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heylittlehollywood · 3 years

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Whiling Away

This has been hanging in my drafts for a while.

Merry Christmas, MMFD fam x

He watches as she checks her watch for the fourth time in about twenty minutes. She looks more put out every time she sees the answer on her wrist, her nose wrinkling up like she’s just realized she’s got dog shite on the bottom of her trainers.

She brushes her long raven hair out of her face, throwing it behind her right shoulder as she glances around her. Finn quickly diverts his eyes and looks down at his boots with an amused snort. He doesn’t need her noticing him noticing her...not that it’s bloody likely; she hasn’t so much as smiled his way in the last four hours that they’ve been sat here in the terminal.

He looks up and to his left, finding Chop and Archie curled up in their seats and facing each other. Chop’s girlfriend Izzy is tucked under his arm, her head tilted at an odd angle resting atop his chest. Finn doesn’t know how the lot of ‘em managed to fall asleep, not with all of the people milling about and the constant stream of announcements over the intercom.

He chances another look at the beauty sitting across from them and finds her mate staring at him. His shoulders jump in surprise at the direct eye contact. He chuckles to himself and shrugs at the mate before his eyes dart to the dark haired woman again.

The woman’s shoulder shakes from the nudge from her mate and pretty soon the beauty’s eyes connect with his. Her startled expression and slight curve to her mouth has him shifting forward in his seat.

“She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she Finny?” Chop announces from next to him, sitting up in his chair and lifting his hands up to cup his chest. Poor Iz grumbles as she sits up next to him, moving her neck to the side with a wince.

Finn’s head falls forward into his hands. “Make it a bit more obvious, will ya?” he groans, shaking his head from side to side.

Chop’s laughter reverberates around the terminal, waking any passenger that might be getting a wink or two of sleep. “She’s just a bird, Finn,” he explains, clapping Finn on the back, “it’s not like you’ve got the bollocks to say hello, mate.”

Finn turns his head until his cheek rests flat against his palm. “Iz, please promise me he’s not going to be like tha’ during the entire trip home?”

Izzy wipes the sleep from her eyes, frowning at Finn. “You’ve known him since primary, Finn. Of course he’s going to be.”

Archie stretches his arms over his head, sitting up in his seat beside Chop. “Go say hello, Finn.”

“I liked you all better when you were sleeping.” Finn crosses his arms over his chest and sinks down in his seat.

Archie reaches out to touch Finn’s forearm. “I’m serious, Finn. She looks a bit sad at the moment and could probably do with some cheering up.”

“Don’t be daft, Arch.”

Archie looks over at the two women and shrugs. “Reckon she might be sad that ol’ Finn panty-dropping Nelson isn’t staring anymore.” He turns back to Finn with a smirk.

Finn looks to the ceiling. “What have I done to deserve such pricks for mates?”

“Just lucky I guess,” Chop says close to his ear, causing Finn to jump in his seat. When and why his friend got out of his seat and sidled up right next to Finn, he’s got no idea.

Finn reaches up to scrub his hand at the side of his neck. “Don’t breathe on me neck like that, ya nutter.”

Chop grins big and sits back into his own seat. “Bet you wouldn’t mind if your love interest over yonder was doing it, eh Finny?”

Finn has to grab at Chop’s hand and force them onto his lap before the lovely woman notices his mate waving wildly in her direction. “Would you PLEASE not embarrass me?” He looks to his other mates, eyes large and pleading as he gets up from his seat. “I’ve got to use the loo. Could you two please keep him out of trouble?”

“You can count on me, Finn,” Izzy tells him from her new perch on her boyfriend’s lap, giggling when Chop blows a raspberry against her neck.

Finns just flushed the toilet when the intercom sounds with an important update on flight 1508 from Palma to Heathrow, but Finn doesn’t quite catch it over the noise. He washes his hands quickly before finding his friends back in the terminal, the three of them looking quite distraught. “What is it? I didn’t hear the whole thing.”

Archie looks up as Finn approaches, shakes his head. “Delayed 3 hours, something about the plane needing a repair.”

Izzy wipes at her eyes as Chop holds her close. “My mum is going to be so upset if we aren’t home tonight.”

“3 hours. That’ll put us in around midnight, yeah? I should call my da,” Finn states as he wrestles with the tie on his bag and searches the largest pocket for money to call his father.

****

“I don’t know about the rest of ya but I’m ready to get sloshed. My poor mum were gutted that we won’t be home tonight,” Chop tells them, tossing his wallet onto the seat next to him. “Anyone else want to find a place for a pint?” He gets up and slings his bag over his shoulder, pockets the discarded wallet and starts down the hall towards the pub.

The rest of the group is quick to grab their things and follow behind

him, Finn at the rear. He chances a glance back over his shoulder to see if the pretty woman with the dark hair is still there, but doesn’t see her or her friend. He tugs the strap of his bag over with a sigh and jogs to catch up with his friends.

Archie finds them a table towards the back of a pub a terminal down while Chop goes to the bar to get the first round. “This music is shit, Finn. Why don’t you pick something else?” Archie asks, sliding several coins across the table towards Finn.

Finn shrugs, picks up the coins and heads in the direction Archie points him in. He’s happy to find nobody else around and is free to select whatever music he likes, selecting several from The Smiths, The Stone Roses, Primal Scream, and a song or two from Blur. With a self-satisfied smirk he makes his way back to his table for his pint and maybe a bit of praise.

He takes the pint from in front of his empty seat and takes a swig. His first selection comes over the speakers and Finn looks up from his beer to his friends expectantly. He nearly spits out his first sip when he finds an unfamiliar pair of dark brown eyes looking back at him, but in a rush not to do so he ends up inhaling the liquid and has to turn away so he doesn’t cough in her face.

Finn rubs at his chest as he finally turns back to the table, his cheeks heating with embarrassment. He can see both Archie and Chop looking away, their hands covering their mouths as their shoulders shake. Both Izzy and this woman’s mate are staring intently at Finn and the dark haired beauty.

“Are you alright?” the woman asks, touching his forearm with her hand.

He nods and takes another sip of his drink, hoping that it will calm his nerves enough to speak. “Sorry about tha’, think I took it down a bit too fast or summat.”

She smiles at him. “I’m just glad that you’re OK.”

Izzy clears her throat from across the table, but Finn’s eyes are otherwise occupied. “Finn, this is Chloe,” she explains, pointing to the lighter haired woman next to her, “and this is Rae,” she tells him, motioning to the woman in front of him.

Rae smiles at him and points to the ceiling. “This your doing, Finn?”

“The music?”

She nods and shuffles her feet a bit, drawing his attention down. “Yeah, I reckon it is. Who doesn’t want some Stone Roses on Christmas Eve?” he asks, perusing her body from her feet up.

Chloe laughs from her seat next to Izzy. “Don’t see much use trying to interject ourselves into this conversation.”

Finn puffs out his cheeks, blowing out a deep breath before taking another sip from his pint. Guess he hadn’t been very sly in his quest to get a good look at her. He doesn’t regret it. He likes what he saw, likes that her bulky jumper ends right below her bum, but is still just tight enough that it doesn’t hide the curve of her hips.

Rae looks over at her mate, her eyes opening wide and her lips pursing. This only causes Chloe to laugh harder, waving her mate away with the flick of her wrist and turning her attention to Izzy.

Finn catches sight of the glass in Rae’s hand, which just so happens to be resting against her hip and can tell that it’s nearly empty. “Do you need another drink?”

Rae takes her last sip of the beverage and shakes the glass between them. “I’d love one, Finn.”

She follows him up to the bar and places her drink on the bartop. “Snakebite please,” she tells the worker before turning her attention back to Finn.

“So Finn, where are you lot flying to?” she asks, resting her elbow on the bartop and turning her body towards him. The man behind her keeps bumping into her back, forcing her closer to Finn. He’d tell the bloke off if she looked the least bit bothered and to be honest he’s liking her closer. But really he can practically feel the heat of her body she’s so close and he’s really struggling to focus on much else, not when with each breath she takes her tits are brushing up against his chest.

He clears his throat and meets her eyes. “London, but only to pick up our car and drive home. We have another 2 hours to go or so from there.” He reaches into his pocket and slides the money to the barkeep when he drops off the snakebite. “Where are you and Chloe headed?”

She takes a sip of her new drink before answering, “about 2.5 hours north of London, unless one of us needs a bit of a break of course. We’ve got another week before we have to go back to Uni, so we’ll spend it in Boston.”

“You’re joking?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Joking?”

“I’m from Stamford. How’s it possible we’re all from Lincolnshire?” he asks, motioning between the two of them and to their group at the table.

Rae laughs and shrugs. “It really is a small world.”

She picks up her pint and moves to make her way back to their friends, but he stops her with a hand at her elbow. “Do you want to stay over here - with me for a bit?” He’s got no idea what he’s doing, but he knows he doesn’t want to share her time with the rest of the group.

She looks back at their friends and then to Finn before she pulls a stool out and takes a seat. “I’d like that.”

He takes another stool from under the bartop and positions it next to Rae, far enough away to not crowd her, but close enough to tell the rest of the patrons that she’s here with him. “So Uni? Where’s that?”

Rae’s knee brushes against his as she shifts in her seat. “Both Chlo and I are at Bristol, our last year actually.” She looks down at their knees, biting at the side of her bottom lip. “Are you at Uni, Finn?”

“I finished up last year. I’m back in Stamford working.”

Rae rests her elbow against the bartop, chin tucked into her palm as she looks at him. “And what do you do for work?”

His eyes haven’t left her mouth in the last several minutes, but luckily he still hears her question. “I uh - I run the local radio station actually, “ he tells her, eyes tracking the tiny droplet of cider on her bottom lip and the tip of her tongue when she licks it off. “I’ve got a show with my mate Craig in the evening as well.”

“Well you’ve got decent taste in music from what I can tell,” she says with a smile, her grin growing as she leans forward to whisper, “ but, I bet you slip in a dodgy tune every now and then, yeah? A little ‘Babylon Zoo’ for the drive home.”

He chuckles, his head tilted forward as he drags his hand through the back of his hair. He lifts his eyes to look at her. “Can ya really classify Spaceman as dodgy?”

Her laughter lights up her entire face and he’s grinning at the way she tips her head back and groans. “Bloody Spaceman. I had so much hope for your show until that bomb.”

Finn lets his hand drop from his hair and onto his lap, sitting up in his seat. He decides to shoot his shot while she’s distracted and lightly touches the pads of his fingers against her legging clad knee. “Don’t judge me too harshly, yeah?” He can see and feel her leg jump at his touch, but he’s happy when she doesn’t move her knee out from under his fingers.

He withdraws his fingers from her knee and asks, “will your family be disappointed that you won’t be home until real early in the morning?”

Rae takes a sip of her snakebite and shakes her head. “My mum and sister are in Tunisia with my step dad for another two weeks. I’ll be staying at Chloe’s.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before placing her hands in her lap. “What about your family?”

“My da’ were a bit sad, yeah. I don’t like that he’ll be alone, but not much to be done.”

He watches with a little smile as her thumb brushes against the side of his hand in gentle sweeps. “I’m sorry that you won’t be with him tonight.”

“What are you two lovebirds talking about?” Chop asks from next to him, throwing his arm over Finn’s shoulders.

Finn groans and shakes his shoulders to get Chop’s arm off him. “We were talking about you, ya knobhead.”

Chop pushes his face between the pair, looks down at their hands and then up at Finn. “Only good things I hope.” He bats his eyelashes before pushing back on his heels.

“I thought Iz was keeping you in line. What are you doing over here?” Finn asks, pushing at his friend to watch him rock backwards.

Chop waves his hand over his shoulder. “Iz and that other woman Chlo are about 5 Hooches in each. I don’t think they’ll be controllin’ anyone, mate”

That’s all it takes for Rae to push her stool back and excuse herself to go find her friend.

