulled his knees to his chest and began to sob. His body wouldn’t stop shaking. Nakamura walked up to him with a mug of tea just to set it down next to Tsukishima’s cell phone. He wasn’t sure what to do besides say everything will be fine and rub his back. He didn’t know Tsukishima could emote like that.

It wasn’t before long that Tsukishima got short of breath and began to choke on his sobs. “Nakamura, I feel like I’m going to be sick. I can’t breathe” Nakamura quickly nodded and led Tsukishima to his bathroom before Tsukishima threw himself over the toilet and began to dry heave, but nothing came up. It pained his captain to see him like this.

After a while once the tears slowed, Nakamura offered him a spare room to stay for as long as he needed. By that point he was so exhausted, he passed out immediately.

Upon waking up he had 27 missed calls and 51 text messages.

The most recent ones saying:

Y/N: Kei, I’m at your at your apartment right now

Y/N: Kei I really want to talk to you about everything, please come home.

Y/N: I’m so worried about you, please answer me

Sent at 10:17pm

Tsukishima didn’t go home that night

((a/n I’m not sure if everyone will agree on how I chose to write Tsukishima at this chapter, but I feel like if he truly thought he lost the opportunity with the love of his life, I’d think that it would push him over.))

taglist @pipsqweaks @pperapear @kapuching @luvmonie @bumbledunce

@a-listaire @ysasian @kodzu-ken @montys-chaos

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu tsukishima #haikyuu college au #haikyuu angst #angst #mutual pining #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima #tsukishima kei #sugawara #sugawara koushi

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s-horne · 5 years ago

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Stony and maybe superfamily au, when tony died he became a star(a star like a god or celestial being of a star) and can only come to vist at night. It's bittersweet, but steve and peter are always glad to see him.

7.30pm

“You ready, kid?”

Steve closed his book and put it down on the table at the end of the couch. He looked over to see Peter standing in the doorway, dressed in his pyjamas and swiping at his eyes.

Steve had the urge to bundle his son into a hug and hold him close, to try and hide him away from the pain of the world as though he were a young, inexperienced child.

“Yeah.” Peter’s voice was rough with sleep. Even though it had been years, there were times when Steve still couldn’t get used to hearing Peter’s deep voice. Peter was still a child to him. He shouldn’t have a deep, low voice like an adult. He was too young to be an adult. “You?”

“Yeah. Blankets are in the car already and the coffee is just about ready.”

“Awesome. Want me to grab your coat?”

Steve heaved himself off the couch with a groan. “Please. And I had a sweater somewhere.”

“By the door already. The blue jeep?”

“No, black. Your–,” Steve paused and coughed. “We’ll take your dad’s.”

“Right. Sick. Can I drive?”

Steve snorted. “Not a chance, kid. I’ll drive. You can pick the music.”

A deep sigh left Peter, but his lips curved upwards anyway. “Fine. Guess that’s a fair trade.”

“Go get your coat,” Steve said with a fond roll of his yes. “You terror.”

9.00pm

It wasn’t a long drive out of the city, from where they’d moved. They tried to make it once a month, battles permitting, just to wait and see if their star would appear. More often than not, it didn’t, and Steve and Peter would wake up huddled together on their picnic blanket with empty flasks of coffee and snack wrappers at their sides, hearts just as hollow.

“Usual spot?” Steve asked, heaving two portable chairs from the jeep’s trunk and slinging them over his shoulder.

Peter gave him a scornful look. “Like we’d ever go anywhere else.”

They’d picked their spot after many months of deliberation. For the first year, they had visited the countryside nearly every two days, checking out different spots to see which gave them the clearest sight of a completely uninterrupted night sky. They’d decided on the clearing at the top of the second hill around the first of Tony’s birthdays that they’d had to celebrate without him.

It was the most beautiful spot; lush and green in the summer and wonderfully frosty in the winter. When it was bitterly cold and snowing, they didn’t stay out all night long, going back a few times a month instead of just once and huddling around a small camp fire.

Despite the bitter temperatures, the winter sky was Steve’s favourite. It was so much darker, a deep, almost shining black that stretched with no end in sight. The stars that shone were like specks of glitter, standing indifferently but able to be connected to a neighbour to create bold outlines of famous constellations.

It made sense that Tony was among them, Steve thought. Not for the first time, either. It was one of his most common thoughts when he just sat back and stared up above him.

10.15pm

“Reckon he’ll come out tonight?” Peter asked, hands wrapped tightly around his flask of coffee. He had taken his coat off, but had a thick blanket draped over his shoulders. His shoes were off already and his socked feet shuffled on the picnic blanket.

“I don’t know.” Steve wishes he had a way of predicting when Tony would appear for them, but science had always been his husband’s thing. Not his. “Sorry, kid.”

Peter shrugged as he reached into his bag, fishing around for a bit before removing a bag of Cheetos with a triumphant cry.

“No worries. Hey, did I tell you about my meeting at SHIELD on Wednesday? No? Right, so, Ms. Hill was there with…”

11.42pm

Peter had fallen asleep somewhere around the 11pm mark, his hands clutching a bag of Twizzlers and his face half-obstructed by the cover for his foldable chair. The sight left a smile permanently etched on Steve’s face.

The wind had started to pick up a little, but Steve was content to stay there, watching. Waiting. Keeping guard over his boys as he waited ever so patiently for his love to return to him. He had time.

All the time in the world.

1.00am

“Oh!” Peter cried suddenly, voice a little hoarse with sleep. “We missed it. Crap, sorry!” Peter threw himself at Steve, hugging him tightly. “Damn, was I asleep? I was, wasn’t I?”

Steve chuckled softly, holding Peter tight. “Don’t worry, kid. You needed it.”

Peter pulled back slowly. “Happy birthday,” he said, looking at Steve as he sat back into his own chair. “I hope you get everything you want. I didn’t bring your present out here. Thought we could go out for dinner tonight and I’ll give it to you then.”

Putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder, Steve nodded. “Thanks, Pete. But you’re here with me right now so, I’m good.”

1.14am

“Snap!”

Steve laughed at the outrage on Peter’s face.

“That was mine,” Peter cried, reaching for the pile of cards that Steve took for himself.

“You wish,” Steve snorted, whipping them out of Peter’s grasp. “You’ll have to be quicker than that, Spidey-boy.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed and he leant forward, Tony’s fierce determination written all over his face. “Bring it, old man.”

2.23am

Steve reached down and gently pushed some of Peter’s hair away from his face. When Peter’s nose screwed up and he batted the hand away as though it were a pest, Steve laughed.

“I tried to be nice,” he said before he dug his toes into the soft flesh below Peter’s ribs.

Peter squealed and rolled to his side, eyes suddenly wide open.

“Oh, my God. What’s happening? Are we being attacked?” Peter sat up, looking around him. There was a red patch on his cheek where he’d been lying on the rough material of the chair cover and his hair was a mess.

Steve wished his baby wasn’t so damn old.

“No, you stupid boy. Wake up. You might want to see this.”

In an instant, Peter spun around and almost gave himself whiplash as he threw his head backwards to stare up at the sky.

“Where – I can’t, wait. No, I can’t see it. Can you – oh.”

Peter’s voice trailed off, sounding a little choked up and Steve could sympathise.

“I take it you’ve found him?”

Steve had. It had been almost a year since Steve had last seen Tony’s star, but there he was. Brighter than Steve had remembered, but just as big and as attention-grabbing as Tony had been in real life.

“Hey, dad,” Peter whispered and Steve felt his heart constrict and then grow twice its size. “Good to see you.”

They lapsed into silence, both of them staring up at the sky with equal looks of awe written across their faces. Memories of their time together flooded Steve’s brain; pictures of them laughing at the camera, snapshots of Peter with Tony throughout their lives, from child through to teenager. It pained Steve that he would never have a new sight to commit to memory.

Soon, the memories got too much for him and he felt like he was drowning. His heart was almost too big for his chest and he felt as though he were about to explode.

“Tony,” he murmured, relief and love hitting him all at once. “God, how I’ve missed you.”

Tony’s star seemed to shine brighter somehow, sending rays of light into a wide circle around itself.

“I didn’t know if I’d see you tonight. I hoped, just like I hope every night.”

Beside him, Peter was quiet. Steve knew that he had a raft of things to tell Tony. Even though they had had a small memorial garden set up for Tony shortly after his funeral, it was always a different feeling to speak to Tony’s star. It wasn’t quite Tony himself, but it was close enough.

“You look beautiful, Tony,” Steve said, leaning back in his chair and drinking in his fill of his husband. “So, so beautiful.”

“He’s bright,” Peter commented. His voice sounded a little choked up. “Brighter than last time.”

“He’s making up for the months he missed.” Steve reached out without looking and curled his hand over Peter’s shoulders. “Was just storing up all of his strength.”

“I missed him. Miss him.”

“I know, kid.” Steve didn’t even want to blink, didn’t want to look away from Tony for even half a second. “I miss him as well. But we still have a piece of him. However small.”

4.56 am

“–and so that’s why Carol isn’t allowed in the accounts department of SHIELD.”

Steve had heard the story a hundred times in a hundred different retellings by a hundred different people, but he chuckled nonetheless. It was the way that Peter told it that really got to him; the way that he went off on small tangents and spoke in such a way that was entirely reminiscent of Tony.

Peter’s voice was nearly hoarse with talking for however long straight. It was clear that he was making the most of having Tony around, even high in the sky and thousands of lightyears away.

Suddenly, Peter yawned widely. “Man, I’m not as young as I was,” he said, stretching his arms up over his head and wincing.

Snorting, Steve rolled his neck. “You’re not the only one.” He didn’t have much to show for his old age, but he felt it. He felt even older whenever he noticed how old Peter was or when it hit him that yet another year had passed without Tony by his side.

“Oh, I never told dad about Rhodey! Right, so get this,” Peter said, turning away from Steve and settling back down on the picnic blanket, looking up at the sky again. His eyes found Tony’s star easily and he sunk into his tale, face animated and hands flying through the air to punctuate his story.

It was another tale that Steve had already heard, but he was more than content to lie back and let Peter’s voice wash over him. Life, in that moment, was very close to perfect. As perfect as it would ever be again.

5.28am

The sun had started to rise. It was the moment they’d been dreading all night – or, well, morning. Soon, Tony would fade into the bright sky, his light blending in with the yellows and oranges that would streak across the cloudless horizon.

“That was longer than last time, right?” Peter asked, voice quiet and a little broken. “Seemed to go a lot quicker, though.”

“Yeah.” Steve didn’t turn his head, choosing instead to continue looking up at his favourite star until he could see it no more. He knew his eyes would start to burn as the sun got higher and higher, but he couldn’t bear to look away. “It did.”

Lapsing into silence again, they listened instead to the dawn chorus and the breeze picking up through the trees behind them. They knew they only had around two more minutes before the sun rose fully and the stars were no longer visible.

“He’ll still be there, won’t he?”

Steve smiled despite the lump in his throat. “Of course he will. He’s always there. You just can’t see him.”

“Can talk to him, though.”

“Course.”

The sky was alight with colour. White faded into a pale yellow, which in turn shone into a deep orange and blended out until eventually the sky was finally blue.

“Goodnight,” Steve couldn’t stop himself from whispering, not caring how his voice broke. Peter sniffed beside him and Steve noticed out of the corner of his eye how Peter turned away and busied himself with tidying up. “Goodbye, sweetheart. I’ll see you again. Soon.”

There was a warmth that flowed through Steve and he knew that it had nothing to do with the rising sun. It went from his head to his heart and right down to his toes, flooding his body with a happiness he knew came from only one place.

Despite his very best efforts, there was a sadness there, too. As beautiful as the effect was, the light that the new dawn cast meant that the stars were entirely eclipsed.

No more Tony.

6.15am

There was no point in staying there for any longer, but Steve couldn’t find it in himself to move. Even with Tony was gone from view, Steve still had Peter and a flask of almost-warm coffee left to drink.

“Another game of cards, Pete?”

“Sure.” Peter yawned so widely he nearly swallowed his head and Steve laughed loudly. “Oi! You may laugh, but I’m still awake enough to whip the pants off you.”

Steve snorted and shuffled to the edge of his chair, gesturing at the pack on the picnic blanket as Peter swivelled around to find it. “Prove it.”

6.59am

“What’s the rules about eating sugar for breakfast?”

Steve chuckled, not opening his eyes as he heard Peter rummaging around in one of their bags. “You’re an adult now, kiddo. Pretty sure I can’t tell you off for eating Twizzlers before 10am anymore. You’re in charge of your own teeth. Use your discretion wisely.”

“Right. Well, in which case, I’m using my discretion to say happy birthday.”

Steve peeked out of one eye, laughing and sitting upright when he saw what Peter was holding out to him. A chocolate cake clearly designed for only two people, twice the size of a single cupcake and no more. There was some lopsided icing threatening to slide right off its top onto the floor and a half-tied ribbon around it.

“In hindsight,” Peter said, “I probably shouldn’t have tried to make it myself.” He shrugged and handed it over to Steve, producing a knife from somewhere. “But it’s the thought that counts. Pretty sure Dad would agree.”

Smiling, Steve swallowed, turning the cake this way and that to have a good look at it from every angle. It definitely wasn’t an even shape and it seemed to be missing part of its base, but Steve’s heart could have beaten right out of his chest at the gesture.

“I’m sure he would,” he said, looking back up at Peter and feeling his smile grow. “It’s perfect. Good use of discretion, kid.”

“Happy birthday, Pops.”

Above them, a twinkle of light shone down, a tiny fleck of white in an otherwise perfectly blue sky.

#i am no brian may so pls let me off if there are inaccuracies with stars and sciencey stuff #i wrote a thing #i like this thing #stony fic #stevetony fic #steve rogers #peter stark rogers #peter parker stark #stony #stevetony #avengers endgame #stony au #superfamily fic #stony fic rec #an april assortment #kassandraescobat

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365days365movies · 4 years ago

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March 9, 2021: Orpheus (1950) (Part One)

Greek mythology was my first mythological love.

And yes, that is ironically a very cliché thing to say about Greek mythology, since it’s by FAR the most popular and well-known mythology in the Western world, but...what can I say, I’m a sucker for the classics.

When I was 6, my mom got me a copy of the Odyssey, followed by D’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths, and that book was my SHIIIIIIIIIIT. From the Titanomachy to the Trojan War, from Decaulion to Daedalus, from the Lernaean Hydra to Ladon, and from Zeus to Dionysus (my second favorite Olympian), I LOVE Greek mythology.

There have been countless adaptations of these stories over the last century of so, some better and more faithful than others. We got Blood of Zeus (which I...genuinely dislike) on Netflix last year, Lore Olympus is a fantastic webcomic and modernized retelling of the universe of stories in general (fuck Apollo, that’s all I have to say), Hercules by Disney is fun (though extraordinarily inaccurate), and who doesn’t like some Percy Jackson (the books, not the movies)?

Today’s entry won’t be the first of the Greek mythology stories this month; after all, it’s DEFINITELY fantasy, so there were going to be a few entries in here. Some will come pretty close to each other later this month, but for this one, we’re jumping forward 10 years from The Thief of Bagdad to 1950. Let’s get back to France, shall we?

Famous for his adaptation of Beauty and the Beast is Jean Cocteau, legendary French surrealist filmmaker. His stylings definitely capture a sort of practical magic, compounded with clever angles and fascinating visual and practical effects. It’s evident with the classic fairy tale, which I would’ve done this month had I not already seen it. So, instead, we’ll be looking at the middle film in a trilogy known as Cocteau’s Orphic trilogy. This is, apparently, the most important one. And that makes sense, since it’s focused upon...

Is Hadestown good? I’m real tempted to find a way to watch it, and it sounds like it’s just up my alley. I’ll probably check it out one of these days.

Orpheus was (maybe) the son of Calliope, the muse of poetry, and Apollo, god of music. Maybe. Parentage differs based on the retelling. No matter the parents, he was renowned for his charm and grace, as well as his voice and music. He was loved by animals, nymphs, and maidens alike. He was invited to be the Bard of Jason’s DnD group (AKA the Argonauts), and used Bardic Performance to inspire his comrades (and also helped them overcome the sirens by singing EVEN LOUDER).

But the one whom he loved most was his wife, Eurydice. Unfortunately, a satyr (AKA horny horned half-goat man) chased her right into a viper’s nest, where she was bitten and died. Orpheus was CRUSHED, and his song was so depressing that even the gods cried. They said, “Dude, go to the Underworld, get back your lady from Hades, please!” And he did.

Hades, the old romantic that he secretly is, agrees to let Eurydice’s soul, on one condition. That he doesn’t look back at her as she follows him out. Orpheus agrees, but the man can’t stop himself from looking back to make sure that she’s there. And she was...and then she wasn’t. So, our sad boi fucked up, and then...well, it’s spotty.

See, some people say that he stopped worshipping Dionysus (his previous patron), and the wine boi’s female followers tore Orpheus to pieces as punishment. Some say that these same women got a liiiiiiiiiittle too into the Bacchanalia (think orgies, but religious and violent), and ripped him apart in a frenzy. And some say that he only took male lover from then on, and women tore him to pieces for not paying attention to them (also, possible homophobia). You know, it varies. Still, we can agree on the ripped apart by women thing. His head could still sing, and as the women threw his body parts into a river, it sang a song so beautiful that the rocks and branches in the river refused to strike it. His instrument of choice, a lyre, was eventually interred amongst the stars as the constellation Lyra.

The story of a pained artist searching for a lost love and losing her is all over the goddamn place, with the crazy-ass Moulin Rouge being a solid example of it.

But OK, let’s finally begin Orpheus, or Orphée to be more accurate. Gonna be a weird ride, I guarantee it. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

The story starts with a recap of the original myth, and notes that it doesn’t need to be limited by time and place. This sort of story, after all, could happen anywhere and at any time. And in this case, that time and place are 1950s-era France, where we quickly meet famous poet Orpheus (Jean Marais).

At a café, he meets a friend, the Editor (Henri Crémieux), where they speak on Orpheus’ fame, which is not well-liked in a cafe frequented by poets. Also arriving there is a young drunken poet, Jacques Cégeste (Édouard Dermit), who is accompanied by his patron, known only as...the Princess (María Casares). Come on, guys, can we give our female characters names, please?

Anyway, Jacques quickly gets into a drunken brawl with other patrons, which leads to the arrival of the police at the café. They forcefully arrest him, but before they can, he’s hit by a couple of motorcycles, and potentially killed. The police bring Jacques back to the Princess’ car, with the help of her driver Heurtebise (François Périer). For unknown reasons, she summons Orpheus to help them. He agrees, and goes with them to the hospital.

Or he would be, if they were going there. Instead, as they drive off, Orpheus discovers that Jacques is dead already. They aren’t going to the hospital. Instead, they head to a mysterious mansion, as ominous and oblique poetry plays on the radio. They’re soon accompanied by the men on the motorcycles that killed Jacques, who work for the Princess. The plot fuckin’ THICKENS.

Back at her mansion, they bring the body of Jacques upstairs, much to the confusion of Orpheus, whom the Princess keeps calling stupid whenever he asks questions. However, he’s not proving her wrong, as she immediately convinces him that she’s actually dreaming at the moment. Although...maybe he is?

She sits in front of a mirror, which breaks...somehow. Frustrated, she commands Orpheus to wait there for her to return, as she goes to check on Jacques and her men. Like me, Orpheus is confused. This gets worse for me, though, as the Princess goes to the other room and tells the dead Jacques to get up. AND HE DOES. Well, Jacques’ a zombie, I guess. He identifies the Princess as “his Death”, which she agrees to. She tells him to hold on to her coat, and then...

...I got questions. I GOT QUESTIONS HERE.

They go through the mirror, and the Princess’ henchmen follow, just as Orpheus walks in. He also has questions, and he tries to go through the mirror, to no avail. Completely confused at this point, he passes out against the mirror, alone in the mansion. And then...he’s outside.

Yeah, he’s just outside now, and waiting there is Heurtebise, the chauffeur! Orpheus is freakin’ out, and Heurtebise has no answers for him, but has been told to take him back to town once he...arrived. OK. Still questions.

In town, the disappearance of Orpheus is being discussed by a police inspector, his wife Eurydice (Marie Déa), and her friend Aglaonice (Juliette Gréco). Aglaonice doesn’t seem to like Orpheus very much, as she’s trying to convince Eurydice that he’s cheating on her. And that’s hard to argue, since he was last seen with the Princess. However, just as there’s about to be a scandal reported by a spontaneously appearing journalist, Heurtebise and Orpheus arrive home.

After a rough encounter with the journalist, he arrives home to a relieved Eurydice, and an enraged Aglaonice, whom Orpheus also dislikes heavily. He’s apparently forbidden her from entering his house, and tells her off. The Inspector leaves too, and asks Orpheus to come to his office to discuss the matter of the missing Jacques.

Eurydice reminds Orpheus that Aglaonice is dangerous, as she runs...the League of Women. Well...I think we know what role Aglaonice is going to play by the end of this. Her and her League of Bacchanalian Women, get me? Yikes. Anyway, the conversation turns into an argument, when the EXTREMELY ornery Orpheus basically just storms off, being a DICK to his poor wife. And when he goes upstairs to his room, he actually sneaks out of the window.

Meanwhile, Heurtebise comes into the house to offer an alibi to the pained Eurydice. While she doesn’t quite believe it, the two share some time together and seem to bond. However, when he smells gas from the stove, Heurtebise lets it slip that he committed suicide by using a gas stove. He covers it up before Eurydice notices the slip-up, but...OK. So, “the Princess” is death. Going by the traditional Greek myth, she’s some form of psychopomp, and the world beyond the mirror is the Underworld, I can only assume. OK...I can dig it.

Orpheus, meanwhile, is at the car, listening to the strange radio poetry and writing it down. The, uh, “Princess” is busy as well. Like a ghost, she walks into the household and watches Orpheus as he sleeps. A narration refers to her as Orpheus’ death. Funny, I’m pretty sure that’s going to be Aglaonice’s role.

Two days later, Orpheus is increasingly obsessed with the poetry from the mysterious radio and its odd messages. While Eurydice seems to mock this obsession, Orpheus also seems to be far too enraptured in it. But, interestingly, the messages seem to be coming from nowhere known. However, it’s all beginning to affect their marriage greatly.

On the phone, the Inspector comes calling, and Eurydice asks Heurtebise to answer the phone. He does so, and soon after, we see the phone float into place, as if placed there by a ghost. That’s confirmed as Heurtebise phases to the outside from nothing, where he meets Orpheus and informs him of the message. The two decide to head to the Inspector in his car, rather than the mysterious talking car.

While Orpheus goes through town, looking for the Princess rather than the Inspector, there’s something that I wanted to mention here. Call it an interpretation. Apparently, Heurtebise is often considered an angel by critics and interpreters. However, I’m gonna suggest that he’s actually supposed to be a representation of Hermes, the messenger god and a psychopomp who escorted souls to the Underworld. Not sure about the Princess yet, but Cocteau apparently never meant for her to be portrayed as actual death. Interesting.

Meanwhile, at the Inspector’s office, both Aglaonice and Orpheus’ poet friends (supposedly) are accusing Orpheus of being involved in Jacques’ disappearance. The Inspector turns them away, just as Heurtebise and Orpheus reconvene in town. While Orpheus didn’t find the Princess, Heurtebise says that she came by, saying that he could stay with the married couple for now.

Speaking of the Princess, we see her at night, staring over Orpheus. And her eyes are...strange. They seem artificial, and it bothers the EVER-LOVING SHIT out of me. And the whole affair isn’t helping Eurydice either, as she’s tired of Orpheus’ obsession with the car, and is planning on going to Aglaonice for advice. Heurtebise tries to stop her from doing so, but she insists. But when she goes...the motorcyclists come for her. And she’s dead. As proven when the Princess arrives through the mirror.

