#I low-key forgot how to draw ribbons so
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
yourlocalsayorikin · 4 months ago
Text
A Mafuyu sketch I did during class :p
Tumblr media
21 notes · View notes
sereia4skz · 7 days ago
Note
Dear Sereia,
How have you been?
The last few weeks have been very exciting, all of Felix friends are welcoming me so nicely or well
they are eager at least. There’s only one guy that has been quite reluctant to talk to me, but not the way grumpy Seungmin did.
Hyunjin, the little hybrid ferret is still keeping his distance, he’s trying to not be as obvious around me, but I know his little secret. When Felix, He and I went shopping a few days ago, I tried on some cute dresses and lo and behold there was a little ferret hand with a tiny camera in it
where did he even get that small of a cam?! So after that I went through my whole bedroom and found a few more. So I made a plan to trick him, if he wants to film he can come close and do it, don’t you think? So I got my prettiest dolliest lace set ready and I’ll purposefully moan his name really loud until he has no other choice to give into his urges and film and take me himself (Hyunjin is supposed to be dom but shy in this ask).
I will keep you updated on how things go! I hope your weeks are as exciting as mine and that we see each other real soon!
Lots of love!
1k Followers Event | shy cameraman and his doll
pairing: ferret!Hyunjin x fem!reader
genre: smut
warnings: orginally he's filming without her explicit consent (she doesn't care), dubcon, he calls her doll, filming, lingerie
event masterlist: #1kShootingStars
â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â‹†ïœĄÂ°âœ©
Sweetie, the things you've been getting up to. How bold? 
He's lucky you seem to like him.  Good luck with your plan!
Love, Reia
â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â‹†ïœĄÂ°âœ©
Your room smelled like roses and something sweeter, something only you wore when you wanted to be devoured.
Every corner was a trap. The dresser had one of Hyunjin’s little spy cameras peeking from behind a perfume bottle last week. Now it stared at the wall. You'd found three more, one tucked behind a potted plant, one half-buried in a plushie on your shelf, and the tiniest, barely-there one inside your travel jewelry box. Clever, sneaky little thing, but not clever enough.
Now they were all covered or dismantled, and he had no eyes left but his own, and if he wanted to watch, he’d have to really watch.
The lace set you’d picked was practically made for this. Icy white, thin enough to be translucent in the glow of your bedside lamp, with delicate powder-blue accents, ribbons trailing from the garter straps, a matching satin bow between your breasts. The cups sat like whispers on your chest, lifting and barely covering your nipples, trimmed in soft scalloped lace that felt like it melted on your skin. The panties were the same, high-cut and dainty, pressing between your folds like a secret. You looked like a doll someone forgot to shelve.
You slipped onto the bed with a graceful sigh, spine arching into the plush pillows as you arranged yourself just so, one leg bent, the other lazily draped open. Every movement deliberate, every sound just a little too sweet, drawing attention.
Your fingers drifted across your stomach, down between your thighs. You teased yourself with feather-light strokes, catching the slick wetness already gathering. You were warm, needy. Your body buzzed with anticipation, knowing he was probably just outside your door as you reached into your nightstand, grabbing a toy.
The toy clicked on, humming low and steady in your palm. You traced it along your folds pulling the delicate panties to the side, slow, gentle strokes from your clit to your entrance, and back again. A quiet gasp slipped from your lips. Then another, softer moan, as the vibration passed over your clit.
You didn’t fake the pleasure, that was the key, this wasn’t a performance. It was an invitation. A creak of floorboards. 
“Mm
 fuck
” you sighed, lifting your hips slightly to meet the toy. “So good
”, then, louder, just enough to echo into the hallway: “Hyunjin
”
There was a pause outside your door. A breath caught. A hiccup. You smiled to yourself, eyelids fluttering as your thighs parted wider. The toy pressed firmer against your clit now, making your hips twitch and roll. The rhythm was delicious, circling, teasing, working you open inch by inch. Another moan fell from your lips, high and breathy, soaked in want.
You moaned again, his name again, with more hunger, breathier, as if saying it might summon him. “Hyunjin, please
”
The door creaked, just a little. Enough for you to see the shape of him, narrow shoulders, long limbs, big curious eyes peeking from the shadowed hallway. His hand clutched the doorframe like a lifeline.
“Come in,” you murmured, soft and beckoning, letting the toy fall still against your clit. “Don’t make me beg
”
He stepped in slowly, like prey instead of predator. Messy hair, cheeks burning, ferret ears twitching in tiny anxious flicks. His eyes dropped to your body, and stayed. He looked wrecked just from seeing you.
You reached down with both hands, spreading your folds with delicate fingers. Wet and shining. Ready for him. “I got all dressed up for you,” you whispered, voice low and sweet. “Want you so bad, Hyunjin. Just ask me, baby
 ask me for what you want.”
His lips parted like he’d forgotten how to speak. His voice came out rough and unsure. “Can
 can I have you?”
You nodded, slowly, deliberately, hips rocking just once. “Of course.”
He nearly tripped out of his clothes. Shirt discarded in a messy pile. Pants yanked down, boxers shoved aside. His cock sprang free, slim and flushed pink, already leaking. His hands trembled as he opened the condom, rolling it down with clumsy fingers.
“Can I
 record?” he asked again, biting his lip.  
“You better,” you purred, hips tilting upward for the camera. “Want you to see how perfect you make me feel.”
Kneeling between your legs, phone in hand. He aimed the lens right at your dripping pussy. The camera light blinked on.
He pushed in slowly. The tip of his cock nudging your entrance, then easing past the tight, slick heat. The stretch made you shiver. You moaned for him, soft and breathless, and he groaned, nearly dropping the phone. The wet noise of him sinking into you was obscene. He bottomed out with a whimper, staring at where his cock disappeared between your folds.
“Fuck, fuck- y-you’re so pretty,” he breathed. “The prettiest little doll
”
He started to move, hips rocking shallowly as he held the phone steady. You clenched around him and he whimpered again, the camera catching the way your pussy fluttered around him with every thrust. 
And then he lost focus. The phone wobbled, dipped
 He dropped it entirely when your hand tugged him forward by the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. It was messy, so needy. Tongues brushing, teeth clashing. He fucked you deeper now, hips snapping harder, panting into your mouth.
You broke the kiss to moan, forehead pressed to his. “Don’t stop, please~ Hyunjin, please”
He groaned, almost crying, cock twitching inside you. “Gonna- gonna come~ oh my god, you feel so good, my sweet doll-”
Your orgasm hit like a wave. Your whole body tensed, back arching, mouth falling open in a high, breathy cry. You pulsed around him, tight and wet and squeezing. He followed nearly immediately with a desperate whimper, hips grinding deep as he filled the condom, breath caught in his throat.
You clung to each other, breath mingling, heat curling around you both like a blanket, he kissed your cheek. Soft, reverent. 
"Gonna paint you, so pretty, like a porcelain dolly", he breathed into your ear, placing soft kisses along your nape.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, your thighs wrapped around his waist. When he finally pulled out, he eased off the condom, tossing it aside before curling up behind you and wrapping his arms tight around your waist, nuzzling into your shoulder with a satisfied sigh.
Both of you forgot the phone on the bed beside you, still recording.
â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â”â‹†ïœĄÂ°âœ©
taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios
97 notes · View notes
scribeofmorpheus · 5 years ago
Text
Covet of the Wolf  [2]
Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)
Warnings: language, references of blood and injury.
A/N: I do love using Peter as a shenanigan plot driver, he’s so dramatic I couldn’t resist. Some characters from the previous series will begin to take backseat because i’m juggling waaaay to may characters. lmfaooo.
Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps â˜ș
<< Previous Series | Series Masterlist >>
Tumblr media
[previous][○][next]
~
“Peter,” Derek all but growled. You could picture his snarl without having to look at his face.
The dark silhouette stepped out of the shadow, “Hello, lovers.”
It was indeed Peter. Older, silver streaks growing in places that weren’t there the last time you saw him. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and wide—unsettlingly so. He cocked his head to the side, that shit-eating grin of his lining the skin around his lips. He seemed smaller somehow. Thinner.
You swallowed. The anger you felt towards Derek and your little—or perhaps big—argument was shelved to the back of your mind.
Derek marched down towards Peter so they stood on the same even ground. This wasn’t at all how you’d pictured their reunion. A hug may have been too much of a fantastical notion, but a handshake at the least seemed appropriate. They did neither, simply staring each other in the eye as if speaking through the flinches and blinks.
“What are you doing here?” Derek asked.
“What?” Peter held up his hands to show he bore no ill will. Then he reached into his back pocket and waved a card with delicate calligraphy letters on it. “I was invited.”
Derek snatched the card, “This is my invitation card. Did you break into my loft?”
“Can’t break in if you know where the key is,” Peter walked around Derek and headed for the homestead. “Best go greet the stunning brides to be. Y/N.” He tilted his head at you.
“Peter,” you half-smiled. It was a relief to see he was alright. The current situation, however, not ideal. You didn't know how to react, so you let the Hale's do all the reacting.
Derek grabbed Peter’s elbow, “What are you really doing here, Peter.”
Peter shrugged then winked, “It’s like I said. I’m just here for a wedding.”
 The tub was warm, reminding you of warm summers swimming in the lake as a kid. Your skin had started to prune, but you also knew that once you got out the tub, that meant facing Derek. Facing the tension.
An unexpected knock at the door made you gasp. Derek’s voice had that mix of concern and soft-spoken weariness: “You alright in there?” He wanted to make up. “I got towels.”
You glanced at the stack of towels on the shelf by the soap and smiled, “Come in.”
He opened the door slowly and walked with a low hanging head. He sat on the edge of the tub, not making eye contact.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he ran his hand through his hand, the curling ends were still a foreign sight to see. They did shape around his face beautifully though. “I guess being here, with all the
 I just forgot what it was like.”
“What what was like?”
“Being around family
feeling like a part of one.”
You took his hand and kissed between the dips on his knuckles, “Just so we’re clear, I’m not saying no. I just don’t think we should be thinking about marriage when we still don’t know the full effect of the mark.”
You kissed the bandage hiding his mark. He recoiled subtly, pretending to shift to a more comfortable sitting position on the floor.
“You can’t tell me it doesn’t bother you—”
Derek grumbled, head leaning back onto the tubs walls, “Of course it bothers me. It itches a little.” He smiled warmly.
You rolled your eyes, “That’s not what I meant. If the mark didn’t bother you, why do you get all prickly around Peter? And don’t tell me it’s always been that way
You avoided talking about him the last couple of months and now that he’s here you practically looked like you were ready to tear his throat out. Why?”
Derek shrugged, “It’s Peter.”
“Derek,” you sighed.
“Okay, I just
He never shows up out of the blue for no reason.”
“Maybe he missed you.”
Derek huffed, “I’m sure he did.”
You snaked your wet arms around his neck and whispered low, “I know if I didn’t get to see your handsome face for a long time, I’d be really, really lonely.”
Derek craned his neck so his lips were close enough to feel the heat of his cheeks and lips. You indulged in his open invitation and kissed him, deeply. Derek found your hand and laced your fingers in his.
 Maggie and Caleb were arguing about something in her room, you had been busy checking boxes, making sure everyone was dressed and all the flowers were in the right places. Derek and Peter hadn’t been seen all morning. You imagined they were out in the hills arguing or something.