Chop is too far gone to notice Finn’s annoyance. “Do you want to go get something to eat? Arch and I are starving.”

“Sure,” Finn grumps. He finishes his pint and gets up from his seat. “Should we go see what the girls want to do?” He grabs onto Chop’s sleeve and pulls him behind him as he walks to the table.

When they reach the table they find Izzy and Chloe grinning, their heads pressed together and facing Rae. Rae’s cheeks are pink and she’s shaking her head in response to a question Chloe has just asked her.

Finn decides to leave them to chat, seeking out his other best mate Archie with Chop it tow. He finds Archie chatting up some bloke at the back of the pub. Archie is laughing and touching the man’s shoulder. He looks happy, so Finn decides to leave him to it.

“Let’s see if anyone else wants something, yeah?” Finn directs Chop to the table of women.

Chop presses a wet and loud kiss against his girlfriend’s cheek and whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle like mad.

Finn rolls his eyes at the pair and steps forwards to lean across the table. “You lot want anything to eat? Chopper over here is starvin’.”

“Some chips would be lovely, Finn,” Izzy says, her cheeks pink and eyes wide.

Finn smiles at her before turning to Chloe. “Me too,” she tells him quickly, pushing Rae at the hip towards him, “why doesn’t Rae go with you, yeah?”

“Round of chips, I think we’ve got it.” He turns to Rae, motioning for her to step in front of him. He looks back at his mates. “I expect a beer when I get back here.”

The two make their way down the hall in search of a fast food restaurant where they can load up on chips for their friends.

“Chlo alright?” Finn asks, bumping his shoulder against Rae’s.

She laughs and shakes her head. “Yeah, a bit pissed but mostly she wanted to give me grief.”

He looks over at her, eyebrow raised.

She groans and throws her head back, her pretty hair tumbling down her back. “She wanted to know what was going on with us. Fit bloke like you...with me?” She waves her hands over the front of her body.

Finn steers them off course and to the side of the hallway with his hand against her lower back until she’s pressed between him and the wall. He’s not pressed against her, no - doesn’t want to seem too forward, too eager to press his body to hers.

She’s looking down at the floor, a blush coloring the apples of her cheeks and stretching to her hairline. He tips her face up with his forefinger and thumb pinched at her chin. “What do ya mean, Rae?”

Her hand wraps around his forearm, but she doesn’t tug his hand away. She looks up at him through heavy lidded eyes - he can’t tell if it’s lust or the snakebites, but he likes it. “Ignore me.”

He studies her, his front teeth dragging over his bottom lip. He wants to push it, but thinks maybe this isn’t the time or place to do it. Instead, he drops his face closer to hers, looks down at her mouth. He smiles at her little intake of air.

“Finn.” He can smell the cider on her breath as she speaks, the faint fragrance of vanilla coming from her - he suspects her hair.

He presses his thumb against her chin, making her bottom lip jut out. “Rae,” he says before he places a feather light kiss against that bottom lip.

She sighs and flexes her fingers against his arm. “Do ya think we should go get the food before our mates pass out?” Her hand drops from his forearm and she blinks her eyes a couple of times, as if she’s waking up from a nap.

His hand joins hers at their sides. “‘Spose we should.” Finn steps back, giving her space to slide by him. He grabs hold of her hand, watching her as she straightens her jumper. “To be continued?”

Rae takes his hand, pulling him towards their destination. She looks over her shoulder at him with a little grin. “To be continued.”

*****

Their friends cheer when they arrive with their food, causing quite a scene. Finn has barely put the bags of food on the table before Chop is grabbing containers and passing them around the table and shoving chips in his gob.

Iz is looking quite green as she watches her boyfriend, her hand covering her mouth before she forces herself to look down at the table. “You OK Iz?” Finn asks, pushing some of the food in her direction.

She gives a quick nod before she darts towards the toilet.

Rae touches the top of his hand. “Should I go check on her?”

“Would you mind?”

She gets up from the seat she’s just sat in, her fingers skimming up his forearm before she makes her way to Izzy.

He watches her go, completely mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she walks that he barely hears Chloe say his name. He turns to her. “Yeah?”

“You can take my seat on the way back to London.”

“Wha? Your seat on the plane?”

Chloe rolls her eyes and laughs. “Yes, of course I mean my seat on the plane. You know….the one next to Rae?”

“That’s reall--”

“On one condition!” Chloe holds her hand up to stop him before adding, “I’m not sitting next to Chop.”

Chop, who has finally stopped eating, places both of his hands over his heart. “I’m wounded, Chlo.”

Finn agrees to Chloe’s offer with a nod and a smile, which she returns.

“Oi Arch, I know you’re a bit distracted, but if you don’t get your arse over here I’m going to eat the rest of ya chips,” Chop shouts over his shoulder before he opens up the last bag.

Archie is standing next to the table in a moment, slapping Chop’s hand away from his food. “Oh no you don’t.”

Chop grins up at Archie. “I weren’t really going to eat them, ya numpty. Just wanted to give those lips of yours a break.” Chop chuckles and ducks his head out of the way of Archie’s hand.

Finn shakes his head at his friends’ antics and swipes a chip out of Archie’s hand, laughing at Archie’s answering scowl. “Sorry mate,” he says, shoving it into his mouth.

“Prick,” Archie mutters under his breath, shoving at Finn’s shoulder.

Finn can feel her behind him as she walks back to join the group. He turns his entire body to greet her. “All right?”

“I think she’ll be fine after she gets a bit of sleep on the plane,” Rae tells him, her pinky skimming his at his side.

He leans in close to her, his mouth near her ear. “Chloe said that I can have her seat on the plane.” He rocks back on his heels, his head still bent and his lower lip tucked behind his teeth. “What do ya think?”

“Yes. I think yes.”

“Flight 1508, Palma to Heathrow will be boarding in thirty minutes,” the intercom announces, drawing the group’s attention.

“That’s it, that’s us Iz,” Chop tells Izzy, who is now tucked up against his side with her face pressed against his chest. She groans in response, shaking her head against him.

Chloe assists Chop with getting Iz out of the seat and places the strap for her bag over one shoulder. The three of them lead the rest of the group from the pub and towards their gate with Archie running behind - as he had to say goodbye to the bloke that he was chatting up.

The gang make it to their gate with plenty of time to spare. Finn and Rae rest their backs against the wall facing the other four who take seats near the back of the seating area, poor Iz slumping over on her boyfriend.

Finn turns to rest his side against the wall to face Rae, not quite looking at her. “So uh - Rae, do you have any plans for New Years?”

She tucks her hair behind her ear, which quickly falls in front of her face again when she turns to look at him. “Don’t think so. Probably get some takeaway and have a drink or two with Chlo.”

He’s looking at his shoes and chewing at the frayed cuticle of his thumb and he knows he probably looks like a nervous twat when he asks, “I was hoping you might like to go out...with me?”

“Yeah, YES, yes I would.”

#mmfd fanfic #mmfd fanfiction #my mad fat diary fanfiction #my mad fat diary

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solitaria-fantasma · 2 years

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The Zoo, Part 3!

Honk’s player was running late so we started up without him (don’t worry he caught up pretty quick).

Lin Shi is alive, and not very happy with us (for very valid reasons).

Turns out he only eats dried mangos because he has sensory issues and it’s one of the few textures he can stand (mood, honestly).

Koira canonically tricks peasants out of their extra snacks with puppy dog eyes.

The zombies are all so happy to be doing the jobs they are because Lin Shi specifically raises them into undeath to perform jobs or skills that they enjoyed or were good at in life. That’s more than considerations that some IRL employers have given me.

Nosca: Do you have the zombie’s ongoing consent to be undead?

Lin Shi: Yes.

Nosca:

Nosca: Can you elaborate?

Lin Shi: No.

The necromancer agreed to give the party an altered and disguised corpse that we can turn in to the townsfolk as ‘proof’ that we did our job, but it’s going to take a few days.

Lin Shi: “I’m going back into my lab. If anyone needs me, don’t.”

Miraculously, Lin Shi offered us temporary rooms in his castle while he’s crafting his own fake corpse.

Dynamite revealed that she’s actually from the Feywild, and has been stuck on this Plane.

Nosca gave the four gallons of beer in her Jug of Alchemy to John the zombie (who’s name is actually Miles? Whoops??), and he paid her 4 platinum, and then ‘subtly’ asked her to bring more if we were ever in the area again.

Koira befriended all 50 zombies in the castle, because meeting Lilly has made her a little bit homesick, and she uses affection to fill in the void.

Dynamite scoured the castle for a mummified foot, to the dismay of the zombies, and when the zombie’s wouldn’t give her one, she started kicking Lin Shi’s lab door every half-hour and shouting “KNOCK KNOCK!” until he opened it.

He gave her a jar on a strap with two mummified, magically preserved human feet inside to make her stop kicking the door.

Honk’s PC: “Do you wanna make a corpse-man? It doesn’t have to be a corpse-man…”

Honk turned the abandoned ballroom into a disco, and set about trapping as many zombies as he was able.

He couldn’t get the zombies to dance, however; they would just clean up the room and then leave.

Dynamite’s PC: “Now we just have to make the zombie’s panic so there’ll be a Panic at the Disco!”

After several days, Lin Shi gave us an alarmingly accurate body double corpse of himself, complete with a very convincing axe wound to the back of the head that’s just the right size to fit Dynamite’s axe.

“Honk!” (derogatory)

The party: “We’ll come back and visit!”

Lin Shi: “Please don’t.”

“It’s too late - most of us have already mentally adopted this dried sponge of a man. He has no choice.”

Honk then promptly walked up to Lin Shi, turned around, shit on his shoes, and ran out of the room.

It takes a couple days for us to haul the corpse back to town, and along the way, the DM makes us all roll a Perception check.

Literally everyone in the party passed the check except for Koira - my girl had advantage and STILL couldn’t roll above a 10.

“I mean, we DID kill him. That’s valid.”

Thankfully, the thing we needed the check for wasn’t hostile - it was a forest elemental who claimed to recognize the magic of Koira’s patron (called ‘Ally’) as that of a friend.

She offered Koira a boon, and Nosca and Dynamite both jokingly suggested she say “surprise me”.

Koira is just the kind of naive to say “surprise me!” out loud, and the elemental gave her a beautiful glass bottle that seemed to contain the dark and glittering essence of deep space, along with the instructions to open it if she ever “needed some space”.

Nosca identified it as a Bottle of Gust of Wind, which Dynamite promptly re-named the ‘Fart Bottle’.”

When we got back to town, the party joined a queue at Town Hall to turn in our quest for the reward, and Honk decided to try and harass the other people in line.

Honk’s PC: “I want to tie the shoelaces of the front person to the back person’s shoelaces, and then steal from one of them.”

DM: “They watch you tie the shoelaces together, kind of in awe - like, ‘We can’t believe a goose is this dexterous!’. You then yoink a beautiful pocket knife from the one adventurer.”

Honk is just going to recreate Untitled Goose Game at least once per session and I love it.

As Honk slowly led the tangled adventurers away from the line, Koira tried not to be caught watching, because she is a Good Girl, and if someone saw her watching this chaos, then she’d have to do something about it.

Nosca lost her quest paperwork in her bag of holding, and had to slowly unload its contents (on top of the corpse she’d already laid out on the table) until she found the paperwork.

This secretary hates us now.

With the proper paperwork finally filed, we got sent to another building to claim our reward.

Dynamite and Honk badgered the secretary for a lollipop, like bored children at a bank.

Koira scammed the harassed adventurers for a few quick pets before joining the party to leave, and accidentally upended their worldviews when she shouted “thank you!” back at them.