Alongside her comes Jacques, acting as the Princess’ servant. She notes to him that their work isn’t easy, and couldn’t be done if she were dressed in the way the humans portray her. So, she is seemingly Death, or at least an aspect of Death. Obviously, as we’re talking about the Greek story, we can assume that she’s meant to be Hades in particular. But, we’ll see. It’s also confirmed, by the way, that the mysterious messages are indeed Jacques’ poetry, recited by him on the radio waves from beyond the grave. Neat.

Heurtebise is clearly upset with what’s just happened to Eurydice. He asks if the Princess actually had orders to kill Eurydice. She avoids the question, and guesses correctly that Heurtebise has fallen in love with Eurydice. He confirms this, and counters with the fact that the Princess has seemingly fallen in love with ORPHEUS. The plot fucking THICKENS.

Good place to pause, I think. Halfway mark and all. See you in Part Two!

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alarawriting · 5 years ago

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52 Project #2: Changeling

Inspired by this story. Also by a number of well-known myths, but the central concept comes from @magic-and-moonlit-wings‘s story.

This falls into the category I call “altered tales”, which are retellings of fairy and folk tales and myths that are... not quite canonical.

***

Surely you have heard a similar tale before, of the mother who went to the crossroads by the light of the moon, pulling a wagon and carrying her changeling babe, to demand the return of her own child.

By the light of the moon she went to the crossroads, and she called out that the Faeries had stolen a thing from her, and that she demanded to see the King of the Faeries about the matter. And then, in the moment of an eyeblink, the grove she stood beside was full of faeries, some flying, some in trees, some standing, and all were very, very beautiful, but some were very, very strange. The King was the most beautiful, looking far too young to be the ancient creature he was, with black and golden hair long and wild on his head, and pale skin, and endlessly deep black eyes. “You claim that Faeries have taken a thing from you, but we never take without giving fair recompense. Are you calling us dishonorable?”

“Whether you considered what you left me fair recompense or not, you never asked me if I wanted to make the trade,” the mother said, and presented the changeling child. “You left this child in the crib my husband and I built for our babe, the one I carried in my body and birthed from my loins, and never did you ask me if I would take this one in trade for the one I spent blood on to bring to the world. You made the trade without asking me if this was fair recompense, or if I was willing to trade at all.” Then she laid the changeling in its swaddling down in the wagon, and stared a challenge at the King.

The King scowled, for the mother knew the laws. Faeries are bound to trade fairly. They will cheat if they can and take what they can and they will lie and cast glamours to make an item of trade look to be of more worth than it is, but when summoned by one they have tried to cheat, one who knows their laws, they must make things right. “Very well, child of Eve, we will return to you your babe.”

A bassinette was brought forward with a sleeping babe within. The mother removed from under her skirts a small bag, and in the bag was a small bottle, and in the small bottle there was a tincture of silver. She uncorked the small bottle and tipped it back into her eye, in front of the Faerie Court, so they would all see that she would not be fooled by glamours. Then she looked upon the bassinette with the untouched eye closed. “Yes. I see clearly, this is my child.” She lifted the bassinette and placed it in the wagon. “You have returned what you took unfairly, so I will take my leave now,” she said, because you cannot thank Faeries. They consider it very rude.

“Wait,” the King said. Now he was glaring. “Do you think we deserve no fair recompense? Return to us what we paid you.”

The mother raised her eyebrows. “Paid me? You paid me nothing, for I made no trade. You gave me no recompense, for I never agreed to sell my child. Instead you gifted me a babe, without conditions, on the night you stole my own. Now both of them are my children.”

Storm clouds gathered over the grove as the Faeries chattered to each other about the insolence of the human woman. “You cannot have it both ways! Either the child we gave you was fair recompense in trade for your babe, or you want your child back and are bound to return ours!”

The mother’s eyes were very hard. “You threw your child away. You left your babe to a human woman, knowing that humans sometimes burn changelings with iron to tell if they are human or not, knowing that humans have burnt and drowned changeling children. You did not ask my permission, so you made no trade at all. You stole from me at the same time as you discarded something you considered worthless. If you throw your trash in my yard, it is mine. It’s not payment for stealing my hen’s eggs or my apples to give me trash you care nought for, without my permission or acquiescence to the trade.”

The changeling spoke in a trembling voice. “My lord, you told me I was banished to the human world, to play the role of a human child. You never said I was of value; you only meant to trick my new mother into thinking me to be her own babe.”

“You are my own babe, for the faeries abandoned you to me, and I adopted you,” the mother said. “That makes you my own, just as much as the one who came from my loins is my own. You will be sisters and twins together and you will both be mine.”

“You think to make demands of the Faerie King?” the King demanded. “Who do you think you are?”

“I am a mother, and a woman. No more and no less. And I will not leave this place without both of my children – the one you stole and the one you discarded.”

“I do not think you will,” the King said, and sneered. “For we do not interpret the law the same way as you do. By our interpretation, you are attempting to gain something for nothing.”

“For nothing?” the mother snapped. “I have fed this babe milk from my own breast. I have warmed her with blankets I wove myself, or the blankets my mother and grandmother wove for my birth, that they gave to me. I have paid for this discarded babe by caring for her when you did not.”

“But you have paid us nothing,” the King said.

“Why should I pay anything to one who steals from me and leaves something he believes worthless in trade for it?” She softened. “But, I can offer you a gift. Even though you discarded a babe you cared nothing for and thought to be garbage and left it in my home for me to care for, I find value in her, and I can give a gift to return value for what has worth to me, even if it had no worth to you when you threw it away.”

“What gift can you offer to Faeries?” The King stood, and the clouds above became thunderclouds, as his brows drew close with his anger.

“Each year, on this night, so long as I live and am hale and hearty enough to make the journey and to speak and tell, I will give you a story. If I am giving birth, or I am ill, or one of my children is and I must care for them, or if I am trapped away from home and cannot make the date, I will return within the month with three stories to pay for the delay. In exchange, I will take home the babe from my womb and the babe you left in my home, and you will trouble neither of them again.”

“I have a different thought,” the King said. “Why not a challenge, to determine which of us is right? We pick a contest, a champion of the Faeries against you, and if you win, you leave here with two babes, but if you lose, both shall stay with us, and you as well.”

“As the one who is being challenged, then, do I have the right to choose the contest?” the mother asked.

“Yes, of course you do.”

From within her skirts the mother drew a cast iron cooking pan. “Then I choose a contest of skill at cooking,” she said. “I have hen’s eggs in my right pocket, here, and I will build a fire and cook them, in this pan. Your champion will also cook eggs, in a pan, on a fire, without magic or glamour, else it would be no contest of cooking skill. Whichever of us cooks the most delicious eggs shall be the winner.”

Now the Faeries chattered in fear, and even the King drew back, for iron is inimical to Faeries, and if the mother used it as a weapon, she could harm or even kill the faeries in the grove. “No,” the King said. “No Faerie can touch an iron cooking pan as humans do.”

“Then you forfeit the challenge to me, and take my original offer, of the stories,” the mother said.

“Before we accept such an offer, let us hear one of your stories. We will judge whether they will be worth two children.”

“That is not what’s at stake,” the mother said. “You will judge whether they will be worth accepting my interpretation of your law, where a thing thrown away cannot be considered fair trade in any way for a thing stolen without permission.”

“Very well,” the King said. “Tell your story, and if we judge it of worth, we will accept your interpretation of the law and let you leave here with two babes.”

And so the mother told this story:

Surely you have heard a similar tale before, of a musician who descended to the Underworld to sing to the Devil and free a loved one.

It happened many years ago that a woman became well known as a troubadour throughout the kingdom, for her singing voice was beautiful beyond compare and she played the flute and the lyre so sweetly one would think her an Angel descended from heaven. But she was no angel. This woman with the beautiful voice and the wondrous skill at playing music was no better than she should be, and she lived the life of any troubadour – drinking, gambling the coin she earned with her music, and spending her nights in the beds of men, as she pleased.

As one would expect, in the fullness of time, she came to be with child. And while she tried to live up to a mother’s responsibilities, old habits are hard to break. No sooner was her babe weaned than she was back to her old ways. She loved her little daughter greatly, but she was not the sort of woman who was good at supervising a child. And so on the night before the little one was to take her first Confession and then Communion, the mother was drinking with her friends, and playing cards, and never noticed that her daughter had left their home to go down to the stream… until they found the girl’s body caught in the reeds and drowned, the next morning.

In grief the woman screamed, and tore at herself with her nails, for she knew that her daughter being old enough to take Communion, but not having had Confession yet, meant that she was old enough that while her original sins were washed away with her baptism, she had accumulated enough sin to go to Purgatory, rather than to Heaven with our Lord and Savior. Her daughter’s eternal soul would never know the glory of God, and it was her own fault.

So she conceived of a plan to go to Hell and bargain with the Devil for the return of her daughter.

What many priests do not tell you is that Purgatory is itself a ring of Hell, the uppermost one. It is the only ring one can be freed from. Prayers for the souls in Purgatory eventually lighten their burden of sin enough that they can go on to Heaven, but it can take hundreds of years, and the prayers of a holy woman are more valuable than the prayers of a woman who lives a life of vice and sin. The musician feared that her daughter would be damned to Purgatory for the length of her own life, or perhaps forever, with no one holy to pray for her. Instead, she would go to the Underworld, to Hell, and offer the Devil a bargain: she would sing and play for him if he would free her daughter.

It is not hard for a woman of loose virtue to find her way to Hell. More difficult when alive, perhaps, but not impossible. The musician brought her pipe and lute through the gates, where she was challenged by a ferocious hellhound with three heads, but she played a sweet lullaby and the dog calmed and went to sleep at her feet.

She found her way to the capital city of Hell, Dis, and presented herself to the court of Lucifer Morningstar, else called Satan, the Adversary of God.

“Why are you here, human woman?” Satan asked. “You’ll be here soon enough with the life you lead, but you’re still of the living, here and now. You don’t belong in Hell… yet.”

“I’ve come to sing for the return of my daughter,” the musician said.

Satan looked down on her, his face stern. “What makes you think you can win your daughter back? Death is final. You were careless and let her go to the stream unsupervised, and now your daughter is dead. What else did you expect?”

“I failed as a mother and I know that,” the musician said. “But I promise you, if you listen to me play, you won’t regret it. I’m the best musician on Earth.”

“I have all of the best musicians that ever were on Earth, before they died; are you so arrogant to think you are better than all of them?” Satan asked.

“Yes,” she said.

And then Satan laughed, for he loves the human sin of pride like none other. “Oh, very well! Entertain me,” he said.

And so she played. Now, I am no musician nor even a singer, to try to replicate her song, so I will just tell you what she sang. She sang a song of the Virgin Mary holding her baby Son, weeping because the angels had told her what His future held, in her dreams, and the love she felt for her Baby overwhelming her and bringing her to the depths of grief, crying out against a God who could be so cruel as to sacrifice His only Son someday.

Against his will, Satan was moved by the song. Before he was Satan the Adversary, he was once Lucifer, beloved of God, and the Virgin crying out against God’s plan woke the part of his heart that remembered being God’s beloved son himself… made, not begotten, as all of us are, but God’s son nonetheless, and the outrage he himself felt over God’s plan in the time before he turned against it, and against God. And as a former angel, even fallen, he longs for the memory of the beautiful music of the heavens, so much so that he is famous for appreciating good music.

When her song had ended, the musician bowed. Satan, hiding how much the song had moved him, said gruffly, “Very well, you’ve proven your skill, and it’s not as if I won’t have you eventually. The soul of a child in Purgatory isn’t worth very much to me… not so much as the guarantee that you will be here with me when your time comes.” He smiled thinly at her. “Do you pledge your eternal soul to me, then?”

“As you said, Lord Satan, I am probably destined for your halls anyway,” the musician said, “but when the time comes, I won’t seek to fight you or confess my sins and fling myself on God’s mercy, if you give me back my child now.”

“Go out the gates of Dis,” Satan instructed. “Walk out through the ring of Purgatory, out toward the gates of Hell, and pass through them. Follow the path upward through the mountain, in darkness, without torch or lantern to light your way. Your daughter will follow behind you, but do not look back until the sun shines on the both of you once again, or she will fall back into Purgatory and you will never see her again.”

“She is my baby,” the musician objected. “I should carry her.”

Satan chuckled. “She’s no babe in arms; she was about to take her first Communion when she died. You don’t need to carry her. She can walk.”

And so the musician left Dis, and passed out through Purgatory as she was instructed, and did not look back. Purgatory is a place of fog, and ghosts. The musician kept thinking she saw someone she knew appear in the fog, but she didn’t dare to turn and look, lest the Devil call that looking back, for she knew he would try to trick her. Nothing exists in Purgatory but what its denizens can imagine, and being shades in Limbo, they have little imagination. In that dreary place, they slowly forget their memories of their lives on Earth, and become nothing more than hollow shades, drifting patterns that were once a living soul. The musician encountered nothing as she traveled; no one spoke, no footfall resounded in that place of emptiness and silence.

She reached the gates of hell and began to walk up the path through the mountain that conceals the gate to Hell. When she had come down this way, she had carried a torch for light, but Satan had told her she must not carry light on her way back. So she traveled up the path, one hand trailing on the cave wall so she would not lose her way or her footing, in complete darkness. And still she heard no sound, no footfall or whisper of breath, from behind her.

Satan has tricked me, she thought. There’s no one behind me. My daughter is still in Purgatory. Her fear and paranoia grew, and she longed to look behind and tell for sure… but she knew she had been told she could not look back until the sun shined on her and her daughter again. It’s a trick to make me look, she told herself, over and over. She’s there, but she won’t be if I look. And if she’s not, if Satan lied, I’ll go back down and wake the dead with my music until he’s forced to return her to me in truth. Besides, how would she be able to see the shade of her daughter in this darkness?

She traveled upward in darkness, and it seemed that the path went on and on, far longer than it had taken her to travel down. It’s a trick, Satan will never let me out into the sunshine. I’m dead already and my punishment is to walk this dark path upward forever, she thought. But what choice did she have? If she gave up and returned down the path, she would surely be trapped in Hell, and her daughter in Purgatory. Of course it seems longer; it’s dark and it’s uphill, she told herself, over and over. And it’s always easier to descend to Hell than to rise up from it. What else should I expect?

But finally, after what seemed like days of travel, she saw the light of the sun up ahead. She quickened her pace, though her legs burned from the long journey, knowing that as soon as she was within the light of the sun, she would be able to behold her daughter – or know if she had been tricked. “Only a little ways longer, my baby,” she crooned to the child she hoped was behind her. “Just a few more steps, and we’ll be in the light.”

And then she was at the mouth of the cave, and the sunlight shone down on the land right outside. She bounded out of the cave, and spun to behold her daughter—

--whose shade was not yet clear of the cave, not yet within the sunlight. She saw a look of anguish on her child’s face, saw her lips form the cry “Mama!”… but there was no sound, and then her daughter’s image faded back into the darkness.

“No!” the mother cried, and ran back into the cave to try to touch her daughter, to catch her before she disappeared completely… but by the time she was in the cave, her daughter was nowhere in sight.

She screamed in rage and grief. And then she marched back down the path again, without a torch, in the darkness, to find her daughter.

Though she was foolish in her recklessness, she knew better than to think she could find her daughter in the fog of Purgatory on her own. So she marched back into Dis and confronted Satan again. “You tricked me!”

Satan shrugged. “I gave you clear rules. You broke them. There’s nothing I can do.”

The musician narrowed her eyes. “You, the original rebel, must follow rules? Are you master here or not? Do you still have to obey rules imposed by your Father, or are you your own being?”

Satan’s face darkened with fury. “How dare you?!”

“What more can you do to me? Trap me in Hell? I’ll be here anyway. Take my daughter from me? Oh, you already did that!” She poked a finger at him. “You can choose to break your own rules, if you like. They’re your rules. You made them; you can choose not to follow them, if you wish.”

“Very well, then. I choose to follow them. You were told what you needed to do to save your daughter from Purgatory and restore her to life, and you didn’t do it. Why should I break my own rules for one who couldn’t be bothered to follow my instructions?”

“Because if you don’t, I will wake the dead and raise them up against you,” the musician said. “Dis is right outside Purgatory and your demons do not go there. They’re too busy tormenting the truly damned.”

Satan sneered. “I don’t fear a mortal musician, woman. Many, many musicians reside within Hell and Purgatory. What makes you so much more than they are?”

“Because I am alive. And because I am a mother, fighting for my daughter,” the musician said, and began to play.

You have never heard music like this, o Faerie King! In her hands, the lyre screamed her fury, and the song she belted out was louder than anyone would imagine a mortal voice could sing. As I’ve said, I am no musician, so I cannot sing or play her song for you, but I can tell you of it. It was a song of purest rage, that mortals must die, that we are all of us condemned for a choice made so long before we were born, that we have the freedom to sin and that Hell even exists. She sang her anger at the concept of death, and the shades in Purgatory heard her song, and it awakened their memories of life, their own anger at their deaths, at themselves for being sinners and God for allowing them the freedom to sin and the Devil and his minions for keeping them there in Purgatory. Their imaginations responded, and shaped Purgatory to be what they wanted. Those who’d been musicians in life took up their own instruments and joined the mother in her song. Those who’d been warriors took up swords and shields, daggers and bows with quivers of arrows.

And Satan saw that the dead were responding to the mother’s song, and feared that she could lead them against Dis and overthrow his rule, or that she could lead them out of Purgatory and up the mountain again and out into the land of the living, where the presence of such terrifying shades would surely drive the frightened living into the arms of God. “Take your daughter and go! You daughter of a dog and a whore, know this; I am taking from you your death. Never will you come here to Hell again, nor to Heaven, no matter how you should plead with The One Whose Name I will not speak. Wander the Earth forever and never know rest, and call yourself happy for winning back your daughter’s life… but she will die again, eventually, as all mortals do, and you will be parted from her forever then!”

“I can live with that,” the musician said, and left Hell.

And this time, when she crossed the boundary into sunlight, she waited until she heard her child’s voice, until she felt the touch of a small hand on her skirts once more, before she turned and scooped her daughter into her arms, and wept like a babe herself.

***

The mother of the two babes bowed as her story finished. “That is the end of my tale,” she said. “Does it suffice to allow me passage back home with both my babes, Your Majesty?”

“Where is that woman today?” the King asked.

The mother shrugged. “That tale, I don’t know. The last I heard, she was headed to the town of Hamelin. She had heard that the priests of that town, rather than being the holy men they should be, were corrupted by the lusts of the flesh, and misuse children for dark purpose, and the elders of the town allowed it. But I do not know what happened then, nor where she is now.”

“Find her, and bring her to us, and we will consider your debt paid in full,” the King said. “Every seven years we must pay a tithe of our people to Hell. A musician who can wake the dead and terrify the Devil might free us from our terrible burden.”

“If I see her, I will ask her to come to you,” the mother said, “and if I hear tales of her, I will bring them to you at the appointed time.”

“And if you have no tale of her, you will pay us with a different story,” the King said.

“Indeed I will. So do we have a bargain, Faerie King?”

“We do,” the King said. “Go from this place, human woman. Take both your children.”

On the way home, the changeling child said, “Mother, I want to be baptized tomorrow. I wish to have an immortal soul like you and my sister.”

“If you can want a soul, you have one,” the mother said. “And you need no baptism; you do not carry the taint of original sin as humans do. But if you want to be baptized to acknowledge your savior as Lord Jesus Christ, I will do so, but it will most likely take from you all of your supernatural memories, and bind you in the form of a human child.”

“That is what I want,” the changeling said. “You bargained for me, to be my mother and to love me and care for me. All I want is to be your babe in arms in return.”

“Then that is what we’ll do,” the mother said.

“But before that, can you tell me… you have some connection to the musician in the story, don’t you, Mother? Who is she to you?”

“She is your grandmother,” the mother said, smiling. “I am the child she rescued from Hell. The Faerie King should have known better than to threaten me. I have none of my mother’s gift for music, but I have never forgotten that my mother challenged the Devil for me, and won. How could I do any less for my own children?”

And then the babe born human woke and began to fuss. The mother pulled the wagon that carried them to a meadow, and sat on the grass with them, her breasts bared to feed both, as she watched the sun rise.

#52 project #alara original writing #altered tales #changelings #deal with the devil

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bestwishes1986 · 3 years ago

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Part 5 : Deception (WIP)

Reckless, impulsive, loyal, those were words that Kingston “King” McTavish would assign to Valiant Teague. Standing on the front step of a suburban hamlet in the middle of the afternoon had surprised even him. At 350 years of age it was hard to surprise him, but as he waited for someone to answer the door he was surprised. His opal blue curls and straight lines of hair were caught in a breeze that made them sway. He had had the underside of his head shaved all around with a thick beard not the same blue surrounding his face like a mane. His darker than vanilla skin tone from the mixed heritage of his father and mother and facial features made him appear handsome with more than a hint of African descent. His blue eyes watched the door, trying to be patient.

Any call to the castle was recorded and before heading out on his motorcycle he had the call played back over and over. Listening for any signs of immediate emergency, danger, or signs of a struggle. All he had heard was emotional rawness and that had been enough for him to cancel any plans he had made for the day and leave. His prisoner Tobin had just been brought back his second escape attempt and he needed distance from that man anyway.

The door opened and instead of his weapons specialist for the Kingsguard he commanded, there was a little girl looking disappointed to see him. Before he could speak she ran back into the house crying. King’s blue eyebrows drew together in concern. A stranger came to the door, beautiful with gray eyes and wild dark hair that could use a brush.

“Sorry about Abigail, we tried to stop her but she got ahead of us…you are?” Donovan asked holding out a hand.

“King, Sovereign of the United Kingdom. I was summoned here by Val, why isn’t he receiving me?” King asked, his light voice suspicious of this stranger. His Lycan, a blue wolf that lived inside his soul stirred from sleep. The bright golden eyes looking at the creature before King through their metaphysical bond. King took the man’s hand in a fierce grip and was surprised when Donavan gripped his hand just as strong.

“Donavan Roe, an acquaintance of Val’s. He’s in right state presently, come on in.” Donovan said keeping his face as passive as possible even though the death grip King had on his wrist made him wonder if bones would break if he applied any more pressure. King released his hand and walked past him, never taking his eyes off Donavan until he had to turn his head forward. Even then he didn’t like Donavan behind him. Using his Lycan senses he smelled the house. Three strong scents, one faint almost gone entirely.

He glanced at the furniture, most of it years old seemed in good condition. No signs of any fighting occurred.

“What exactly is happening here?” King asked looking back at Donavan.

“Short version. I witnessed the murder of Val’s wife and we just saw her in the crowd at the Mercy Hospital Bombing. So Val is trying to not have a breakdown right now. He’s in the guest room down that way.” Donavan surmised as he pointed down the hallway.

“You’re leaving something out.” King said he had listened to this man’s pulse the entire time, noting it’s rhythm changes as he spoke.

“Go see him first.” Donavan said ducking his head.

“You do know what Sovereign means, you don’t give me orders.” King said a bit of a growl coming into his words as if to show Donavan who was in control of things.

“He needs you now, this whose cock is bigger bullshite can wait. I will be trying to get his daughter to stop crying. If that’s alright, my Lord,” Donavan said with a tone beyond annoyed and King almost said something rude but his ears picked up the sounds of things being torn apart from the second story.

“Go, she’s tearing something apart right now and in that state I imagine it’s something important to her.” King said before he walked down the hallway without waiting for a response. Donavan turned and moved to the stairs, he felt out of his depth. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. He asked himself why he was still even here, he had done what he had come to do. He had told Val everything he knew about the man. But as he moved up the stairs he knew the reason, hated himself for the reason but as he came to door with pony stickers. He knew it was all beyond his control, he cared what happened to these people.