Jonah needed not one but two shirt changes because he kept getting them stained.  The first stain was jam and the second was a coffee stain. Jonah didn’t drink coffee, but he did like peddling it out as a bribe for something. Esme had taken over Markus’s room for the day and Markus had returned from the airport with Stiles.
“Stiles,” you hugged him warmly, a frown pulling on your face. “I thought you were bringing Lydia?”
Stiles winked and pulled out a tablet, “I am, she’s just going to be a couple thousand miles away.”
You shook your head, “And they say romance is dead.”
“I’ll just go set this up in the barn quickly,” he smiled like a goof from ear to ear.
Maggie looked gorgeous in her dress, you had to run up to her room to drag Caleb by the collar away because they kept fighting over the pettiest squabbles. Derek and Peter reappeared just in time for the start of the ceremony. Neither looked too pleased. Derek made every effort to seem okay. You could tell he wasn’t. Even Stiles was behaving suspiciously around him, whispering with a frown of his own when they were together. Derek’s habit of secret-keeping was getting under your skin.
If you had had time to think, you would have found everything a little strange, but there was barely enough time left to get dressed before the ceremony started.
You couldn’t reach the zipper at the back of your bridesmaid dress. It was green, not a lime green that was too bright or a forest green that was too velvety and dark; the dress was almost deep emerald, not silky in material and tight. Maggie was never one for body-hugging dresses, she enjoyed wide felt skirts, and her preferences showed obviously in her choice of bridesmaid dress.
Out of nowhere, Derek’s warm hands met yours and he whispered something as he helped zip you up: “Green is definitely your colour.”
You blushed, the reflection in the mirror was breath-taking. Derek in a dark suit with no tie and an unbuttoned collar. You in the dress that complemented his human eyes. His large hands on your waist. The flush of your cheeks matching the shade of lipstick.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” you turned around and tugged his suit jacket. “We should take a picture. Commemorate the moment. Something tells me it will be a long time before I see you in a suit again.”
“Hmmm,” he leaned in and kissed you. “You’re hard to forget. Especially today.”
The first bell tolled.
You pulled Derek with you as you left the room, “Come, we should get to our places.”
 The ceremony was small, simple in a delicate and intentional way that could be described as classy. As Deaton officiated, everyone was thrown off when Esme had been the first to shed a tear during the vow exchange. The red ribbon that bound Maggie and Esme’s right hands was the only vibrantly rich colour that stood out. Caleb explained it was a homage to hand-fasting.
Stiles sat next to an empty chair occupied by his tablet, Lydia, who dressed for the occasion despite being miles away, watched through a laggy video chat connection.
The reception was quieter. A few people exchanged jokes and Caleb got hilariously drunk on white wine. You were a little tipsy yourself, snuggled next to Derek who smelled of a rather expensive cologne you weren’t used to.
Peter looked bored, so you ventured over to pick his brain a little.
“Peter,” you announced yourself as you sat down on the empty chair beside him.
“Don’t you look radiant today,” he sipped whiskey.
“Where’d you get that?”
“You’re family has quite the collection of alcohol in that alcohol cabinet of yours.”
You leaned close to whisper, “We aren’t supposed to steal from Dad’s cabinet.”
“Well,” Peter sipped his whiskey slower, savouring the taste. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
You noticed he wasn’t wearing a bandage to hide his mark.
“You want to see it?” Peter raised a brow.
“What?”
“The mark.”
You looked over at Derek, he was in the middle of having a one-sided conversation with Jonah. You felt guilty but you didn’t know why.
“Yes,” you nodded.
Peter rolled up his sleeve. The mark was still—no longer moving under the skin. A raw colour, pinkish-red like a rash. The symbol was familiar to you. You’d seen it somewhere, or at least an iteration of it.
The crows from Deaton’s photograph, you realised. A double spiral.
You were drawn to the symbol, wanting to touch it, hoping it would hold all the answers if you just reached out

Without warning, everyone’s heads pulled up, nostrils growing larger and then smaller. A werewolf tick. It was only the non-supernaturals that didn’t react; you, Stiles, Deaton, Maggie and Caleb. Them and Peter.
“Right on cue,” Peter took his final drink of whiskey.
Derek stood from his chair, an accusatory stare burning imaginary holes in Peter’s skull.
Peter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stake. He tossed it at Derek, “You’re gonna need that.”
“What did you do?” Derek’s eyes glowed blue, the stake shaking in his fist. The commotion drawing everyone’s attention. Your stomach churned and you felt nauseous.
“I may have run into some trouble,” Peter shrugged. “You weren’t answering my calls. I needed a little help.”
“So you led them here?” Derek moved quick, suddenly Peter’s shirt was bunched up in Derek’s fists. You sat back down. Vertigo getting the better of you.
“Can someone explain what’s happening?” Stiles asked the room.
Derek hissed, letting go of Peter’s shirt to grab his arm.
“It’s the order
” you whispered in realisation.
Stiles threw his hands up in the air, his next words coming out loud and exasperated: “I thought they weren’t a problem anymore.”
Peter frowned as if innocent, “See, I thought so too. But apparently, something crawled out of a very old box when we killed the old man walking around in my little nephew’s brain. And Astrid tells me it’s a sign of the end of days. Blah, blah, blah. So naturally, some wanted revenge. I—I may have overestimated myïżœïżœïżœability to handle things and
well now I’m here.”
Maggie stood up from her chair, anger turning her skin a terrifying shade of red, “So you used my wedding as bait?”
Esme grabbed Maggie’s hand as if to hold her back.
“Safety in numbers,” Peter winked.
The barn doors flew off their hinges. Everything happened so fast. Snarls, slashing claws, a few curse words exchanged like it was Secret Santa. At one point, one of the last remnants of the order got close enough to Caleb to slash at his belly while he shielded Maggie. Out of the blue, two other people arrived, both men and both friendlies from what you could tell. One had a greying beard and short sandy brown hair. He was holding a shotgun because it would seem the Hale's didn't have any friends who baked or had a more domestic hobby than werewolf hunting. The other younger of the two was handsome, with sad eyes that drooped like a puppy's. They were a werewolf yellow, a colour you’d only ever seen on Jonah. His were more intense. Brighter. At one point, you thought you heard Stiles mutter the name, “Isaac.”
You didn’t care, there was no time to care about anything other than Caleb. You rushed over to Caleb’s side to tend to his wound. It was then, as you held his stomach and had trouble breathing that you realised just how beautiful he looked in his blue velvet suit.
 The ringing in Derek’s ears was superficial. The sharp stabbing pain it brought to his ears meant nothing next to the chaos unfolding in the room.
The white cloth on the joined dining tables was soaked on one end, a deep red, almost black under the candle light in the barn.
Derek’s heart beat rapidly. He hadn’t felt like this in a long, long time. Was it hopelessness? Fear? Dread? All of them at once?
Instinctively, his hand sought after yours. He could feel you, smell the faint scent of your perfume, behind him. But you didn’t take his hand.
Derek glanced behind him and saw you there, applying pressure to Caleb’s gut wound. Shock in your eyes. A look he swore to himself you’d never wear again. Not while he was by your side. But there it was, wide eyes and quivering lips failing to stay shut behind a clenched jaw. And this, all this destruction. The blood. The weeping brides—one out of anger, the other out of desperation. The blood soaked table cloth. And a severed head held in Peter’s hand. All this happened because of him.
Derek looked down at the mark that could pass for a rash on his arm. His claws extended and he tried to cut it out. But it simply healed back to normal.
This was all because of him. Him and that damned mark.
Standing beside him, unseen by all except Peter, was Alyster.
Dead Alyster living in Derek’s mind. Incorporeal, but all the same there, knocking about in his grey matter.
“Today was meant to be a happy day,” Alyster spoke with a faint shiver of regret. His voice contained to Derek’s consciousness. To the supernatural mark. Alyster’s face held a sadness permanently plastered to his drooping, lined eyes. “It would have been. If you had listened.”
Blood meandered from Derek’s nose to his chin. That smell. He knew that smell. It was pungent, earthy. The smell of decay. And it was coming from the severed head in Peter’s hand.
Suddenly the head began to mummify, skin turning leathery, cheeks sunken to the teeth.
Someone screamed, maybe it was Jonah maybe it wasn’t. A retch or two, some disgusted sounds. But Derek couldn’t focus on anything. His senses were running rampant.
Peter dropped the head. It didn’t land with a squelching sound. It didn’t land at all. Before it reached the ground, it turned to dust. Millions upon millions of finite skin particles reduced to a puff of dusty brown.
“You’re an asshole, Peter,” Derek was panting, his words wheezy.
“You should have answered my calls,” Peter’s face was glistening with sweat. “Jerk.”
Peter’s nose bled too. He didn’t seem to fight the pain. But Derek did. He held out, for as long as he could. Then, like lead balloons, both Peter and he fell. The mark burning like hellfire.
A connection severing from the collective. One of many considering the other dust piles on the floor.
Members of the Order of Sagittarius had just been killed.
And it was by their hand. Again.
Tumblr media
44 notes · View notes
silver-wield · 5 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
Fanfiction dork has returned!
Red XIII lay in a cramped corner of the cargo bay on the ship travelling from Junon Harbor. The group sneaked on board during Rufus Shinra's inauguration celebration and disguised themselves as public security to hide in plain sight. “How much longer until we arrive at Costa del Sol?”
Tracking Sephiroth was almost too easy and Cloud had his suspicions why, but kept them to himself. He didn't want to worry anyone when it could be nothing.
“Cloud?” Red pawed at Cloud's leg.
“Hmm? Oh, sorry.” His frown cleared and he shrugged. “By morning, most likely. If we don't run into trouble.” The ship had weapons and onboard defenses for dealing with large monsters. Who knew what floated beneath them just waiting for the chance to attack unsuspecting travellers?
Red sighed. “It's stuffy down here.”
Cloud took his helmet off and swiped a forearm across his sweaty brow as though just noticing the heat. “It's too risky you coming up on deck right now. Someone could spot you.” He looked around and put his helmet back on. “I'll send one of the others later when it's dark, okay?”
Red lowered his head. “I suppose I've endured worse.”
Guilt pinged Cloud's conscience, but also a lingering sense of relatability fogged his mind. He grimaced and gripped the side of his head as a momentary flash of something hit, bringing with it a headache. A familiar voice echoed in his ears and he swung round, drawing in a sharp breath.
“The subject's lack of tolerance to mako make it unfit for further study. I have therefore marked it for disposal and dissection.”
No. No. Don’t. Please.
“Cloud!”
Icy cold and breathing hard, Cloud didn't hear Red calling him at first. A sharp heat swiped his calf. The gun-metal grey walls of the ship snapped back into focus, wiping out the hazy, green-tinged visage. Who was that? He felt like he should know.
“Cloud, are you sick?”
Looking down, Cloud noticed a faint scorch mark on his trouser leg. “Nah, I'm fine,” he replied in a dismissive tone. “It's the heat.” Realising complaining sounded unfair when he could leave the stuffy berth and get some fresh air, he grimaced again. “I'll send someone for you soon as it's dark.”
“All right.” Red settled down in the corner. “Although I don't see why Barret gets to stay up top. He's more conspicuous than I am.”
Cloud bit off a short chuckle. “You haven't seen what he's wearing?” The girls couldn't find a uniform that fit, so they raided the sailors' lockers instead. Luckily, they found one they could cut and stitch together on the fly before they left. Barret had to lose the gun, which was left with Red to guard.
“Take a picture for me,” Red replied, tipping his head to the side and grinning.
“I don't have a death wish,” Cloud joked, shaking his head. “Remember, stay out of sight.”