We went to turn in the body at the other building, and Dynamite called the mortician on duty a ‘nerd’ in Sylvan. Koira, who can speak Sylvan, laughed. The mortician, who could ALSO speak Sylvan, winked at them.

Honk has eaten so many coins that he jingles when he shimmies: Confirmed.

Mortician: “…and that should be it for you! Unless something comes back weird from the morgue.”

The Party: HAH! Yeah. Why would it? We, uh. We’ve got to go now.

Something is DEFINITELY going to come back weird from the morgue.

Nosca: “So….who wants to get a drink?”

Koira, paw raised: “Can we get a drink somewhere that’s dog-friendly?”

The party found a place with outside seating and settled down, at which point, Dynamite bought two bottles of glittery raspberry wine purely because it was advertised as being imported from the Feywilds.

Waitress: “Would you like a lemon for your water?”

Koira, seated at the table like a person with a salad bowl of water instead of a glass: “Ooh, yes please!”

While the rest of the party is having a lovely conversation with the waitress at the cafe, Honk was across town, causing mischief and starting fires to feel alive.

A large, dark, bird-like silhouette rolled over the town around dusk. Only Honk recognized that this was not a bird, and took flight to investigate it closer.

THAT IS NOT A BIRD.

This lumpy, many-limbed amalgamation of too many things can apparently bREATHE FIRE?!?

DM: “So what’s Honk gonna do with that information?”

Honk’s Player: “It doesn’t affect Honk, so nothing.”

Honk’s newfound motivation is to fight this flying monstrosity, because “if anyone’s going to burn down the forest, it’s going to be Honk.”

Honk’s PC: “This is my most OP character, and it’s a fucking goose.”

There’s a rider on the back of the flying amalgamation….one covered in horrible burn scars, and tattoos that are almost identical to those of Lin Shi…oh. O H. I think I know who this is.

Honk tried and failed to attack the monstrosity and it’s rider, but was quickly outflown. Defeated, he flew back to the party and began biting Nosca to get her attention.

“The waitress speaks Abyssal??”

“Her third cousin twice-removed was a Tiefing.”

The party finally packed up to follow Honk, and Koira generously gave the waitress one of the rocks from her precious collection as a tip.

The DM had me roll to see what the rock actually was, and it turned out to be a ruby the size of the waitress’s hand.

We went back out into the forest, heading toward the castle, and after a day or two, the forest started to feel….warm. The air tastes like smoke, and there’s an orange glow on the horizon.

Uh oh.

No, yeah, the forest is on fire.

“You come out of the smoldering forest to a field of ash and soot. The stone castle is now scorched, though still standing, the once-beautiful stained glass windows are blown out, and the roof - which was made of wood - is completely gone.”

Koira took off full-tilt across the ash field to the castle beCAUSE LILLY WAS IN THERE OH NO OH NO-

There’s just a skeleton of a building left; we can see straight up to the sky and down to the deepest dungeons, and there’s piles and PILES of corpses in the stairwells.

Koira and Dynamite split off from Nosca and Honk to search the basements while the other two went up, but the entire building is uncomfortably quiet.

Koira started tracking Lilly by the scent of her laundry detergent, with Dynamite hanging onto her back to keep up.

They found the source, but it was just a container of the detergent, not Lilly, herself.

We did find John/Miles, however. Or…at least, what was left of him (poor guy’s just a one-armed torso now).

Dynamite woke him up by uncorking her remaining bottle of raspberry wine and pouring some of it down his throat. He woke up very grateful.

Meanwhile, Honk and Nosca (but really Nosca) found Lin Shi’s lab still intact. The door lock had melted, and all the traps were disabled from the heat, but it was intact.

Inside a bathroom within the lab, Nosca found both Lin Shi and Lilly (thank god!) hiding in a half-filled tub of water. Both are alive (…ish), although unconscious.

Nosca instinctively ducked when Koira came hurtling into the room, still armed with her quarterstaff, and tried to body Lilly with relieved affection.

Lin Shi wasn’t so lucky, and got beamed in the head (no damage tho).

We had players who had to get up early tomorrow for work so we ended there, but now we’ve got an attempted murder-mystery to solve!!

#OOC #Quarantine D&D

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tanzen-neko · 4 years

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Dip a Toe (Victor x MC)

This is my entry for July 6th Summer of Smut Challenge. Tagging the awesome @voltage-vixen. Hope you all enjoy

Dip a Toe (Victor x MC)

MLQC

Summer of Smut Challenge- July 6th: Skinny Dipping at Night

Warnings: Semipublic nudity, sex, public sex

“Strawberry daiquiri, please. Blended.”

You ordered your drink, ignoring the man whose presence you felt behind you. The cool dimness of the hotel bar was a welcome respite to your hot face, and sweaty body, and you silently thanked whomever it was who invented AC. Handing her your card for the fruity drink, you heard the scoff of Victor behind you. Well, he could scoff all he wanted. You didn’t need his help to do anything. The bartender gave you a sympathetic look, and asked loud enough for Victor to hear if you were ok before cutting her eyes in his direction. Her warning was clear; upset her customers and she would move in. If judging by the bulge of her biceps, it wouldn’t be the first time. You shot a reassuring smile her way, accompanied with an eye roll in Victor’s direction, and taking your card back, made sure to leave a sizable tip before strolling over to the outside terrace. Even while angry, you had to admit Victor had impeccable taste in resorts. It was your first official trip as a couple, and though you had only been official for 3 months, the sheer amount of time you seemed to spend together made it feel like years. He had managed to take in account all your preferences when selecting the surprise 2 week trip as a reward for your 5 star rating on the latest venture. Though he didn’t treat you any differently as his investment, he always made sure to reward you for all the hard work as his girlfriend. You inhaled the fragrant scent of the jasmine that grew from the various planters. Taking a sip of your drink, you shuddered a little at its strength. The bartender must have felt you needed a little more boast to deal with Victor, the sweet thing.

“You’re being ridiculous, you know.” Victor’s deep voice cut through your peaceful daydreaming, and you turned around to glare at him. He looked so casually handsome in the setting sun. His light blue linen shirt gave a wonderful contrast to the honey tan of his skin. He hadn’t been using any hair products since the trip, and the stylish cut of his bangs hung into his face. They seemed to emphasize the intensity of his dark eyes, and you swallowed hard.

“Easy, girl. You’re mad. Don’t give in. Don’t. Give. In.”

Adopting a look of feigned indifference, you eyed him as you sipped your drink.

“And what, pray tell Mr. Li, is ridiculous? The fact that you find me boring, or the fact that I got upset about it?”

You downed your drink fighting back a grimace, and left the empty glass on the table. Turning around, you strolled towards the hidden opening that led to the path towards the resort’s private beach, enjoying the crashing sound of the waves. Earlier in the week, you and Victor had discovered a hidden little secret spot on the resort’s private beach. You noticed that many of the resort visitors didn’t seem to frolic there, and the two of you had gone to it each night to watch the sunset. You would have missed it by the time you got there, but you were angry and didn’t want to go back to the room with him. Besides, you enjoyed the multitude of stars that were visible over the water. You could hear his footsteps following you down the path, but for once he was quiet. You rolled your eyes at the doubt that started creeping up in your chest. Maybe you were overreacting. You squared your shoulders as you walked. No! He would have to apologize for his poor choice of words. You made it down the path, and the beach was blessedly empty. You found your favorite spot; a sun warmed rock that seemed to have mysteriously found itself just off the side of the beach. You slipped your sandals off, burying your toes in the sand. It was still hot, and you wiggled your toes deeper, a sense of peace stealing over. Oh how you loved the beach. Almost skipping over to the rock, you had missed the glow of adoration in Victor’s smile. Even in the moonlight it was so easy for him to read the delight in your motions. He briefly wondered if he should buy the resort if for no other reason than to get to see you smile.

You plopped down on the rock, and kept your toes in the sand. There was a breeze coming off the ocean, and the salty smell of it tickled your nose. Victor sat next to you, making sure to leave a bit of space. You continued to ignore him. Tracing patterns in the sand with your toes, you heard him sigh.

“ I didn’t call you boring you know.” You didn't look in his direction.

“Oh?”

“Dummy, I said, predictable. I’m not sure what idiotic dictionary you’ve been using, but those words are not the same in mine.”

You whirled towards him, the strap of your tank top falling down a little over your shoulder.

“They might as well mean the same thing Victor! When you say you don’t have to ask me about things because you already know my response, well it makes me feel boring… even if that’s not what you mean. I can be exciting too, you know!.” You huffed at his amused expression and turned back around crossing your arms. He reached out to pull up your strap and you jerked away slapping his hand.

“Ouch! Dummy, I’m just trying to fix your top. You’re not wearing a bra. Are you trying to put on a show?”

Sudden inspiration struck you. Maybe it was the drink that left a pleasant fuzzy sensation in your head. Maybe it was that amused look on Victor’s face, or his refusal to admit that telling you that you were predictable wasn’t a nice compliment. Either way, you jumped up from the rock, and sauntered over to Victor, out of reach, but in his full view.

“Maybe I want it to fall down. After all, I am about to undress.” You spun away so your outline was partially obscured by the shadows stretching out on the beach, the moonlight lending a glow that made you feel like a goddess as you slowly unbuttoned your shorts. Shimmying out of them as sensually as you could, (a feat that came with challenges given they way they stuck to your sweat covered thighs), you took a second to fold them before you languidly let your fingers drift down to your tank’s hem. Victor let out a growl, and you turned to face him, an eyebrow drifting up in question.

“And just what in the hell do you think you are doing?” he bit out.

“Why Mr. Li, you mean you can’t predict my next move?” Not waiting for a response, you pulled your tank off, breasts bare to his stare. Fighting the self conscious urge to cover yourself, you hooked your fingers in your underwear, pulling them down in one swift motion. Victor choked as he stared at your body. The struggle between disapproval, and arousal fighting for dominance on his face.

“Dummy… I’m warning you…”

Instead of responding, you stretched, moaning sensually as you could feel the muscles in your back stretch and pop.

“Warn me all you want. I’m going for a dip.”

“You’re not that strong of a swimmer,” he snapped at you, disapproval winning in the end.You shrugged in response. “Well then I guess you better join me, huh? Unless it’s too boring for someone as sophisticated as yourself, Mr. Li.”

You turned and walked away from him, not bothering to wait for a response. Still, your heart pounded hard in your chest. What if he didn’t join you? “Nonsense” you told yourself. And well if he didn’t, you weren't going to dwell on it. You reached the water, and waded out. It had been a sweltering day, and the water was like a tepid bath. You giggled as the waves pushed you back towards the shore. Your feet feeling the sea shells embedded in the sand. You tucked your knees in your chest, riding a wave back to shore before you raced out again to find another one. Laughing loudly, you let the waves wash over you again. Forgetting for a moment you were mad, you shot a toothy grin Victor’s way. It left your face quickly, however. He was no longer on the rock. You turned back into the water with a sigh. The waves not as fun alone anymore. Maybe you had taken it too far?

You heard his chuckle behind you, and before you could turn around, he pulled you against the hard planes of his chest.

“Quit pouting. As if I would let you stay out here alone.”

You struggled against him for a moment, but he just pulled you closer.

“Stop wiggling so much. Your little fist is near a sensitive area, you know.” Frowning, you finally registered that you hadn’t felt his linen shirt. Reaching a questing hand back, Victor groaned a little as your hand brushed against his rising erection.

“You’re naked,” you said without stopping the movement of your hand. If anything, you sped it up a little. Victor’s hands drifted from around your body to your shoulders. He leaned down to drop a scatter of kisses on the back of your neck.

“Well I wasn’t about to ruin my clothing.” You hummed a noncommittal response, and stopped your hand, darting off in the waves. “Wrong answer!” you shouted at him laughing at his dumbfounded expression. You didn’t get very far before his hands grabbed you around your waist. Victor lifting you with ease, and twirling you around, before looping an arm under your legs, bridal style. You clung to his neck as he dunked you in the water and pulled you back up.