Donavan stood in the doorway, watching as the five year old tore a painting to ribbons. His eyes were wide with surprise but he didn’t stop her. Her tears were gone, her face red with anger as she pulled more of the once large painting apart. A part of him knew he should tell her to stop, but he didn’t. If he had learned one thing in his life, it was to trust his instincts. Finally when the painting was just small pieces of paper strewn about the room, and Abigail breathing hard with the exertion he knocked on the doorframe.

He kept his face calm and neutral of any emotion and just waited. Children were unpredictable, as an incubus he could feel emotions the way people felt a breeze before rain. Hers were a mess of anger, sadness and above all confusion. It made his heart hurt, that surprised him. He had only known of her existence for only one morning and already he felt he would hurt anyone who harmed her. But he didn’t have time to be perplexed as she launched herself at him and he had just enough time to crouch before she was hugging him tight and sobbing.

Donavan’s eyes were wide, this was the second Teague to do this and he just wasn’t sure what about him screamed “Port in a storm”. But he hugged her back all the same. Abigail was young but she wasn’t stupid. The concept of telling her everything would be alright seemed ludicrous, he wasn’t sure anything would be alright ever again. So he simply let her cry it out on his shoulder.

Downstairs was a different matter entirely. King had leaned against the closed door and listened to his subordinate’s retelling of recent events. He had resisted the urge to interrupt. Making mental notes as he did. He wasn’t angry at being kept in the dark about Val’s investigation, he knew if he had learned before now who the victims were he would have pulled him from investigation.

“We tried to keep Abigail back but she threw a fit and I retreated back here and let Donavan handle it. I just wanted to compose myself before you fired me from your employ,” Val concluded somberly and King’s eyes went wide but he said nothing for a moment.

“You’ve been using that word a lot today. “We” I mean. Have you noticed that,” King asked as he folded his arms over his long green wool sweater and waited for a reply. As predicted it took Val a moment to retrace the conversation and with a deep frown King knew it had finally registered with the man.

“I have no reason to sack you Valiant, but I will say you’re too goddamn smart to go it alone. Let alone too smart to take things at face value. So disappointed would be how I’m currently feeling. But above that, I’m sorry Mate. Losing a wife is hard, ye but getting on top of another bloke right after. That’s a bit of a stretch even for you yah?” King spoke with a bit of incredulous shock to his voice.

“I haven’t done anything with Donavan, besides he’s been a friend this day. As well as a witness to her death, I just want time to find out what he knows.” Val said and King nodded his brow creased in thought. King had heard Donavan approaching but said nothing. He had also heard the lie in Val’s voice but said nothing just watched him. This was going to be interesting.

The door burst open and King barely had time to move before Donavan came bursting in, his face red with anger.

“Is that it?! That’s all you want from me right! Information. Alright here,” Donavan shouted King watched him, listening to any underlying emotion or held back secret.

“The man is a Vampire. He has fangs instead of teeth and talks with a French accent. He’s tall like me, but muscular like a Football player. His skin is brown like an African but pale like a corpse. He wears fine clothes like a royal snob would. I never remember where we go because he has mental magic or some such shit. I used to think it was drugs but I didn’t eat or drink before the later takings so it can’t be. The rooms he takes me to are hotel rooms, like the one Tegan was in. Cheap places you pay by the day. He always paid with cash. There was a black briefcase that had an ornate set of operating tools in it. He would bleed me first, then rape me, feed me just enough to replinish blood then do it again.” Val rose to stop him but Donavan kept going.

“He forced me to watch. Used compulsion on me so my eyes wouldn’t close. I tried to move, to free myself but could only cry while he took his time. Savoring the meal he said. Is that enough, you get what you needed,” Donavan looked at King then. King’s blue eyes were shrewd, he nodded. Donavan nodded back, before looking at Val.

“See, that’s honesty. Not your dirty tacs, using your body and whatever I felt was happening to lure me in to a false sense of security. That’s on par with him and his money. Never, see me again.” With that Donavan ran. Val was too shell shocked to move. King slipped his phone out and made a call. Val felt his life breaking in ways he couldn’t imagine. The information from Donavan had felt like nails being driven into his skin, piercing muscle and shattering bone.

“I want eyes on him all day and night. This is the only lead we have to get to him.” King concluded as he hung up the phone. He was seized by Val who slammed him against a wall.

“What are you playing at King!? Eh, you set me up?” Val shouts. King looked back at him, cold blue eyes.

“I knew Donavan was listening. But I had no idea you would throw yourself on top of an emotional land mine. That was all you. Lying to me, what’s more you’re lying to yourself. I will give you two hours to be ready to roll out with the guard. Bring your daughter to the castle, she’ll be safe there.” King said. The words causing Val to release him as his arms dropped to his sides.

“Donavan didn’t tell you because he knew you weren’t ready to hear it. That’s how Incubuses work, they sense the person’s emotions and act accordingly. He would have told you when he felt you were ready. Now I have to go, my men are tailing Donavan but if I’m right. Someone else has been waiting for you to make the sort of blundering mistakes you have.” King concluded turning to leave.

“You don’t mean…?” Val whispered unable to believe the implication.

“Whatever entity stood in front of television cameras allowing you to see it. Yes, that creature. It most likely wanted to separate you and Donavan for the real threat to collect him without my intervention or yours. And you with your lies have made it that much fucking easier. I would suggest you try the honest approach going forward Mate,” King said and continued on. The door to the house opened and closed. A guttural sound of the motocycle engine came next. Val dropped to his knees, the full weight of all his situations and mistakes bringing him low.

Somewhere out there, a creature with his wife’s face knew about him. Somewhere out there Donavan was being lured to a trap. What was he going to do?

#books #fantasy #fiction #my writing #novel #short story #wattpad #gay mystery fiction #gay art #gay fiction #gay romance #lgbt romance #lgbt fiction #Wolf CreekUK

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casgetoutofmyass0907 · 4 years ago

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“Playing Games”

New Fic is up on my ao3: “Playing Games”

Summary: Dean and Castiel have a prank war, do I have to say more?

“If you get me his phone, I might reconsider,” Dean said to Sam, a sly smile plastered on his face.

Sam looked up from his computer to look at Castiel, who was passed out on the couch from drinking too many beers. Being human has its faults, and Cas was a lightweight when it came to drinking. “Seriously Dean? You won’t place an order for pizza unless I steal Cas’s phone?” Sam says before looking at his brother, who was now grinning like a child, elbows placed on the table and his head in his hands as he straws at Sam.

“Mhmm. Come on Sammy, you go steal his phone so I can fill his camera roll with random pictures, and then I will order the pizza.”

Dean and Cas had been pulling pranks on each other for well over a week now. They were dumb, childish pranks, but it allowed them to have some fun in between hunts. Cas was drunk so it was the opportune time for Dean to make his next move.

Sam scoffed and went back to his computer, looking for a new case. “No, Dean. I’m not getting in the middle of your prank war. I’m glad you’re having fun and all but leave me out of it.”

Dean’s smile faded as he recalled the last prank Cas had pulled. “He put shaving cream on a piece of pie yesterday.” Sam looked up from his computer once again, unamused having heard this story five times already today. “Shaving cream, Sam.”

“Yes, Dean I know. You told me already”

Dean continued retelling the story, ignoring the fact that Sam was trying to speak. “It was a beautiful piece of warm apple pie, and I was very excited about it, but he went and ruined it with shaving cream.” Dean faked a shudder “I can still taste it.”

Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he went back to typing. “I’m not stealing his phone. You can do that yourself.”

“He went too far this time! No one messes with my pie and gets away with it. I would appreciate your support on this man.” Dean leaned back in his chair, raising a lukewarm beer to his lips and taking a drink. He grimaced at the taste, he was never a fan of warm beer but he would drink it if he had to.

“I’m still not stealing his phone.”

Dean groaned as he pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. “Fine, I’ll do it myself. I’ll remember this next time you need help with anything for Eileen.”

Dean made his way towards Cas, who was snoring lightly as he slept. Once he reached Cas, Dean carefully lifted Cas’s trench coat to reach his hand into the inside pocket where his phone usually resides. He was surprised to find the pocket empty and began to place the coat back. Dean frowned as he looked around, thinking that Cas may have left his phone on the table next to the couch, or that it fell out of his pocket. He was about to give up before he looked back at Cas, who had shifted and was now laying on his side facing the back of the couch, trench coat hanging over his side nearly touching the floor. His shirt had come untucked and was pulled up, exposing part of Cas’s lower back. Dean smiled as he looked at his boyfriend, sleeping peacefully, he let his eyes trail down to the sliver of exposed skin only to see that Cas was wearing jeans as opposed to his usual black slacks.

Dean’s smile grew as he saw Cas’s phone in his back pocket. He walked back over to the couch and carefully pulled the phone out of the pocket, pausing when Cas started to stir. Once Cas settled back into the couch and Dean heard his soft snoring again he pulled the phone the rest of the way out.

Dean turned around to look at Sam, holding the phone up as if he won the lottery and was showing off the winning ticket. “Got it!”

“Good for you Dean, now you can use it to order pizza. Extra onions.” Sam closed his computer and rubbed his eyes.

“Ew, I’ll order it, only so you don’t ruin it with onions. You know I don’t like them on my pizza.” Dean scrunched his face and unlocked Cas’s phone, the password was Dean’s birthday 0124. He dialed the number for their favorite pizza joint down the street, hoping they would still be open. He was excited when the line stopped ringing and he heard a “hello” on the other end.

“Hi, can I place an order for pick up? A large pizza, half meat lover’s half supreme, and some cheesy breadsticks.” Those were Cas’s favorite, they would make for good hangover food, Cas was going to need it.

“That will be ready in 20 minutes, sir.”