“You can count on me.”
~*~*~
Got dark quick. What month is it, anyhow? Cloud wandered the deck, copying the patrol pattern he'd noted, though it felt like he didn't have to memorise it to know how public security officers would move about. Why is that? Eh, forget it. He'd already sent Aerith to fetch Red, moving the biggest liability out of sight for a while. Barret positioned himself at the front of the boat where the spray was heaviest. It meant less people would head that way; a smart move from someone known for impulsive choices. That leaves Tifa. Cloud frowned and looked around for her. He hadn't seen her since they'd separated at an alley in Junon City to board separately. Cloud's unique appearance made him an easy target, so he'd put himself on distraction duty. Before that, he and Tifa sneaked into the city to get the elevator moving for the others stuck down in the undercity. It was the only way up.
Gaze panning skyward, Cloud spotted movement on one of the high catwalks. Of course she's up there. Always goes where she can fall the furthest. Not even a public security uniform could hide her identity to him. He knew it was her from the way she carried herself. The way she stood. He'd know it was her anywhere.
Cloud climbed the ladders to reach Tifa's position.
“U-uh, everything quiet over here.” She offered a clumsy salute to go with the artificially deep voice.
Cloud stifled a laugh by pretending to cough. “Girls work for Shinra too, you know,” he said, to relieve her concern.
“Cloud?” Tifa's shoulders dropped. “You startled me.” She put a hand to her chest and took a deep breath. “I don't know what I would've done if you'd been a real soldier.”
Cloud's brows pinched beneath his helmet. A real soldier? Aren't I? No. I'm an Ex-SOLDIER. “You can handle it,” he said as a throwaway compliment.
Tifa laughed. “And don't you forget it.” She turned to grip the railing with both hands and leant forward.
“Careful.” He took a step in her direction.
“Sure thing,” she replied in a cheerful voice.
Watching her for a moment, Cloud became away of the lengthening silence. It was pleasant, but he found himself wanting to fill it. To hear her voice. Focus her attention on him. “So...what do you think of the uniform?”
Tifa turned his way and tipped her head to the side. After a slight hesitation, she said, “It looks good on you.”
“Huh? You think it looks good on me?” Cloud ducked his head. “Uh, thanks.” He could feel his cheeks turning red.
“Oh! You meant—I thought you were asking—!” Tifa's laugh was adorably self-conscious. She linked her hands behind her back and shifted from side to side. “It's okay. Apart from the helmet.” She stopped moving. “...Do you think it'll be okay if I take it off for a bit? It's kind of stuffy.”
Cloud looked around. No one about. He nodded. “Should be okay for a bit.”
“Phew.” Tifa lifted the helmet off and her hair unravelled down her back like a length of ribbon. She shook her head from side to side. “That's better.” She put it on the floor.
Why not? Cloud took his helmet off and held it one-handed. Hearing Tifa laugh, his eyes widened, asking a silent question.
“Your hair.” Tifa pointed. “I didn't think anything could flatten it.”
Embarrassed, Cloud tried to smooth a hand through the spikes. From the growing look of amusement on Tifa's face, he guessed he was making it worse.
“Here, let me?” Tifa nodded and smiled as she waited for permission.
“Uh, sure. Thanks.” Cloud nodded and dipped his head a little as Tifa came close. She reached up and he could feel her gloved fingers teasing his hair. Her gaze was focused on her task, and he found himself smiling at the concentration on her face. A small smile teased the corners of her lips and a faint frown fluttered between her brows. Her breaths were steady and even, but each one brought her closer to him. Or was he moving closer to her? His free hand touched her hip and he heard a slightly sharper in-drawn breath, but she didn't stop what she was doing. In fact, had her movements become more caressing? Was he imagining it? She bit her lower lip and Cloud stifled a moan. He tried to keep his gaze centred on her cheek, but his eyes kept flitting to hers, watching slight movements she made as she fussed with his hair. The atmosphere felt good. It was soft and warm and he didn't want it to end. This is nice. But, she was taking a while. What if she thought he was taking advantage? He didn’t want to think badly of him. “No good?” he whispered in a low voice.
Tifa's eyes went to his and widened. “Oh.” She took a step back. Her hand caught and knocked Cloud's helmet from his grip. It clattered to the floor. “Sorry. I was—I mean, I didn't realise—”
Damn it. Shouldn't have startled her. He didn't realise how much he'd enjoyed her being that close until she wasn't any longer. “It's fine. Is it okay now?” He lifted a hand to his hair.
“Yeah,” she replied in a soft voice. Nodding more firmly, she added, “It looks good.”
“Everything okay up there?!”
The shout from below had Tifa scooping up Cloud's helmet from where it fell and jamming it on his head, as he grabbed her around the waist and positioned her out of sight in front of him with her back against the railing. If the grunt caught sight of her he'd call for back up. Girls worked for Shinra, but he doubted any looked like Tifa. “Just taking a breather!” he called over his shoulder. “Dropped my keys!”
“Copy that!” The Shinra grunt continued on his patrol pattern.
Cloud watched him from the corner of his eye until he couldn't see him any longer, then let out a relieved sigh. “Quick thinking,” he said to Tifa. He hadn't thought about his own distinctive hairstyle. He'd been preoccupied with keeping her safe.  
“T-thanks,” she whispered, keeping her head tucked against him.
Cloud swallowed. She was closer now than when she'd been playing with his hair. He gripped the railing with one hand and had the other around her waist, held flat against her lower back. He could feel one of her hands on his bicep and the other against his chest and he cursed the thickness of Shinra's uniforms. “You okay?” He said the words against her cheek, almost like he kissed her.
“I guess, I just...forgot where we were for a moment,” she murmured after a pause. When she stepped back, she gave him a sheepish smile, her cheeks a deep pink in the dim lighting. “This isn't a pleasure cruise.”
Something in his gut shifted as she said the word “pleasure”. Part of him wished it was just that, but there were bigger motives driving their actions. Once I settle things, then everything will be okay. “Yeah,” he said, voice flat and unhappy. “You should probably put your helmet back on.”
“Right.” She didn't sound any happier about it than he did. As Tifa bent over to scoop it up, something knocked into the ship and made it tilt to the side. “Oh!”
“Tifa!” Cloud darted a hand out and grabbed her arm. Pulling her close once more, he turned and scowled towards the ship's bow. “Felt like something hit us.”
“Yeah. Monster, maybe?” Tifa gathered her hair up and stuffed it under the helmet as she put it back on. “Should we check it out?”
Cloud had a quick internal debate with that annoying voice who made him dance at the Honeybee Inn.
If it's a monster, Shinra'll deal with it.
And if they can't?
Not my problem.
You're on the boat, Buddy. You going down with the ship?
Shit.
Tutting under his breath, Cloud nodded. “Probably should.” He moved away from Tifa and towards the ladder.
“Barret's over there, too, right?”
Cloud huffed. “God damn it. Yeah.”
Tifa nodded. “Then, let's hurry. Who knows what kind of trouble he's gotten himself into?”
Sliding down the ladder, Cloud and Tifa rushed to the front of the ship where they found Barret fending off some kind of squid monster trying to climb its way on board.
“'Bout time you two showed up!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Cloud reached for his sword and grabbed air. “Shit.” His gear was below deck, along with Barret's gun.
“What now?!”
Tifa couldn't fend it off with just her fists, no matter how capable she was.
“Is it my turn now?” Aerith and Red appeared from the rear and put themselves in front of Cloud and Barret.
“You two have no weapons. Let us deal with this.”
Cloud glanced at Tifa, who nodded in agreement. “Fine. Be careful. Barret, pull back.”
Barret slapped a tentacle away. “Eh, who are you to be giving me orders?”
“Just do it!” Cloud spun on his heel and moved out of range, glancing over his shoulder to check Barret followed.
“We got this, guys!”
Cloud's gaze panned to the upper deck. “Could shoot it,” he suggested to Barret.
Barret laughed. “Now you're talking my language! Let's go!” Slapping Cloud on the back so hard he staggered forward, they ran to the upper deck and the harpoon gun...
38 notes · View notes
twistednuns · 5 years ago
Text
February 2020
I managed to use my iPad as a second monitor for my computer. So tech savvy. Yay me!
Joking about developing a sex-based cardio programme with Manu. Powerfucking! Might help against aggression as well.
A late night phone call with Tom. Not saying much.
Making a huge pot of my grandmother’s signature veggie stew.
More Bon AppĂ©tit test kitchen videos. Chris recreating tacos. Claire making Ben&Jerry’s. Priya making her mum’s Indian curries.
Writing a letter to Lena. Drawing upside down bats (which makes them look like they’re having a wicked dance-off). Just the act of writing. I thoroughly enjoy looking at my handwriting.
Using the Salted Coconut handscrub by Lush. Especially now that I wash my hands so often when we’re working with clay at school. I feel like the peeling triggers some pressure points on my palms.
That Saturday productivity high. Cooking and preparing heaps of stuff, cleaning the windows, doing laundry.
Painting my nails like an expressionist artist.
Some portrait studies. Accidentally drawing Sirius Black.
Being really motivated to improve my Spanish. Working with Lorena, the Duolingo app and even starting my own grammar/vocabulary book.
This ultra quirky ASMR video. Also: watching videos with Erin an her boyfriend Chris. It’s amazing how well they work together. How you can almost feel their connection, how similar they are.
Carrot cake oats.
Seeing the The Darkness live again, this time with Margit. Justin’s outfit and personality, singing along, especially to Time of my Life, the band’s traditional first song after the show.
Meeting Chris. Having a Bramblette cocktail at Pusser’s. I like that place. Feels very old-timey with a rowing boat right under the ceiling. We made out in front of a tiger slide in a toy store window on our way to the next bar.
Peeling fresh carrots.
Pickling onions and making kimchi. My fermentation game is strong these days!
Looking through Dominik’s sketchbook. I loved the tree whose bark resembled a mole burrow with its underground tunnel system.
The flu. Yes, really. Fewer pupils at school. Quiet times. I’m actually surprisingly healthy. I’d guess my probiotics must play a role here
 Who knows.
More sourdough experiments. Writing about it (DELICACY - a haiku. Oven-warm sourdough / salted butter, alpine cheese / and a strawberry).
Finding a really interesting list of SanFran hippie era book recommendations at the end of Robin Sloan’s Ajax Penumbra: 1969. In the mood to read Maya Angelou, Tom Wolfe, Jack Kerouac, Richard Brautigan.
Even more beautiful books: I really enjoyed Die weiße Stadt by Karolina Ramqvist, a feminist author from Sweden, and the graphic novel version of To Kill a Mockingbird. But two books that literally (well, figuratively obviously) blew my mind were Circe by Madeline Miller (mythology, loneliness, animals and plants, magic and monsters, some desperate kind of feminism, independence and strength) and Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo (magical realms, university setting, psychological depth, unexpected twists and turns). I haven’t read anything comparable in a very long time and I desperately hope that there’s more to come from these authors.
A beach collecting all the world’s single socks in The Magicians. Oh and of course seeing them break the moon. What a sight. The show is super confusing, obnoxious and absolutely fabulous at the same time. Best example: the Freaky Friday szene in which Margo and Eliot switch bodies. I love how the actors took on each other’s speech patterns and behaviour.
A new addition to my colour vocabular: celadon (a greyish green; there is a type of ceramics you’ll only see in this colour which is not surprising since the shade provides such an interesting contrast to the the earthy, rusty orange of burnt clay.)