“Victor, you jerk!” you shrieked at him. Your hair was plastered to your face, and you sputtered out the salt water that had filled your open mouth. Instead of apologizing, he threw his head back, a carefree laugh erupting from him that tugged at your heart. Always composed and in control, it took your breath away whenever you got the chance to see him openly laugh. And everytime he did, you felt yourself slip a little bit more in love with him. Setting you on your feet, he pushed your hair out of your face, smiling at you before leaning in for a kiss. You let your eyes drift shut, and raised your face up in anticipation. Victor let out another chuckle before brushing his lips against yours so lightly, you almost didn’t feel it.

“I… I really am sorry for hurting you. I don’t think you’re boring. You’re too much of an absent minded fool to ever be boring.”

Your eyes shot open, but before you could fuss at him for his backhanded compliment, his smiling lips reclaimed yours once more. He deepened the kiss, and the taste of the ocean filled both of your mouths. You twined your fingers into his hair as his tongue tangled with yours. Victor slid his hands along your hips, pulling you in closer. You could feel his erection against your body, and you dropped a hand to grip it. You worked your hand up and down his erection, and Victor’s breathy moans were lost against your lips.

“You’re not going to stop again, are you?” he asked almost desperately.

“The only reason I’m going to stop is because I’d rather have you buried in me,” you responded back, nipping at his lower lip. Victor groaned at your words pulling you back in for a passionate kiss. His thumbs gently stroked along you before he moved one of his hands between your legs. Cupping you gently he delved two of his fingers inside you, scissoring them back and forth for a moment. You let out a groan of your own as his skilled fingers work their magic on you taking you closer to the edge. His palm ground against your clit and your stomach flipped as your arousal rushed to coat his fingers. Victor ducked his head down to lick a path between your breasts, and latched onto a nipple, flicking his tongue against it. You let out a whine, and tried to ride his fingers for more stimulation.

“Victor, I’m ready. Please, just, just give me what I need.” Victor shuffled you back a bit, the water swirling around your ankles before he dropped to his knees and pulled you down with him. You laid out on the sand, the waves tickling your bodies as he placed himself between your legs. Rocking back on his knees, he grabbed your legs, draping them over his thighs. Watching intently, he eased himself in, inch by painstakingly inch until he was as deep as he could go.

“I love watching how well you take me.” He moved his hips forward in a hard stroke, groaning your name out as he did. He pumped forward again, and soon he set a pace that had you writhing against the sand. His hands dropped on either side of your head, and you flicked your tongue against the pulse at his wrist, raising your hips to meet the force of his thrusts. Victor let out a curse, and sped up. He angled his hips in just the right direction to hit that spot that made you almost see stars. It felt so,so good. You reached your hands up and clasped them around Victor’s neck to drag him down for a kiss. You crossed your ankles around him to take him in deeper, the pleasure mounting in your core. You broke the kiss to throw your head back at the jolts of pleasure that began shooting over your body.

“Victor, I’m about to cum, oh I’m about to cum. Don’t stop, please. Oh, please”

“I’m close too,” he ground out as he picked up his pace. “Cum for me, love. Take your pleasure from me.”

You bit into Victor’s shoulder as you fell apart, your screams of pleasure muffled against his flesh. He gave a few more hard pumps before he pulled himself out and spilled across your stomach. After a few more kisses and catching your breaths, you rinsed off in the waves. You shivered as you made your way back to your rock. The temperature had dropped, and you were feeling it. You and Victor quickly dressed, and he held your hand as you made you way back up the path, swinging your hands back and forth.

“So…. Am I forgiven?,” he asked glancing in your direction. You pretended to ponder a bit, and even tapped your chin earning an amused snort from Victor.

“I’d say you’re well on your way. But don’t most apologies need someone on their knees?”

Victor stopped walking, and pulled you into his arms. “Oh I’ll have you on your knees alright, and on your back, on my lap, and maybe even on all fours”, he whispered against your ear.

“Victor! That’s not what I meant!” you giggled slapping his chest before you two resumed walking.

“But I have to say, if this is the way you apologize, I hope you mess up a lot more in the future.”

#summerofsmut #summer of smut challenge #mlqc victor #mlqc smut

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lovesupernova25 · 4 years

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Ok, I finally finished the next part! Sorry for the long wait. Again, this I don’t have personal experience with mental illness, so if I misrepresented anything, please feel free to tell me. Also make sure to read the warnings! Ok, enjoy✌🏻

A Prince Should Be Perfect

Part 3

Warnings: self deprecation, anorexia, shattering glass, starving oneself, general Roman Angst, food mention

Characters, Roman, Logan, Patton, Virgil

Wilted.

That’s how Roman felt.

It had been a week of eating as little as possible, smiling a porcelain smile and staying in his room. He told them he was working on a project, something he needed to devote all his energy to. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. He was trying. Trying to work. Except… he was failing the ideas weren’t coming.

A week of listening to the voices.

And now… and now here he was in his room, staring at a vase that held roses which were never supposed to die.

Wilted.

It seemed an appropriate word, Roman thought, for describing something that had once been beautiful, but had lost all shine. Like a dying star, bright and fast and gone too soon. A strange numbness settled on his chest as the thought worked its way through his mind.

Wait. No- no, not numb. Roman thought with a start.

Numb was Logan when he tried to become nothing more than cold Logic. Numb was Patton when he had cried all the tears inside him and simply felt empty. Numb was Virgil when fears pressed down too heavily on him and he couldn’t bear it.

Numb was not Roman. Not the Prince, flashy and flamboyant and fabulous. Never him.

Just get up. Get off your bed get up.

Such a simple task, and yet it seemed greater a challenge than any Dragon Witch he’d ever fought. But he had to work. If nothing else, then at least he could be useful. With a herculean effort, the princely side forced himself off the too-cold blankets. (He was freezing, and yet blankets did nothing in the way of helping). Okay, just get to the desk. Hadn’t he started a script there that should be finished?

Get to the desk, get to the desk. It was a good plan, in theory.

But the mirror was in between Roman’s bed and the desk. And so, that was the cursed thing that stopped Roman in his tracks. Someone else stared back at Roman from behind the glass. This someone had bags under their eyes, shaking hands and was far, far too thin to be healthy.

But Roman saw none of this. Instead, his breath caught, and tears welled again in his eyes because nothing had changed. All the lying, all the skipped meals and skipped hugs were for nothing.

Why do you even try?

What's the point when you still look like THIS

Get rid of it.

GET RID OF IT

GETRIDOFITGETRIDOFDISGUSTINGGETRIDUSELESSFAILUREUNNEEDEDCAN’TGETRID

“AAAAAAAAARRGHH!”

CRASH!

Roman stood, panting, gripping the sword he hadn’t realized he’d summoned until the pieces of the accursed mirror fell at his feet. He could see his reflection in some of the shattered pieces, broken and wrong. It seemed such a fitting metaphor, Roman almost laughed. He dropped the sword and fell to his knees, suddenly unable to stay standing.

I need… I need a hug a QUEST. Roman thought. That was how he’d always dealt with things before, right? Go on some daring quest to the Imagination and come back a hero, ideas restored.

And so, though he could hear Logan’s voice echoing in the back of his mind, he told it to shut up. He knew he should eat, he knew quests were dangerous, he knew that they’d talked about going to others, but how could he? They couldn’t see him like this, now. Just a short quest, and then he’d be good as new. Roman could talk to them then.

That’s what the creative side told himself as he packed his bags, strapped the sword to his side, and stepped through the door into the Imagination.

+++

“Hey, have either of you seen Roman around? I need a fourth opinion on these cookies.” Patton was covered head to toe in a dusting of flour, and insisted that the others stay in the commons so they could give feedback about some questionable new confections. Logan sighed.

“Patton, we’ve already told you, the cookies are perfectly adequate. Roman said he was busy, remember?” Frowning, Patton put another bowl in the overflowing sink.

“He’s hardly come out from his room all week. And I made his favorite brownies, too!” (In truth, Roman had smelled the brownies, and resisting them had been a unique kind of torture)

“Eh, you know how he gets.” Said Virgil offhandedly, scrolling mindlessly. He tried to ignore the voice inside him that said something’s wrong something’s wrong something’s- Because he was anxiety, something was always wrong, according to that voice. Just Princey being Princey.

Right?

“Well, I’m going to check on him. I need to be sure about this recipe, and he needs to take a break anyway.” A certain flour-y side decided. So the cookies (which were spicy chili-chocolate, if you were wondering) and Patton headed upstairs toward the red and gold-embezzled door.

He didn’t scream, when he saw Roman’s room. Patton didn’t shout, because he was too shocked to do anything more than gasp, soft and confused and a little bit heartbroken. Roman’s room should have been extravagant, filled with red drapes, tapestries, a four poster bed and beautiful creations lining the walls. Extra and dramatic, just like the prince himself.

Roman’s room was none of those things, right now. The saturated colors seemed to have faded, leaving only dull shades. Tapestries and artwork had been torn down or were falling, and shards of the mirror littered the ground like fractured jewels.

“Kiddos,” Patton says. “Kiddos, I think you-you need to see this.”

Oooh boy, we gettin spicy now, lads. Where did Roman go? What will the others do? I guess we’ll have to wait and see if I can have the energy to write the rest of this what the next chapter holds 👀

And tags:

@itriedandimtired

@romanvirgil

@mushroom-soup-is-my-religion

@meowthefluffy

@yeet-ceit (I added you cause you seemed to like it, but if you want I’ll take you off)

#sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #tw: self deprecation #logan sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sketches #tw: anorexia #anorexic roman #tw: mental illness #nova writes #sanders sides eating disorder #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides angst #tw: starving oneself #i hope i got everything if not feel free to add on

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oneyeartoparty · 4 years

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Meeting At Long Last - Chapter 3: Setting Sail

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24753607/chapters/63739450

As Lily pushed open the cabin door, she felt the rush of cold air filter through the gaps in her armour. She only removed her armour when necessary, and rarely outdoors, and so the brief feeling made brought for the nostalgia of the sun on her skin and the wind dancing through her hair as it had during her carefree days spent on Dawn Island.

Coming out of her thoughts, she observed the man in front of her. Thatch was a near spitting image of his wanted poster, right down to the pompadour hairstyle and goatee. What had changed was subtle and had come naturally with age. New wrinkles and age spots had appeared that were once not present and prominent scars had faded into nearly invisible intents in the skin. Still, his age didn’t dull his warm smile, nor remove the friendliness from his eyes. If anything, it only served to enhance his friendly demeanor, evoking the feel of wise older figure from a fairy tale that helps the hero during their quest.

“Hey Lily, I’m Thatch! Fourth Division Commander and head cook. It’s good to meet the sister Ace has talked about so often. I’ve brought you some breakfast, I figured you might be hungry after last nights events.”

Bringing his hands forward, Lily saw he held a wooden platter. Across its surface were morsels, all different, but exquisite in their way. Much of what was present she recognised, but others were strange; a neon green star with a scattering of pepper atop, a piece of blue-tinted fish and oddly what she thought resembled a cherry blossom petal.

As strange as some of the food was, the care put into making the food was evident, and she knew it had been some time since her last meal. Taking the platter in her hands, she grabbed the piece of fish. Carefully lifting the bottom of the mask, she felt a slight resistance from the straps that held it in place as she placed it in her mouth.

It was delicious, undeniably so. Even with her non-existence palette, every bite was a joy.

“This is scrumptious!”

“I’m glad you like it. I made a mix of different things, so you were bound to like something here.”