“Thank you.”

~~~~

Castiel’s head was pounding as he swiped through the pictures on his phone. “I can’t believe you took 200 selfies.” He swiped a few more times and stopped on a picture of Dean sticking his tongue out with his eyes crossed. “What are you even doing in this one?”

Cas handed his phone to Dean, who was trying hard not to laugh, as he took a bite out of a cold breadstick. He moaned at the taste, at least something good came out of last night.

“That’s what you get for ruining a perfectly good piece of pie. You’re lucky I love you and didn’t mess with your breadsticks and chose to fill your camera roll with pictures of my beautiful face instead.” Dean turned the phone off and set it on the side table to his right.

“Well thank you for that. These are just what I needed after last night. One downfall of being human is the hangovers” Cas leaned back on the couch, letting his head fall back, and closed his eyes, popping the last of his breadstick in his mouth. “And headaches”

Dean laughed and rested his head on Cas’s shoulder, closing his own eyes. Cas smelled like beer and cheese but Dean didn’t mind, he was just happy to have a loving boyfriend, who was also his best friend, to lay his head on. He never thought that he and Cas would be where they were now. They had been through so much in the 12 years they have known each other, but now everything was going good for once, so they took a minute to just lean on each other, to be there for each other. Even if they were both still half-drunk from the previous night.

Their days were filled with small jokes, Dean hid Cas’s toothbrush one day, the next Cas filled Dean’s room with balloons. Sam would occasionally help, like the day Dean filled Cas’s bed with plastic snakes or when Cas placed a hundred sticky notes on the windshield of Baby. Dean got Cas back for that prank by spending a whole day pretending to lean in for a kiss but would turn away or grab something from behind Cas before their lips made contact.

Castiel was better at the pranks than Dean, and this time he may have taken it a bit too far.

“CAS GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!”

Dean gave up on trying to brush the glitter off of his shirt. He had managed to get some of it off of his face but hadn’t even tried to shake it out of his hair. Cas had managed to set a trap so that a pound of glitter would fall on him when he opened the door, and now there was glitter everywhere. Dean was considering just switching rooms because there was no way he would be able to get rid of all the fine flakes.

Cas came into the room laughing, Sam trailing behind him wiping tears from his eyes. “You were in on this?” Dean asked in disbelief.

“Who do you think put the glitter above the door frame? Cas isn’t tall enough and we don’t own a ladder.” Sam replied with a shrug.

“You said you weren’t getting in the middle of it!”

“I wasn’t going to, but I wasn’t going to say no to you being covered in glitter.” Sam’s smile grew more as he leaned against the door frame, careful to avoid any glitter that may be on the wooden surface.

“Sorry Dean, but you started this. Maybe you shouldn't have put plastic wrap on the toilet seat and I wouldn’t have felt the need to get you back by putting salt in your coffee.” Cas said as he tried to keep himself from laughing at Dean, who was very sparkly and clearly not amused.

“Unbelievable,” Dean said with a shake of his head, frowning as he tried to shake some of the glitter from his hair. He was annoyed but he smirked as he said “You know I love you, Cas.”

Castiel’s smile faded when he realized what Dean was planning and he took off running down the hallway. Dean threw a handful of glitter at Sam as he took off after Cas. Cas could outrun a lot of things, but Dean was faster, so when he caught up he threw his arms around Cas transferring some of the glitter onto him. “Damnit Dean, really?”

“I just wanted to give you a hug.” Dean flipped Cas around so they were face to face as he pulled his boyfriend into a bear hug, rubbing his glitter-filled hair over Cas’s face and neck.

They were sweeping glitter out of Dean’s room and the hallways for weeks. “I hate glitter. It’s like a pest, and now we are infested because someone decided it was a good idea to dump a shit ton of it on me.” Dean said as he gave a side-eyed glance to Cas and Sam, blowing a flake of it off of his bacon.

“I happen to love picking pieces of it off of you when we-”

“Okay! I’ve heard enough. I don’t need the details of your extracurriculars.” Sam interrupted Cas before he could finish his sentence, and took a sip of his coffee, trying to erase the mental image Cas planted in his head.

Dean and Cas exchanged a look before they both burst out laughing.

#Destiel #PrankWar #FanFic

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lazuliblade · 6 years ago

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2019 Worlds - EX Gala rough report

I am, so tired. I slept about 3 hours last night. Apparently at the small medal ceremony Yuzu said he slept 3 hours last night. We’re comrades in sleep.

Ahhh, “Haru yo, Koi” was amazing. The Exhibition Gala was such a nice note to end on. I’m sad Yuzu didn’t get a chance to do an encore since he didn’t win -- we could have had it all. Haru yo Koi costume in the sakura-themed Kiss&Cry. Origin skated with the Haru yo Koi costume -- can you imagine? Dark overlord god of the universe, but in pale white-pink? That Ina Bauer with the arm choreo, done in the beautiful ruffly costume. The final spin into the dramatic triumph pose. It would have been glorious. But ah well.

Again, a proper report will follow later when I’m not as dead. Likely Tuesday since tomorrow I won’t be able to use my laptop. For now, some rough highlights:

Yuzu’s costume is so sparkly

When the skaters were gathering in the entrance to come out for the introductions, I saw sparkles from across the rink. I was in the corner on the same long side as the entrance but all the way on the other end, so I didn’t have a clear view like yesterday when I could see them enter/exit without obstruction. Immediately I thought “I bet that’s Yuzu” and I pulled up my binoculars. Yes, it was Yuzuru. Bless him for having beautiful costumes.

The costume was actually a really pale pink and looked almost white from a distance. I realized that it literally is the color of not just any pink sakura you see printed on containers/marketing ads/everything, but it’s the color of THE sakura you’d see in person. The nearly white flowers that don’t actually look pink until you get close. The sakura people people refer to when they mention flower viewing. The sakura trees that line the roads in many neighborhoods, the trees that the meteorological agency bases the cherry blossom forecast on. So he was dressed up in the color of the live flower.

Yuzu’s low hydroblade covers SO much ice, and he held it forever. He did two revolutions. It was in my corner, so I was able to see him sink deep into that position, and get lower still. It covered maybe a fourth of the rink? And the diameter was huge - covering a good chunk of the width of the rink. He had a moment where his head came up abruptly (he was facing away from me at that moment - but apparently it’s because he leaned far enough down to kiss the ice and then jerked back up), and then sunk lower yet again into the second revolution. The lady next to me was just in awe saying “wow, it looks like he’s gonna fall, doesn’t it?” There was like a centimeter between his body and the ice -- it almost looked like he was laying on it, but he was going so fast.

His Ina Bauer was luxurious. That’s it. That’s the one word that came to mind when he so smoothly slid into position and then smiled and tilted his torso back. Then leisurely did the arm motions like he was unconcerned about running out of speed or ice.

It covered a lot of distance as well. This started on the long side heading into my corner again, and wrapped around the entire short side of the rink and back to the middle of the opposite long side.

Also, holy heck he’s so fast. He was in the corner directly diagonal from me waaay on the other side of the rink, and he took just TWO crossovers and suddenly he was at full speed halfway across the rink doing those steps before the 3Lo - which was also landed in front of me.

The delayed Axel was so airy and high

His spins are crazily centered. The Sit Spin is a stationary point of twinkling stars in a vortex. It’s mesmerizing to watch because he doesn’t move from the position AT ALL.

Then he unfurls upward with the piano note runs, and everyone in the audience stood up before he hit his last spin upright position.

He changed the first spin early in the program where he reaches down to touch the ice with his fingertips and leaves those finger tracks - he didn’t reach down this time. I guess he didn’t want to slow down the speed of the spin? Who knows.

His smile when he threw the snow in the air. The atmosphere was of anticipation for this moment, and we all started clapping and shouting when he did it.

I have a lot of stuff from other skaters too, but this is getting super long already without it even being a properly polished post, so I’ll put it all under a cut and mention just the highlights that come to mind.

Nathan’s program was a great one to end on

He uses his arms well when he doesn’t have to focus so much energy into jumps - his choreo is always interesting and refreshing.

The upbeat song really got the crowd going. It was like sunshine after we had Sui/Han, Alina, and Papadakis/Cizeron.

His encore to the Nemesis choreo sequence was sharp, and I’m glad I got to see that skated with the energy he had way back in the 2017 GP Rostelecom.

Sui/Han were magnificent. They looked like one person in two bodies out there - which is exactly what Pairs is about. Everything was seamless. I’d seen this EX on video before, but seeing how smoothly they transferred the fan, how fluidly the cloth moved. I was really struck too by how beautifully intimate that last lift was where it looked like Wenjing was entrusting herself to his care, and he was cradling her close. It was so powerful especially with how they missed the first half of the season because of injuries and weren’t in great shape heading to Worlds.

The Italian skaters in general know how to do EXs

the audience around me were confused about him coming down the stairs from the stands, and the sudden stripping - yes, they’re losing their robes. It’s a “boxing” EX and you’re in for a good time.

Matteo Rizzo was a lot of fun, and I’m sad the crowd didn’t understand the song lyrics/were too hesitant/polite/whatever to be able to shout out “Ghost Busters” when the singer literally asks for listeners to shout the name. People loved the entire opening sequence with the beeping machine, and the middle part when the ghost scares him and he loses his backpack.

Michal Brezina and his island retreat skate. It was such a chill way to start off this entire gala.

Keiji’s JoJo program was amazing and the crowd loved it. He’s so in character and the lighting people really went all out with the effects. Yuzu fixed his hair/was fiddling with it afterward when they were in the finale getting ready for the group bow.

Shoma has such nice edges, and his 3A covers a lot of distance. The crowd was really supportive and I feel they just wanted him to skate freely.

Intro&Finale

Yuzu was so bubbly, smiley, giggly, it was effusive. He looked like he enjoyed it all more than anyone else. His smile was like sunshine.

When the Ice Dance teams were together doing their opening intro spins/lifts, the Men were by the boards on the far side from where I sat, so I could clearly see them stretching. Which is odd, because you’d think they should be warmed up to skate already, and the Ladies and Pairs weren’t doing anything like that. Yuzu was stretching his shoulders, reaching back as if trying to get his zipper, so I thought for a moment that he was fixing something, but the other guys were also stretching their arms and legs, so I figured he was stretching his shoulder blades. Yuzu looked like he was testing/envisioning something. The Ladies did their spins, and then the Men go out and do...a spiral side-by-side in a straight line heading towards the short side. They did the basic arabesque pose, and then Yuzu goes and does a catchfoot spiral - so I guess we did get a Biellmann after all. Kind of.

The Men getting in the center to put their hands together and do the whole “go team!” thing, Shoma was off somewhere in his head or forgot or something and then ran to catch up and throw his hand in. The audience laughed because that’s so Shoma.

The finale, we were wondering where Yuzu was, because all the skaters had gathered at the entrance ready to step out onto the ice, and then once on the ice he still wasn’t there. That’s when Nathan goes and brings him over like he’s the guest of honor - I don’t know if the choreographer planned it from the start, or if someone mentioned during practice that it would be nice to do that, but it was a beautiful sentiment.

When all the skaters lined up joining hands for the final bow, I couldn’t help notice how tall Yuzu looked next to Gabby Daleman. She skates so big I didn’t realize she was only 155cm (just the tiniest bit over 5ft).

and when the skaters skated up to the boards in a line holding hands, Yuzu did an arabesque spiral - like he did during the early FaOI shows in the summer.

He was being all cute when all the skaters were doing the two laps around the rink. Lots of peace signs up to his eyes and jumping/bouncing around/skating backwards

He tried to offer the mascot to join the group picture, but it seems the mascot couldn’t see what Yuzu was pointing to/intending, so Yuzu did exaggerated motions, and then when the mascot still didn’t get it, he did a full-body head tilt and there was lots of “are you not going to join then? Oh wait-yes? No, then? (hesitating halfway between turning for the group and the mascot)...wait, that IS a yes?” He helped hold the mascot and skated backwards with little wiggles tugging it along.

When the gold medalists were taking their customary picture, Yuzu was at the exit of the rink and did his final “arigatou gozaimashita” so the audience all screamed back acknowledgements and thanks.

Alina went back after all the pictures were over and did a revenge 3Lz that she fell on in her encore.

They tried to tug Nathan into doing a jump too, but he refused. (Nope, not going to repeat that mistake again when he broke his hip doing a 4T in a gala. Smart move.)

It all passed by so quickly. Look out for a polished retelling later.

#laz talks #worlds2019 #haru yo koi #yuzuru hanyu #this was supposed to be a short post #i'm off to bed now

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darisu-chan · 5 years ago

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Once Upon A Time

Yo!

I’m gonna be finishing up with some IR Month prompts from last year, so expect more fanfiction from me.

This also means I’m gonna be late for this year’s IR Month. But, don’t worry, I’ll eventually complete it.

Have an amazing IchiRuki Month!

You can also read this story in here.

Prompt: fairytales for death gods

Summary: Ichigo’s attempts to tell a fairytale to his kids are thwarted by Rukia’s interventions.

“Daddy, daddy!” Mamoru called to him from his bed.

Ichigo sat down next to his son. “What is it?”

“Tells us a story!” Mamoru demanded with pleading eyes, exactly like his mother’s.

“Stowy please!” A second voice added. It belonged to Hikari, his two year old daughter, who was starting to say short sentences.

The father smiled. “Okay, but it’s gonna be a short one and after that, you’re gonna sleep, alright?” The kids nodded as he sat down next to them. The two scooted over on each side of him, almost sitting on his lap. Ichigo chuckled and ruffled their hair. As both children laughed, he pondered. “What kind of story do you want to hear?”

“A story about adventure!” Mamoru said animatedly.

“A pwincess!” Hikari interjected, moving her hands wildly.

“A princess? No way!” The boy said, crossing his arms. His sister pouted and gave him the saddest eyes she could muster. “Okay, fine!”

Ichigo laughed. “Alright, alright. So adventure and a princess, huh? I have just the story for that.”

“Really?” Mamoru asked with wide, violet eyes.

“Really. Now settle down.” He said, getting more comfortable as the kids lay their tiny heads on his lap. “Once upon a time─”

“Wow. You’re starting with that phrase?” A voice said mockingly from the door.

Ichigo looked up and found his wife. He glared at her. “Well, yeah. That’s how all great stories start.” He grumbled.

Rukia chuckled as she made her way to the bed and sat next to her son, pulling him to her lap, her shoulder touching Ichigo’s. “Well, I want to hear it too.”

He looked worriedly at her. “You’re not too tired?”

“No. Why? Getting worried?” She said playfully, flicking his nose.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

“Stowy?” Hikari asked, looking at both adults with an annoyed expression.

“Yeah! When are you gonna start with the story!” Mamoru complained, crossing his arms and pouting with his sister.

The father picked the girl and put her on his lap, similar to how her brother was sitting on their mother’s lap. Once they were settled, Ichigo tried again. “As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted─”

“Hey!” Rukia complained but was completely ignored.

“Once upon a time, in a very faraway land, there lived a princess by the name of … erm…” He gestured towards his wife, unable to come up with a name.

“Kia.” She said seriously.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. “Kia?” He mouthed incredulously.

“Yes. That was her name, right dear?” She said in a tone of voice which admitted no refusals.

“Fine. Princess Kia was her name and she lived in a castle made of gold, from which she couldn’t escape.” He kept retelling.

“How was pwincess?” Hikari asked.

“Yeah! Describe her!” Mamoru prompted.

“Well, she was beautiful and kind and smart.” Ichigo described her. “She was also incredibly short.” Rukia snorted at that. “And lonely.”

The kids gasped.

“Why was she lonely?” Asked Mamoru.

“Because she had an ass─” An elbow to the ribcage. He coughed. “Er… I mean, a very mean older brother who kept her as a prisoner in the golden castle.”

The little boy frowned. “Older brothers shouldn’t do that.” He stated.

Ichigo smiled proudly at him and gently ruffled his hair. “Exactly. But Kia’s brother wasn’t a good older brother─”

“─He was a misunderstood older brother.” Rukia added for him, smiling innocently at her husband.

“Um, excuse me, spoiler alert!” He exclaimed, scandalized. “That was supposed to go later on in the story!”

“I just didn’t want the kids to get the wrong idea about him.” She defended herself.

“That was the point!” Ichigo complained, exasperated already by his wife.

They would have continued arguing if Mamoru hadn’t gotten fed up with their stalling. “Can you continue, please?” The little boy said, annoyance dripping from his voice in a way that was too familiar for his parents.

Ichigo coughed. “Right. Well, Princess Kia remained inside the castle for many years. But she was nothing short (ha! Get it!) of perseverant. So, one day, when her older brother wasn’t looking, she managed to escape through a back door, and went away unnoticed.”

“Where she go?” Hikari asked, turning around to stare at him with eyes that matched his own.

“To a small, dingy town.” Rukia answered matter-of-factly.

“It was better than that.” Ichigo retorted.

“How would you describe it, then?”

“Picturesque.”

That gained him another snort.

“And what was there?” Mamoru asked before his parents had the chance of getting side-tracked again.

“It wasn’t really about what was there.” The father began explaining. “It was more about the experience of finally being able to escape her prison. Everything in the town, from the houses, the market, the streets, the people, was so different from everything Kia had known inside the castle. It was as if she was experiencing the world for the first time.” The children watched him silently, eyes focusing solely on him, as if nothing else mattered to them. “The princess walked around the town, taking everything in. A kind old lady gave her an apple to eat. Later, a man gifted her a necklace as the jewels on it matched her eyes, which were neither blue nor violet. Finally, Kia found two children in the town square, and she began playing with them. After a day filled with fun, nighttime soon came. That was when she realized she had nowhere to sleep.”

“Oh no!” Mamoru exclaimed, making his parents chuckle.

“Pwincess okay?” Hikari asked, tears already filling her eyes.

“Kia believed she would have to sleep on the cold, empty streets, when, suddenly, she met a tall, dark stranger by the name of─”

“Berry.” Rukia interrupted him again.

“Berry? Seriously Rukia?”

“Would you have preferred Chigo perhaps?”

For some odd reason, the name Chigo sounded familiar to Ichigo. He couldn’t pinpoint where he had heard it before, but somehow he got chills just thinking about it. “Berry it is.” He conceded, much to Rukia’s delight.

“I wike it!” Hikaru said excitedly as she clapped her hands. It was good their two kids were still too young to know English words, otherwise they might have complained about the terrible name choice and the more than obvious connection to someone they knew quite well.

“Who was Berry?” Mamoru questioned him, enraptured by the tale.

“Berry was a hero. He was strong, smart, brave and dashing if I say so myself.” With each adjective, little Mamoru’s eyes sparkled more and more.

“He was also very stubborn and kind of a dork.” Rukia mentioned. “Not cool at all.”

“We’ll see about that.” Ichigo grumbled. “Anyway, Berry was patrolling the streets─”

“Why?” He was interrupted by Mamoru this time.

“Because,” and then he paused for added effect, “there were bandits around town and Berry was in charge of catching them.” Both children gasped. “At first, he believed Kia was one of them or, at the very least, a thief, for she was a lone figure in the dark. He sneaked up behind her and easily caught her in his arms. Then─”

“Princess Kia, who knew martial arts, kicked him and left him gasping for air on the floor. She wasn’t a damsel in distress but a heroine too.”

This seemed to please Mamoru as he nodded with glee. “I like her!”

Rukia grinned down at her son. “I know. She’s cool. Much cooler than Berry, don’t you think?” While Hikari quickly agreed on this, Mamoru thought about it.

“I dunno. I like Berry too!”

Ichigo smirked. “And you’d be right in liking him, because he recuperated form the blow fast and was on his feet in a flash. When he stood up, he noticed Kia was not a common thief but a lady. He asked her if she was alright and if she needed any help, when Kia burst crying.”

“She did not!”

“No?”

“No! She calmly told him she had no place to stay for the night.”

“Right.” Ichigo said dryly. “Anyway, Berry, gallantly, offered her a place to stay in his house. Kia─”

“Refused because you shouldn’t follow strangers to their houses. You don’t know what may happen to you. If a stranger asks you to follow them, run.”

He stared at her face with an are you serious look. Instead of correcting her, Ichigo decided to keep going. “But Berry could be trusted as he was a hero. He knew right away Kia was from out of town and was determined to help her. He attempted to convince her to go, at the very least, to the house of a friend he trusted, when they were ambushed by a bandit.”

Even Rukia seemed surprised by that revelation, but smiled along the children, who were getting more and more invested in the story.

“Together, they fought and managed to catch the criminal. They acted like a team and were victorious because of it. Then, Kia went with Berry to the police station, where they threw the bandit in a cell.”

“That is when Kia realized Berry was a good man and that she could trust him.”

“So Berry took the princess to his house. They introduced themselves, but Kia hid her true identity from him. Although, Berry knew there was something she was keeping from him, he didn’t push it. He knew there were some secrets people didn’t want to share, and he decided he’d wait until she was ready to tell him.” Ichigo said, staring pointedly at his wife.

“And then what happened?” Mamoru asked yet again.

“Well, Kia noticed that Berry needed help with catching criminals and all, so she decided to help him out.”

“And almost gave him a heart attack for being so reckless.” Ichigo muttered in a chiding tone.

Rukia scoffed. “As if Berry is one to talk, always getting hurt one way or another to save her.”

“Berry would have died if anything had happened to Kia.” He retorted. “Besides, it’s not as if the princess wasn’t grateful.”

That gained him a disarming smile. “She was… she is.”

“So they lived happily ever after catching bandits?” Mamoru wondered, while Hikari nodded and clapped her hands.

“Happy, happy!” She chanted.

“Well, no.” The father answered. “Unknown to the both of them, a storm was brewing.”

The two children gasped.

“Kia and Bewy okay?” Hikari asked, peering at him.

“For the time being they were fine. However, Kia’s brother, the king, had found out she had escaped from the golden castle. He was not pleased, and had set out to find her along with his monkey companion, Renjo.”

“Seriously, Ichigo? Renjo?” Rukia said, as a frown settled on her lips.

“It’s my story and I will choose all names, so yes, Renjo.”

“Hey, doesn’t that sound kinda like Uncle─”

“Monkwey! Monkwey!” The little girl interrupted her brother much to Ichigo’s relief.

“Yes, so the king and the monkey traveled far and wide until they found the town in which Berry and Kia lived. They heard stories of the famous hero who saved the people from bandits along his very smart and strong companion. The description of Berry’s partner matched that of the princess, so the king and Renjo knew they had found her at last.”

“No!” Mamoru blurted out. “I don’t want them to find her!”

“No take pwincess!” Hikari exclaimed, already pouting.

Rukia looked at them sadly. “Yes, they had found her, but Kia was aware they were in town. She planned to escape far away, as to not trouble Berry. She didn’t want him to get hurt because of her, so she left in the middle of the night.”

“Why didn’t she ask Berry for help?”

“Yeah, Rukia, why didn’t she just ask him to help her out?”

The woman sighed. “Because Berry had already given her so much more than she had known in life. His kindness, his bravery, his loyalty… Each time he got hurt because of her, she died a little inside. It wasn’t Berry’s responsibility to take care of her. Kia didn’t want him to get into more trouble because of her. The least she could do to repay his kindness and hospitality was to leave him before her brother and Renjo could find them. She knew that her brother wouldn’t take too kindly to finding her with a man.”

“Not that it mattered in the end, because of course Berry realized Kia was nowhere in sight, and went out to find her.”

Mamoru clapped at that. “Yeah! He’s gonna save her!”

“Not quite.” Ichigo said. “Because as Princess Kia was escaping, the two found her. Of course, she didn’t want to go with them, and she fought with all her might. But─”

“But her strength wasn’t enough and they captured her.” Rukia continued on with the story. “They were about to take her back to her kingdom, when Berry suddenly appeared and began fighting them.”

“Berry fought valiantly and managed to defeat the monkey. Yet, the king proved to be a formidable opponent, for he was strong, far stronger than anyone Berry had fought before. After a long fight, Berry got defeated.”

“No! Bewy no hurt!” Hikari cried.

“They can’t defeat Berry! He’s invincible!” Mamoru added.

Their father shook his head. “He wasn’t invincible. Berry was still young and needed to learn a lot about fighting. The king was a seasoned warrior who knew how to fight better than Berry. He got too cocky and that was why he lost. Still, he begged for Kia not to go.”

“But Kia, who didn’t want him to get even more hurt, told him she was going and begged him to stay down.” Rukia continued with the story, her eyes turning sad.

“You have no idea how much it hurt Berry to be protected by her when Kia was the one who needed to be saved.” Ichigo said, more to his wife than to his children.

“And you don’t know how much the guilt was tearing her heart apart. If anything serious had happened to Berry, she would have never been able to forgive herself.”

After listening to those words, Ichigo took her hand and dropped a kiss on her knuckles. “He would’ve fought every day of his life just to keep her safe by his side. Getting hurt, bleeding, dying, he didn’t care as long as she was safe and smiling. All he ever wanted was for her to be happy.”

“And she would’ve fought just as hard for him to be safe and happy as well.”

The children weren’t aware of the true meaning behind their parents’ words, but they somehow felt that there was something far deeper they couldn’t grasp the meaning of.

“So, did Berry die?” Mamoru asked, fear lacing his voice.

On Ichigo’s lap, Hikari trembled, about to cry. The father shook his head, gently dropping a kiss on the girl’s forehead to calm her down. “Of course not. Berry was too tough to die just like that. It also helped that a man wearing green robes and a green hat saved him and brought him back to health.”

Mamoru sighed in relief and Hikari grinned. “Bewy lives!”

“That’s right. And after being healed, the man told him what had happened, that Kia was actually the princess of a faraway kingdom, and that by escaping she had committed treason against the crown. The man also told him that, because of her actions, Kia was sentenced to be executed.”

Mamoru pouted. “That’s not fair! She was just trying to be happy!”

“My thoughts exactly.” Ichigo nodded. “In any case, Berry got angry, because he knew no one who deserved to be live more than Kia. So, he formed a team made up of a magician, a fairy, a giant and a talking black cat to go and save her.”

“A cat?” Hikari asked, her eyes shining. The little girl had a thing for cats, much to Byakuya’s dismay.

“Yeah, sweetie, a cat.” Her father answered. “A cat that could talk. Though the real trick was getting her to shut up.” He told them, as he winked. “The five traveled for a long time until they reached the kingdom. In the distance, they could see the golden castle, where Kia was being held prisoner.”

“Meanwhile,” Rukia continued on with the story, “the princess was once again locked up inside the highest tower of the golden castle. She knew she had made a mistake and was waiting to be punished, when she heard news that Berry had come to rescue her.”

Mamoru cheered at that. “He’s gonna save her!”

“Well, it was easier said than done.” Ichigo replied. “Before getting to where Kia was, Berry and his friends had to defeat all of the king’s guards first.”