Manu telling me that he had rarely seen people with more joy in their eyes than me (“Ich habe schon Freude in deinen Augen gesehen! So ein Leuchten kann man nicht simulieren.”) after complaining about being bored and lifeless. / Making curry with or, well, for him the other night. Drinking Liqueur 43 with cinnamon and milk. Playing the Jackbox party games for which you can use your phone as a controller.
Finding myself in a well-known sitation from the past. Lying in Frank’s bed in the early morning hours, not that tired yet, when he starts talking about his life and his depression. In English, obviously, because that’s our emotional filter. Relating, since I feel quite similar. Coming up with a suggestion for a reciprocal support system. Let’s see what we can do for each other.
Looking at travel photographs. The sea, the cenotes. Longing to go back to Mexico or Australia. Diving. Taking it all in.
Dreaming of my grandmother talking about her biggest regrets in life. Weirdly she was in a little bundle under a coffee table, much like Voldemort in the last Harry Potter movie.
My weird, weird brain. How both pleasure and pain enhance my sense of smell and increase my brain activity, almost causing hallucinations and fixations on ideas. Like geometric shapes in gloomy off-colours and a beige silicon-like surface the other night. All I could think of was a benchscraper.
Blue eyeliner.
Brainstorming three-letter-words with Frank since I’m thinking of getting personalised Nike Blazers. Sad cat. Yes but. Dat ass. Why tho.
Flying squirrels. Watching them wobble through the air. How they look like cute exhibitionist when they’re extending their limbs and thus stretching their, well, let’s just call it wings.
The fact that red cabbage has an intricate pattern like brain convolutions when you cut it open.
Talking to Sonja for the first time in over two years. What a strange person. Interesting, too. At least in homeopathic doses.
Ripe strawberries and nectarines. Oh my god. I love fruit.
Meeting Eve at Pub Quiz. She identifies as female, loves swing dance, used to be an animator and I love her style. Also, I realised that really like Betty. And Dennis wasn’t mean to me for once. I love my nerd friends <3 And I learned that Starbucks was named after the first mate in Moby Dick! Also, coincidentally they asked a question about the city where To Kill a Mockingbird takes place (Maycombe, Alabama) after I had read it the week before.
Inviting Lorena to the Botanical Gardens. I always feel very happy and very much myself when I’m there. I sometimes wish I was a gardener. Lorena was late so I walked along the Spring Path outside and it might have been the first time I’ve seen a brussels sprouts plant. Inside I learned lots of Spanish words and marveled at the incredible butterflies. The huge yellow one right behind the entrance was my favourite. Its delicate feelers were fascinating.
Washing my hands at the Keg’s bathroom. Looking into the mirror. Suddenly thinking of the perfect karaoke song
 Rescue Me by Bell Book and Candle! I kept singing it for days on repeat. My neighbour must hate me (nothing new here) especially since my voice is too low for the chorus.
It isn’t hard to see how such attachment patterns can undermine mental health. Both anxious and avoidant coping have been linked to a heightened risk of anxiety, depression, loneliness, eating and conduct disorders, alcohol dependence, substance abuse and hostility. The way to treat these problems, say attachment theorists, is in and through a new relationship. On this view, the good therapist becomes a temporary attachment figure, assuming the functions of a nurturing mother, repairing lost trust, restoring security, and instilling two of the key skills engendered by a normal childhood: the regulation of emotions and a healthy intimacy. // An interesting article on attachment styles and why theraphy works; it makes me want to learn more about attachment theory. This School of Life video is a nice addition as well.
That dream. About a book shop modeled after my picture of Penumbra’s 24-hour bookstore. There was an old man in a very narrow but high-ceilinged room full of books. There was no light source except for moonlight or some street lights. There were loads of stairs, very steep, leading to the back of the house. Upstairs the man would set out cat food and on the rooftop there was an old sailing boat. One day the man decided to open the door to the roof and let visitors see the ship, much like a museum; perhaps to attract customers. However, in the next night a cat-shaped ghost appeared who reminded me quite a lot of Kot Behemoth character in Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita. The ghost was not amused about the old man’s decision and took away his key, a big golden one adorned with a red ribbon.
Toasted sesame makes pretty much every dish so much better.
Watching High Fidelity with gorgeous Zoe Kravitz (I adore her effortless style and her outfits), getting in the mood for making a playlist and listening to more music in general. There are all these great songs out there I forgot about.
Remembering the xkcd storm chaser comics.
Making a wicked good batch of Pho for Tom.
Spending a nice evening with Alex at Shamrock. Singing along to American Boy by Estelle. Confirming the hypothesis that the nerdy, quiet ones usually have a freak streak. That moment in the morning. Eye contact and kegel exercises.
Karaoke with Margit and Betty. Meeting Manu’s doppelganger. Same type, looks, voice. Eerie.
Making a BA Gourmet Makes meme for Steffen after he had passed his law examps. Strangely Gaby kinda looked like him after I was done with it.
Saturday morning in bed. Reading comics and graphic novels. Fresh bedclothes, surrounded by books. Since it was February 29 I thought about leap years and asked a few friends what their inner seven-year-old would have done that day (based on the thought experiment that your birthday was on February 29 and you’d age in 4-year-steps which would divide your age by 4 obviously).      
I came up with: visiting grandma / eating Cini-Minis / falling asleep with my face buried in a cat / beating my neighbour Anna at Memory / drawing while listening to a Bibi Blocksberg cassette.
Alex said he’d have been outside all day, building a snow igloo. Not noticing his mum telling him to come to dinner. If the weather had been bad he would have played with his dinosaur collection. His inner 7-year-old was a hopeless dreamer who got agitated whenever his parents had a fight. Who came home late from school every day because he forgot about time when he was talking to his friend next to a hedge with thorns that looked like tiny airplanes.
Lena said she would have been outside all day long, playing in the mud with the neighbours’ kids. Of course.
1 note · View note
sprnklersplashes · 6 years ago
Text
A New Hope (2/?)
AO3
Hope wakes up a little before her alarm went off, her body apparently still stuck on school mode. She switches the alarm to off before it can go off and buries herself back under her blankets, only half awake, living in her dreamworld of beaches and bike rides until she wakes properly, just a little after eight. It seems the long lie ins will take a while to come around properly. She settle for lying awake in bed with the covers around, running through imaginary conversations with Melody. She tries to divert her mind away from Melody and towards her hypothetical LA trip or any fun she could have this summer and it’s partially successful. Partially.
She finally starts getting restless, the covers begin to feel constricting, so she kicks them off and jumps out of the bed. She pulls on a white t-shirt and dungarees, not fashionable, but practical. She’s never been bothered about what “looks good”, especially in days like today when her only plans involve sitting inside and watching TV, maybe with the occasional venture out into the garden. Alex claims she has a similar approach, calling her wardrobe style “whatever I find first” but she still manages to look effortlessly gorgeous, albeit in a messy way. And then there’s Melody, who always takes pride in her looks, carefully matching every shirt with the right skirt and getting every detail right, even down to the ribbon she’ll decorate her hair with that day.
It's equal parts infuriating and adorable.
She pulls the sheet off her canvas, revealing her current project. Until a year ago, her drawings had mostly consisted of copying scenes from books and movies, her family’s story mostly, as well as her favourites. Her art box contained drawings of Harry Potter on the moving staircases of Hogwarts, Carrie White covered in blood at the prom (Henry’s idea to watch it, not hers), Spiderman on a New York skyscraper and Winnie the Pooh (one of her earliest projects). As she got older, she branched out a little, starting on quick sketches of her friends and family and onto landscapes, which she considered to be her favourites, and figures from her own imagination.
Right now, she’s working on a painting of a black haired, blue eyed fairy with a pink dress. So far it was so good, even if she had only really done half of it. She picks up her brush and starts experimenting with different shades of pink, mixing it with red and white and purple until she is satisfied with the colour for Isabella’s dress.
Okay, so she names her characters too. Nothing weird about that.
She starts on the outline, making the sleeves and hem of the dress a little darker, before painting the main body a lighter shade of pink, taking care, brushing gentle, careful lines down the canvas. Gideon has his books, Henry has his writing
 Hope has art to get lost in. While in New York last summer, her parents had taken her to an art gallery, where she happily fell in love with picture after picture.
She steps back, admiring her work. While she doesn’t want to toot her own horn, so to speak, she would say it’s pretty good. She doesn’t pull the sheet over it, cautious of the wet paint, and packs away her paints and brushes before pulling open her curtains. Outside her window, the sky is light blue, streaked with faint clouds. The rest of Storybrooke is oddly quiet. At this hour, she surely would see people going about their day, but even Granny doesn’t have her sign out and the streets are deserted.
She goes downstairs, taking them two at a time, passing her parent’s closed bedroom door, and enters the kitchen to find Gideon sitting cross-legged on the table, already dressed in a white check shirt over a blue t-shirt and jeans, hunched over another book. He regards her with a nod, but his eyes don’t leave the page.
“Morning to you too, Gideon,” she greets, pulling herself onto the counter to reach the cereal. She busies herself with making a bowl while Henry comes in, still in his pyjamas, his hair messed from sleep.
“Coffee,” is the first word he says to either of them. He walks to the cupboard like he’s on autopilot and takes out the coffee grounds. Gideon, miraculously, puts his book down and uses his fingers to frame Henry like he’s on a TV screen.
“And here we see the adult in his natural habitat,” he says, voice low and husky like a nature documentary. “In the morning, the adult can only function on minimum energy, and so misses key functions such as manners, good graces, and the ability to brush one’s hair.” Hope squeals with giggles while Henry raises an unimpressed eyebrow.
“You really want to go with me while I have hot liquid?”
“No, I’m good, I’ll go back to my book,” he says. Hope sits herself on the counter with her cereal, feet tapping against the drawers. From her spot, she has a view of the living room window, and can make out the yellow curve of her mum’s car, which sets off a little bell in the back of her head, which doubles when she looks at the clock and realises it’s nearly 10.
“Hasn’t Mom gone to work yet?” she asks. Henry frowns and looks down the hall. Hope just notices the red and black leather jackets still hanging on the coatrack, as well as Belle’s pale pink coat. A shiver runs down her spine.
“That’s weird,” Gideon remarks. “Maybe they forgot to set their alarms?”
“Have you met my father?” Hope replies. “He never forgets to set anything.” Henry nods. Hope begins to run her thumb and index finger around each other, trying to dispel all her nervous energy.
“Hey,” Henry begins, coming over to her and taking her fidgeting hand. “They just slept in, Hope. It happens. Maybe something knocked out their alarms or something. Nothing suspicious, okay?” Hope nods, still not entirely convinced, and Henry squeezes her cheeks before turning to go upstairs. Gideon watches her from the table, reading her like he reads his books.
“Come on,” he says, jumping down from the table and reaching his hand out to her. She frowns at him. “You’re clearly itching to get up there, so come on.” Hope slides her hand into his and jumps off the table.
“Thanks,” she whispers as she grips his hand tighter.
“Any time, Cygnet,” he says while they go up the stairs together. They find Henry paused at Emma and Killian’s bedroom door, his hand just above the wood, his fingers dancing anxiously.
“Nervous?” Hope asks, making him jump. She doesn’t let go of Gideon’s hand.