Satisfied that Lily had liked his cooking, Thatch took the opportunity to hop onto the railing, crossing his legs and placing his hands on his knee before addressing her again.

“Come sit up here with me. Its more comfortable than the floor and we get a table out of it.”

“Are you sure the platter won’t fall off? I don’t want to waste it.”

“Don’t worry! The wind and sea are calm. I’d be more worried about Ace returning and inhaling it.”

Lily gave a small laugh in response. “Quite true, I’ve lost some goods meals to his blackhole-for-a-stomach.”

Handing the platter to Thatch, who placed it beside him, she joined him on the railing and grabbing another morsel. The man seemed content to wait as Lily ate before re-starting the conversation. Still, the more she ate, the more she felt energy return to her, and with it, a strange bravery that often eluded her in social situations with strangers.

“Just how much had Ace told you about us?” She asked as she grabbed another item from the platter.

“Talking about you and Luffy is one of his favourite topics. He’s told us a lot about the three of you as kids.”

“And as adults?”

“Not as much. Can’t make too many stories where you’re seas away from your family. He does make sure to check out every newspaper we get for news on you two, though. You’re not famous, but you were mentioned a few times thanks to some of the bigger bounties you’ve brought in. No front pages, but that still didn’t stop Ace from showing us.”

He pauses for a moment, undoubtedly thinking over his many conversations with her brother.

“Come to think of it, there were never any photos of you, just mentions, so Ace filled us in on your appearance.”

“I’ve changed my attire a bit since we last saw each other, but I assume he mentioned the mask?”

“Yeah matches his description too. A smiling white rabbit with a pink nose and chubby cheeks. This one not made of wood though, is it?”

“The old one became damaged during a fight with a bounty in the North Blue, so I had it replaced. This one looks the same, but its made of a special type of coloured one-way glass. It's more sturdy and comes with adjustable straps, so it's more comfortable to wear for longer periods. They even included some fabric that covers my hair and keeps it flying out during combat.”

Reaching up, she detaches the black fabric from the top edge of the mask, allowing her white hair to flow free.

“White hair for a white rabbit, it suits.”

Lily nodded in agreement as she focused on folding the fabric and placing it into a small pocket on her breast.

“Do you take it off often? Ace has never mentioned you without it on.”

GhOsT. MoNsTeR. FrEaK

His words unintentionally brought forth flashes of those she once knew. Their voices had long since faded into nothingness, but their words remained, carved into the core of her mind with serrated fingernails.

“NO!” She shouted with an abruptness that startled the man beside her.

“No… only in private.” She said in a nervous whisper, trying her best to defuse the awkward situation she had created.

I’ve ruined things again. Of course, I have. “Ok, I’ll let the other know, so they don’t bother you about it. Some of them can be nosy when it comes to new people.”

His words caught her by surprise, and when she turned to face him, she didn’t see a look of judge or rejection that had become commonplace to her. There was only an accepting smile.

“Thank you, that is incredibly kind,” her happiness coming through with every word she spoke.

He shook his head “Nonsense, it’s decent and not helping the sister of my crewmates is an absurd thought. Changing the topic to your brother, Ace is currently with Pops. Saw him get called in on his way back from his cabin, so I decided to find you. I was going to anyway since I thought you might appreciate some food.”

“Ace did warn me we might bump into each other.”

Thatch let out a light chuckle.

“I figured he would’ve, and I don’t blame him. When he first joined Hartua and me were the biggest flirts on the ship. Since he was placed in my Division at the time, he got a first-hand look at our antics. Every island we’d visit was another opportunity to find new people to spend a night with. But then…”

He looked down fondly at the easel mark on his wrist.

“You found your soulmate?”

He nodded.

“His name is Aisuru. We met when the Moby traveled to Fishman Island after a few pirate crews started a ruckus. I’d gone into a bookstore to look for new cooking books when we bumped into each other. He got such a shock from finally seeing colour he tripped over and whacked me in the face with his tail.”

As Thatch finished, he burst into laughter, and Lily followed suit. His energy was infectious, and she noticed it was easy to get caught up in the positive energy he extruded.

“I’ve taken him up to the surface a few times so he can see things with his own eyes. He loves seeing everything he’d only been able to see in painting and books. Shame we can’t travel together, but he has no desire to be a pirate and its safer for merfolk to stay on Fishman Island.” Thatch turned to face her. “Have you found your soulmate yet?”

Lily shook her head. “Not yet. The mark on my wrist hasn’t changed at all.”

“Ahh, so you’ve got a mark then?”

“Yes, it has been a black dot my entire life, I doubt that will change.”

And it shouldn’t.

Thatch gave her a reassuring pat on the back, “I know you haven’t asked, but don’t overthink it. No point worrying about this stuff, it's too all-consuming. Instead, why don’t we go check the ship?” Thatch said as he hopped off the railing, landing gracefully then smoothly tucking the now empty platter under his left arm.

Ace’s warning flickered into her mind. “A tour? I’m not so sure…”

“Please, it would be an honor to show you around.”

And so, with a nod from Lily the tour began.

For the next hour, Thatch and Lily journeyed around the Moby Dick, exploring the ship’s prominent locations. As promised, their impromptu tour started with the galley.

Lily hadn’t doubted Thatch when he said it was massive, but her mind had still failed to picture the actual size of the room and everything in it.

The room was split down the middle by fridges, countertops, ovens, stoves and other equipment she didn’t recognise, as were the walls. There were fewer people than she expected, with most of those present were preparing ingredients for the next round of dishes. She could see potatoes being peeled, carrots sliced, and from somewhere unknown came the scent of cooking beef.

There was pride on Thatch’s face as he viewed the galley that she thought was reserved for master artisans who had spent years mastering their craft, learning every aspect they could from the mundane to the wonderful.

“Given my love of cooking, I doubt you’d be surprised to hear this is my favourite part of the ship. But I’m not one of those cooks who’d keep this place locked up tighter than a Marine Base. If you ever want a snack or to make something, you’re always welcome.”

The smile that formed on Thatch’s face was like a beam of sincerity, making it obvious he wanted her to take him up on the offer.

Their next stop was the main dining area of the ship. It was substantially smaller than the galley which perplexed Lily, given the size of the crew. The tables and chair were placed haphazardly, a clear sign that the crew would move them about as needed.

“We often feast on the deck. Even if we don’t, the crew are all on differing shifts, so we’ve never had to worry about this place filling up. Of course, you’re free to eat here anytime and just between us.”

He leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, “The best stuff comes out late at night. That’s when we drink a little and focus on making the food more interesting.”

Unsure if she should trust food that the head chef himself labelled ‘interesting’, Lily simply nodded, which seemed to satisfied the cook.

“Alright, off to our final stop.”

The final leg of the tour was the longest as their destination was on the other side of the ship.

The infirmary sat toward the back of the boat, away from the where most of the crew’s activity, no doubt to give the sick and injured some much needed quiet time as they recovered.

“And this is our final stop, the infirmary. “ Thatch stopped in front of the door that precisely matched every door Lily had seen so far, excluding the red cross that sat toward the top.

Its always the doors shipwrights seem to cheap out on. No doubt this habit of theirs is going to haunt me later.

Not noticing his companion’s distraction, Thatch gripped the handle but hesitated for a moment.

“Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you don’t see the inside of this place after this visit.” As he spoke, Lily felt a protectiveness in the man’s voice.

Did I make a friend? Lily wondered.

As soon as she entered the room, Lily got the impression it was the very definition of sterile. Every surface had been cleaned to perfection. It was as if anything unclean lived in fear of entering the room, and, she thought, if this fear were to have a source, it would have to be the room’s only current occupant, excluding her and Thatch.

Marco was seated at a desk with his back to them, the sound of pen hitting paper reverberating from his direction. He hadn't acknowledged their presence, but she had no doubt he knew he now had company.

“Thatch, why am I not surprised you managed to sneak Lily away from Ace?”

“Not my fault Pops wanted to talk to Ace before he could get back from his cabin. Besides, I couldn’t leave our guest hungry, could I?” Thatch said with a chuckle.

“So, this has nothing to do with irritating Ace after he drank your sake last week?”

“Not entirely, especially now I’ve gotten to know Lily, she’s great!”

While no audible groan came from Marco, it was easy to imagine one. She felt that situations like these were a common occurrence, much to the dismay, and likely amusement of those watching.

“Good to see you currently lack patients. We all prefer it when this place is empty.” “We might have a few once we join back up with Jozu and Izu, depends how their much resistance they encounter,” Marco replied, continuing to scribble away on whatever lay in front of him.

“Might not be much, depends how much the Marines care about us laying our claim to that island. They can’t pay the Tribute, but it's close to one of their main patrol routes. S’pose it depends who is nearby when they get there.”

“Commander Thatch!”

The conversation was halted by the arrival of a scrawny man who’d burst through the door. Sweat glistened on his face and neck and his brown hair stuck to his head like it was drenched in glue.

“Pops wants to see you urgently.”

Despite his breathlessness, the man disappeared as soon as he finished speaking with Thatch moving to follow.

“Take care of Lily for me, Marco! And don’t fight her this time,” Thatch said as he closed the door behind him.

And so, with a gentle creak, her tour guide left leaving her alone with Marco. With its closing, she braced herself for the expected loneliness and anxiety to surge forward and consume her like a storm front pushed by a great wind into the path of a tiny fishing boat.

She waited. Then waited a little longer, but nothing came.

It was perplexing, but pleasantly so. An escape from the depressing normal she had long been accustom to.

“Are you feeling, ok? No cuts or other injuries from your fight with Mozo?”

Lost in her thoughts, she overlooked Marco rising from his chair and coming to stand in front of her. Now able to fully take him in, she saw he wore a long-sleeved, unbuttoned white shirt that served to displayed his muscular chest and the jolly roger tattooed across it. A few faded scars were also visible, marks earned from his decades of piracy.

He was observing her with a keen eye, looking for signs of injury or sickness, but with only her hair exposed, even his expertise was struggling to find any obvious clues.

“None, I got out without a scratch.”

A small, relieved smile appeared on his face. “Good, but if anything starts hurting you, come find me, ok? We might’ve not had the most friendly start, but I’ll look after you so long as you’re on this ship. Speaking of last night...”

He paused for a moment, considering his words before continuing.

“Lily, I need to apologies to you for what I did last night. I shouldn’t have assumed so hastily that you were a part of the attack. I deeply regret that I almost hurt you”. The sincerity of his words flowed off him and seemed to fill even the furthest reaches of the room.

She answered him without hesitation. “I accept, and please don’t feel horrible. You had good reason to act as you did.”

The grin that plastered his face was as sincere as his apology. “Alright. Maybe as a way to make up for the mistake, I could show you my favourite place on the ship? If you want to, of course.”

“Sure, lead the way.”

So, she followed, all the while bemused by why she felt comfortable with a man who had tried to fight here just hours before.

Marco took her to the stern of the ship. It had been a silent journey, though Lily noted that her companion would often glance behind him as if checking she was still following, adjusting his pace if she was more then two steps behind him. It wasn’t an act of caution, but instead of care. He wanted to make sure he didn’t abandon her.

Maybe he’s a fast walker and doesn’t want me to lose him?

With a skill only gained from years of practice, Marco placed his hand on the railing and hoisted himself up before spinning himself around, so he faced the sea. Comfortable, he turned his head to face Lily.

“Let me help,” he held out his hand toward her, a lazy but friendly smile overtaking his face, and she felt no hesitation from within herself as she lifted her hand to take his.

The ease with which Marco lifted her made her realise just how strong he was. Given his position, it would’ve been more surprising for him to be weaker. He would need more than a powerful devil fruit to be a Commander on the crew of an Emperor.

Firmly seating herself on the railing, she let go of Marco’s hand and took in the view.