The little boy scoffed. “Berry will defeat them all!”

His father chuckled. “It wasn’t that simple. The guards were the best of warriors out there, more experienced than Berry and his friends. But, do you want to know what they were missing?” Both kids shook their heads. “Resolve. Berry’s biggest wish was to save Kia, and that wish helped him win time and time again.”

“But with each victory, Kia’s heart grew weary, hating how Berry would get hurt for her sake. She worried that, one day, Berry would fail.” Rukia explained, a sad smile adorning her face.

Mamoru didn’t agree with his mother. “But he can’t fail! He’s a hero!”

“Hewo! Hewo!” Hikari said, nodding fiercely.

“And he didn’t. Because with each fight, Berry grew stronger.” It was Ichigo’s turn to retell the story. “Failing wasn’t an option, and so, just when the day for Kia’s execution arrived, he was ready to face his biggest enemy: the king.”

Ichigo took a deep breath before continuing, observing as the kids were enthralled with the story, so much they couldn’t take their eyes away from him. “The king and all the nobles waited until the guards brought Princess Kia to stand before the phoenix that would kill her with his fire. But they didn’t know that, among the crowd, Berry was waiting, bidding his time until he could strike.”

“Kia didn’t know either. She walked proudly towards her executor, holding her head high. She looked at her brother and silently thanked him for giving her all she could’ve ever needed. Then, she thought of Berry and prayed he had managed to leave, unhurt. Closing her eyes, she waited for all of it to be over, thanking Berry for everything. When, suddenly, she didn’t feel the bite of fire. Opening her eyes, she saw Berry standing in front of her, protecting her from the phoenix with his sword.”

“Berry had jumped just in time to stop the phoenix, and with his sword, he cut it in half.” Ichigo explained.

The children cheered and clapped their hands upon hearing this turn of events.

“But it wasn’t over yet. The guards were ready to attack them, but thankfully Berry’s friends and other people he’d met in the kingdom, who were now his allies, stopped the guards from reaching them. Berry left the princess with the monkey, who’d seen the error of his ways and was willing to protect Kia, and then he went straight to the king. The king and Berry fought hard with all their might. Although the king was stronger, he couldn’t defeat Berry.”

“Why?” Mamoru asked.

“Because the power in Berry’s hand was gained for Kia’s sake.”

The phrase caused several reactions. Mamoru hollered, eyes sparkling, no doubt already thinking of the fictional Berry as his favorite hero. Hikari, the youngest, didn’t quite grasp the implications of what her father had just said, but she felt something stir inside her as she clapped along with her older brother. And Rukia’s reaction, perhaps, was Ichigo’s favorite. Her eyes widened and then began shining with unshed tears. Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink, and then she smiled at him. A true smile.

“Fool.” She mouthed, least their children would hear her.

Ichigo grinned triumphantly at her before continuing with his story. “So, no matter how hard the king attacked, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Berry, using all of his strength, lunged forward and finally defeated the king, who fell on the floor. The king sighed heavily and then asked Berry why he had gone through so much trouble to save Kia.”

“Cause he loves her.” Mamoru answered before his father could continue.

“What?” He asked his son, dumbfounded.

The little boy rolled his eyes playfully. “Well, it’s obvious Berry loves Kia. He wouldn’t have gone through all of that if he didn’t love her. Oh, and Kia loves him too, duh.”

The parents blinked before chuckling and then downright laughing so hard tears streamed down their faces.

“What?” Mamoru said, clearly confused about what was so funny.

“Obvious, you say?” Ichigo said out loud.

“You’d be surprised.” Rukia added, still chuckling. She then gently pinched her son’s cheek. “My boy’s so smart. Mommy’s proud.”

The boy beamed at her. “So, Berry told the king he loved Kia?”

“Wove! Wove!”

The father chuckled. “No, even if you think it’s obvious, neither Berry nor Kia knew that yet. So Berry didn’t tell him that. In fact, he didn’t answer him. The real reason was that he wanted to see Kia smile once again. He’d hated seeing her crying and didn’t want her to cry ever again. Instead, he brought Kia to her brother and demanded the king explain himself. The king sighed heavily and said he had never wanted Kia to get hurt.”

“It turned out Kia wasn’t really the king’s sister.” Rukia explained. “Long ago, the king had defied all nobles to marry a peasant. The girl had a baby sister the king adopted as his sister, once again going against the nobles. After that, he promised he would never break a rule again, thinking the three would live happily ever after. However, although they lived a few years in bliss, the new queen fell sick. She died not long after and the king promised her he would always protect Kia.”

“So, to make sure nothing would ever happen to her, the king had decided to lock her up in a tower. He feared he would lose her if she was free to do as she pleased. He didn’t realize his actions had pushed Kia away from him until she escaped.”

“The rules of the kingdom said that the princess should not leave the kingdom, or there would be a severe punishment. The king had wanted to protect Kia, but his earlier promise to never break the rules stood in the way. He hadn’t known what to do to save her until Berry arrived and showed him his sister was more valuable than any rule.”

“Of course!” Mamoru replied. “Little sisters matter more than anything in the world!” He exclaimed before gently pulling his own sister towards him. Hikari squealed and eagerly returned the hug. The parents smile at their children.

“Damn right.” Ichigo whispered. “It was a lesson the king needed to learn, and from that moment onwards, he let Kia live the life she wanted for herself, while protecting her as best as he could.”

“Kia was forever grateful to Berry for saving her and for making her relationship with her brother improve.”

“And Berry was grateful that Kia had changed his world.”

Ichigo and Rukia locked eyes and smiled at each other. They would have continued to do so if their children hadn’t interrupted them once more.

“And Berry and Kia got married and lived happily ever after!” Mamoru said.

“Happy! Happy!”

Their father shook his head. “Well, no. Kia remained for a while in her own kingdom while Berry returned to the town in which he lived. Occasionally, Kia would come back and she and Berry would go on more adventures together. Time passed in this way, until they were a little older and then…”

“And then Berry asked Kia to marry him. They did so and had children of their own, while still living amazing adventures.”

“And so, together, they lived happily ever after─”

“The end.” The two said together, once more locking eyes.

The children cheered in response. “That’s what I wanted.” Mamoru said, sleepily. “All I wanted was for them to be together.”

“Towether.” Hikari said as sleepily, while she rubbed her eyes.

“Well, they are, until the end of time.” Ichigo told them.

“Time to sleep.” Rukia whispered, carrying Mamoru to his futon and tucking him in. Ichigo did the same with Hikari and soon both kids were fast sleep.

“Goodnight, my loves.” The mother said, before gently kissing their foreheads.

“Sweet dreams.” Her husband said, imitating her and kissing the children goodnight.

Holding hands, they left the room and went to their own bedroom, where they lay down, ready to go to sleep.

“That was a wonderful story.” Rukia told him, kissing him softly. “You’re a good storyteller.”

“Only because your input made it better.” Ichigo answered.

She grinned at him. “Aren’t you happy you have such a creative wife?”

“Oh, I’m incredibly blessed. Believe me.” He said as he pulled her close to his chest, his hands resting on her belly. “How are you feeling, though? Did these little guys give you a lot of trouble?”

Rukia shook her head. “They were oddly still. Probably listening intently to your story.”

“So boring it lulled them to sleep?” He joked.

“How can your story be boring when it’s our story?”

Ichigo smiled at her and then kissed her. “You’re right. It can’t be.”

They grew silent, each deep in thought as they stared at the ceiling.

“One day we’ll have to tell them the true story. To the four of them.”

He nodded as he gently rubbed his wife’s belly, where their twins had begun moving. “I know. But it can wait. Meanwhile, I can tell them this story again.”

“Oh I’m sure they’re going to ask for it again.”

Ichigo laughed. “Hope I can remember all the details, including the names.”

“Yeah, ‘cause they’re so difficult to remember. Like Renjo.”

“You gotta admit that was a stroke of brilliance.”

“Careful, Ichigo. If Renji finds out, he’s gonna beat your ass.”

Said man scoffed. “It’d be a cold day in hell when Renji manages to win against me.”

Rukia laughed. “You’re so cocky.”

“And that’s one of the many reasons you love me.”

She wasn’t able to deny that.

They fell in a comfortable silence once more. Ichigo was about to close his eyes when Rukia nudged him.

“Hey Ichigo?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” He turned to look at her, not understanding what she meant.

“For everything.”

“Che. That’s my line.”

#ichiruki #pro ichiruki #ichirukimonth #ichiruki fanfiction #my fanfiction

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alydiarackham · 5 years ago

Photo

(Cover by me)

Glass: Retelling the Snow Queen by Alydia Rackham

Chapter One

Once Upon A Time

“Ow!”

“What did you do now, Daisy?”

“It bit me!”

“Ha! It did not bite you.”

“Yes, it did!” Daisy insisted. “I’m bleeding!”

Rose snorted and pushed the brim of her straw hat up so she could see the dark-haired girl, across the rose-bed, pull off her glove and shake out her hand. Daisy knelt, her calico dress and cream-colored apron covered in dirt, in front of a particularly old, snarly rosebush. Rose sat back on her haunches and rested her own gloved hands, and spade, on her knees.

“Well, were you talking nicely to it?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

“Talking nicely to it?” Daisy repeated, shooting Rose a narrow look, her brown eyes flashing. “Why on earth would I talk nicely to something that bites me?”

Rose smiled, bent forward and continued churning up the soil around the base of her own rosebush.

They sat in the full, golden summer sunlight that bathed this side of the mountain, flooding the brilliant flower garden beside the walls of the thick, tall, ivy-draped fortress. She could practically taste the heady scent of roses on the air as she worked, the bees happily buzzing and bumbling through the branches just above her head. She wore her own calico dress and apron, her long, curly, honey-blonde braid tucked up underneath a wide-brimmed hat. And, as she churned up the soil around the roots of a great, ancient bush that bloomed roses the color of midwinter snow, she whispered to it.

Then, she paused. Waited. Listened.

The wind came up, and the rose bush rustled in reply—like an old woman laughing.

“All right, what are you saying to yours, Rose?” Daisy huffed.

Rose’s secret smile grew, now.

“Nothing.”

“Right, nothing. I can hear you, you know,” Daisy protested.

Rose glanced over at the younger woman.

“Really. It’s nothing. Just a little…extra gardening.”

“Magic?” Daisy demanded. “For what?”

“Just for encouragement,” Rose admitted, gesturing to the twisted plant. “This one is a grandmother, after all.” Rose reached into her bucket for the scoop of bone meal, and began scattering it around the roots. “She’s survived decades of frost, and the ice this past winter could have broken her graft.”

“You’re talking to the plant,” Daisy said flatly.

Rose stopped, and looked at Daisy.

“All right, madam—what kind of curses did you come here to learn how to break?”

“Dragon curses,” Daisy answered, glaring at the cut on her hand.

“Then you’ll need to learn the fundamentals,” Rose told her.

“I know the fundamentals,” Daisy replied, lifting her uninjured hand and counting off on her fingers. “Defy the nature of the curse; Deny it power over you; Design a sanctuary; Destroy darkness with that which was lost; Decide to do the impossible.”

“All right,” Rose said, stirring the soil over the bone meal. “So how are you going to decide to do the impossible if you can’t even talk to a plant?”

Daisy snorted.

“I think Effrain just put me out here because of my name,” she muttered.

Rose laughed out loud. The sound rang through the garden—and past it, the boughs of the pines chuckled.

Daisy heaved a sigh, tossed down her gloves and threw off her hat, then trudged round the corner of the bed toward Rose. She flopped down onto her back on the grassy path and closed her eyes against the sunlight.

“You’ll get more freckles if you don’t cover your face with your hat,” Rose remarked.

“Good.” Daisy grinned. “I like freckles.”

Rose returned her grin.

“How long have you been here?” Daisy asked, shifting her position.

“Twenty years. I was sent here when I was five,” Rose answered, finishing stirring the ground.

“And why did you come?” Daisy probed, playfully lowering her voice to secret-telling pitch. “So you can learn break the curse on your family castle? Wake your parents from an unwakeable sleep?”

Rose frowned at her.

“Who told you that?”

Daisy sat up on one elbow.

“You’re a princess.”

Rose let out another light laugh.

“I’m certain you are,” Daisy insisted, sitting up even further. “You look exactly like very princess in every story there is. Your amber eyes, and hair gold as the sunshine—”

“Clanahan’s been letting you read too many books,” Rose answered, taking off her gloves and sitting back onto the grass, stretching out her legs next to Daisy.

“I know you have royal blood,” Daisy said flatly. “Admit it.”

“I wish I did!” Rose stretched her back. “But unfortunately, no. And my family is un-cursed and unexciting. A lord and lady in a little valley, with three boys and four girls, all grown up.”

“I don’t believe you,” Daisy stated.

“Well, you will when they all come here next month to visit.”

Daisy leaned close to her, very low and very serious.

“Do you have any handsome brothers?”

“Oh, good grief!” Rose laughed, shoving her. Giggling, Daisy fell onto her back.

Just then, the bell in the fortress tower rang—a bright, merry peal that resounded over the mountaintops and down into the neighboring valley.

“Oh, no—I’m not nearly ready for dinner,” Rose realized, climbing to her feet and dusting off her skirt. “Quick, grab your hat!”

Daisy leaped up with the ease of an elf, darted over and snatched up her hat, and together the two young women hurried toward the open door in the mighty tower wall.

Rose tied off her long braid after brushing out and plaiting her hair, fastening it with twine first and then a white ribbon. She had changed into a simple, flowing, long-sleeved pink dress with a sash, and donned a gold chain bearing a single ruby. She glanced around the room to see if she had forgotten to do anything—she’d gotten ready in such a rush.

Her room was in the second story of the castle, with a wide, northern facing window. In the spring and summer, she opened the shutters every morning and never closed them until evening had fallen. She set vases and planters of bright flowers to sun there, and often the bees and butterflies would enter as if they were quite welcome to do as they pleased. And indeed they were.

Her whole chamber had been made of dark wood, polished by centuries of feet and hands and cloth. Little playful faces had been carved into the posts and lintels ages ago by a forgotten artist with a definite sense of humor. A tall clock, made from the twisted, gnarled trunk of a tree, stood in the corner opposite her bed, and it gonged the hours at her in the deep, rusty tone of a grandfather. Faded woven tapestries bearing gallant figures chasing white stags and unicorns draped around her four-poster bed, and a scarlet-and-gold comforter lay across the mattress. A wardrobe and trunk set, fashioned to look like glowering mouths with glaring eyes, guarded her hand-made garments. Woven rugs, of floral pattern, spread out across the floor, bearing the marks of the footpaths Rose had tread into them over these past many years. Paintings of faraway landscapes hung from the few smooth places on the walls. Musical mobiles dripping with red, green and purple dragon scales glittered and jingled by the shutters. An exotic breed of ivy sprang from a large planter in one corner and crept up the wall and partway across the ceiling. Scented candles and lamps twinkled in fine crystal settings, and dried herbs and flowers hung in bunches from the beams, filling the air with earthy deliciousness. Through a low side door was another room with a window—this room filled with shelves of books, several armchairs, and a tattered bearskin lying before a small stone hearth.

All of this—except the tapestries, which had been given her by her father—had been gifts from the other Curse-Breakers. She had known so many, all of them vivid adventurers and hearty travelers. They came first as young, inexperienced thrill-seekers with an aptitude for magic, and learned for years from the masters, and even from her (though only about using plants for healing, and breaking thorn curses). Then, they would venture out, to the wildlands and the peaks and the forests, disappearing for months, even years.

But then, they returned—with the most fantastic stories, magical souvenirs, and tale-telling scars. And they were always eagerly delighted to share every detail of their travels with Rose.

A rap came at the bedroom door.

Rose left her dresser and hurried across the rug to the door, and opened it. Daisy stood there, wearing fitted green trousers and a loose blouse bound by a belt, her hair pinned up in loose braids atop her head.

“Are you ready?” Daisy asked, smiling.

“Yes, just,” Rose nodded, stepping out the door onto the landing and shutting it behind her.

Together the two young ladies trotted down the winding wooden staircase, each step squeaking like a different note on a harpsichord. They rounded three corners, and then the stairwell opened up to a wide, stone-floored room lit by dozens of hanging lamps. Long, weathered tables and benches marched down the center, and more tables and cabinets stood off to the left-hand side bearing baskets of apples, bread and cheese; and barrels of water and honey mead.

A dozen young men, and five young women, all sat already at the tables, eating and laughing. Rose and Daisy, however, made for a different table, close to the stairs, where sat two women and one man: Effrain, Reola, and Clanahan.

Effrain was willowy and strikingly-beautiful in a cool, dangerous way, with long, smooth, rose-gold hair—she was half-elvish, so she had pointed ears and aqua-colored, flashing eyes. She wore the colors of the earth, in flowing garments that never caught on anything.

Reola had black, glowing skin and white feathery hair that she kept bound in a long braid. She possessed a ready smile, brilliant eyes and a graceful posture—she was older than the fortress itself, but no one would ever suspect it. She always wore a simple, homespun white dress.

Clanahan, an old sea-farer from the east, had a faded red hair, and a beard he kept in two braids, and deep scars in his forearms from fighting sea monsters. He wore leather and fur, and had a laugh that could shake down the rafters.

“Hullo, hullo,” he bellowed, motioning to the two girls. “And what do the roses say today?”

“They say that they don’t much like Daisy Winderthorn,” Daisy replied, swinging her leg over and plopping down on a bench across from him. He laughed, and roughly patted her head, which made her giggle.

“What, did they bite you?” he asked.

“See?” Daisy said to Rose, pointing at Clanahan. “He understands.”

Rose suppressed a smile and easily sat down next to her, in front of an empty board and goblet.

“Roses merely defend themselves against foolishness,” Effrain said serenely, pouring herself some honey mead.

“Well, ours are too vain, if you ask me,” Reola remarked, cutting a piece of bread. “But can anyone blame them? Our Rosie spoils them constantly.”

“Aye!” Clanahan agreed, thumping the table. “I’ve never seen such gorgeous flowers in all my days—not even at a king’s garden. We could rival any of them—and in such dreadful weather as we have here, that’s saying a mite!”

Rose beamed at him.

“Do eat,” Effrain urged, meeting Rose’s eyes with her vibrant sea-colored ones. “We have plenty.”

So, both Rose and Daisy spread apple butter on thick slices of bread, tugged large bits of steamy, juicy meat from off a roasted country bird, carved slices of white cheese and snatched up the last of the sliced apple. Effrain poured them their own honey mead, which flooded Rose’s mouth with sweetness alongside Reola’s savory cooking. Soon, an animated Clanahan started in on another of his rollicking sea stories, and as his narration rushed and rolled and thundered, Rose grew warm all through her chest, down to her feet and her toes, as she smiled, ate, and listened. It didn’t matter if she’d heard this same story a dozen times. The rhythm and lilt of the tale beat alongside her heart, as familiar as the scent in her room, the sun upon the peaks, and the taste of mountain honey.

The front door banged open.

Clanahan stopped, his arms freezing in mid-gesture.

Rose spun around, along with everyone else…

To see Galahad Stormcrane stride through.

He was a young man, perhaps thirty, with black hair and a billowing grey cape. Rose had glimpsed him only a handful of times before—for he wandered the darkest and most perilous portions of the wildlands—but not once had she ever seen a smile cross his handsome, scarred face.

Reola immediately arose, slipped away from the table, and started toward him with a keen frown. Galahad stopped before her, and inclined his head.

“Stormcrane,” Reola watched him. “What is it?”

He straightened up, reached inside his cloak with a gloved hand, and withdrew a scroll, tied with a silvery ribbon.

“I have intercepted a message,” he declared. “From the kingdom of Spegel.”

Startled murmurs rippled through the room. Rose, eyes wide, glanced at Daisy.

“Spegel,” Reola repeated, eyes narrow. “Nothing has been heard from beyond those borders in thirty years.”

“Indeed, ma’am,” Galahad agreed. “Though many have tried to send messages past the borders and into that place, this is the first correspondence that has come from within—and even more: this comes from Glas.”

“The palace?” Clanahan cried.

“Yes,” Galahad nodded to him.

“What is it?” Effrain asked, her voice low and precise. Galahad held it up.

“It is a request for a doctor. Someone in the palace is complaining of terrible headaches,” he said. “But I don’t believe that is truly the case.”

“And what is it you suspect?” Reola asked.

Galahad regarded her gravely.

“I believe the prince of Spegel is under a curse.”

Chapter Two

There Came a Message

Rose paced back and forth in her room, her long skirt swishing around her bare feet, even as the candles burned down.

Effrain, Clanahan, Reola and Galahad Stormcrane had been in private council together for hours now. She could hear their voices in the next room over, but the walls were so thick she couldn’t understand them—and she didn’t dare try to work any sort of listening charm for fear of being caught.

A tiny rap came at the door.

She jumped, then hurried quietly across the rugs and slipped the door open.

Daisy stood on the other side, still dressed but wrapped around with a brown housecoat.

“You’re still awake too?” Daisy whispered.

“I can’t sleep with this going on!” Rose hissed, opening the door further so Daisy could slide inside.

“So what is all the fuss about, do you know?” Daisy pressed, wrapping her arms around herself.

“I’m not sure,” Rose shook her head. “Except they must be deciding who to send to break the curse.”

“Surely Stormcrane will want to,” Daisy surmised. “Since he uncovered it.”

“Yes…probably,” Rose hesitated. Daisy frowned at her.

“What do you mean? He’s one of the most famous and experienced Curse-Breakers we have!”

Footsteps outside the door.

Both women froze, and stared at it.

Knock, knock, knock.

Rose gulped.

“Yes?”

The latch worked and the door swung open.

Clanahan stood outside—his face set and grim.

“Come with me, Rose.”

A shiver slid down her spine. But she nodded, and started toward him. Daisy followed.

“Just Rose,” Clanahan held up a hand. Daisy jerked to a stop. Rose gave her a helpless glance, but couldn’t do anything except follow Clanahan’s hulking form through the door and down the squeaky stairs.

When they came to a door to their left hand, Clanahan led her through it, and then back up another flight of stairs—these were stone. They belonged to an older wing of the fortress. Very soon, he opened a door into a short hallway, and then they passed into a large, circular meeting chamber.

A fire burned in the wide hearth to the right, and lit lamps hung from the ceiling. Shields and faded banners from all kingdoms hung in a row around the wall. Chairs surrounded a beaten round table that bore the Curse-Breakers’ crest: a central chalice, surrounded by stars.

No one sat around this table, however. Instead, Reola sat in an armchair and Effrain on a bench by the fire, and Galahad Stormcrane stalked in the shadows behind them, his arms folded.

The three already present looked up when Clanahan led Rose inside. And, to Rose’s shock, Stormcrane instantly scowled, and turned his head away.

“Rose, please sit down,” Reola invited, gesturing to a chair across from her. “We’d like to hear your opinion on something.”

Rose’s chest instantly relaxed.

“Oh! Of course,” she nodded quickly, smiling, and sat down where invited. Reola, her warm skin and features richened by the firelight, exchanged a glance with the ethereal Effrain, then sat forward and folded her elegant hands in her lap.

“I suppose you’ve heard of the kingdom of Spegel,” she said.

Rose nodded again.

“Yes. I’ve read about it.”

“What have you read?” Effrain wondered. Rose canted her head and considered.

“I read that magic is particularly at home in their woods,” she said. “So that the trees move, and speak—and the water sings. And that the craftsmen of the king contrived a way to make glass that cannot break.” Rose glanced at the others in the room. “In fact, they used to trade this glass throughout the world for all kinds of riches. One six-inch pane of simple, colorless glass half an inch thick was worth a pound of gold.”

“And so of course you’ve heard of the famous Palace of Glas,” Reola assumed.

“Yes,” Rose replied. “Made entirely from this glass, in thousands of colors.” Rose halfway smiled. “I have to admit, though, that it sounds like a fairy story. I don’t know of anyone who has actually seen it.”

“I have seen it,” Effrain said, her eyes downcast. “Long ago.”

Rose blinked, and stared at her. When an elf said “long ago…”

“Have you ever seen a piece of Spegel glass, Rosie?” Clanahan asked, coming around to face her, his arms folded.

She shook her head.

Clanahan took a deep breath.

“That is because, in the entirety of your lifetime, no one has come forth from the kingdom of Spegel—though many emissaries have ventured in.”

Rose frowned at him.

“Yes, I have gathered that,” she said. “But do any of you know why?”

“No,” Reola replied. “All we know is that no one who has entered…has ever come back out.”

A chill washed through Rose’s body.

“That is why you think it’s a curse,” she realized, hushed. “The message Galahad has brought—someone in the palace complaining of headaches. You believe it’s someone who has finally been able to get word to the outside world that they need help.”

“Possible,” Stormcrane finally spoke up. “Or it could be a lure of some kind.”

“From whom did you intercept this message?” Rose wondered.

“An owl,” Stormcrane answered. “I have brought it with me.”

Rose looked at him.

“Really,” she said quietly, her eyes narrowing. “And where was it headed?”

“South. Toward King Herrard’s lands.”

“The Halls of Healing lie directly beyond them,” Rose said, turning back to Reola. “They do want a doctor.”

“That is also what we have deduced,” Effrain said evenly—and Stormcrane turned away again.

“And if the message bears the royal seal,” Rose went on, her thoughts flying. “That must mean that someone is still living in the palace—someone very important that they can’t seem to assist themselves. Which is why they’ve broken their silence!”

“Indeed,” Reola nodded, watching her with something like cool satisfaction. “Would you like to hear the message?”

“Yes, very much,” Rose nodded, sitting forward in her chair. Reola held out her hand, and Stormcrane passed the scroll to her. She unrolled it, held it toward the firelight, and read aloud.

“‘His Royal Highness, Prince Nikolas, begs the indulgence of the High Healer of Oxforth and requests that a superior healer be sent immediately to the kingdom of Spegel to the capital of Glas. His Royal Highness suffers nightly from punishing headaches that disturb his sleep and plague his evenings. Payment for a cure for His Royal Highness shall be thirty pounds of Spegel glass, in any color requested. Respond by way of this owl upon receipt of Our message.’”

“Fascinating,” Rose whispered. “How old is the prince?”

“He is thirty years old,” Clanahan murmured. “And that…is the same length of time that the kingdom has been shut to the rest of the world.”

“Oh!” Rose gasped, her eyes flashing to him. “You—You think it’s he that’s cursed?”

Effrain and Reola nodded.

“We do,” Reola said.

“Cursed since birth?” Rose kept on.

“Most likely,” Clanahan replied.

“You are forgetting the most important detail,” Stormcrane cut in, holding his hand expectantly out to Reola. Reola considered him a moment, then handed the scroll to him. Stormcrane stepped closer to Rose, and pointed to the two broken wax seals on its edge. One blue, one white.

“Do you recognize either of these seals?”

Rose frowned at them.

“No,” she admitted. “Neither of them belong to any heraldry I’ve studied.”

“This,” he pointed to the blue one. “Is the royal seal of Spegel, specifically the royal family at the Palace of Glas. Note the fire, and tongs for glassmaking. This…” he pointed gravely to the white one. “Can you distinguish the symbol?”

Rose squinted at it.

“It appears to be a snowflake.”

“Indeed it is,” Stormcrane crisply withdrew the parchment. “It is the royal seal of the kingdom of Iss.”

Rose stared at him.

“Iss?” she whispered. “I…I thought that was a myth!” She quickly looked to all the others. “A story our mothers told us when we misbehaved! Iss was a terrible country in the north where the Snow Queen lived—and if you were naughty she’d come and snatch you out of your bed—”