“Course not,” he says, faking a smile. Hope nods and swallows the lump in her throat. “Let’s do this.” He turns the door handle and pushes it, letting it slowly creak open. The room is dark, save for the light of the lamp on the right side of the bed. Henry pauses at the doorway before he takes small steps in. Hope and Gideon follow, creeping in like little mice. Emma and Killian are still asleep, both facing right, Emma’s arm around his waist and her cheek on his shoulder. There’s something about seeing your parents look so intimate with each other, sharing the quiet moments, wrapped up in their own love. It looks like a piece of art, too beautiful to disturb.
Henry inches closer to the bed while Gideon and Hope remain in the doorway, their legs nearly frozen.
“Mom,” he whispers, shaking her shoulder. “Mom?” His voice grows louder slightly, beginning to panic when doesn’t even stir. “Mom? Mom!” He reaches across Emma and desperately shakes Killian’s shoulder as well, calling his name. Neither of them even move.
“Oh no,” Hope whispers, her chest growing tight. She squeezes Gideon’s hand; her nails dig into the flesh and her body turns cold. “Oh no, oh no.” She looks to Gideon, his eyes wide and his shoulders shaking. “Hey.” She drops his hand, despite it being the only thing that’s keeping her from screaming. “Go check on your mom.” He looks from Henry still shaking Emma and Killian to Belle’s bedroom door behind them.
“Thanks,” he mutters before throwing himself down the hall and into Belle’s room.
Meanwhile, Henry runs his hands through his already-messy hair, his breathing grows ragged. Hope’s never seen him scared.
She comes over to the bed. Up close she can see that her mother’s mouth is open slightly and her hair is in a loose ponytail and that her father’s hair is messy and he’s not wearing a shirt.
She watches Henry place two fingers on Emma’s neck, then Killian’s, and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.
“They have a pulse,” he mutters, more to himself than her. “They’re alive, they’re breathing.” Hope nods, a whimper escapes her mouth. Henry looks over at her and something new comes over him. He kneels down to Hope’s level and holds her shoulders.
“Hey,” he whispers, trying to smile. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find a way to wake them up.” An idea flickers in the back of Hope’s mind.
“Try True Love’s Kiss,” she suggests. Henry nods, seeming to silently kick himself for not thinking of that. He kneels beside Emma and pushes the hair off her forehead. He takes one look back at Hope before pressing his lips to her head.
Nothing happens.
She can’t help gasping as another wave of tears hits her.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, coming and kneeling in front of her now. “Look, kid, none of our parent’s adventures were this easy. We’ve only exhausted option one out of an infinite number of possibilities, okay?” Hope nods, her eyes burning, just as an out of breath Gideon appears in the doorway, his lashes spiky.
“I can’t wake mum,” he says. “I tried, I turned on the light, I shook her, but she-”
“Hey, hey,” Henry says, taking him by the hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
“How?” Gideon asks as tears run down his red face. Henry sighs and takes a panicked look back at the comatose Emma and Killian before sitting Hope and Gideon on the edge of the bed.
“Look, back in the day, our parents dealt with stuff like this all the time,” he reminds them. “It always looked hopeless at the start, but they got through it. They got me off Neverland, they stopped Zelena from changing the past, heck, Mom saved Killian from Hades! Okay? Our family is unstoppable. And so are we.” There’s something in the way Henry says it, the conviction, the fire in his eyes, that has both of them believing him. It doesn’t lift the weight in Hope’s chest at all, but it makes the tears come a little slower. Henry smiles at them and kisses them each on the head. “Right, let me get dressed first, then we can scout the rest of the town. See what’s going on with everyone else.”
Minutes later, a now-dressed Henry runs out onto the streets with Hope and Gideon in tow. The streets are completely deserted, shops have their shutters down, curtains are closed. A light wind blows across, making trees rustle ever so slightly.
“It’s a ghost town,” Gideon remarks.
“What if we’re the only ones here?” Hope asks as goose bumps form on her arms. She has a feeling they’re not from the wind. Henry puts his hands on his hips as his eyes scour the street.
“We can’t be,” he says. “We just
 We can’t be the only ones here.”
As it turns out, they’re not.
Gideon gasps loudly and Hope turns, her fists instinctively lifting, until she realises the new arrival is Lucas, his arms around Gideon’s waist, panting. He seems completely lost to everyone who isn’t Gideon.
“Thank god you’re okay,” he sighs, releasing him from his grip and pulling Hope into a tight hug, crushing her head. She doesn’t mind. If anything, she feels awful; Lucas didn’t even cross her mind. “Oh you’re okay.”
“I take it you’ve got the same problem as us,” Gideon says, his voice thick, as Lucas lets go of Hope and slips his hand into Gideon’s. “Your parents
.”
“I tried everything,” he says. “I did, but they just wouldn’t move.” Henry turns to face them, the panic clear on his face, though he smiles briefly at Lucas. “Henry, what do we do?”
“Um
 I don’t know
” he admits. “Why don’t we look through town? See who else we can find.” They agree, of course, given it’s the only idea they’ve had. Since splitting up is not an option, they walk through Storybrooke together, Henry leading the pack with the three of them clinging to each other behind him. They could hear a pin drop.
As they wander through streets, no real plan, they finally see another figure and feel weak with relief. And the dark blonde hair and brown jacket are instantly recognisable.
“Robin,” Hope sighs as she runs to meet them. When she meets them, they can all see how red her eyes are. Gideon doesn’t waste time in throwing his arms around her neck and Hope is close behind him.
“I am so glad to see you guys,” she pants. “My mom, she can’t wake up.”
“Neither can ours,” Gideon explains. “From the looks of it, we’re the only ones awake.”
“Alex is too,” she tells them. “I called her a few minutes ago.”
“Hope?” someone asks behind them. Hope is sure she knows the voice, and she finds she’s correct when she turns and sees Melody, wearing a pale pink lace t-shirt tucked into a floral skirt, ponytail tied with a baby blue ribbon. She runs towards the group, skidding to a half when she reaches Hope. “You guys are all still here.”
“Yeah, looks like it,” Hope replies. She tucks her hair behind her ears and straightens her dungarees, partially to give her hands something to do and partially because she’s suddenly become self-conscious. She can’t pretend she doesn’t know why.
Alex comes running down the street next, throwing her arms around Robin, who whispers “thank god” breathlessly, before she turns to face the rest of them, regarding them with a breathless smile. Gideon looks from each member of their little assembled group, counting them under his breath, muttering their names, and his eyes widen.
“I’m going to check Philip,” he says. They go with him, of course. No one wants to be left out on the street alone.
Philip’s house is completely closed down, no lights, curtains drawn. Hope, Melody, Robin and Alex hang back with Henry while Gideon and Lucas creep up to the doorstep, Gideon holding Lucas’ arm like his life depends on it (and standing slightly behind him) while Lucas knocks the door. When no one answers, they wait five minutes and try again. And again.
Lucas grumbles and pushes the letterbox open.
“Philip!” he calls. “Phil, it’s Lucas. Come on, if you’re here, give us a sign.”
To all their surprises, the door opens just a crack. From where Hope stands, she sees Philip’s face appear.
“Prove it,” he demands. She wonders if he thinks he’s tougher than he sounds. “Tell me something only Lucas and Gideon would know.” The two look at each other, sharing a silent ‘yes’ and look back at Philip.
“Freshman year, last day before Christmas break, you got up on the desk when Miss Ackerman was out of the room and then
”
The door is yanked open, revealing a wide-eyed Philip, brandishing a saucepan in one hand, who throws his arm around Lucas before doing the same to Gideon.
“I thought you guys were demons or something!” he explains, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “And we also agreed to never talk about that ever again.”
“So you were going to
 make them pasta?” Alex asks, half giggling. Philip looks up and just notices the rest of the group.
“I was short on weapons,” he replies as he, Lucas and Gideon join them, waving the saucepan under Alex’s nose. The laughter quickly subsides. The emptiness creeps in on all sides. Hope feels Henry’s hand on her shoulder, and it gives her some grounding anyway. Philip twirls the handle of the saucepan between his fingers until it slips and hits the floor. “So
 now what?”
They don’t know. None of them know. Alex, who normally has an answer for everything, is twirling the blue streak of her hair while her eyes dart everywhere. Robin opens her mouth, then closes it again, and opens it again and closes it again. Like all she needs to do is say something, no matter how ridiculous.
“Why don’t we set up a base somewhere?” Henry decides. “Town hall?”. It’s the best idea they’ve heard all day, so they take it and walk to the town hall in an awkward, tense silence. Henry, naturally, leads with Alex and Robin close behind, their hands linked. Alex whispers something in Robin’s ear and Robin manages the tiniest of smiles, which only grows wider when Alex kisses her ear. Hope trails behind them with Melody wand Gideon on either side of her, but Gideon takes one too many looks back at Lucas and Philip.
“Hey,” she says, brushing her elbow against his. “Go hang out with your friends.” He smiles faintly and puts a hand on her shoulder. She guesses it’s meant to be comforting.
“We’ll be okay, Hope,” he says.
“I know,” she sighs. She squeezes his hand, something she started doing to him before she could talk. It lets him know she’s okay, that she loves him. He smiles and falls back to his friends and they form their own little trio.
And she’s left alone with Melody.
Something tells her that her pounding heart and dry mouth aren’t just because she’s scared out of her mind.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” Melody says. “I mean, I’m glad you’re all here.”
“Thanks,” she replies. “I mean, I’m glad you’re here too, I mean if you weren’t here I’d be really nervous. And I’d be really upset about it.”
“You would?” she asks, smirking. She has such a lovely smile.
“Yeah,” Hope squeaks. “I mean, you’d leave me here with all these losers?”
“We’re right behind you, Hope,” Lucas reminds her. She turns and sticks her tongue out at him, and she doesn’t miss Gideon’s knowing smile, the raised eyebrows when he looks at Lucas and Philip. If the circumstances were different, she’d smack him. Instead, she turns back to Melody.
“Thanks,” she says. They go quiet and Hope racks her brains for something to say. She envies the quiet support Robin and Alex can give each other, and the endless chatter behind her.
“You look really pretty,” she says. “I mean you always look really pretty but
 you know I mean
 I like your skirt.”
Nice one, Hope.
“Thanks,” Mel says, running her hand over it. It is pretty, just something Hope would never wear. “Yeah, I just threw this on.” In Mel-language ‘just threw it on’ means ‘this was the third one I tried’. “I really like your overalls.”
Liar, Hope thinks. Melody wouldn’t be caught dead in something so basic.
“Um, you have a bit of
 Pink, on them,” she points out. Hope looks down to see a splash of pink of her chest.
“Oh, yeah,” she mutters, scratching behind her ear. “I was painting this morning. I guess I got a little carried away.”
“Cool,” Mel says, toying with the hem of her skirt. “Really cool. Something important or
?”
“Um, not really,” she says. “Just like
 I don’t know, it’s stupid.”
“Well, I doubt it’s stupid,” she replies.
Hope can’t think of a reply, but they come up on the town hall soon enough and hurry inside. Hope realises she’s never actually been in it before. She doesn’t know what exactly she expected but what she gets is a black and white marble floor like a chessboard, white walls with a pattern of trees on it, a brown desk with a tiny sense of foreboding around it and rows of metal chairs.
She sits herself down in one, not knowing what else to do. Henry leans against the desk, not looking at any of them.
“Okay,” Robin says, breaking the silence. She marches up to the front and waves her hand, presumably to switch on the lights, but all that happens is the bulbs flicker. She tries again, and again, and again, until they finally switch on for her. “Okay
 So let’s make a plan.” Meanwhile, Alex goes to the corner and starts filling and handing out glasses of water.