Belle Island was now in the distance. The ship hadn’t been sailing for long, as she could still make out many of the details, including the town’s harbour. But these were fading, and the sea and sky were starting the blend into one as they often did when things were calm.

There were no words shared between the two as they watched the island before them fade, but she felt they were unneeded. At this moment, merely sitting together and staring into the distance was enough to make them both content. She didn’t know how long they’d sat their together, as the only gauge was a slowly shrinking island. Eventually, though, something encouraged Marco to speak.

“Lily, I hope you’ll come to love being on this ship as much as I do.”

The comfort his words brought her warmed her chest. It was a pleasant feeling, and so she decided to embrace it and ignore the oddness of that sensation coming from someone so new.

She went to reply but paused when she heard an odd sound coming from behind them.

Lily compared the sound to a ferocious beast stampeding across an open plain as it chased its prey. But as it grew louder, she realised it wasn’t many sets of footsteps but rather just one. It didn’t take much thought to realise who it was.

“Hello you two!” Ace shouted out, blissfully unaware that his thunderous footstep had already announced his arrival.

“Hey, Ace,” Marco replied, while Lily gave Ace a small wave.

Ace gave the pair a curious look that he swiftly covered with a wide grin.

“What you guys look at up there?”

“Watching the ship set sail,” Marco said nonchalantly.

Ace craned his neck to see the view but seemed to lose interest quickly.

Suddenly, and with the grace of a drunken Sea King, Ace climbed onto the railing, squeezing his body between Lily and Marco. Lily noticed she had to put up little resistance to keep her place, but the sounds of a scuffle from beside her told her there was a miniature war for space occurring between her two companions.

Eventually, the scuffling ceased as Ace sat fully upon the railing, signalling his victory. He turned to face her with an enormous grin, his pleasure at having won evident.

“Oi Ace, you almost pushed me over the side! Marco said with an irritated tone.

“If you moved over you wouldn’t be in danger of falling, would you?”

“Me? You’re the one trying to push in. Why do you want to sit in the middle anyway? You can sit on either side of us.”

“Why does it matter Marco? I wanted to sit in the middle!”

It was a light-hearted fight, one between close friends that had no malice or hatred. If they were children, she would call it play-fighting, but as adults with two powerful devil fruit abilities, it had become what Lily would describe as a play argument.

An unseen smile graced her lips as she watched them.

It is good to see Ace has made close friends here.

She looked out into the distance once more. Belle Island was turning into a speck and was soon to fade altogether. Some seagulls had followed the ship, but even they seemed to be getting further away, their circling expanding as they became discouraged by the growing distance between the boat and the island.

The bickering beside her had simmered, replaced by the start of a plot by Ace to get back at Thatch for his ‘shenanigans’, with Marco offering suggestions on the best ways to exact revenge.

It looks like this might be fun.

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aiorevelations · 3 years

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A Number, Not a Name Part 7!!

Hang on to your hats! Things are getting even more crazy! @theannecordeliashirley @btv-grace

Chapter 7: Against the Fall of Night

3 months earlier:

Regis intently watched the raindrops which trickled down the tinted windows of the Cadillac. The car he was riding in steadily made its way across a deserted cable-stayed bridge. In the distance he could see a parked Mercedes where a tall muscular man was leaning against it, waiting for his arrival. The man was wearing a fur collar trench coat and leather gloves. Beyond the bridge, Regis could make out the skyline of Kuala Lumpur, the bright lights of the city illuminating the night sky.

The Cadillac soon pulled up and stopped in front of Tarek.

The driver parked and glanced over his shoulder to Regis “We’re here Dr. Blackgaard.”

“Thank you, Alexandre,” Blackgaard said to his driver as he opened the rear right passenger door and exited the car.

Tarek walked over to Dr. Blackgaard. “Welcome to Kuala Lumpur Dr. Blackgaard. I trust you had a pleasant flight.”

“Very. The caviar was exquisite.”

“Excellent. Dalmar is quite eager to make your acquaintance.”

“In that case best not to keep him waiting.”

Tarek opened the rear right passenger door of the Mercedes and gestured for Blackgaard to enter. After Regis climbed in the back of the car Tarek entered the Mercedes as well, closing the door behind them both. Nigel, the driver, turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. The Mercedes was soon speeding down the streets of Kuala Lumpur. The neon signs of bars and clubs dotted the landscape around them. The Mercedes came to a stop in front of “The Argyle.”

“Here we are,” Tarek informed Blackgaard. The two gentlemen exited the car and strutted inside the establishment. Inside “The Argyle” hordes of people gathered and mingled. Some patrons were occupied with lively rounds of poker and blackjack, while others chatted away at the bar over a drink or spent their time on the dance floor.

Blackgaard followed closely behind Tarek as he walked over to the bar. The bartender noticed Tarek and Blackgaard coming towards him from the other side of the establishment. He made his way over to the edge of the bar and placed his hands on the counter.

“Hello, gentlemen. I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon Tarek.”

Tarek rested his arm on the bar “The boss’ plans changed. This gentleman here has some business to conduct with Dalmar.”

“The usual?” the bartender asked.

Tarek nodded his head. The bartender retrieved a shot glass and poured in some tequila. He then proceeded to add some slices of frog leg into the glass. The bartender then placed the drink in front of Tarek.

Blackgaard eyed the drink and turned to the bartender.

“A shot of whiskey will suffice, thank you.”

He grabbed another shot glass and poured some whiskey. He then slid the cup across the counter to Blackgaard. Regis picked up the glass of whiskey.

“Cheers Doctor, ” Tarek said as the two gentlemen clinked glasses. Regis and Tarek each downed their drink and placed the empty glasses on the bartop. Tarek gave the bartender a nod and walked away from the bar. Regis followed suit and the two men made their way to the back of the club. At the back, they passed through beaded curtains hanging from a doorway that led to a staircase. The stairs led downstairs to the basement of the club. Regis and Tarek descended the stairs and arrived at the bottom. In front of them was a door with a security keypad to the right. Tarek punched in the code and the door slid to the left. Tarek stepped to the side and Regis entered. Dr. Blackgaard walked in and the door immediately shut behind him. In the center of the room was a round oak table where Dalmar was seated.

“Good evening Dr. Blackgaard or perhaps I should say good morning instead” Dalmar greeted Blackgaard.

“Either one will suffice” Regis walked closer towards Dalmar.

“Please join me Dr.Blackgaard.” he motioned to the chair to the left of him.

“Certainly.” Regis pulled out the chair and took a seat.

“Now I’m not a man to put off the business at hand. My informants tell me that you have knowledge of a discovery that, to be direct, will change the world.”

“My research has been to put it succinctly earth-shattering. If I wasn’t so certain would I have devoted nearly all my adult life in pursuit of it? Now I'm on the verge of the course of humanity changing forever. All the power and money I—we’ve ever dreamed of can be ours. The most powerful men and women would be reduced to nothing but mere weaklings. We would be gods among men.”

As he heard Blackgaard’s words Dalmar found himself mesmerized by the thought of his grand delusions and dreams of wealth and power becoming reality. If what Blackgaard spoke of truly existed the conflict and obstacles he now faced in Krudia in his quest for power would cease to exist. Krudia and later the entire world would be his.

Blackgaard continued “Alas my continued efforts in my research, along with the passing of my partner and benefactor, has left me without sufficient funds and resources to continue with my excavations. However, through various contacts, I became aware of your goals as well as the funds which you have amassed.” He lowered his voice and leaned in towards Dalmar “I also heard tell of your hand in the death of my cousin, Norvan.”

Dalmar looked taken aback by Blackgaard’s direct comments about his actions. He opened his mouth but then closed it, trying to find the words. “Well, I..your cousin posed a...I—”

“Oh please don’t act all guilty or contrite. Between you and me I thoroughly enjoyed hearing of his untimely demise. He was always a thorn in my side and I thank you for relieving me of his presence.” A look of relief crossed Dalmar’s eyes. Blackgaard spoke once more. “Back to the subject at hand. I believe that a partnership between us will be mutually beneficial to us both. I will have the funding that I need and in return, your ambitions of power will not just be a dream but a surety.”

Dalmar crossed his arms and gave a slight smirk. “Dr. Blackgaard I believe that you and I can come to some sort of an arrangement.”

…..

Present-day:

Tasha stood in front of the mirror gently combing out her hair. She placed the comb down on the top of the dresser and picked some clips up off of it. She quickly tied her hair up in a bun and slipped on a pair of T-strap sandals. Tasha opened the door to her room and walked over to 204. She knocked and waited for an answer. The door opened and a half-asleep Jason, still dressed in his pajamas, answered. “Melinda, hi.”

“Hi Edward.”

“What are you doing up so early?” he yawned.

“I thought we could go out. See the sights and get some breakfast.”

“Oh, I thought we were just going to stay around the hotel until tomorrow. Besides, there is such a thing as room service.”

“I never go somewhere new without sightseeing. You never know what things you can discover.” Tasha hinted as she pulled out a slip of paper from inside her wool overcoat. She handed it to Jason. “Here, I thought we could try out this restaurant. The Ledbury. I saw it had rave reviews.”

Jason opened the piece of paper and quickly read it. Dot dash dot. Ah, Morse code. Good thing Dad taught it to me. Jason read the rest of the paper. Dot. Dash dot dash dot. Dash dash dash. Dash dot. Dash dot. Dot dash. Dot Dot. Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot Dot. Dot dash. Dash dot. Dash dot dash dot. Dot. Reconnaissance. He looked up from the paper and handed it back to Tasha. “Yes, this place sounds incredible. Just give me a second to put some clothes on and I’ll meet you in the lobby downstairs.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Tasha left Jason to change and made her way downstairs. A few minutes later Jason joined her and the two of them made their way outside to the sidewalk next to The Chardell. The street was filled with the hustle and bustle of people making their way to work or school. The air was full of the smell of car exhaust and the sounds of honking and tires squealing. Tasha grabbed some money from her purse and held it up signaling for a taxi. A taxi soon pulled up beside them. Jason opened the right passenger door and climbed into the cab after Tasha.

“So where to?” the driver asked.

“Izmirlian Square” Tasha answered.

“Izmirlian Square huh?” Jason replied.

“It’s where the parliament is located and where any political campaigns and rallies take place.”

“Well, well. I’m impressed. You really did your homework.”

Tasha smiled, “Thanks.” She lowered her voice to a near whisper, “I just figured if there’s any place we’d find out more information about the KLF it’d be there.”

The driver spoke “So what brings you to Krudia? Besides visiting Izmirlian Square.”

“We’re here conducting some business,” Jason answered.

“Makes sense. Hardly anyone comes to Krudia just to visit. I can’t say I blame them. I wouldn’t want to visit Krudia either.”

“Why is that?” Tasha asked, even though she already knew the answer, hoping to perhaps gain some new information from the driver’s reply.

“Why?” the driver almost scoffed, “There are a thousand reasons why. Almost half of the country is unemployed. The price of bread is extortionate. And the country’s been racked with economic problems and famine the past few years. Worst of all, the government and Prime Minister have done nothing. Those bureaucrats say they care but they don’t. They have barely done anything to help. And the little they have done has fixed nothing. It’s always more of the same. If you ask me, this country’s only hope is the KLF. Its leader understands that nothing will change unless radical action is taken.” He sighed “I’m sorry if I seem on edge it’s just that I’m so tired of things the way they are. Of course not being from here you’d never really understand. Anyway, we’re almost at Izmirlian Square.”

For the rest of the trip the three of them rode in silence. A few minutes later they arrived at Izmirlian Square. The plaza was filled with thongs of people protesting. Men and Women. Young and Old. The protesters all marched together holding assortments of signs in favor of the KLF and in protest of the government and Prime Minister Galstyan. As they marched in front of the Krudian Parliament Building they chanted “No longer silenced, freedom for Krudia.”