“It isn’t a myth,” Reola said, her voice low and solemn. “Except perhaps the bit about her snatching children from their beds.”

Rose couldn’t tear her eyes from her.

“The Snow Queen is real?”

“She is,” Effrain said, capturing Rose’s gaze. “And her name is Iskyla.”

“How do you know?” Rose breathed. “Have you seen her, too?”

“Yes, I have,” Effrain replied. “She is an ice fairy.”

“But…” Rose’s mind spun again. “Why would her seal be set upon a correspondence from Spegel?”

Silence fell. Rose glanced at all of her masters—and then her attention fell upon Stormcrane’s dark countenance.

“You think she’s there, don’t you, Galahad?” she said. “You think she’s captured the palace—that she’s put the prince under a curse.”

“I do,” Stormcrane stated, lifting his chin.

“And I do not,” Effrain countered.

Rose’s brow furrowed.

“Why not?”

“Because she’s your kin—that’s the only reason,” Stormcrane cut in.

“She is not kin—I am half elf,” Effrain shot back, her eyes flashing.

Stormcrane was unruffled.

“You are all fae creatures—ancient and lofty and set apart from mortals, even Curse-Breakers,” Stormcrane answered. “And even if fairies haven’t gone about stealing children from their cradles—which no one can say for certain that they haven’t—they have certainly laid curses upon them, and those children suffered all their lives. Why would Iskyla be above that?”

“It is not in her nature,” Effrain stated. “She is winter. Winter is hard, cold, unyielding, quiet and lone-some. But it is not evil in itself. Besides,” Effrain faced the fire, the flamelight shimmering against her pearly skin. “If she had cursed him, she would not have put her seal to a cry for help for him, and sent it in the direction of the most powerful magic-wielders aside from ourselves.”

“So you suspect that he is cursed, but that Queen Iskyla didn’t do it,” Rose surmised. “But instead, she has a vested interest in keeping him alive.”

“Perhaps she means to marry him,” Clanahan rumbled.

Effrain’s eyes flashed to him.

“She could not marry him,” she stated. “Not unless he had never loved anyone or anything in all his life.”

Terrible silence fell.

“What?” Rose gasped.

“Ice fairies cannot be bonded with warmth,” Effrain replied, turning to her. “And love, in its nature, is warmth. Such a binding covenant would destroy her.”

“Good heavens,” Rose breathed. “Surely you don’t believe that about the prince…do you?” She turned to Reola. “Do you, Reola?”

Reola took a breath, and sat back.

“At this point, even with all our experience and knowledge, we are merely speculating. But what we can all agree upon is that someone must go.”

“Yes,” Rose nodded firmly. “Yes, I agree also.” She lifted her head, and turned to the young man. “When do you plan to leave, Galahad?”

He glowered at her, then flashed his eyebrows and gave a crooked smile.

“Apparently…” he folded his arms. “Our masters have declared that I am not suited.”

Rose instantly frowned.

“Truly?” she said, then looked at the others. “Are you sure? This seems to be a very dangerous mission—since no one has ever returned from Spegel. Galahad has broken out of at least three unbreakable curses in the north—one of them was a dragon curse!”

“We don’t doubt Stormcrane’s prowess,” Clanahan said. “But the reason he’s not going is the same reason that I’m not going.”

“What do you mean?” Rose wondered.

“We don’t need someone to break out,” Effrain said smoothly, gazing at her. “We need someone to break in.”

“In,” Rose repeated.

“Yes,” Reola nodded. “But not in the way you’d expect.”

Rose frowned harder.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Based on the evidence, and what we have discussed,” Effrain said. “We do not believe that anyone in Spegel realizes that the prince is cursed. Which is why they sent for a healer rather than a Curse-Breaker.”

“But also,” Reola added. “If Queen Iskyla is present in Spegel and adding her seal to the prince’s, the political situation may be precarious. Nikolas is still referring to himself as ‘prince’—”

“Which means his father, King Alexei, is somehow incapacitated, or missing,” Clanahan finished. “All parties currently in power must certainly feel dangerously insecure. Especially since they have not risked trade, alliance or communication with any kingdom but Iss for three decades.”

“Meaning?” Rose prodded.

“We cannot send anyone threatening,” Reola said. “And we certainly cannot send a man.”

“Why not a man?” Rose wondered.

“Because all the greatest doctors in the Halls of Healing are women,” Effrain reminded her

“What—you’re going to send someone to pretend to be the doctor they asked for?” Rose realized.

“We are going to send you to pretend to be the doctor they asked for,” Reola said.

Rose went still.

Her mouth worked for a moment, but no sound came out.

Her hand flew to her chest.

“Me?” she cried. “I’ve…I’ve never been out in the wilds, I’ve never broken any curses on living people. I’ve never even left here!”

“Which is why no word of you as a Curse-Breaker would have reached Queen Iskyla,” Clanahan said. “And by the looks of you, neither she nor Prince Nikolas would have any reason to suspect you are anything powerful or disruptive.”

“Disruptive?” Rose said.

“Yes,” Effrain nodded. “If the prince is indeed under a curse, then breaking it could change the very fabric of the way the kingdom is ruled. And that change may or may not be welcome.”

“This is extremely important, Rose,” Reola leaned toward her. “We need you to act as the prince’s doctor, treating his headaches—which you are more than capable of doing—and also discover what has happened to King Alexei, find out Queen Iskyla’s motivation for being in Spegel with the prince—”

“And break a curse,” Rose whispered.

“Yes,” Effrain said simply. “Which is the most important task of all.”

Rose just sat there, her hands in her lap, searching the faces of her teachers. She squeezed her fingers.

“I have never done this before,” she murmured.

“But you know how,” Reola stated. “You’ve remained here, studying, almost a decade longer than any other Curse-Breaker. And our intuitions tell us that this particular task calls for someone who is not flashy, nor a fighter, nor someone with a temper. Someone quiet, who looks beneath, inside, who is a puzzle-solver; who will work through the inevitable trouble with a great deal of patience.” Reola smiled softly. “I don’t think any of us could conjure up someone who more closely fits that description than you.”

“We have full confidence in you, lass,” Clanahan assured her. “We know you can do this.”

Rose’s heart hammered against her ribs. She squeezed her fingers together even harder.

“Well,” she managed—her voice faint. “Then I…I ought to try.”

“Good girl,” Reola beamed.

Effrain smiled too, and Clanahan chuckled.

But Galahad stood like a silent storm, and stared into the fire.

Read this book: https://www.amazon.com/Glass-Retelling-Queen-Alydia-Rackham-ebook/dp/B077H88YMH/ref=pd_sim_351_3/146-6363556-3395043?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B077H88YMH&pd_rd_r=73cc68cd-e5a6-4b32-9ce2-5d476d459ec0&pd_rd_w=cSRhm&pd_rd_wg=r83WI&pf_rd_p=5abf8658-0b5f-405c-b880-a6d1b558d4ea&pf_rd_r=G4FJJ3PR9KY6XPY34N76&psc=1&refRID=G4FJJ3PR9KY6XPY34N76

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queeniewritesce · 6 years ago

Text

Shall We Dance 6/?

Lucy lazily opened her eyes, blinking to adjust to the light feeling the room, streaming from the beautiful arch windows near her side of the bed. Her head throbbed a little, she felt sore in places that hadn’t been used in quite some time, and she admonished herself for not taking some ibuprofen before falling asleep last night.

She tried to move but a firm hand gripped her waist, keeping her in place, digits digging the soft skin of her tummy. She turned her head, carefully to not worsen her headache, and regarded the sleeping man by her side; apparently, they were both stomach sleepers, arms under the pillow type of people and she wondered if that was uncomfortable for him, as he was not lacking on that department. Like, at all. She giggled quietly at her teenager mentality, studying the beautiful profile of Chris’s face, fingers itching to get closer, to lose themselves in the soft fur covering his jaw, trace the fullness of the lips that had driven her crazy the night before.

Ghost memories heated her skin as she slid out of the bed, padding softly to the bathroom, her thighs protesting the burn his beard imposed upon them, the sensation not dissimilar to the friction the pole created when learning a new move, but much more pleasant. She washed her face and used his moisturizer, the mirror showing her the purple marks he left on her neck and the top of her breasts, hair in disarray, and a small grin graced her face. She had been loved hard, and she reveled in every minute of it.

Lucy glanced at Chris’ sleeping form, grabbing his folded sweater and her socks and quietly slipping from the room, Dodger following behind her.

“Morning Dodger,” the stairs were cold on her bare feet as she descended. She makes quick work of his sweater, smelling the collar and folding the cuffs. She pulls on the thick socks while scanning the living room, locating her purse on a side table and to find a hair tie, tying a messy bun on top of her head. She grabbed her phone, opening the small bottle of Advil she always kept with her to grab two pills and walked back to the kitchen, where Dodger sat patiently by the door. “Listen, I’m not too keen on the idea of the alarm going off when I open that door, so I’m really sorry, but there won’t be any visits outside till your dad wakes up, alright?”

She could’ve sworn the dog ruffed before a small whine escaped him. Lucy spotted the treat jar on the island and gave the pooch two small ones as a peace offering. Satisfied, she opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water and sat on the same stool she had occupied yesterday, unlocking her phone. She sends Penny a quick message saying she won’t be back till later because Chris is taking her to one of the museums and snorts when her sister’s reply is a bunch of eggplant emojis. Siobhan is next and she asks about Morris, quickly retelling what happens without naming Chris and promising to call soon. There’s a message from JP enquiring if Garret’s plan was to propose on Christmas’ Day, and she thinks it’s odd, ‘why wouldn’t he ask Garret directly instead of asking me?’, she ponders and decides to call her brother later. Her last new message is from Sunny, inviting Lucy to stop by whenever she has the chance. She replies explaining they’ll arrive early on the 23rd, maybe she could have dinner with the family that night.

Opening Instagram, she clicks the plus sign, it’s a habit to always post something about the latest football game she attends; a picture of everyone she’s with, a few words about the game and when the Patriots were involved, a sarcastic remark about Tom Brady. She scrolls through her photos and it suddenly hits her she can’t share the incredible day she had yesterday. Not only all pictures feature Chris, either smiling to the camera or in the background, but he’s also in every quip and every joke she can think of writing. Sure, her account was private, but when was the last time she weeded out her followers? She sighs and closes the app, adding the task to her mental to-do list.

“I was about to file for my missing sweater, but it looks so much better on you than it does on me.” Chris’s voice is right behind her and she jumps a little, but she smiles and spins the stool around to look at him. “Even when paired with those goddamn awful socks.”

“I have cold feet.” Her eyes follow him around and she licks her lips at the sight of the half-naked man turning on the coffee maker, sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips and she is almost certain that is the only piece of clothing he’s wearing.

“I kinda noticed that.” He pats Dodger on the head before disarming the alarm and opens the kitchen door, a very happy dog now bouncing on the fresh snow outside. “You might want to have that checked, I believe they’ve frozen some time ago and you just haven’t noticed.” Chris grins at her indignant face and she scowls at him, trying to elaborate a good comeback when he invades her personal space. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

He’s pressed right at her side when he speaks those last words, tilting her head back and kissing her soundly, the hands on her neck keeping her in place, and does she really need to breathe because she just wants to kiss him forever. Her whole body awakens, his touch moving like lightning on her skin. Her palms sprawl over his chest, fingers combing the short hairs covering the muscles and she’s delighted at the small moans coming from him. Sadly yes, they do need air to live and so they part, foreheads touching, fingers caressing and smiles on their faces.

“I believe it’ll be, yes.” She eyes him as he draws on her skin, following the pattern of the cherry tree branches on her arm, reaching the last flower perched near her inner elbow and she tenses. As wonderful as he is, they barely know each other, the scars on her forearm and wrists are part of the demons that plague her dreams, ones that she’s not willing to discuss. She feels better when his fingers skip the scars, going straight to her palms and tangle themselves with her own, bringing her hand up to kiss the knuckles.

“How about some breakfast?” He offers while his mouth skims over her hands. “There’s this great place right around the corner that serves breakfast till 3 p.m., we can walk over there and get my car afterward, go to the Museum?”

“Breakfast food for lunch?” her stomach grumbles at the mention of food. “I was gonna make a joke about it being so very un-Hollywood of you, but as you heard it, parts of me are already on board with the plan. But I do need coffee first.”

“As milady wishes.” He goes back to find two cups in the higher cabinet, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and setting it all on the island in front of her before seating by her side, “How are you feeling today?”

“I woke up with a bit of a headache, a little sore too, but I took some Advil when I came down, I’ll be right as new in a few hours.” She rests her chin on her hands watching as he scoots the chair closer to hers, knees touching as he runs slow circles on the small of her back.

“I’m sorry about the soreness baby, but damn, it was a tight fit, I almost blew my load when I first entered you, you felt so good.”

He says it like he’s commenting on the weather, not of giving her the best sex of her life. Her cheeks felt warm; the man had no filter, did he?

“It’s been a while since I last fooled around with anyone, it’s been mostly me and my hand for the past twenty months.” Apparently, she had no qualms talking about it with him either. Lucy felt at easy with Chris, from the first time they looked at each other she felt like a missing piece of herself finally found its way home. How would she keep going after today? She shook her head to clear her head, she wouldn’t think about that now. “And you're going around with a large concealed weapon in those pants. How do you get past TSA with that?”

He laughs with a deep bass guffaw, slapping his knee.

“Wanna give me a pat down, Officer Seabrook?” a waggle of his eyebrows had her chuckling before he got serious. “But almost two years baby, are New Yorkers that blind? You look smoking hot, do not give me that look, ‘cuz you do. I’d be following you around like a lost puppy for that ass alone.”

“There were plenty of opportunities, it’s just… It never felt right, I guess? I…” she stopped, unsure about giving up too much of her past. What was with this guy and the need to know all her secrets? And what was up with her and wanting to tell them all to him, hoping he wouldn’t run away screaming?

“Then I’m extremely glad it felt right yesterday. Because it felt right to me too, the moment you walked into that room? I was a goner. You had me at hello and all that shit.” He grinned at her over his cup, but she could tell his eyes were studying her and at some point, they would come back to this conversation.

“And all that shit uh? You’re such a romantic. Wait, the fact that you even know that the movie is awesome enough. It’s one of my favorites”

“Figures you’d have the hots for Tom Cruise being angsty as fuck” He laughed and batted away the packet of Splenda she threw at him.

“Oh shush, he’s not angsty, he’s had a revelation and it’s acting upon it. Plus, the ‘show me the money scene’ is already movie history.”

Chris lets Dodger back inside before grabbing the coffee pot, and he sits facing, a sheepish grin on his face while he poured himself a cup.

“So, if you had to choose, wine or coffee?” he asks as he prepares his drink; three sugars, a splash of creamer.

“Coffee, no doubts about it. I love wine but by this point in my life, I have coffee running in my veins instead of blood. There’s no way I could give the liquid gold up.” She pours half a cup, skipping the sugar and filling the other half of the cup with the creamer.

“What the hell,” he eyes her cup suspiciously, “that is not coffee baby, that’s an insult to anyone who drinks coffee.”

“Says the person who puts enough sugar in his cup to rotten teeth.” She scoffs before taking a long drink. “Delicious.”

“Oh my god, you’re one of those girls.” Chris grabs his chest, pretending it hurts. “You order a PSL at Starbucks.” He finishes with a low, horrified voice, whipping an imaginary tear from his eye.

Lucy was glad she wasn’t drinking when he finishes because she laughs so hard, she snorts.

“One hot, venti, two-shot, almond milk, no whip pumpkin spice latte. I’m a basic bitch who loves her PSL, so sue me.” She shrugs and brings her cup to her lips, sipping slowly.

“I bet the barista knows your name and draws a smile on the damn cup too.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled over the brim of the cup, giving a little shrug. “I knew it!”

“There’s a store on the same block of my apartment and it’s on the way to the subway, they’ve been there since I moved to New York, of course they know me by name by now.” Pouring more coffee into her mug, she acknowledges, “This is absolutely delicious though, it’s Hawaiian Kona coffee, right?”

“Color me impressed.” Chris grins, nodding his head. “It’s one of the few things I splurge on, I have the company send a few beans bags every month to wherever I am staying. I refuse to drink the goo they serve at most places when I’m doing press for a movie.”

“You’re a coffee diva.” She states, amused by his confession.

“Some people hate green M&Ms, I hate bad coffee.” He concedes laughing. “I even provide the coffee, it’s not like they have to go and buy it, you know? Just follow the instructions or let my assistant make it and I’m a happy guy.”

“What is that like, having an assistant?” Lucy glances at Chris, untrimmed beard, mussed hair, no shirt, ratty sweats and barefoot. Incredibly good looking, but more of guy-next-door than a movie star, she almost forgot he was more than Garret’s hot best friend. Their worlds differed so much, she couldn’t imagine having someone on her beck and call, or worst, a publicist. That gave her pause and she pursed her lips in thought while he responded.

“It’s weird at first, someone controlling your schedule, telling you where you need to be and when. But you get used to it so fast, especially since they seem to know exactly what you need and they deliver it, you know? Almost like a superpower, they learn how to read you and anticipate your moods.” Chris pondered and looked away embarrassed when he continued. “It’s… convenient. If you’re not careful you can get lost inside the Hollywood lifestyle, get jaded by the lights and you end up forgetting who you truly are. It almost happened to me once and I swore I wouldn’t let it happen again. It’s one of the reasons Tobias stays in Los Angeles whenever I’m here, I can take care of myself, I can be Chris.”

His words reassured her, but one question lingered. He was famous, he had an image to protect. As Samuel clearly reminded her, most people only saw her as a glamourized, overweight, stripper. She turns to face him, “Do I have to sign an NDA? Would pictures of the two of us together be bad for you?”

“What, Lucy, NO.” he shakes his head startled. “First of all, NDAs are ridiculous, they rarely work, I know that first hand. Maybe if you’re into some hard kink sex and doing it with random people, then okay, an NDA would be ideal, but I don’t ask people who I sleep with to sign them. And no, a picture of us together wouldn’t be bad for my image, it might stir some pots because some people believe they can dictate who I date…” Shaking his head, he grabbed her hand, linking their fingers together. “I know we’re still getting to know each other but one thing you should know is that I rarely give a fuck to what the media or the general public think of me. I keep my people close to my vest, I don’t talk about friends and girlfriends in interviews, but that’s because it isn’t anybody’s business what I do on my personal time. But I won’t shy away from being around someone I care about either. If a picture leaks or if they follow me when I’m with someone, I set my publicist on their cases because they are assholes, but the one thing I won’t do is to acknowledge their presence or react to them. It’s what they want, and I learned to tune them out.”

“I’m sorry doing what you love comes with so much bullshit involved.” Her thumb rubbed circles on his palm, in a soothing manner, her free hand combing his tousled hair. “Just so you know, if you decide a week from now that maybe I should sign one of those ridiculous things, I’d do it.”

“Thank you. The fact that you offered is enough.” Chris leaned into her hand, almost purring from the feeling of her fingers massaging his scalp. He closes his eyes, enjoying the moment and Lucy wants to save this forever, a perfect reminder of their time together.

He tastes of coffee when she kisses him, molding her mouth over his, dragging her lips sweetly across his own. She tastes like cream when his tongue touches hers, light touches that entice her, coaxing her lips to follow his when he retreats, seeking more, needing more.

The whiskers on his face tease her skin when he drags a line from her mouth to her neck, nipping hard at the pulse point, sucking the skin to sooth the bite. She gasps at how pleasurable the tiny amount of pain feels, fingers splashed on his hair, pulling him back till she devours his mouth, taking the lead.

His hands are everywhere, cupping her neck to hold her in place, squeezing the soft flesh of her breasts, gripping her thighs, finally circling her waist to bring her closer to him, hiking up legs over his, making the sweater she’s wearing ride up, his eyes popping when he realizes she’s not wearing anything under it.

“Such a naughty girl you are baby.” Chris murmurs against her mouth with a grin.

“I’m full of surprises.” She pulls the string securing the pants and it pools on the V of his abdomen, his cock springing upwards to rest against his belly. “I see I’m not the only one not wearing underwear.” Fingernails rake on the hard muscles of his abdomen while her teeth do the same to his collarbone, biting his neck. A thumb grazes the silky skin of his head and he twitches underneath her palm, his soft moans delighting her.

Her sweater is halfway up her body now, a large hand cupping the globes of her buttocks, while the other is busy massaging a hard nipple. Ripples of hot lava dances over her with every pass of his finger.

“I love how responsive you are, how you look ready to cum just with me playing with your tits.” Chris lowers his head to take a hard peak in his mouth when Lucy hears the low rumble of his stomach, making her raise an eyebrow at him. He ignores it and shushes her with a kiss, slating his mouth over her giggling lips, bringing her back to the moment.

A second, louder rumble follows. There is a pause and their eyes open, green meeting blue, mouths pressed together turning to grins before they are both laughing.

“I guess I’m hungry.” He remarks.

“When was the last time you ate something?” a hand smooths down her sweater when she stands up.

“I had a pretty nice snack last night.” A wiggle of his brows had her punching him on the shoulder as she narrows her eyes at him, still laughing.

“Oh my god, you’re such a man Christopher.”

“Glad you noticed babe.” He embraces her, kissing her shoulder. “Come on, we can shower together and save time.”

..__..__..__..__..

Showering together did not save time, she remarks when Chris closes the door behind him. It’s almost noon when they finally leave his house, all bundled up, gloved hands clasped together. There was no snow right now, but it’s supposed to start back late afternoon, so the plan was to be back home before that.

Lucy wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. Would he drop her off at Garret’s house after their outing (she didn’t dare call it a date) or would they go back to his place together? Sure, she understood the concept of one-night stands; she’d had her fair share of them but spending the day with one of them was never part of the deal, they had never asked, always leaving her house before the sun was up. In the beginning, she didn’t care about them leaving, her walls kept her safe, away from heartbreak. She had given herself away twice before and she had the scars, emotional and physical, to remind her not try it again.

Being single wasn’t something that bothered Lucy like it had bothered Penny or Siobhan and, unlike her sister and her best friend, she had welcomed it, focusing her energy and passion into dancing. She was proud of what she had accomplished in the last twelve years, the dance studio was thriving, she had made a name of herself and was now giving back to the community as much as she could.

Yet she now yearned for more. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when that happened but somewhere in the last six months the feeling snuck up on her and was now part of her daily routine, accompanying her from dusk to dawn. She pushed it aside, tried to bury it under her work but, no matter how late she stayed in her studio, how hard she danced, how tired she was, the loneliness that greeted her when she arrived home made her ache.

She wanted what JP had with Marianna. She wanted what she saw between Penny and Garret.

She had no idea how to get it.

Her eyes glanced over at the man walking beside her. Chris was funny, charming, interested in what she had to say and what she did for a living. It didn’t hurt the whole package was contained inside a sinful body, and boy, did he know how to use that body. She shook her head. This was a one-time thing, it’s not like he would want to see her again.

“We’re here,” Chris announced with a muffled voice, concealed beneath the heavy scarf covering his mouth, pointing to the red stone building that occupied the corner of the block they just turned. “The food here is amazing, you can’t go wrong with anything really.”

Lucy looks up before they enter and sees a neon sign with Mike’s City Diner written on it. The place had an old school vibe, a red, black and white theme that reminded her of the diner in Cooperstown, the one she went to almost every day after school for milkshakes and grilled cheese, or for family breakfast during the weekend. She’s about to ask if he comes here often when his name is called by a pretty brunette wearing an apron with the diner’s logo on it.

“Hi Chris,” the woman is all teeth and pink lipstick when she winks at him. Lucy tries to not pay attention to the way the hand, not coffee pot squeezes his biceps in hello.

“Hi, Corinne. Is my table occupied?” he questioned, removing his winter gear.

“It is, but the booth next to it is free, if you seat turned to the back wall, I’m sure no one will bother you. We’re past the rush hour anyway.” She grabs a couple of menus from the counter and leads them to the very back of the restaurant, away from the windows. “I’ll bring some fresh coffee for you.”

Chris helps Lucy out of her coat and mentions for her to get in first. He slides next to her and wraps an arm around her back, pulling her closer.

“I take you’re a regular?” She asked while reading over the menu.

“Yeah, I come almost every day when I’m not at my mom’s house. I’m an okay cook, but breakfast food is my favorite and I rather not screw it up.” He nods, not even looking up at the menu. “Very kind people, delicious food, most patrons are either engrossed on their food or too deep in conversation to notice me, which is a plus.”

“I grew up going to a very similar diner back home. My friends and I would spend whole afternoons at Patty’s, doing homework and playing the arcade games he’d kept in the back room. He was the sweetest guy, always looking out for the town’s kids, running fundraisers for a neighbor in need… And the food was so, so good.” Wistful eyes looked around the place, taking in the decor and the warm way the waiters would talk to the customers.

Corinne approached with a smoking pot of coffee, sashaying her mint skirt as she did. She poured Chris’s coffee and points the pot to Lucy in question. “Want some, sugar?”

“Please.”

“Alright, you guys know what you want?” she placed the pot on their table, whisking out a white pad.

Chris signaled Lucy to go first and she orders cinnamon walnut waffles with a side fruit, saying no to the meat.

“I’ll have the Dynamic Duo with bacon and scrambled eggs. And she wants cream, lots of it.” Chris says with a teasing smile.

“I can drink my coffee black, you know?” Lucy huffs after Corinne leaves them alone.

“Yes, but do you like it?” He gives her a pointed look, a lone eyebrow raised at her.

That was so unfair, who could resist that damn eyebrow?

“No,” she answers with a pout.

He laughs and steals a quick kiss. “So, no meat?”

“No meat. I can’t call myself a vegetarian because I love cheese and eggs and still indulge in some seafood, but it’s been almost ten years since I decided to stop eating red meat, eight since I last ate chicken.”

“Impressive. Hemsworth is thinking about adopting a plant-based regimen on our next bulk up. We’ve been discussing it for a while.” He plays with the empty sugar packets, sighing. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“Chris, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I don’t know the guy, but if he’s your friend I’m sure he’ll understand.” Her hand closes around his, giving it a squeeze. “Quitting anything is hard, my friend Terry has been trying to stop drinking soda since I first met him, sometimes he goes months without a single drop, other times he drinks Coke for breakfast, lunch, dinner and midday snacks.”