“A plan for what?” Lucas asks. “We don’t even know what happened.”
“So we’ll find out,” she says. “Gideon!” His head snaps up at his name, and she tosses him a marker. “You’re the nerd here, write this down.”
“You’re bossy,” he says, but he runs up to the front and drags a whiteboard on wheels out from the corner.
“Okay,” Robin says, taking a deep breath in. “Calm. Logic. What do we know?”
“All our parents are asleep,” Philip begins.
“It’s not a sleeping curse,” Lucas suggests. “At least I don’t think it is. Sleeping curses make you look dead. All our parents, they’re breathing, their hearts are working.”
“And it’s not just our parents,” Hope adds. “It’s everyone in town, except us.”
“So what sets us apart?” Alex asks. “What makes us different.”
Nothing, Hope thinks. Gideon taps the pen against the whiteboard, which is already covered in his scribbles, arrows pointing out of a central question “what do we know”, until he drops it.
“Oh my gosh father!” he declares, not really to anyone in particular. His cheeks turn pink as he picks the marker up again. “Think again, what do all seven of us have in common?”
His answer is a bunch of shaking heads and raised eyebrows.
“None of us were born in the Enchanted Forest!” he reminds them.
“Oh my god that’s it!” Henry declares. “Gideon you’ve got it.”
“It sounds right,” Melody says. “But
 we’re the only ones in town not born in the Enchanted Forest? Seems a little far-fetched.”
“Not as far fetched as you think, Mel,” Gideon says, beginning to bounce and his eyes light up. “There’s this tradition amongst the older generation to have their kids in the Enchanted Forest. I don’t know sentimentality, or something. So they pop through a portal and go. But none of our parents did. Alex was born during the curse
.”
“Thinking about it, all my friends at school were pre-Dark Curse babies,” Alex mutters, getting on Gideon’s level.
“Exactly!” he replies. He grows more animated as the pieces fall into place, reminding Hope of some kind of mad scientist. “Me, Luke and Philip, most of our friends were born during the Missing Year.”
“A lot of Missing Year babies,” Robin confirms.
“Yeah, as the author, I can confirm, Missing Year was a fun time,” Henry says, grimacing.
“And Robin was born in Storybrooke. Which leaves Hope and Melody,” he concludes. “Your parents must have skipped it and had you two in Storybrooke.”
“My parents wanted to,” Mel agrees. “But I came two weeks early. They couldn’t make the trip.”
“My parents just didn’t want to,” Hope agrees. “My mom wasn’t born there; my dad was a villain there. They don’t think of it like a home.”
“So whatever this thing is it clearly doesn’t affect people not born in the Enchanted Forest,” Gideon concludes. On the board behind him, the words ‘non-enchanted forest people’ and ‘NOT A CURSE’ are scrawled. He reminds her of Doctor Whale sometimes in the mad scientist way.
“So how do we fix it?” Alex asks. She sits on the windowsill, her arms wrapped around Robin’s shoulders with Robin’s hand over hers. “How do we wake everyone up?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Henry says. “Maybe we check the library first, there’s books on everything in there.”
“He’s right,” Gideon says.
“And if not then
 Then it’s time to turn to our parents.”
“Our parents?” Robin asks, wrinkling her nose.
“Yeah. Robin your mom’s the Wicked Witch, Hope our mom’s the Saviour and Gideon your dad
” Gideon flinches before the sentence can be finished. Henry’s hand curls into a fist, realising he’s inching close to the line. “Anyway, the point is our parents need to have something around to help us.”
“Uhh
 guys?” Melody asks from behind them. She crouches in front of the table, eyeing a glass of water with more worry than there should be. “Sorry, but
 I think something’s coming.”
And then Hope feels it. The ground shakes beneath her and she can see what Melody was worrying about; ripples form on the water in the glass. Soon the walls of the hall start to shake. They all drift towards each other, clinging to however is closest to them as the walls continue trembling, threatening to break on them. Henry steps in front of the little bundle they have created, trying to shield all of them with his body.
“What is that?” Philip asks, his voice barely a whisper as he frantically looks around the hall.
“I think I know,” Robin replies in a trembling voice. Almost against her own will, Hope follows her eyes and looks out the window, feeling her heart in her throat. Her hand tightens on the wrist of whoever is next to her.
Outside, she sees what Robin was so scared of. Sludge-green, at least 8 feet tall, wearing a scrap of brown fabric its waist. It lumbers down the road before stopping outside and turning its head, letting them see the dull yellow eyes.
“Is that
” Philip whispers.
“An ogre,” Henry replies.
They hit the floor when it turns to them. Hope feels the beat of her frantic heart against the wood and closes her eyes tightly. She presses her palms into the floor to keep them from shaking. Her chest feels hollow, making her heartbeat seem louder.
This can’t be happening. This doesn’t happen, not now, not to her or any of them. This is all meant to be over now.
“What do we do?” Melody hisses as the footsteps get a fraction quieter. “How do we defeat a troll?”
“Wasn’t it in the book?” Philip asks. “Snow and Emma, they fought one.”
“Right,” Hope sighs, searching for that part of the book in her mind. It sounds familiar, but she’s drawing a blank on the details. “How did they beat it?”
“Mom shot it with an arrow,” Lucas reminds them. “Right in the eye.”
“Pity we don’t have a bow and arrow,” Robin grunts.
“Maybe we don’t need one,” Gideon mutters, more to himself than anyone else.
“Do you have a plan?” Philip asks. Out of all of them, he’s the one closest to the floor, his body pressed against it.
“I think so,” Gideon replies, beginning to smile. Hope follows his gaze and sees what he’s looking at; the two swords mounted on the wall behind a shield baring the Charming family crest; a flower. “Hope, Robin, I’m going to need your help here.”
                                                                                               *****
Gideon, Hope, Robin, Lucas and Henry manage to escape the town hall from a side door. The rest stay inside, reckoning that there’s no point in risking more people. Although there’s no risk, because they’ll be fine if this all works out. If.
Outside, the road is destroyed with the ogre’s footprints. He’s a good bit away from them, far enough so that as long as they remain as silent as possible, he won’t notice them until they need to. They move swiftly down the road and take cover behind Leroy’s truck, which, true to character, he left sitting out on the sidewalk.
“You sure this will work?” Lucas asks. Gideon hands the sword over to Robin with shaking hands.
“I hope so,” he sighs. “You two clear on what to do?” Given how dry her mouth is, Hope can only nod.
“We’ve got it,” Robin whispers. Hope wonders how he manages to sound so confident. It’s only her fidgeting fingers that give her away. Gideon smiles weakly at them and follows Henry and Lucas to the middle of the road, grabbing Lucas’ hand.
“Hope,” Robin asks suddenly, grabbing her shoulder. Her green eyes are torn apart with worry as she looks from her to the ogre. “I
. My magic
 I don’t know if I can do this
”
“You can,” Hope assures her. “Just think about who you’re protecting. That’s what Mom says she did.” Robin nods shakily and they place their hands over the sword together. She mutters ‘Alex’ under her breath.
“Hey!” Henry yells. “Hey you big
 dumb ogre!”
That’s one way to get its attention, Hope thinks as it turns around. Immediately, she starts wondering if this plan will work. If it doesn’t and it gets any of them killed, she’ll kill Gideon for it. Especially if it’s Gideon who gets killed.
“Robin, now,” she hisses. She reaches inside her, calling to her magic. Her mother has told her so many times that magic is a part of her. She works with it, not it for her. And this should be easy, simple levitation. It’s one of her favourite things to do.
In the road, the boys keep taunting the ogre over to them and it works. He lumbers over, slowly, but it rattles the ground with every step he takes. Hope keeps her eyes on it, tracking its movements. They worked out a marker; the shoe shop. That’s where it has to be when they fire at him.
She doesn’t think about what would happen if she misses her cue. All she can focus on is holding the sword up. Especially when she feels it getting heavier on Robin’s side.
Come on, she thinks, watching the ogre as her friends keep luring it closer. Three more steps. Two more. One more
.
“Robin now!” she calls, and they send the sword flying through the air. The ogre doesn’t even notice, too busy focussing on the potential snack in front of him. Thank god for dumb ogres.
Then the sword begins to take a dip before it can meet its target.
“Not on my watch,” Hope mutters, and throws her hands out, letting magic run through her veins and out her hands, and she sends an invisible wind to keep it up until it lands where it should; in the ogre’s chest. Slightly left of middle. Right in its heart.
The ogre stops in its tracks, and for a moment doesn’t even move. For a moment, Hope fears that it will rip the sword out of its body and trample Storybrooke to the ground. Until it lets out a long, low moan and sways before falling to the ground, the force knocking them to the ground with it. Hope lies there, winded on her back, looking up at the sky, just letting herself come back down to Earth, before she gets up.
“Hey,” she says to Robin, who looks paler than normal. “Hey, we did it.” She laughs, despite the fact that the world isn’t exactly standing still right now.
“We did it,” she pants, smiling. She pulls Hope into a tight hug before they run over to the boys.
“See? Fool proof,” Gideon says, adjusting his glasses.
“If that failed, I’d have killed you,” Hope pants.
“Are you two okay?” Henry asks, rubbing his arm.
“Fine,” Robin says and Hope nods. Henry tilts his head to the side, unconvinced. “Hope?”
“I’m fine,” she assures him. “A little shaken up I guess, but fine.” She turns her attention to the dead ogre lying in the middle of the street. “Is that it? Did we do it? Does everything go back to normal now?”
“Can’t be,” Gideon says. “Ogres can’t cast curses, they’re too dumb. He has to be working for someone.”
“Great,” Robin sighs. “So who can command ogres? And more to the point, what do we even do with it?”
But as it turns out, they don’t need to do anything. They see a mist begin to settle over the ogre, making it look fuzzier and muting the colours more than they are already. Logically, they should be scared, or ready to fight back, but they’re all varying degrees of confused and mesmerised. The ogre gets fuzzier and fuzzier and the colours fade before running and blending into each other and then Hope realises what’s happening.
“It’s disappearing!” she announces, just as it fades from them entirely.
“No way,” Lucas says, and he runs to where it was, Gideon running after him. Lucas stands in the exact spot it had been lying, jumps up and down and waves his arms around. “It’s gone!”
“So what.. it was never real?” Hope asks. She turns around and sees the footprints in the road.
“The damage it did was real,” Robin points out, tucking her hair behind her ear. “So it had to have been real
 Right?”
“We can deal with that later,” Henry says. “For now.. We did good.”
“We?” Hope asks, raising an eyebrow.
“You two did good,” he sighs. “Come on, let’s get you guys back into the hall and we can work this out there.” Hope falls into step beside her brother while Robin walks on with Lucas and Gideon, Gideon letting her lean slightly on him. “You good, Cygnet?”
“I don’t know,” she confesses. “That was a lot. I mean, it felt good, but it was a lot.” She hasn’t realised before that magic can take so much out of her. She just wants to sit down now until the world goes stationery again.
“I’m sorry you had to do that,” he says. “For what its worth it was impressive.” Her cheeks go pink.
“Really?” she asks.
“Really,” he says. Slinging his arm around her. She grabs onto his jacket for something to keep her steady, because she’s sure she’s walking like Uncle Smee out of the bar. “Mom will be so stoked when she hears this.” Hope nods. When, not if. Never if. Their family doesn’t do ‘if’.
6 notes · View notes
batbobsession · 7 years ago
Text
Shattered
What if Belle said “I love you” the moment she saw the Beast again instead of when he was close to death?  What would have happened then?