The cab pulled over and stopped by the Parliament building. “Here you are. That I’ll be 25 American dollars.” The driver held out his hand. Tasha handed him the money.

“Thank you. Have a good day.”

“You too,” Jason replied as he got out of the car.

“You as well,” Tasha added as she exited the cab. Jason closed the cab door and the driver drove away.

“There certainly are a lot of people here,” Jason remarked as they made their way into the square.

“Yes, by the looks of it at least a few thousand.” Tasha opened her purse and located her pen.

“Cheese” Jason grinned. Tasha playfully rolled her eyes before snapping a few shots of the plaza and protest.

“How about we head over to that courthouse over there? From here it looks like some sort of rally is going on” Tasha pointed in its direction.

“Sure, you’re the boss. That is what I’m supposed to say right?” Jason teased.

Tasha shook her head and started walking to the front of the courthouse. Jason followed quickly behind her. As they neared the courthouse Tasha and Jason could make out the impassioned voice of Tarek who stood on the courthouse steps. The two of them joined the audience and stood in the back of the large crowd.

“Are you tired of wondering if you’ll have enough to feed your family? Are you sick of feeling hopeless, like there’s no tomorrow?”

The men and women surrounding him nodded their heads and voiced their agreement.

“We have to recognize that as long as Prime Minister Galstyan is in power things won’t change. It’s time for us to take action. It’s time for us to demand our rights. It’s time for us to no longer be silent but have our voices heard. It’s time for a change in leadership and right now the only person who can guide us to a brighter tomorrow is Davit Dalmar. He recognizes just like all of us that change is needed, drastic change. He sees our pain and will not rest until bread is on our table and clothes are on our backs, until we can not just survive but thrive. If you want to hear his plan for change come to the Bulin Meeting hall tonight at 8 o’clock. Come to hear the truth. Come if you want a future. Come to hear Davit Dalmar.” He stood erect, resolute determination in his eyes, “No longer silenced, freedom for Krudia.”

The crowd echoed his words, “No longer silenced, freedom for Krudia.”

Jason leaned over and whispered in Tasha’s ear, “I guess we know where we’ll be tonight.”

#adventuresinodyssey #Tasha #Jason #jason whittaker #tasha forbes #fanfic #aio #aio fanfic #fanfiction #Tason #Tason forever #There may or may not be frog legs mentioned in this chapter hehehehe #😜😂#adventures in odyssey

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Marissa Meyer Reflects on Her Iconic Lunar Chronicles Series

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New editions of The Lunar Chronicles has author Marissa Meyer looking back on inventive cosplay and forward to new fairy tale retellings.

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Upon glimpsing the dynamic covers for the new paperback editions of Marissa Meyer’s reimagined fairy tale series The Lunar Chronicles, one can’t help but notice there’s something familiar about them—especially the gorgeous stepbacks that feature Cinder in a ballgown and Cress staring wistfully in the opposite direction of the strapping Thorne, silhouetted by moonlight. They bring to mind… Sailor Moon.

Meyer laughs when this comparison is brought up, considering her background as a Sailor Moon fanfiction writer, but says that it was not intentional: “I think that’s just Tomer [Hanuka]’s style.” However, when her publisher Macmillan sent along the artist’s portfolio, she was certainly struck by Hanuka’s work.

“I think that’s one of the reasons why I was so drawn to him," says Meyer. "Because it does have a little bit of that Japanese/manga vibe to it, which I love. And coming from that fandom and that background, there’s definitely a lot of influence in the books. So, I think that it plays really well; the artwork very much complements the series in a great way.”

While The Lunar Chronicles concluded with its fourth and final novel, Winter, in 2015, fans have been able to spend more time in Meyer’s science fiction fairy tale universe with subsequent releases including the short fiction collection Stars Above and the graphic novel Wires and Nerve.

Now, a re-release of the original quartet with brand-new covers showcasing each of the key characters proves that the series is still relevant to readers today. To wit, part of the new covers process involved crowdsourcing favorite scenes from the active and enthusiastic fandom via Instagram. Meyer describes seeing the same scenes suggested over and over, which made their way into the new designs: Wolf spiriting Scarlet away from danger. Winter and Jacin in a romantic clinch in her menagerie.

read more: Marissa Meyer's Renegades Trilogy is Riveting Superhero Fiction

It’s quite the departure from the original covers, each of which featured one key element from its respective book: Cinder’s mechanical leg (in place of Cinderella’s glass slipper); Scarlet’s (or Little Red Riding Hood’s) cape; Cress’ Rapunzel-esque hair; and Winter’s plague-laced apple. While the series has long been celebrated for centering the stories of princesses of color—Cinder is Asian/Caucasian, while Winter is black—and for its representation of mental illness, now those women are actually on the covers in the (human and cyborg) flesh.

“They’re so beautiful and so vibrant,” Meyer says. “I love what [Tomer] does with colors, and so when you see all four of them together, it just stands out so much. I couldn’t be any happier with them.”

That said, this is not the first time that the series has been illustrated. In addition to the aforementioned Wires and Nerve, there is also The Lunar Chronicles Coloring Book. While most authors do not experience the opportunity to see their work adapted thusly, let alone three, Meyer says it feels “incredible,” though she hastens to add that there is a fourth lens: fan art!

“It’s unbelievable to think about these characters and this world that lived inside my head for so many years, and then to see other people putting their interpretation behind it,” she says. “And in a way that there’s such wonderful justice to it, and [that] really captures the same sorts of emotions that I was trying to put into my writing. It’s just like one giant compliment. There’s nothing quite like it!”

Recent years have seen more and more science fiction and fantasy authors talking candidly about their fanfiction backgrounds, including N.K. Jemisin (the Broken Earth series), Naomi Novik (Spinning Silver), Tamsyn Muir (Gideon the Ninth), Tochi Onyebuchi (Riot Baby), and Brooke Bolander (The Only Harmless Great Thing). But Meyer has always drawn a line connecting her professional work and her fanfic persona, Alicia Blade, as seen on her old website via the Wayback Machine. It’s no surprise, then, that Lunar Chronicles fan art and fanfiction began cropping up online not long after Cinder was published in 2012.

read more: Den of Geek Book Club Podcast Talks with Marissa Meyer

“That’s the fantasy,” Meyer says, “for there to be fanfic of your own work, because I know what love goes into creating fanfiction, and how fandoms can really rally around it.” And how must that feel for a former fanfiction writer?

“It’s a little weird, honestly! But it’s wonderful, and I’m hugely honored to know there are so many people who have taken the characters and gone off and done their own things with them.”

Early on, Meyer had to decide whether she would actually read the stories on Fanfiction.net and the Archive of Our Own (AO3). Despite her burning curiosity, she considered that “if Naoko Takeuchi, the creator of Sailor Moon, regularly went on and read Sailor Moon fanfiction, I think that that might have changed what I was writing and what I was putting out there. And so early on I decided, ‘No, I want that to be for the fans; I don’t think I should be involved in that side of it.’ But knowing that it exists brings me much, much joy.”

Another way in which The Lunar Chronicles’ heroines have made their way into the world has been through cosplay, which Meyer describes as “one of my greatest pleasures” to see at conventions. One group costume that stands out in her memory is a quartet of women in ballgowns representing the albino wolf, peacock, and other animals in Winter’s menagerie on Luna: “It was this amalgamation of ballgowns and formalwear on Luna, but also the animals of the menagerie, and I just thought it was so clever.”

In addition to fanfiction, Meyer is an alum of another online-centric writing community: National Novel Writing Month. Cinder and four subsequent books began as NaNoWriMo projects, but the life of an author has made it more difficult for Meyer to time drafting to every November. When asked if she might participate this year, she says, “I hope so! I haven’t been able to do it for the last couple of years; it never seems to line up with my deadlines anymore. [...] It’s a tradition for me, and one I would love to continue. I can’t say for sure if I’m doing it this year or not; but if I can make it work, then I definitely will.”

However, Meyer fans who are considering undertaking NaNoWriMo themselves will have to juggle a tempting distraction this November: Instant Karma, her contemporary romance novel with a magical twist, will be published November 3. Meyer describes the story, the first in a planned four-book series, as “about a girl who lives in a sunny, beachside town and one day inexplicably gets the power to exact instant karma on people. And she goes around punishing all of the snobs and the bullies and the people that she can’t stand. There’s one boy that she absolutely despises, but every time she tries to use this power on him, it ends up backfiring on her. It will be a love story and secrets will be revealed, etcetera etcetera.”

On her Alicia Blade website sometime before 2012, Meyer described herself as “beloved Sailor Moon fanfiction author and future romance novelist.” While each of the Lunar Chronicles books featured romance, there is something exciting about seeing her fulfill that description with her first romance novel. “It’s been a big change from my previous works,” she says, pointing out that “this is the first thing I’ve written that doesn’t have huge superpowers or futuristic technology. There are no fight scenes! Which is awesome. [...] It’s been really nice now writing something that still has romance, still has a theme of good versus evil and what is true justice, and all of these same sort of themes I like to play with, but in a much more subtle, quiet, sweet sort of way.”

But while she expands the Instant Karma world with contemporary happily ever afters, she won’t stay away from fairy tales for long. Meyer teased a new fairy tale retelling—and while she couldn’t say which story she’s adapting, she did share that it will be an epic fantasy what-if story...

“It is going to be fantasy—kinda my first ‘quest’ fantasy novel, which I’m super excited about because growing up, Tolkien and epic fantasy and Dungeons & Dragons—all of that was my jam. It was always weird to me that my first published book was science fiction, because I thought for sure I would write an epic quest story. So this is kinda my first [of] going back to my teenage roots a bit.” The book is tentatively scheduled for fall 2021, though that timing may be subject to change.

Even as she explores new genres and stories, Meyer will never forget the idea that first set her on this path. “I have so much love for this series,” she says, “and not just because it was my first series. I think for every author, the first one you get published is always going to feel really special. From the moment that I had this idea about writing about fairy tales in the future, and this cyborg Cinderella character, I was just so smitten with it, and I loved the idea of bringing all these characters together and throwing them on a spaceship and seeing if they could save the universe."

"That spoke to my heart and to my nerdiness on so many levels," she continues, "and I just had so much fun writing it. To see it now in the world, and see how readers have responded to it, and that there’s so much love and interest in the characters, it’s really been incredible. And of course I hope to have many more successful book series throughout my career, but I don’t know that there will ever be anything that’s quite the books-of-my-heart as The Lunar Chronicles have been.”

Close to a decade since Cinder was published, with a dedicated fandom returning to the books over and over, Meyer has one hope for the legacy of the series.

“Gosh, it’s so cheesy—I’m gonna say world peace,” she says. “That’s one of the things that I loved writing, was a world in which Earth and the countries of Earth have obtained world peace, and they have been at peace for over a century. I don’t know if it’s naïve, but I truly like to think that that is a potential future.”

The new, gorgeous paperback editions of The Lunar Chronicles will be available for purchase on February 4th. You can order them now via the official website.

As a former fanfiction writer herself, Natalie Zutter is mightily inspired to finish all of her WIPs. Talk fairy tale retellings with her on Twitter @nataliezutter.

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Feature Natalie Zutter

Feb 3, 2020

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#aion-rsa #Books

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today-only-happens-once · 6 years

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Conditional

Title: Conditional

Word Count: 4373

Summary: High School AU. Virgil has bad news that he doesn’t know how to break to his dads. Especially Logan. Familial LAMP/CALM, paternal/familial Analogical.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, arguing, miscommunication, cursing, almost-crying, self-deprecation.

A/N: I have… mixed feelings about how this one turned out. I’m even less sure of how it will come across to other readers… I hope it’s okay! It’s kind of... paragraph-heavy, I guess... Apologies if this does not live up to expectations, but would love to know what you think regardless. I wanted to get it out to you all this week for #SidesContentWeek. <3 Edited by yours truly so all mistakes are mine.