“Don’t I know it. I’ve quit smoking maybe a dozen times now. But I pick it back up whenever I’m stressed or if I go clubbing a lot.” He picks her hand up, dropping each finger on the table only to do it again. “I stopped after I broke up with my last girlfriend.”

Lucy pursued her lips. She once had called Penny to see how her sister was doing and throughout the conversation, Penny had been curt with her, until Lucy snapped and decided to end the call. That was when Penny apologized and explained she was mad by proxy because Chris’ girlfriend was being a bitch, divulging personal details about their relationship. Lucy didn’t know the actress was, but she instantly disliked the woman.

“Uh, so maybe a good thing come out of that?” her smile was sympathetic.

“Yeah,” Chris gave her a warm smile. “I was single when I met you.”

“And if you weren’t?” it was a serious question disguised within a light smile.

“Here’s the thing, I don’t cheat. I may be a shitty boyfriend at times, especially with all the traveling and time away from each other, but cheating? That is inexcusable.” His eyes were fixed on hers when he continued and the intensity she found in those eyes made her squirm in her seat. “Had I been dating someone I’d have watched you from afar, cursing whatever deity for giving me a glimpse of yourself when they’d know I couldn’t act on it… The truth is I would have left the game. I was drawn to you like a compass needle is drawn to the north and I wanted you. Anything from the moment we said hello would be considered cheating in my book.”

A flustered laugh escaped Lucy’s mouth; she wasn’t expecting any of what he said, admittedly his stand on cheating mirrored hers but the other half of his speech floored her. Never had a man been so candid in his interest towards her and she was at a loss for words.

She was saved by the arrival of a boisterous man who introduced himself to her as Jay, the owner of Mike’s City Diner. He and Chris shared that typical bro hug after he set down the plates.

“I took the liberty of making your waffle with almond milk when Corinne told me you said no meat.” He had an accent she couldn’t place it. “I hope it is to your liking.”

“That’s very thoughtful, thank you.” She took a bite of the waffle and moaned at the taste, speaking between bites. “This is amazing Jay, best waffle ever.”

“Thank you. I’m happy you like.” He looked between Chris and Lucy. “It is the first time you bring woman with you. Corinne was… disappointed. I can see why she can’t compete with your chosen fire head. Beautiful woman.”

“Keep it up and I’ll tell Janet you’re hitting on my girl.” Chris pointed his forkful of pancakes at Jay, before popping it in his mouth.

“Janet more prettier than Lucy because Janet is my wife.” Jay grinned at them. “I’ll leave you to your food. Wonderful day friends.”

She busied herself with another forkful of waffles and strawberries, trying not to focus too much on Chris calling her his girl.

“Don’t mind Jay, he’s a flirt. Didn’t I tell you the food was good?” Chris drizzled more syrup on his pancakes. “The man is a breakfast food king if I was a billionaire I’d hire him as my personal breakfast chef!”

“But you gotta eat more than just breakfast though. Who would you hire for dinner service?” she dumped most of the cream in her coffee, smirking when Chris cringed.

“Uhm… that’s a tough one.” He stroked his beard in thought. “Either Tyler Florence or Jeff Mauro… I’m going with Jeff Mauro; I love sandwiches and he is the king. What about you?”

“I don’t even need to think about it, it’s all about the good vanilla and the Italian mascarpone! Ina Garten is the Barefoot Contessa for a reason.” She observed.

“Now that would cost you an arm and a leg.” Chris countered. “And if you want Jeff to go make the cheese in a climate-controlled cave in Connecticut, then you’d be bankrupt by the next dinner service.”

“But she told me store bought was fine.”

“Store bought is never fine.” He gasped in mock horror.

Trying to contain her laugh had Lucy wiping away the moisture from the corner of her yes. “I can’t believe you watch Food Network, Chris!”

“Well, there’s just so many times you can play Boggle while on set. Sometimes you just want to watch something to take your mind off things you know?” He pushed his empty plate away, mirth in his voice. “Plus Chopped is psych! Scarlett, Sebastian and I place bets on our favorites. I usually leave a hundred dollars richer by the end of our marathons.”

..__..__..__..__..__

The Museum of Science was somewhat busy for a Monday since most schools in the city were already off for the Holidays, making Chris lower his cap to cover his eyes as they entered the building.

Lucy’s eyes got big when she took in the place. “Oh my god, this is incredible! It’s almost bigger than the Museum of Natural back in New York.”

“I believe New York has more exhibits but we have more square footage or something like that. They grow everything big in Mass.” He winked.

“Don’t I know it?” Lucy waggled her eyebrows, laughing before grabbing the map she had picked up at the entrance. “Alright, what’s the plan?”

“I got us tickets to the Lightning! show at two, the Planetarium at three thirty and the butterfly garden at five pm.” Chris held her hand and lead her to the right side of the building while pointing things up in the map she held. “Maybe we could start with the dinos and make our way back to the red wing for the show?”

“Let’s head downstairs and see the Triceratops exhibit then, they are my favorite.”

“So, you like then horny, uh?” Chris whispered in her ear while they descended the escalator.

“Horny and big boned.” She whispered back with a straight face, a sneaky hand landing on the fly of his pants. “Small boners just don’t do it for me.”

A mother cleared her throat behind them just as they reached the lower level, and they moved quickly out of the way, looking sheepishly at the woman giving them a death glare before bursting into giggles.

“You’re such a bad influence on me.” Chris tutted at Lucy, bringing her close to his side and putting an arm around her shoulders.

“ME?” she protested with a laugh. “I was merely stating the fact that I like big dinosaurs, like a triceratops or a brachiosaur.”

“I’ll show you a brachiosaur when we get home.” He winked at her.

“If I recall correctly, your brachiosaur has quite a thick neck. Can I pet it? Maybe kiss it a few times?” She teased him, rubbing his forearm in a suggestive manner.

“Are you trying to make me pop a boner in public woman?” she saw him discreetly adjusting himself. “Come on, let’s see those dinos.”

The exhibit was fantastic, three full skeletons held the main floor, including a small, unhorned hatchling that made Lucy tear up. They admired the displays, taking turns pointing something they liked and debating which dinosaur would in against various superheroes, in the end deciding Hulk would probably join the dinosaur side, just to even things out. When they got to the T-Rex exhibit, Chris joked about this being Dodger’s wet dream and that he the only reason he wouldn’t steal a bone to take home to Dodger was that it wouldn’t fit inside his house, prompting Lucy to ask about it.

“The whole main floor is gorgeous, but I looooove your kitchen, it’s freaking amazing. If I ever move, I want a huge kitchen just like yours!”

“It was the first room I renovate when I bought the house last year.” Chris beamed. “Every detail, from the island to the fixtures have a history or a special meaning. I installed the backsplash myself.”

“Wait, you did it yourself?” Lucy asked, wide-eyed.

“The backsplash yeah, but I’ve had a lot of help from Dix and Garret during the reno. I also stained the hardwood and installed the mantle over the fireplace.” Chris grinned proudly and pulled up his phone, opening the gallery app and showing Lucy the before pictures. “Dix’s a contractor, damn good one too. We hired a design to come up with a general idea of I wanted and went from there. We’ve finished all the main floor, the master bedroom, and bathroom plus the staircase, but the other three bedrooms, the guest bathroom, basement and the backyard are kind of a mess. We only work on the house when I’m not filming, so it’s going slow.”

They walked over to the entrance of the Theater of Electricity as it was almost time for the show to start, and sat on a backless wooden bench, away from the main area, Chris straddling the bench and Lucy facing him, one leg bent over the smooth surface.

“Chris, the fact that you decided to tackle your own renovations when you could just pay someone to do it for you is remarkable. It speaks volumes of what you are as a person and what you want in life. My dad always quotes, we shape our buildings: thereafter, they shape us. You’re turning that place into a reflection of what you want for you and it shows.”

Chris regarded her for a moment, wistful eyes scanning hers.

“My ma’ always told me something similar before I moved to Los Angeles: whatever good things we build, end up building us. I’ve been trying to live by it, surrounding myself with people that want to build each other up, who share their talents with others in the best way they can. It takes a while to weed out the bad, especially in a place that thrives in being fake. There are many good, hard-working people in L.A. but there are at least three times as fakers and clingers who just want to use you. I love my house there, but sometimes it feels less like a home and that’s especially true now that I’ve bought the condo here. Ma’ was ecstatic when I told her I had found a place here, granted she wanted me closer in Sudbury, but I reckon Boston is a heck of a lot closer than Los Angeles. She helped decorate the living room and the big ass island was more of her idea than mine, but in the end, I loved it.”

“She’s got an awesome taste; I have the biggest case of kitchen envy now. I absolutely adore my apartment, it isn’t small by the city standards, but it doesn’t have much kitchen space. It certainly doesn’t have a big ass island, but it’s home.” She shrugged.

“I remember Penny mentioning you guys are from somewhere upstate, when did you move to New York?”

Lucy shifted in her seat. She would not think about him and what made her move back home.

“Late 2002. I had just gotten back from England; I went through a rough patch for a while and I wanted to start fresh some place where I could lose myself and not worry about everyone from the neighbors to the Mayor knowing your name. So as soon as I could I packed again and moved to New York. My father was supportive, but my Mamma was livid, she didn’t speak to me for a whole month.” she saw the confusion on his face. “That might not sound like a lot, but my Mamma is originally from Trento, Italy. She embodies all the stereotypes of an Italian woman you can think of. Not talking to me was maybe harder on her than it was on me!”

“My mother is like a quarter Italian so I can relate a little when she gets going is you better shut up and listen because she means business.” Chris nodded. He looked her over and Lucy had the distinct feeling he was trying to pierce some of her story together. He was much more perceptive than she initially thought, there would be no glossing over details with him. “England, uh? For dancing school?”

“Yeah… I joined when I was sixteen. Did almost six years with the company.”

He looked impressed. “That’s a whole lot of time dancing. What was the school like?”

“Demanding. We had to be the best one hundred percent of the time, you could lose your spot if you ever slacked on grades or on your dancing. I had a private tutor for classes, so I had no free time until I was finished with their version of high school. Then I got promoted to first soloist when I was twenty, so I barely know any touristy spots in London.”

“I keep wondering why you don’t want to tell me that you actually danced for the Royal Ballet of London and not some random school.” Chris gave her a pointed look and Lucy’s eyes widened. “Your sister is your biggest fan you know? She might have mentioned you danced with them once… or twenty times.”

Lucy looked away, her face heating up. Penny had been so supportive back in the day, even at thirteen, she was Lucy’s most supportive family member, encouraging her older sister to apply to the scholarship, staying in during the weekends so they could practice together. The events that preceded her return to the States still stung Penny and Lucy never thought her sister would look over them to hype her up to her friends.

“I don’t know really, I feel like I’m bragging when I mention their name. And some people look at my body and think ‘yeah right’ because a ballerina is supposed to be always this dainty girl and I’m now the opposite of that.” She waved her hand in front of her body. “I got rather crafty with not saying exactly where I studied, they mostly assume it was just a regular dancing school.”

“People are assholes.” He conceded.

The theater doors opened before Chris could comment further and they were ushered inside after handing their tickets to the greeter. They chose a seat near the middle row, moving all the way to the last seats, Chris pulling his cap down and slumping a little in the seat while everyone got seated around them. When the lights diminished, he righted himself up, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair.

Chris brought her arm over her shoulder, drawing her closer. He leaned into her, whispering in her ear. “I’m sure you were the cutest ballerina ever, but I much prefer the upgraded version of you.”

Even if she had any cute comebacks, and she didn’t, lights went up on the stage and the presenter introduced Professor Lightning, who proceeded to show the audience how Tesla coils worked and how to create lightning strikes at the comfort of their own lab. That was the first of the many corny science jokes of the thirty-minute show and Lucy lost herself in it, along with Chris.

..__..__..__..__..

“Maybe they’ll get it ready before we die, can you imagine it? A holiday trip to Mars?” Chris was walking backward while talking to Lucy, hands waving around in excitement, and she thought he looked like a little kid dreaming about what he’d do when he got older. It was the cutest thing.

They had just left the planetarium wing and they decided to head back down to the Starbucks locates at the atrium for some coffee. Chris had fake gagged when she ordered a Caramel Brûlée Latte and she made a show of drinking it slowly, moaning and making faces to get back at him. He ordered three double espressos in a grande cup, making the barista blink and repeat the order back to him.

They were now sitting by one of the many tables overlooking the Charles River, and Chris was dreaming of spending weekends on Mars instead of down in the Bahamas.

“I guess if you had thirty million dollars you could do it.” She agreed just to appease him. She saw his smile get bigger, probably already deciding which investments he’d give up being in that voyage. “You know, for each leg of the trip.”

Chris dropped his shoulder, defeated. “Maybe I could just go to the moon then. A quick getaway to look at Earth from another perspective.”

He looked serious and Lucy had a feeling he was indeed planning for that excursion.

“Would you really do it?” She inquired with a tilt of her head.

“Hell yes, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d crap my pants while going up but man, that would be so fucking cool.”

Lucy watched as Chris got a dreamy look on his face and she contemplated if he would think she was crazy if she got him a Christmas gift. She just had the perfect idea for one.

“Send me a picture when you get there ok? You’d pay to go, I wouldn’t go even if they’d paid me.”

“Is it the heights?”

“Actually no, I love rollercoasters and I’ve bungee-jumped before.”

“You what?!” He stared at her with wide eyes.

“I did yeah! It’s such a cool experience, I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“You better! So, if it isn’t heights, what is it?”

“I’m terrified of enclosed spaces. I can barely make out off an elevator without going into a mini panic attack.” Her body did a quick shake at thought of being inside a spaceship. “It’s not too much of being in a tight space but I need windows and I need to know I can quickly get out of the situation if the need arises. You can’t exactly do that while going to the moon.”

“I can see how that would pose a problem.” Chris nodded and finished his coffee. “How do you cope with flying?”

“I have a prescription for Xanax, but I try to avoid using it. I rely on lots and lots of distraction.” She picked her up her phone, unlocked and pulled up Spotify, showing him a playlist labeled Flying Sucks, and he scrolled through her picks. “I’m so glad I don’t need to turn off our phones anymore, I have my headphones on and music blaring from the moment I step into the plane.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but how does one go from Chopin to Slipknot in two songs?” He turned her phone back to her pointing from Nocturne op. 9 to Duality.

Lucy cocked her head at him, a grin on her face.

“My tastes are very singular,” she whispers trying to contain her laugh. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Chris paused for a bit and she saw the moment he got the joke.

“Did you… Did you just quote Fifty Shades Of Grey to me?” Chris was laughing so hard he dropped her phone on the table, his hand automatically landing on his chest. That was the third time she saw him doing that and vowed to try and make him laugh that hard again, it was the most adorable thing.

A few other visitors turned around startled by the sound of his laugh and Lucy shushed him, ineffectively. She saw a teenage girl squinting at Chris, trying to place the man sitting two tables away from her and Lucy immediately got up and stood in front of him, blocking her view.

“Let’s go, doofus, there’s a very curious teen staring at you and I say she’s seconds away from figuring it out who you are.” She gestured with a thumb to the table behind her. Lucy grabbed his hand and pulled him up, Chris lowering his cap while they left the cafeteria area.

“I still can’t believe you quoted that awful movie at me,” Chris said while tossing their cups on a nearby bin.

“And I don’t understand how you know that line at all.” She pointed at him, waggling her finger.

“They uh, may have offered me the role?” Chris glanced sheepishly at her.

“THEY WHAT?” Lucy shrieked and immediately covered her mouth. Chris pulled them into an empty alcove to get away from prying eyes. “I’m sorry for yelling but what?”

“They offered me the role. Twice. The second time they even threw veto power on whom would’ve play Anastacia.” He shook his head. “It was a hard pass from me. The sex scenes in the book were passable, but the plot felt iffy, very constricted and oversimplified.”

“You’re the first guy I know who actually have an opinion about the plot and do not dismiss it as being mommy porn.” Lucy praised him.

“I make a point of having an informed opinion and not rehash what others think.” Chris nodded. “If that means I have to read a book about kinky fuckery, hey, let’s do it!”

Lucy threw her head back with a laugh and they resumed their walk, discussing their favorite books and authors and soon it became very clear they did not share the same interests. Chris tended towards non-fiction, biographies, science and spirituality books while Lucy rarely picked up something that wasn’t about fantasy, especially vampires and wizards. They did agree on Harry Potter and A Brief History Of Time, so they called it a win anyway.

They circled back to the blue wing where the Butterfly Garden was located when a voice over the intercom announced that everyone with tickets for the five pm showing was now welcomed to enter the Garden, and they quickly made their way there.

They started the tour on the opposite side of the entrance, walking around a path brimming with the colorful wings of the kaleidoscope who lived there. Lucy took pictures of her favorites and marveled at how nature worked, turning into what most would consider an ugly nuisance into such an exquisite animal.

The thick, lush foliage extended all the way to the glass ceiling, the various shades of green a great contrast against the gray skies above. Each section of the garden filled with different types of flowers and plants to attract the butterflies, it was a cacophony of plants from all over the world, turning the area into something quite magical in Lucy’s eyes.

Chris stopped here and there to discuss whatever butterfly they could see, Chris pointing what he remembered of his previous visit and telling Lucy anecdotes of his time there with his family.

“Then he convinced Shanna to lick the picture! So she goes up, takes the mounted frame from the wall and low and behold, licked the fucking leaf!” Chris remembered laughing. “Of course, the moment she lifted the frame a silent alarm must’ve sounded somewhere, and two guards appeared out of thin air… and that’s how the Evans Family got banned from the MOS for six months.”

Lucy wheezed as she laughed, trying to control her breathing. “Poor Shanna! You and your brother were not kind with your sisters uh?”

“We’re vicious sometimes.” He agreed. “But we’re also very protective, I got in trouble once because I bit a guy for pushing Carly off the swing set. Granted I was six at the time, but man, I drew blood and everything! Dad had to pay for his hospital visit and I lost dessert rights for a month.”

He pouted, making Lucy giggle.

“Your family sounds amazing Chris! Are you guys doing something special for Christmas?”

“Mom’s hosting a huge party this year, so the whole family will be there. Lots of Evans and Capuanos, plenty of food and booze, games, I live for those parties, they are my favorite, so much love going on. Big breakfast in the morning, let them go crazy opening presents, then we take the kids sledding or to ice skate on a pond nearby and then we all gather to the party. How about you?”

“That sounds lovely. It’s just the immediate family this Christmas for us. Mamma insists on having all her kids there at least every other year, it’s a deal she makes with all in-laws when they become family.” She paused. Lucy was the only one who had never taken a boyfriend to one of their gatherings. She had mastered the art of ignoring the looks of pity her family sent her way every time she arrived alone, dodging questions about her failed love life now second nature. “We don’t have many relatives in America, mamma being Italian and Dad from Scotland, so we kinda created our own family traditions; we decorate cookies on the 24th, mamma chooses the Yule log, and we sit around talking about our year while listening to the Beatles and drinking wine. Then on Christmas Day we go ice skating, hold the ‘Annual Seabrook Snowman Challenge’, which I suck at by the way, and consume way too much wine and crostoli.”

“I love crostoli, my mom never got the recipe right from her grandma so hers it’s not so great… But I’ll deny it to my grave if you ever tell her I said that.” He tapped the end of her nose, making her giggle. “It’s been such a long time since I had them though.”

“Mom makes a ton of them to give the neighbors as gifts, I’ll save you some and send them back with Penny.”

“That’d be awesome, thank you.” He ran a hand through her hair and brought her closer, intending to kiss her. His lips almost touch her when a group of kids no older than six-year-old breezes by them, screaming ewwww and making kissing noises. “I guess you got cooties.”

They giggle and separate, but he clasps her hand while they toured the winding paths.

Walking further into the garden they got to a small section where hundreds of white or blue butterflies floated over the flowers, enjoying a rare ray of sun that filtered from the glass ceiling above. Chris took his phone out from his front pocket and handed it over to Lucy before embracing her, arms closing around her front and pulling her closer, her back molded to his front. She shivered at the full body contact and had trouble opening the camera app. Searching for the best angle, she took a couple of pictures of them surrounded by the clouds of wings, including one where a blue butterfly sat on Chris’ shoulders and Lucy had a surprised look on her face, which quickly become their favorite.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the museum will close in ten minutes.”

The voice over the intercom made them both jump, and Chris looked at the clock.

“Wow, it’s almost six already?” He looked surprised.

“Are you serious?” Lucy couldn’t believe how fast the day had gone by.

Yesterday had been amazing, all the teasing leading to a frenzied and amazing night of sex but if she had to choose her favorite time with Chris had been today. There were no awkward moments, not long silences where they didn’t know what to say to each other. As much as she was pressed not call it a date at the beginning, there was no denying today had been exactly that. And she loved every second of it.

Now came the hard part, letting go of Chris and going back to her own life.

“At least it’s not snowing yet, roads should be clear.” He talked absently. Chris scratched his beard appearing to miles away from the museum already and Lucy tried not to let it bother her.

The escalator had a line and the elevator was for seniors, pregnant women and people in need of assistance, so they took the stairs, keeping closer to the wall as to not draw much attention.

He picked up her left hand, drawing patterns on her palm before twisting their fingers together while they descended the stairs to get to the garage. Lucy noticed how touch drove he had been the entire day, always reaching out to her, holding her hand while they walked, circling her waist while they waited in line for tickets. It occurred to her he would distance himself from her while they were in public and she understood why he would do it but in a deeper level, she was elated when he didn’t. She thought back to that morning’s conversation; I won’t shy away from someone I care about’, and her heart skipped a beat. Could he care about her in a more permanent way than a one-night stand? She shook her head. No, that wasn’t possible, right?

Then how you would explain your own feelings? Her heart had terrible timing, as always. Okay, so maybe today had been better than good. I was a fucking great day okay, could you at least own up to that? And Lucy couldn’t argue because it really had been that.

At least she’d had the memories of their time together, the last thirty hours had been incredible, and she knew a smile would always accompany those memories, no matter what happened from now on.

They got to the garage after a few minutes, people shuffling around them to get to their cars as quickly as possible. They walked fast, not bothering with their coats, just wanting to get inside his car. Lucy was really looking forward to sliding against the heated leather seats.

“Fuck, it’s cold!” Chris exclaimed pulling her along. His wide stride made her almost run after him, air leaving her mouth in smalls white clouds as she breathed out. He hit his key fob a few meters before they reached the car and engine came to life with a hum. He opened the door for her, and she placed a sweet kiss on his cheek before getting inside. Chris quickly went around to the driver’s seat and moaned when the heated air hit his skin. “Oh, much better.”

“Do you think Audi would sell me just one of these seats? The heating at the studios sucks, I’d love to have one of these for my office!” She wriggled happily in her seat.

“Or you could buy a proper office chair that does the same thing?” He pointed at her when he got behind the wheel. Soft jazz music filled the air around them when he turned the key, the melodic sound swirling around them.

“Uhm I could, but then I couldn’t tell people how I convinced fucking Audi to make me a custom chair. Now that’s a story.” She chuckled and turned on her seat, facing him.

“So buy a chair, slap an Audi sticker to the back of it and tell the story anyway, how ‘bout that?”

“Uhm… There’s an idea.”

He laughed. “Why are we discussing this particular one anyway?”

“’ Cuz there’s like a hundred cars trying to leave at the same time and we’re stalling?”

“Such a smart girl.” Chris reached over the console and picked up her hand, playing with her rings. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

He nodded and concentrated on the traffic inside the garage, managing to get out and merge into the exit lane, all with one hand, the other still holding hers.

Why in the world did she say she wasn’t hungry when he asked? She wasn’t, that was true, but they could have gone somewhere to just talk, she could have a few more moments with him and now she blew it. God, she was stupid. She thumped her head in the back seat, cursing herself. Was it too late to say something, hey, changed my mind, let’s go grab a pizza or something.

She kept her body turned to him as he drove, a leg bent on the seat, studying his profile, the little bump on his nose, the mole on his left cheek, how his beard was not dark blond but auburn like Penny’s hair. She wanted to commit it all to memory so she could relive it once she got back home. Maybe daydream about not being a fucking coward and ask him to take her back to his place instead of back to Garrets.

They drove in silence for the next ten minutes, the only sounds inside the car coming from the speakers. He pulled to the curb of Garret’s house and Chris killed the engine, turning to Lucy. She felt the intensity of his gaze while she studied his face, waiting for his final words. This was it. He would thank her for a good time, say she was a nice girl and send her away.

Was it even possible to have feelings for someone you’d met in person just the day before? Maybe it was just some leftover infatuation from the night before? Sure, she had heard of him from Garret and Penny, they were practically his personal cheerleader squad, but meeting Chris had been a whole different experience. She couldn’t remember the last time she’s had so much fun with a man. It wasn’t just the sex, which by the way had blown her mind after twenty plus months of celibacy, but how he’d made her feel like the most important person in the world when he talked to her, how he listened with his whole body, really paying attention to what she was talking about. How he laughed at her jokes, cracking up with that adorable and dorkable laugh of his. He had cut through her walls and her fears with his witty banter and a charming personality and she had been impotent to resist him. She liked everything about him. She was falling for the guy.

No.

She had already fallen.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

Stupid, silly girl. Why on earth would someone like him ever want more than a one-time thing with the likes of her?

She screamed at that poisonous voice to shut up, she didn’t want to hear it today. She concentrated on the affirmations Doctor Clark had given her.