For all the lovelies from the rabb.it screening of the movie!!!!  Imma tag as many people as I can remember, so I’m sorry if I forgot you! [And if I mention you but you weren’t in the stream at all...well, here’s a fun AU fic!  Enjoy!]
@tinydooms @morgaine2005 @greensearcher @sweetfayetanner @lumiereswig @forr-everrmorre @im-too-obssesed @cad-enza @singingsweet @hathor-frozen @gastt @ebrienne @emeraldcitynative
There’s a moment when Belle thinks he’s going to fall.  
He jumps onto the highest turret of the castle, where two twin towers stand resolute beneath the full moon, anxious to hide behind the light, where Gaston’s eyes could not reach him.
But she is standing above him.  She sees everything in clear, gleaming clarity.  The light of the moon would not stop the hunter from getting his prey; she could see his red coat flap in his wake as he flies across the rooftops.  A great dragon, like the ones in the stories, circling closer, closer...
“No!”
Time seems to stop as Belle’s voice rings clear across the turrets.  Gaston skids to a halt, the Beast freezes, even the wind howling through the castle goes silent.  The Beast leaps from his place on the first turret and swings around to see her.  
“Belle!” he calls, and the moment shatters.  Gaston’s up again, running over the stone and the snow.  “You came back!”
“Of course I came back,” Belle replies, and she smiles despite the danger.  Here, standing at the edge of the castle, she knows what it’s like to be fearless.  “I love you!”
The words slip out without her realizing.  But as soon as the words register, her eyes widen as she finally realizes that they’re true.  They’ve been true for longer than she thought.  How could she have not said them back at the village, or when she and Papa were locked in the asylum’s carriage?
Oh.  Now she realizes.  She had thought, up until now, she thought she had the time to.  After rescuing her father, she was going to head back to the castle.  But now that she is back, she sees that there is no time at all.  She had to tell him before it was too late.
A few levels below the rooftops, as the villagers flee from the castle’s living halls, a beggar woman lowers her hood and smiles.
Gaston shrieks, a cry of animalistic rage and denial as the Beast falters, staring at Belle with something that looks like amazed disbelief.  
And the world erupts into a blaze of golden light.
It’s not just the rooftops. The light explodes across the sky, parts of it shining down on the castle below, streams and wisps of it floating off towards the forests.  The castle shudders with the might of it.  Belle has to shield her eyes—she can’t see the Beast, nor the turrets on which he stood, but she can see Gaston...and the look on his face is one that she never wants to see on the face of a human being—something that speaks volumes above horror and fury.  He raises his pistol and shoots off a round—Belle screams and runs toward him—but the bullet just flies through the magic like there was nothing there in the first place.
Then the light starts to move.
It’s slow, but the magic glides from the towers, across open air, towards the broken window of the West Wing.
Belle leaps onto the bridge of stone on which the other man stands, poised near the edge, ready to fire another shot.  When she’s within an arm’s reach of him, she lashes out, catching his arm just in time to push his aim upward.  The shot disappears into the night sky.
“Gaston, stop this!”
The fierce blue eyes slide toward her, caught in a fit of rage, jealousy, fear, and mania.  His lips draw back into a snarl—he does not recognize her; she only sees a soldier caught in the thrill of battle, a hunter driven mad by desire.  The hand holding the pistol shakes, twitches toward her—
And the bridge on which they are standing cracks between them.  The two look down, then back at each other—Belle gasps and scrambles backward, reaching the castle walls within seconds.  Gaston strides forward, trying to follow, but with one final shake, the stone crumbles beneath him.  His eyes widen in shock as he drops the gun, scrambling for purchase on the stone but finding none.  He locks gazes with her one more time, and she can see it; where there was once madness there is now terror, fear, a silent cry for help. Belle’s lips part, feeling a split-second urge to try to help him, but there’s nothing to be done.  Gaston screams as he vanishes from Belle’s view, but after a few seconds even those cries are cut short, forever silent and gone.
Belle lets out a breath, horrified at what she had just witnessed, but she didn’t dwell on it for very long.  The Beast.  The West Wing.  What had happened?
She slowly stands up, but the castle’s shakes and shudders have finally died down, and she stands on solid stone once again.  There’s no more time to waste.  She flies up the stairs and into the West Wing, only coming to a stop when she reaches the center of the room.  The golden light has mostly dissipated, snaking up to the vaulted ceilings and out the windows.  But what remains surrounds a man who is slowly being lowered to the ground.  His brown hair curls around his shoulders, and he stares at his surroundings as if seeing them for the first time.  But when he finds Belle, his expression incredulous and hopeful at the same time.  He takes a step towards her hesitantly, as if caught in a dream.
Belle doesn’t move.  This is all very strange.  Her mind tells her she’s never seen this man in her life, but her heart begs her to look closer.  There’s something about him that’s so...familiar

“Belle,” he says, and gone is the low growl, the garbled speech.  His voice shakes, but is otherwise smooth and pleasant to her ears.  “It’s me.”
She steps forward now, peering into the man’s face, searching for a sign.  She puts her hand up to caress his cheek when she sees it—his eyes are a beautiful shade of blue, like the sky just after the sun rises.  She knows those eyes.
“It is you,” she whispers, and smiles through fresh tears.
“We’ve done it, Plumette!” LumiĂ©re shouts, beaming as the villagers ran from the castle’s grounds in fear.  “Victory is ours!”
There is no response.  
“Plumette?” He turns and something strikes him through the heart; his love is lying on the snow-covered ground, more antique than alive.  
“No,” he pleads, rushing forward to cradle her in his arms.  “Mon amour, s'il vous plaüt!”
She looks up at him, her wing shakily reaching up to touch his chest.   “LumiĂ©re
”
“Oui, chĂ©ri, I’m here,” he says, trying to hold her gaze just a bit longer, but it’s no use.  They’ve run out of time.  “Plumette!  Not you, please, not you
”
He doesn’t notice the change in the air.  He doesn’t hear Mrs. Potts give a shout of exclamation, nor the shocked trill of keys from the maestro behind him.  So deep is his grief that he doesn’t notice anything until such an intense feeling of warmth washes over him that he fears he might have set everything ablaze.  Then it’s gone in a burst of gold and white.  He blinks, confused, before he sees her in his arms, dressed in white, surrounded by feathers, and staring up at him with such untamed joy.
His heart leaps, and his hand curls around her shoulder as she reaches up to touch his face.  
Wait.
Her hand.  His face.  His hand.  His heart.
Oh.  Oh.
He’s holding her.  She is alive and human and he is holding her.
Chip and Mrs. Potts are laughing together.  Froufrou, a mass of fur and happy yips, runs in circles around the two musicians.  And Plumette, alive, healthy, in his arms, and he isn’t burning.
It must register in his expression then, because Plumette laughs.  It’s a sound more beautiful than anything he’s ever heard.
“Oh, my love.  You are a fool.”
“Oui,” he agrees, and leans down to kiss her.
Jean stops when he sees the light.
He’s running back towards the trees, trying desperately to get away from the living castle, with its haunted furniture and roaring beasts.  He’d had enough of those for one lifetime.  He glances over his shoulder to see if anyone got left behind, and stops when he sees a pinprick of light, like a tiny ball, hovering above the castle.  
“My, what’s that up there?” he calls, pointing up at the light.  “Something’s happening!”
For a moment, no one listens to him.  The villagers run past him with their horses, too caught up in their terror to notice an old man’s rambling.  Then a hand grasps his shoulder and he turns to see Monsieur LeFou.  Jean’s lips part in surprise; when was the last time LeFou talked to him?  He couldn’t remember.
“Hey, everyone! Stop!” LeFou yells, and his voice rings louder than Jean’s, so that the people around them all slow their steps to hear Gaston’s second-in-command speak.  “M’sieur Jean’s seen something!  Look at the castle!”
They all turn to look, and by that time the ball has changed shape.  It’s separated itself into ribbons, flying out in all directions...one of those directions being the village.
Some of the villagers start backward in fear, while others only stand there, full of awe and curiosity.
When the light hits Jean, it’s warm and soothing, like a summer breeze.  But with it brings two faces to the surface of his mind: a woman in a white apron and a boy with curly brown locks and a bright smile.
Beatrice.  Christopher.
He gasps and almost sinks to the ground.  His wife.  His son.  Missing.  Gone for years of his life.  He had forgotten all about them.
“Oh my word
!”
Think.  When was the last time he had seen them?  The ball—the young prince had been hosting a ball and they had gone to the castle to help with preparations.  
Suddenly the castle’s towers no longer seemed like a threat.  It’s where his family was.  He has to go back.
All around him, the other villagers spring into action, running back towards the castle with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes.  The old fishmonger has never looked so happy, and the headmaster is calling his daughter’s name.  
That’s right, Jean thinks.  He did have a daughter.  She would come by my shop every day to look at the new sets.
And with that, the old potter takes off running as well.  He had missed so many days that he could have spent with his family.  He has to get them back.
Golden light shines through the streets of the castle, where Maurice and D’Arque stand debating by the asylum cart.  The horses whinny nervously, but the two men do not notice at first.  
“Gaston put you up to this, I understand that,” Maurice is saying.  “But now that there is, in fact, a castle, wouldn’t that mean that several of your patients are saner than you think?”
Something flickers in D’Arque’s expression, but he scoffs.  “Even so...”
Then they see it, floating through the dark streets of Villeneuve: a golden spirit, a river of light, bringing the strong scent of roses in its wake.  
The hat shop owner runs outside, wrapping her traveling cloak around her shoulders.  Pére Robert already has his cloak on as he lights another torch, his expression one of relief and praise.
Maurice and D’Arque lock gazes in mutual understanding (Finally, Maurice thinks) and the asylum owner throws open the doors to his cart, making no attempts to retrieve the lock from the artist.  There’s only one thought in everyone’s minds: The castle.  They need to get to the castle.
A few minutes later, the sun has risen and the loved are being embraced by the lost.  The headmaster kisses his daughter on the forehead.  Clothilde throws her arms around her husband.  Jean has one arm around his wife and the other around his son, all smiles and bright eyes.  The triplet sisters run to their brother, weeping over how much they missed him, and how overjoyed their mother would be once they returned to Villeneuve.  
There are shouts of recognition as some of the villagers stare at the musicians, not only because they had exchanged blows a few minutes ago, but there are a few that recognize them from their status.  LeFou stares in shock as Mrs. Potts beams at him, realizing that he had saved her life earlier.  Cadenza extends a hand to Clothilde, though both look a little uncomfortable with it.  There are all kinds of emotions in the air.
The only time a hush comes over the crowd is when Belle and Adam come out to meet everyone.  The respect the villagers show Belle is astounding.  This girl, this woman that they had doubted has turned out to be the one that’s brought their lives back to them.  And they remember their prince, the young one that used to show kindness to the common folk before the queen’s death.  He smiles at everyone, and they smile back.  
Of course, there is still confusion in the air.  There are still people in the world that are waking up and not understanding what is going on countries, oceans away.  But there is no need to fear it anymore.  Darkness is only there to make light brighter.
This darkness has been shattered by love and light, and all words of protest on the matter are better left unspoken.  
95 notes · View notes
idornaseminary · 7 years ago
Text
Chapter One-Hundred Eighty-Eight: Beatrice/Calix
My darling Teuila,
Merry Christmas! I hope it’s a good one, though I won’t be able to be there and celebrate with you and your father in Wales. Hopefully someday soon you can carve out some time to share the holidays with your mother and I here, though I have a funny feeling you’ll soon be preoccupied with other more important people.