She was worth it; she was not perfect but every being deserved love.

She was happy with her body; maybe she wasn’t a size four or even a six, but she was stylish, some days she would be so bold as to call herself sexy.

She was a good person; a loving friend, a kind person, a passionate lover,

She was deserving of love.

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, willing away all bad thoughts, breathing in and out, centering herself.

Maybe not his love, but he had awakened something inside her, if Captain America himself thought she was worthy of his time, that voice surely must be wrong.

“Lucy?”

She opened her eyes and leaned forward, resting her hand on his knee.

“Thank you for an amazing time, Chris. I haven’t had this much fun in quite a few years.”

She kissed his cheek, lingering just one second more. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she moved to open the door.

“What, no, Lucy wait.” He hit the lock button, breathing rapidly. “Just wait, give a man a moment to breathe, will ya’?”

“Chris?” She tilted her head, watching as he took deep breathes, counting on his fingers while murmuring what looked like affirmations, much the same she did earlier.

“Sorry, I had to run a few scenarios in my head. A trick my therapist taught me for when I get anxious.” He explained, tangling the fingers of one of their hands and pulling her to him, kissing her square in the mouth. “None of that cheek kissing thing alright?” he pleaded when he released her.

“Alright?” she had no idea what to answer so she nodded instead.

“Good, good. We had a great day together, didn’t we?” his free hand reached for a stray lock of her hair, twirling it between his fingers.

“I believe I thanked you for it already.” She looked nonplussed at him.

“That you did baby.” He kissed her again, this time biting her lower lip. “What if this wasn’t the end of that time?”

“Chris?”

“What if instead of dropping you here, you get out, get your bags and go home with me?” his clears eyes shone with hope and he licked his lips, waiting.

“You know we leave after lunch, right, I told you that.” Her heart was speeding up and she was sure he could feel her hands getting clammy. Was he really asking her to spend the night again?

“That would give us more,” he checked his watch, “eighteen more hours together.”

“Are you sure Chris? I’m okay with this being the end of our little rendezvous, I really liked the day we had.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

His smile vanished.

“Oh, unless you don’t want to, I can understand that.” He chewed on his lip, defeated.

“Unlock the door, Chris.”

“Okay.” He hit the button and bowed his head. “Can I… can I kiss you goodnight?”

“Yes, you can kiss me goodnight.” She opened the door but didn’t move, waiting for him to look up. “You can kiss me goodnight after I have my wicked way with you after we get back to your place.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes! I was beating myself up for not saying yes when you asked if I was hungry.”

His face broke up in a huge grin.

“We can eat, then go back home.”

“I just want to spend more time with you, I don’t care what we do.”

His lips were cold when she kissed him, the outside air rapidly entering the car, but neither cared, too lost in each other to bother closing the door.

“I’ll go grab my bags.” She said when they separated.

“Hurry up woman, we have just nineteen hours and fifty-five minutes left.”

She threw her head back and laughed, getting out of the car and running up the stairs.

“Hey Lucy?” he yelled from the lowered window. She turned to him, after knocking on Garret’s door. “I hope you don’t have plans to sleep tonight.”

#Chris Evans Fanfic #Chris Evans Fanfiction #Chris Evans x OFC #Chris Evans #Chris Evans x Curvy OFC #swdfic

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kingofthewilderwest · 6 years ago

Note

Don't worry, I take over my sleep time to read and write fanfictions. I wouldn't have time otherwise! I have an entire Word page with only links to fanfictions I still have to read! And it's all right to not read fanfictions if you don't want to. It's just an hobby among others. Anyway, you wrote fanfictions?? Now I'm curious, could I have a link, if you don't mind? Have a good night too and sorry for my grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language (btw, thank you for the likes

From this. Sorry I’m slow replying!! thanks for your wonderful messages! :)

No worries about grammar! Your English is great, and even if it weren’t, that’s no bother to me either. :) The fact that you’re communicating in a language that isn’t your first… just means you have extra skills and are even more awesome! :)

I love how dedicated you are to looking at others’ fanfictions, even creating a Word document page to make sure you remember them. That’s beautiful and cool. And I’m getting curious about what you’ve written, too!

Thanks so much for asking about my fics - this touches me! Sure, I’m happy to share! I tend to post all fics on tumblr and FFN, with FFN being my primary hub. On tumblr I use the tag #my fanfiction and tag all stories by their title. My FFN profile is kingofthewilderwest.

I’m so so so so so SO touched when anyone reads or interacts with my fics (though since I write casually, I ask no constructive criticism

THE VIGILANTE’S WAR

HTTYD. YEAR: 2014. LENGTH: 57,110 WORDS. A mysterious, antagonistic dragon rider dubbed “the Vigilante” crosses paths with Hiccup, and her increasingly violent actions appear to be leading to war against Berk.

He tightened his hands, loosened them again. Breathed in, breathed out. He could feel himself stooped in the dirt, his shoulders hunched over his head, his knees buried in the ground and tucked underneath his torso. His neck was bent low close to the earth, providing him a good view of his hands and the ground and nothing else.

Well, and the blood.

That can’t possibly be all mine.

- PROLOGUE: FROM OUT OF THE HAZE

HTTYD 2′s original drafts had Valka as the main antagonist. I found this so interesting that I decided to rewrite HTTYD 2 - with a few of my own spins - on this concept. One of my most well-known fics, “The Vigilante’s War” is where I’ve gotten the most thorough reviews and most emotional reactions.

THE VIGILANTE’S LEGACY

HTTYD. YEARS: 2014-2016. LENGTH: 20,546 WORDS. There’s been four years of war between three factions. Drago’s army. The Vigilante and her dragons. Berk and their allies. But now, Chief Hiccup believes there’s a way to end the conflict. Sequel to “The Vigilante’s War.”

Hiccup spoke up. Cleared his voice. Tapped his pointer finger apprehensively on the cell’s iron door. “You said we were making a mistake.” Might as well speak straight to the point of his visit. “Something about ‘you and every one of your warriors are making a mistake’ or – or something like that.”

For a moment Hiccup wondered if Valka actually would reply. The calculating gaze she gave him from the corner of her prison certainly did not seem a positive sign. However, then, with a steady, lilting cadence to her voice, she succinctly affirmed, “I did.” Just those two words. Nothing more.

- VIII. THE MISTAKES OF WAR

It’s unfinished; I haven’t updated because I ran out of steam and didn’t receive enough reader feedback encouraging me to continue. Though I did have a very vivid final chapter in mind… that I still love… which I never got to…?

MEMOIRS

HTTYD. YEARS: 2015-2016. LENGTH: 44,289 WORDS. My ongoing collection of drabbles for HTTYD. Angst, pain, comfort, humor, crossovers, crack, it’s all there. Favorites include “Family Portrait,” “Stubble,” “Buffcup the Brawny,” and “Remember When.”

He held her hand softly, one wrinkled hand laid gently on top of another. It was just her and him now in the house all alone – for their children had left on a voyage with the grandkids, and would not be back for a week yet, if even two. It evoked the quietness of the old days, back before they were old, back during the times when they were newlyweds and younger even than their grandchildren were today. Oh, but the smell of her hair was just as refreshing now as when it was blonde.

- REMEMBER WHEN

DINNER AT DRAGON’S EDGE

HTTYD. YEAR: 2015. LENGTH: 5,452 WORDS. The gang’s settling in at Dragon’s Edge. To make sure everything operates smoothly, Hiccup suggests a chore rotation system. That means everyone has to do their fair share of the cooking… but it doesn’t mean everyone is a fair cook.

“Oh my gods, is this dinner or what the rats threw away?” Snotlout exclaimed, terrified at the Unidentified Edible Object before him.

Tuffnut picked it up with one experimental hand and held it out before him at a safe distance. People would have held poisonous snakes or bloodied torture devices more cheerily. Squinting his eyes and peering carefully at the peculiar specimen pinched between his fingers, rubbing under his chin with his other, free hand, Tuffnut remarked, “Looks something like what Barf and Belch poop out after they get sick and…”

- 1. ASSIGNING JOBS

This humorous fic I think is where I do best capturing HTTYD character personalities and interactions.

[SUPER]HERO THE HARD WAY

HTTYD. YEARS: 2014-2017. LENGTH: 86,566 WORDS. In a modern world where Berk is full of superheroes battling the League of Outcasts, power-less Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third struggles to receive appreciation for who he is. Through his crime-fighting journey, Hiccup learns that, while he might not have powers, he can become a Hero the Hard Way.

“I wasn’t born with anything. Don’t have anything. I’m the son of Chief Stoick “Skullcrusher” and I don’t have anything. Not even a superpower to turn objects purple. Which frankly would be completely pointless but at least it would have been something.“

He realized he was babbling and promptly shut his mouth. He looked over at Fishlegs, who appeared to be wordlessly processing the information. The teenager appeared baffled moreso than anything else, which at least meant he was not outright rejecting him.

“So you’re going to train to be a superhero… and you don’t have any powers? I got that right?”

“You got that right.”

“Wow.” Fishlegs said.

Hiccup waited for more.

“That’s actually really cool.”

- CHAPTER THREE: SIDEKICKED

This started as me intending to write one crack chapter. It turned into me envisioning a ROB / DOB modern AU where all characters were superheroes. The final product became a retelling of HTTYD 1′s basic concept: Hiccup gaining his peers’ approval despite being different. Somehow, despite me 70% adlibbing by the seat of my pants (should I be admitting this?), I had great fun. And it brought in the most reviews, follows, and favorites of any of my posted stories! Thanks for the reads and support, everyone!!!

RESET OR RESUME

UT. YEAR: 2016-2017. LENGTH: 85,841 WORDS. Gaster’s research unlocks the secret of time travel. After the Royal Scientist’s untimely end, one of Gaster’s colleagues - Sans - finds himself with the power to Reset. Confronted with unpleasant timelines and dangerous choices, Sans must decide how to navigate through time… if it’s worth resetting for a better future, continuing with hope for the present, or simply giving up.

No longer timid and silent, the human happily babbled all sorts of nonsense to Sans, everything from how to bake snow pies to how weird Sans’ skull looked to how beautiful the ribbon in their hair was to their opinions of Papyrus’ ‘battle body’ to how their mom didn’t like the color black to their personal opinion of ferrets to a long narrative of their encounter with a snail-loving old lady they met on the other side of the Ruins door. Everything could be the topic of a conversation. There was no filter and even less sense of restraint for this child.

“How are you a SKELETON?” their happy little high-pitched voice squeaked. They flew gallantly over a twig that rested, flat, on the surface of the snow. Powder flew everywhere as they landed heavily into the snowbank. “That means – that means you should be DEAD, you know!”

“who says i’m not dead?” Sans trolled with a wink.

With a shrieking giggle, they exclaimed, “Don’t be silly! Only ghosts are dead!”

“i could be a skeleton ghost.”

“No you – no you can’t.” The human seemed to be quite confident about their knowledge in paranormal metaphysics. “You can be a skeleton. You can be a ghost. But nobody – NOBODY – can be a skeleton ghost.”

“is that so?”

“YES so! You CAN’T be both. That would be wrong.” Maybe the human mentally categorized skeletons and ghosts as separate Halloween creatures, ensuring they were mutually exclusive concepts. It was always challenging to comprehend a child’s train of logic. “Except…” and now the child paused, leaning down and tugging at the sleeve of their sweater. Something thoughtful – at least as much as one so young could be thoughtful – passed over their eyes. They cocked their head to the side and stared at Sans. In the same sort of innocence with which they had talked about ferrets, the human inquired, “…can ghosts also be dust?”

- 5. KNOCKS [[File 5.2 IH-20150701-3-3]]

I have particular fondness for this fic. I spent more energy and care with this than any other I’ve posted. Drenched it through with UT lore. Edited and revised thoroughly. Had two beta readers examine my ASL for accurate representation. I wrote extensive outlines that were several page long color-coded charts, had all this meticulous structuring going on…

The problem was, this was an impossibly ambitious project. Life got in the way, too. The 85,841 words here aren’t close to the end of Part 1. The final two Parts were going to explain the weirdness within Part 1 (the story doesn’t begin in chronological order - it gets pieced together like a puzzle). What I planned to write would have included a complex characterization arc for Sans, every human child that’s visited the underground, and multiple resets containing main character deaths… until the story would end with Sans confronting Frisk in the Genocide Route.

Hopefully, despite the incompleteness, this is enjoyable from its comedy to its angst! I would at least encourage people to read the first few chapters! Or “Socks” - an entire chapter devoted to Sans and Gaster pulling sock pranks on each other.

SOMEHOW THEY’RE STILL OFFICERS

FMAB. YEAR: 2018-2019. LENGTH: 6,036 WORDS. Ahhhhhh yes. Team Mustang. The hand-selected, elite group of military officers who effectively spend their time… doing nonsense.

Everyone was scrambling at once. Mustang rushed forward to greet their guest, perfect composure only broken by the fast pace at which he moved. In fact the colonel’s posture was almost a proud enough display to make his lack of shirt go unnoticed. But Falman chucked his cards away at the same time he tried to salute; Breda was ducking from Falman’s sudden card shower; Fuery was launching pants and underwear in Havoc’s face; and Lieutenant Hawkeye, obviously abashed to be in this room at all, was covering her eyes with her hand in what was either her life’s longest sigh, or a pathetic attempt to hide her face and identity.

- WE WERE JUST PLAYING CARDS

My collection of FMA drabbles, particularly stories of Team Mustang shenanigans. Prompts / requests welcome for more adventures!

I have a few other drabbles posted, too. I also have unfinished chapters of Voltron fanfictions on my computer that I could share, too? Maybe I should? I’m currently working on several Royai fanfictions, other FMA drabbles, and a longer Deponia fanfiction.

Thank you again for being so nice and connecting with me over fanfiction and fandom and FMA and more. You’re a really wonderful and cool person and you made my day.

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theonetrueotaku · 6 years ago

Text

Just Another Game

A canon-based Yoongi/everyone fic

Set in 2019, after their world tour and after Answer’s release.

Min Yoongi’s career has put him in bisexual hell: living with six hot bandmates who think it’s really funny to flirt and get handsy with him and with each other all the time. Between constant struggles like not knowing whether he and Jimin nearly made out while drunk, to bed sharing with Jungkook every other night, to not being sure how to stop imagining what it’d be like to kiss Namjoon, it’s only a matter of time before he loses his mind as he realizes he’s in love with six perfect but very straight boys.

After Yoongi drunkenly comes out as bi, he can’t remember the confession the next day. Taken by surprise, the boys lightheartedly start a competition to see who Yoongi finds the most attractive in the group. The objective is set to getting a kiss from Yoongi before he finds out about the competition. Though they mean well, things go downhill fast for all of them. As they each realize they are attracted to Yoongi, they start taking things too far beyond what they’d signed up for.

Chapter 1: Prologue is below the cut.

At the very least, Yoongi could still see his hands clear as day.

That was it. That was the test. Yoongi’s standard for being too drunk was as simple as whether or not he could see his fingers clearly if his eyes darted down at them quickly. If he could see the perfect cut of his nails then he was safe enough.

The laughter that would echo after every little thing he said was not concerning anymore so long as he passed this test. As long as the boys were enjoying his company, the consequences of his words weren’t really top of mind at the moment. In fact, all he could feel was the pleasant warmth that came every time one of the boys smiled at him over something he said. It was happening pretty often. What Yoongi wasn’t aware of was that he was cajoling these reactions out of them through lavish compliments and embarrassing behaviors.

Seeing them all so tipsy and calm after an intense week gave Yoongi some hope for the rest of this wretched break Big Hit had them on. The most pessimistic of the group, Yoongi was bitter that the band was being given the worst kind of time off the company could have possibly envisioned.

Everyone was scrambling.

The stress all started with the Big Initiative. One year of time off, that was the premise. According to Big Hit, it was the real deal: Time for the boys to improve themselves, time for the company to expand. It was supposed to make things easier on both groups. If you heard the boys retell the story, though, their takes were very different. If they really were to take a whole year off for the sake of putting more time into their next release, that wasn’t any kind of vacation offer. That just meant more time to work harder than they ever have before.

It was right about time for Yoongi to start getting bitter when this drinking opportunity came around. He was sure that the boys were happier seeing him make an ass of himself than seeing him preach about the amount of work they do that others don’t give them credit for. Truth be told, Yoongi hated getting like that. It made him sound unappreciative and callous. Conversations like that would always end in a reminder that he was giving ARMY too little credit, and all it would serve to do is sour his mood and leave him feeling guilty.

Being drunk off his ass and having fun for a night was a better alternative. Even Jin must have known that when he’d made the reservation.

Yoongi giggled to himself again. ‘Reservation’ was a strong word.

“What are you laughing at?” Jin asked, reminding Yoongi that his current pillow was living and breathing. A jokingly bitter Jin rubbed at his arm as if it was bruised from how long Yoongi had been lying there. Rolling his eyes, Yoongi didn’t even answer.

A malicious spirit in Yoongi was pretty amused at the idea of how many people Jin must have fought out of their spot just to close an entire in-demand karaoke venue on a Saturday night. Only the finest for the band, echoed Jin’s words in Yoongi’s head.

The youngest half of the band was especially appreciative considering they were supposed to be sitting at home with their tails between their legs. Off-handedly caught playing tag in the building during their practice hours, their instructors treated them to an unnecessary lecture that took Namjoon and Jin everything not to eat their own words over. Yoongi knew those two had the highest respect for their elders, but he could read on their faces how badly they wanted to tell the instructors to bite it after looking at Jimin, Jungkook and Tae’s guilt-ridden faces.

Jin must have sensed how badly they had needed that time off when he made the call. Sure Namjoon was pissed when he heard they wouldn’t be getting the sleep necessary for their practice the next day, but even he seemed to understand that Jin had the right idea.

For someone who got his way, Yoongi would think that Jin would be smiling just a bit more.

“My shoulder is falling asleep,” Jin complained as Yoongi’s head continued to rest on his arm, sharply nestled in muscle there that Yoongi was doing his best not to comment on aloud. It’d come out as a compliment, yes, but he was managing to hold onto this one. That was more than could be said about most other thoughts he’s had so far.

“You’re comfortable,” Yoongi mumbled back, a bit grumpy that Jin was complaining at all. His eyes were focused firmly on the flashing, dizzying lyrics projected onto their screen.

“Oh come on, he’s tired,” Namjoon joked back with a slight tease in his voice that Yoongi worried wasn’t aimed at Jin. “Look at him.”

“I am looking at him - and all I can see is that he’s cutting off my circulation.”

“Leave him alone,” Hobi teased. “When’s the last time you’ve seen him so comfortable?”

“He napped in a massage chair four hours ago,” Jin pointed out. Jimin started giggling at this point. The laugh went on so absurdly long that Yoongi very belatedly began giggling too. “What are you laughing at now?”

Yoongi shrugged, looking up at the glass chandeliers hanging all along the ceiling. Jin had picked a beautiful place. Though he’d never been there before, it didn’t take Yoongi long to feel at home there. Even though they were seven in a private bar for 100 people, they’d made it as cozy as they could by sitting along the stage. Sitting on the longest couch, Yoongi and the eldest of the group were spread out with still enough space for them to all put their feet up on the coffee table - if only Namjoon would let them. Yoongi had to settle for getting his legs up on Namjoon and Hobi’s laps after he complained long enough, leaving Jin with the better but still unenviable position of ‘designated neck pillow’.

It was the least they could do after forcing Yoongi to promise he wouldn’t actually leave them and fall asleep in a corner of the bar. For as long as they were forcing him to stay awake, he would be as comfortable as he could make himself.

Slamming down shots with a very stiff rap line wasn’t the best idea. He could tell they three were the least sober of the bunch. Namjoon and Hobi were lucky enough to be calm drunks, though. Meanwhile, when intoxicated, Yoongi enjoyed an arsenal of personality type potentials. They were rarely in a color the band didn’t love, though, as evidenced now by their smirks and giggles whenever Yoongi made little comments or snips at each of them.

It was comfortable like this, even if he was slowly losing sight of his hands on the next vision test. His sobriety was fading like his once vibrant red hair was paling into a strange brownish-pink. At least he knew he was safe and in for a great night no matter what. His boys would make sure he made it out alright. He was going to sit back and enjoy it. This was the relief he needed. He felt this strange completeness, as if too whole or too happy to care what happened with him.

Draped along one of the giant bean bag chairs was Jimin, looking regal as ever. Yoongi was so paranoid about looking at him nowadays. As he realized now that he was staring at Jimin, he all but blushed when Jimin noticed and threw a casual smile his way.

Unknowingly, Namjoon distracted him as he ruffled his hair. By the time Yoongi looked up, the purple-haired band leader was turning his eyes back to Tae and Jungkook. “Don’t worry about Jin. You rest as long as you like. You deserve it after today.”

“What happened today?” Jin asked, the concern hiding somewhere so deep in his tone that Yoongi decided against teasing him for it. Namjoon didn’t answer, which left Yoongi curious as to exactly what he meant.

“He’s very hard on himself lately,” he heard Hobi say instead. Yoongi made a face and focused back on Tae and Jungkook, in their performance of a lifetime. They were both putting their hearts into it but Yoongi had to resist a giggle. Tae tried his best to make it through an English-language rap while Jungkook hummed syllables in the right notes. Charlie Puth was a favorite of theirs, and See You Again was a great song….Well, where Jungkook could mimic notes just fine without the words, Tae found it much more difficult to rap as Wiz Khalifa, let alone without even knowing the lyrics.

Tae was enjoying it though. No one could put his energy into question. He was ten times more invested in this than anyone in the room. Yoongi immediately had the urge to tease him for it but held back. He needed to be nicer to Tae. It’d only been a few days since he’d been called out on his behavior lately and he intended to make a change.

He debated calling out a compliment to Jungkook, silencing himself when he thought of where that boy’s head seemed to be lately. He didn’t know quite how to move forward with him but it seemed like making him the center of attention would be the wrong move. The more concerned Yoongi acted, the more he knew the boys would get on Jungkook’s case. Worried as he was, Yoongi knew that attention wasn’t what Jungkook wanted.

Turning back to his present company on the large couch, Hobi’s yawn made Yoongi remember the work day they’d had before this. Earlier that day, he, Namjoon, and Hobi spent countless hours at the studio, writing while the others trained. Glancing over at Namjoon now, Yoongi appreciated the difference between how Namjoon had been feeling before and how happy he looked now.

Playing leader and songwriter at once was weighing on Namjoon, apparent by the subtle bags forming under his eyes. They were all going to be called out soon for not getting enough sleep, but Namjoon in particular looked exhausted. The entire time they were working at the studio, he’d bring up the others and how he wanted to check in on them during their break. The rap line never took breaks, so Namjoon withered away in his thoughts all day as Yoongi watched. Looking at his lip, his memory was served with confirmation that Namjoon was still mercilessly peeling away at his bottom lip whenever he got too distracted.

After him, Jin was the closest to match Namjoon’s tired posture. As the oldest, Jin determined the tone of the group. So long as he kept his head up, Yoongi knew they had a chance of surviving. It was only after turning his head and staring up at Jin for far too long that Yoongi even noticed it looked like he was losing sleep too.

Pouting, Yoongi’s stare moved right back to Namjoon at just the wrong time. Reminded again of Namjoon’s new hair color, Yoongi kept his eyes on the way the color would weave in shades that matched his skin tone so perfectly. It brought out his eyes in ways Yoongi had once gotten far too used to.

Namjoon’s eyes were meeting Yoongi’s gaze for a very long time before Yoongi finally startled. By the time he realized he’d been caught, he had to wonder how long he must have been staring. Namjoon’s smile had disappeared. The concern in his gaze immediately had Yoongi stammering for an excuse only to get cut off:

“Is there something on my face, hyung?” Namjoon swiped a finger across his cheek and pouted when he found nothing, a little too tipsy to realize that he was misunderstanding.

Yoongi took the excuse for what it was worth. Pretending to wipe something off the corner of Namjoon’s lip, Yoongi had tried to concentrate on one patch of his skin to really sell the lie. Unfortunately, his eyes wandered and he found himself looking up at Namjoon’s hair again as his finger swiped the edge of his lip.

“I really love your hair like this,” Yoongi said so quickly that he didn’t even register his own words for a minute. The sincerity of the complement, his hand right on Namjoon’s mouth, and the lack of distance between them all spelled out immediate regrets for Yoongi.

For some reason or another, Namjoon seemed equally shaken by their proximity.

“I miss the blue,” Jin interrupted without looking away from his phone. Though Hobi made a tsking sound at the rudeness of the comment, he didn’t defend anyone, clearly resigned to accepting this is the way these boys would talk to each other.

“Me too,” Yoongi mumbled, still startled and not coming to his senses.

“Which one is it, Yoongi? Do you like his purple now or do you miss the blue?” Hobi asked, calling him out on his words. Now Namjoon even looked a little bothered.

“Blue was good, but I like purple the most,” Yoongi said, choosing honesty and the resulting embarrassment over stressing Namjoon out about his choice of hair color. Or maybe Yoongi was honestly afraid Namjoon would change it if he thought people didn’t like it. He had just barely started enjoying the view-

Ooh, that thought was dangerous.

Swallowing hard, Yoongi avoided all of their eyes and looked forward instead. Almost on cue, he made eye contact with a tired-looking Jimin.

He was still sitting alone while Tae and Jungkook went for a well-requested encore. Yoongi wished he was leaning his body on him instead. Unlike Jin, Jimin wouldn’t complain about the weight or the burden. Yoongi would even be pulled in tightly and cud-

These thoughts were getting carried away.

Yoongi knew he and Jimin needed a tiny bit of space between them, especially while drunk. Especially after last time.

Even so, that part of him that kept thinking dangerous things suddenly wanted to hear Jimin sing. He wanted a serenade at least if he couldn’t touch him instead.

Dangerous thinking.

As Jungkook and Tae finished, Yoongi almost immediately blurted out his thoughts as the boys handed a mic to Jimin. “Jiminie, sing me a song!” he announced across the couch to a very amused blond vocalist.

“Hyung, don’t worry. I’m singing everyone a song,” he teased back in a slanted tone. He was tipsy too, huh.

“No, Jimin, sing me a song,” Yoongi called back over the noise of the karaoke machine prompting a new song selection. Jimin looked confronted, even nervous for the entire time that he was choosing a song.

Read the rest of this chapter “Prologue” on AO3.

Follow this Tumblr for extra scenes. Send an ask to be put on the tag list when I update.

#min yoongi #kim taehyung #taegi #jeon jungkook #yoonkook #park jimin #yoonmin #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #sope

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