Before you open your gift, there are a few things you need to know about it. Surely you’ve heard the story of your grandfather before, how he and I were going to get married and then he shipped off to go fight in Vietnam with his American buddies, and how I was so excited to tell him that we were going to have a baby only to find out that he died in the crossfire. I can’t seem to remember if I told you about my parents, your great-grandparents and how they saw all this in the stars and knew that even though it would cause an incredible scandal, I needed to have Lanuola so she could have you.
You come from a long line of Astronomers, fatu, and although your mother seems to lack the Gift, I’m so proud that you received it. The stars help us find where we’re going, and can also lead us back to the places we’ve been, and there’s no place in the world better to see this than the Ogatai Observatory here in Samoa. It’s been passed down for generations, and I’ve done a lot of work to bring it from the little remote hut on a mountaintop to a place of research and respite. It’s been my home all my life, and I know that you have far more use for it than your mother ever would.
This Christmas, my gift to you is the key and the deed to the Observatory. I’ve placed charms on the key similar to a portkey. All you need to do is place the key in any lock, turn it and when you open the door, you’ll be in the Observatory. No matter where you are in the world, you can always find your way back home. However, while you can enter in this manner, it’s a little more complicated to go back to where you came from. In the library I’ve collected thousands of star charts from every hemisphere, every month, spanning nearly half a century. To return to the world, you simply need to find the corresponding chart to the geographic location from a specific time, recite this incantation while pointing your wand at the map in the Observatory: “Toe foi i le lalolagi.” I hope that I can see you again someday soon, although judging by the stars, I believe my time among these mortals is drawing to a close. I hold out hope that you might return to me before I depart, as I have so much left to teach you especially about your new home, but if I likely do not get the opportunity, I would simply like to say this: do not give up. The world has seen dark days and there are much more still to come, but you are strong and you have friends you can lean on to help you. My darling Teuila, do not give up.
I taimi uma ma le faavavau,
Your Grandmother Pania
Beatrice sat in the center of her bed, blotting her eyes with a damp handkerchief, the letter from her grandmother clutched tightly in her hand, the yellow butterfly printed paper crumpling in her hand. If only Pania were still alive so Beatrice could thank her properly, though she suspected that no matter where she was, she knew how happy this made her. Blowing her nose loudly in the hankie, she looked down at the little box wrapped in a ribbon in her lap.
The Gestona gave the bright red satin ribbon a gentle tug, watching it fall away from the plain cardboard box which fit comfortably in one of her hands. She lifted the lid and smiled at the stainless steel key with a hibiscus flower painted on the handle, tempted to try it out right then and there, though she doubted she could summon the Observatory to her there in Idorna, or more importantly, get back to the school if she did. Beatrice caught her bottom lip between her teeth and inhaled sharply. She’d need to get a second opinion on it, perhaps from a charms major to see about getting a duplicate made as an idea formed in the back of her mind. But first, she’d need to make sure that she had good reason to make another key.
A glowing log snapped in the fireplace of the Grotto, scattering smoking embers across the hearth, rousing Beatrice from where she sat on the bed with Calix’s head in her lap, tenderly combing out his clean hair with her fingers. She wet her lips and opened her eyes, blearily blinking them before looking down at her lover, peacefully at rest in her arms once more. She hummed “La Vie En Rose” softly, wishing she had her record player with her to fill the room with a soft ambiance that could help keep their minds off the darkness outside and the vampires no doubt gathering somewhere in the forest, waiting to make their move.
I wish we could stay like this forever.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” she wondered aloud, gently pulling at a knot in his hair, trying to get it to come loose as her mind wound tensely.
Calix tenderly hummed a positive response, a low purring sound that rippled through his body. He swivelled slowly, savouring the warmth and comfort he felt in his girlfriend’s lap. He had missed spending time with her. After the intimacy of Christmas, the first flush of the new term seemed lost. Calix had spent most of it alone. It was heart-wrenching.
He shuffled a little, gazing up at Beatrice. No matter what happened to him, no matter what Crix did, he never forgot how beautiful she was. She was breathtaking. Always.
Although, her fingertips had snagged in one of his curls, freshly washed and thankfully no longer ingrained with dirt and blood, and so he had to twist to ease the sharp tug. He was still skin and bones, but at least, if nothing else, his hair was somewhat normal.
“What’s up, love?”
Clearing her throat loudly, Beatrice’s lips curled up demurely. “Ummmm
.” she started off, a rosy blush rising on her round cheeks. “Where do you see us going? Like in the future, after Idorna?” It wasn’t something she was particularly worried about per say, but with everything going on lately, a future seemed uncertain, and it was nice to talk about it.
Calix’s eyebrows knotted. It was a question he was not expecting. He was taken completely by surprise. Their future together, their long-term future, had, and Calix was ashamed at the realisation, never been given the thought it deserved. Had he not considered the future? Or was the present simply so demanding that he had no choice other than to live in the moment? He wasn’t sure. When Beatrice asked, Calix took a solitary moment to consider something he should’ve considered already and steady his response.
“Well,” Calix whispered, straightening his arm to gracefully glide his fingers over Beatrice’s cheeks. She was cute when she blushed. “To be honest, I haven’t given it much thought. Not that I don’t care about it, just, I dunno. Maybe now’s the time to chat about it.”
If she were being honest with herself, she was disappointed to hear he hadn’t given the matter much, if any thought. It wasn’t like she didn’t understand. They had each almost lost their lives at one point or another over the course of the school year, forcing them to stay alive in the moment, denying the possibility of such sweet daydreams.
Beatrice nodded and leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss to his scarred wrist, her pink lipstick leaving an imprint on his pale skin. “Where would you like to see us in a year?” she asked furtively, taking the time to memorize the early signs of little wrinkles in the corner of his eyes, of the delicate dark hairs sprouting without abandon around his eyebrows.
“Still together would be nice,” Calix said lightheartedly, blowing a kiss towards Beatrice. A wisp of dark mist, current red, fluttered upwards, carried a lover’s kiss and left a cherry-colored mark on her sallow skin.
She giggled playfully and bent down, capturing his lips in hers for a brief moment before pulling away, the feeling of his lips on hers still lingering behind. “I agree, but what about say five years from now? Ten years from now?” she asked softly, stroking his clean shaved jaw with her thumb.
His body slowly followed her as she pulled away, nipping teasingly at her red lips. Collapsing back into her lap, eyeing her naughtily for playing such a flirtatious card much too quickly in the evening, he ran his fingers through his long hair.
“Five years? Jeez, let me think,” Calix said, tutting quietly and expanding his cheeks in thought. “Maybe a house? Or an apartment? More likely a house. We couldn’t have people stay over if we had an apartment. And by people staying over, I mean, well, you know.”
She let out a breathy laugh and smiled, nodding which caused her curls to bounce like coils being sprung loose. “Well, then I have another question for you, my dear,” she started, carefully cupping his head in her hands as she shifted her weight on the bed to ease the pins and needles tingling one of her legs which had fallen asleep.
“My grandmother, Pania, sent my father a Christmas gift for me shortly before she died, a gift I’d like to share with you if you want that is. She gave me her Observatory in Samoa, where she lived all her life,” Beatrice explained, drumming her fingers on the underside of his jaw.  “Would you like to come live with me?”
Calix listener intently to Beatrice. He knew how close she had been to her grandmother. She was one of the main influences in Beatrice’s life, especially on the path of divination and astronomy.
Calix had never met her. He was disappointed to not have gotten the chance. The celebration of her life had shown him what a wonderful person she had been. And she continued to be so.
He pushed himself up slowly, kissing his teeth and wincing as a stagnant pain cut across his abdomen. Exhaling heavily with effort, Calix turned around and kneeled on the bed beside Beatrice. He gently cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing delicate circles and his fingers driving unruly curls back behind the curve of her ear to reveal the starlight in her eyes.
“Beatrice Selwyn,” he whispered, “I would love to. On one condition.”
Her heart skipped a beat, watching him push himself up off the bed and kneel beside her, a sudden but foolish thought passing through her mind briefly. She watched him with wild eyes, letting out a small sigh of relief escaping her lips as he finished his statement, relaxing at the realization he was simply accepting her offer, not proposing a new one. “Anything, my dear. I’d do anything to spend my summer living together with you in our own home,” she said, unable to stop smiling.
Beatrice tensed beneath his touch. She froze. He felt her breath stop for a second before she relaxed again. Calix, whose own heart had skipped a vital beat too, wondered if she had been worried that he would turn down her offer. He assumed she knew him well enough to guess his answer. It would never have been anything else. But then, he realised. He was kneeling. Jesus Christ! His eyes widened. A smile formed. A chuckle escaped his lips. “
“That condition is not marriage by the way, love,” Calix laughed, kissing Beatrice’s forehead sweetly, “Just that you-know-who might get his own room? And maybe come spend the summer with us? I think it would do him wonders to be away for a while. Even a little while. Don’t you?”
She was tempted to playfully swat at his arm, her face turning a bright cherry red as she cast her gaze down at the fur pelts that covered the bed. “I’m sorry, but it’s not hard to make that leap,” she said, trying to defend her sudden shift in behavior. “And, yes, of course, Ryker can come and stay with us! I wouldn’t have it any other way, though we will have to make sure his room isn’t near ours,” she added, resting her forehead on his shoulder, snaking her arm around his waist.
“Not that hard?” he playfully teased, enveloping her in his arms. He couldn’t hold as tightly as he did, but he held her as much as he could, a coarse laugh wracking his body. “Jeez, give a guy a break! This isn’t the first time I’ve knelt in front of you, you know? Let’s hit an anniversary first, babe, huh?”
“Well
I
.you...you’re on your knees and we’re...uhhh
.talking about our future together. It’s not that big of a leap!” she stammered, burying her face in the crook of his neck, her fingers curling around the hem of his shirt.
His fingers brushed the back of her neckline, nuzzling her softly. There was magic in the air - an airy sense of play and joy - that was at odds with the vampiric danger encircling the castle. Calix didn’t even think of the monsters, or anything else. He focused solely on the woman he loved.
“Thanks, Bea. I promise, he’ll be on the other side of the house! Locked up! Or we’ll be locked in. One or the other.”
She nodded slowly and stole a quick look up at him, a gentle smile on her lips. “I think he’d love Samoa. And I’m sure my family’s gonna love him just as much as I do,” she said, pulling him down for a slow, sweet, meaningful kiss.
The kiss took quickly. It was like an addiction. Beatrice’s kisses, meaningful ones that set his heart on fire, were his salvation, the light in the darkness that kept him alive, and his endless torment. He had missed her. He had missed this. He had missed everything they shared. Crix had stolen more than he knew from him and, for a moment, the torturous thoughts crept into his happiness and brought the emptiness lurching back.
It didn’t last long. The kiss dragged him back.
“I hope so,” Calix swallowed, taking a shallow breath as he stopped for a second, kissing her neck, “Do you think Mahana would teach him how to surf?”
“If he doesn’t char to a crip under the hot sun first,” she teased, tugging him down on top of her, laying back on the bed, preferring to spend the precious few moments they had wrapped around one another before they would unfortunately have to part ways for the evening. It was a great comfort to know that this unpleasantness being stuck at Idorna wouldn’t last forever. That one day soon they could fall asleep each night and wake up every morning together, never having to worry about somebody else trying to tear them apart again.
0 notes