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @lizaelsparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @candiukas, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh

…

Virgil checks the mailbox when he gets home and sees the envelope with the college’s logo in the corner and his name in neat typeface. He folds the envelope, slips it into the pocket of his hoodie, and hands the rest of the mail over to Patton as he walks through the door. His dad gives him a bright greeting, asks how his day was, and Virgil manages to ignore the churning in his stomach long enough to carry on a brief conversation about the history test that he thinks he did okay on.

And then he mumbles something about an upcoming exam in chemistry and hurries up into his room. He closes the door behind him. Virgil pulls the crumpled envelope in his pocket out and sets it on his desk as he collapses in the chair.

He stares at it.

This is his last option. He had applied to four colleges. He had heard rejections from three of them so far. This is his last shot. He can almost hear Roman singing Hamilton in the back of his mind but the image does little to dispel the tightness in his chest. The unopened letter feels like a sentencing.

He feels like he’s on trial in the moments before the jury reads the verdict.

He can’t open it. Not yet. Just in case it’s bad news. He just wants to hold onto the hope a little while longer. He snatches the envelope off the desk, shoves it in his backpack, and turns on Evanescence before digging his science notebook out of his bag.

…

Roman Prince arches an eyebrow at his best friend as he closes his locker. “So you haven’t even opened it yet?”

The school hallway bustles with activity as students rush off to second period. Virgil shrugs, adjusting the strap of his bag slung over one shoulder. “Not yet.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know, man,” Virgil sighs. “I mean, what if it’s a rejection? What happens then?”

“You don’t know that,” Roman replies as the two of them start walking down the hall towards their respective classes: Virgil to World History, Roman to American Lit. “Do your dads know you’ve got the letter?”

Virgil glances away. “I haven’t told them yet.”

Roman looks at him, exasperated. “Why not?”

“Look,” Virgil says, “I’m just not ready for them to know yet, okay? They want me to go to college so badly. This is my last chance. I just…” He lets the thought go unfinished. He doesn’t know how to tell Roman that seeing that disappointment in his dads’ eyes just isn’t something he’s ready to confront yet.

“It might be good news.”

Virgil also doesn’t know how to explain to his far-reaching, bright-eyed best friend that he just doesn’t share his optimism. “Maybe,” he admits. “But I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

“You have a bad feeling about everything, Hades-frown.”

Virgil gives him a look and stops walking. Roman stops beside him, holding his hands up in mock-surrender.

“Forget it,” Virgil says, pushing past Roman. “We’re gonna be late.”

“C’mon,” his best friend implores, grabbing his arm to stop him. “Why don’t you just get it over with? Open it right now.”

“No.” Virgil pulls his arm free of his friend’s grip with perhaps more force than is necessary.

Roman sighs, his voice softening. “Waiting isn’t going to change what the letter says, Virge. Your answer is in your pocket. Whatever future quest is bestowed on you, it’s been decided already.”

Virgil blows out a frustrated, annoyed sigh. He wants to tell Roman that he doesn’t get it. Roman doesn’t have to see the awkward shifts of gazes when he explains that he’s still waiting to hear back from his last college. He doesn’t have to force a smile and lie through his teeth as he says he’s “optimistic and excited” even as his mind sifts through the minefield of potential follow-up questions, looking for an escape.

But Roman’s right. The paper isn’t going to change what it says, and waiting to find out only prolongs knowing what had been decided weeks ago. It would have no actual bearing on the decision. Roman’s hopeful brown eyes and small, encouraging smile is the last little nudge Virgil needs.

Maybe, a small part of him whispers, Roman could be right twice today. Maybe it could be good news.

Virgil rolls his eyes with forced indifference. “Fine,” he says, “if you really insist that much.” He swings his backpack around his shoulder and pulls it out. Roman grins at him.

Virgil’s fingers clench around the paper and he swallows hard. Just get it over with, Sanders, he tells himself firmly. He sucks in a deep breath and releases it in a slow, tight exhale. Then he digs his finger into the corner of the envelope flap and tears it open.

He pulls a white sheet of paper out and unfolds it. He glances up at Roman who raises his eyebrows in expectation.

His heart is hammering in his chest. He looks down at the page.

Dear Virgil,

We regret to inform you that while your application was appreciated and we are grateful for your interest in our institution, we are not able to offer you a place in the Class of –

Virgil stops reading.

“Virgil?” Roman asks softly.

Virgil shoves the paper hard into Roman’s chest. “I have to get to class,” he says hollowly.

…

Virgil avoids Roman for the rest of the day. He eats lunch in the library, a part of him grateful that he doesn’t have any classes with his best friend. He can feel his phone buzzing in his pocket. By lunchtime, he has four texts from Roman.

R: I’m sorry

R: You okay?

R: Can we talk at lunch?

R: If you need to talk, I’ll be there. Just say the word.

Virgil pockets his phone, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. The words from the letter keep running through his head and it is hard for him to hear much of anything else. We regret to inform you. We regret to inform you. We regret to inform you.

He’s a failure. A disappointment. Idiot.

He’d been so fucking stupid.

“Virgil?”

It’s right before last period when a familiar voice says his name. Virgil looks up from his shoes and pulls an earbud out sheepishly. He isn’t supposed to have them in, but blaring My Chemical Romance into his ears had been the closest he’d been able to get to drowning out the thoughts raging through his head.

In front of him stands one of the school counselors. Dr. Emile Picani. He had actually been a counselor at Virgil’s grade school before transferring into the high school when Virgil was in his sophomore year. Virgil had met with him for a few weeks when he’d first been transferred into foster care under Logan and Patton to help him adjust to the new school. They’d gotten along surprisingly well, and Virgil had to admit that he’d been pleased when Picani had transferred schools, if only because it was another friendly face in the hallways.

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, Dr. Picani.”

The school counselor gives him a warm smile. “How’s it feel to only have a couple of months left before graduation?”

The question makes something squeeze Virgil’s chest uncomfortably. Terrifying. “Pretty good.”

Picani’s head tilts slightly, like he sees right through Virgil’s lie. His smile softens a bit. “I’m glad to hear that. I should let you get to class, but don’t be a stranger. My door is always open.”

Virgil doesn’t know if he’s more transparent than he wants to be, or if Picani is just that observant. Virgil nods slowly. “Y-yeah. Of course.”

…

A few days have passed and he still hasn’t really talked with Roman about it. He thinks Roman wants him to bring it up, but he doesn’t. So they talk about classes and theatre and music and anything but college, the future, the letter.

Virgil gets home and he unzips his backpack at the kitchen table. He had stashed a coffee thermos in there in the morning and needed to rinse it out. What he finds, however, is the white envelope he definitely remembers shoving at Roman days ago.

We regret to inform you.

He doesn’t know when or how Roman got it back into his backpack. On it is a white Sticky Note with red cursive lettering that is unmistakably his best friend’s handwriting.

This is yet another beast you will come to conquer. Do not lose hope. Roman had drawn a small crown in the corner instead of a signature. Virgil knows his best friend is well-meaning. But he feels his heart constrict at the sight of the envelope and letter again. Bitterness floods his mouth.

He doesn’t want to deal with it. He doesn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not ever.

Most of all, he doesn’t want to think about telling his dads. Telling Logan. He doesn’t want to think about what they’ll say when they realize he really is the mistake they never should have bothered with in the first place. Education—college—had always been important to both of his dads. Logan especially. All the hours spent helping him improve his grades, understand concepts, patiently work through practice questions. They’d given him so much. What does he have to show for it now, to show he wasn’t a waste of their time? The answer is nothing.

He doesn’t want to think about it.

Blindly, Virgil tears the note in half and shoves it and the papers into the trashcan before rushing up to his room.

…

“Virgil, are you alright?”

Logan’s question comes in the middle of dinner. The seventeen year old had been studiously avoiding looking up, instead opting to push chicken breast and broccoli around his plate. His dads’ conversation had begun to blend into the general background noise of the kitchen—the dishwasher running, the whir of the refrigerator—and Virgil had found his thoughts wandering for what felt like the millionth time. We regret to inform you.

“I’m fine,” he replies hollowly. Fine, he supposes, is a subjective term.

“Kiddo,” Patton says softly. “Something wrong?”

“Nope.”

Virgil still doesn’t look up, but he thinks he can feel Logan’s gaze narrow at him. He just wants to go to his room, close the door, and never come out again. Part of him whispers the understanding that he has to tell them eventually. The other part muses idly about whether it would be too cliché to run away and join the circus.

He doesn’t want to run away, though. Not really. His two dads sitting across from him at the kitchen table were the best home, the best family, he had ever had. When Patton had asked if he wanted to be adopted—Virgil had been ten at the time—he had answered nearly immediately out of fear that Patton might change his mind and take the question back. They had provided him with a constancy and security that Virgil had never before experienced. They had given him a kind of warmth and love that Virgil wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

He wonders if that’s what makes this so painful. Because he’s disappointed them—Logan especially—and he doesn’t know how to tell them. He’s failed his dads, failed Logan. Logan who had always believed in him so much, so obviously believed he could succeed.

“I’ve got a lot of homework,” Virgil tells them. “I should probably go work on it.”

“Virge, you barely ate anything.” Patton’s voice is quiet and concerned. It only makes Virgil feel worse. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, dad.”

Patton and Logan had always been supportive of him right from the start. Patton’s warmth and unending empathy had helped with the transitions into a new home and a new school. His words of encouragement and support whenever Virgil found a new interest had helped him feel more comfortable with himself in ways he never had quite been before.

Logan’s support had looked different, but had been evident nonetheless. The high school science teacher had demonstrated an endless amount of patience with him, answering questions and working with him, even if it meant teaching himself brand new subjects or methods in order to help more efficiently. More than once, both of them had fallen asleep at the kitchen table only to wake up to Patton setting two cups of coffee in front of them with an amused smile the following morning.

When Virgil would slip into self-deprecating talk out of frustration at not understanding something, Logan’s calm reassurance and rational explanations melted away the self-doubt and second-guessing. Logan showed over and over that he felt Virgil could and would succeed. And before long, Virgil started to hesitantly believe that about himself.

Logan had been the one who drove him for hours to go visit different colleges across the country. Any time Virgil had mentioned something related to going to college—even just passing comments about how his roommate might be a total idiot—the teen hadn’t missed the way Logan’s eyes would light up in that subtle way. Shining with pride and anticipation.

Logan had been proud of him. So much for that, he thinks bitterly.

“Do you require any assistance?” Logan asks him, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“I’m fine,” Virgil replies tightly. He pushes back from the table. “Thanks for dinner.”

…

There’s a soft knock at his door. Virgil glances at the time on his phone. 10:13 PM. He presses a button to dim the screen. “Come in?”

The door opens slowly. Virgil admits he’s a bit surprised when he sees that it’s Logan. It only takes a moment before Virgil realizes that something seems… off. Logan looks hesitant. His jaw and shoulders look tense.

“Uh, hey,” Virgil says. “What’s up?”

When Logan steps fully into the room, Virgil sees the white envelope in his hand and pales. Shit…

“Virgil,” Logan says, and then stops like he isn’t sure what to say. He glances down at the envelope in his hand, then back up at Virgil. There’s something—an emotion—in his eyes that Virgil can’t place. Logan takes in a breath. “I found this in the trash. I wanted to…” He trails off. His grip on the paper tightens.

Virgil shifts. “You went through my trash?” he says, the accusation empty. Virgil knows the envelope was probably just sitting on top when Logan went to change the bags like he did every night. Virgil had been stupid. He should have buried it deeper into the bag at least.

“You know the answer to that.” He tosses the envelope onto the bed in front of Virgil’s lap. “What does it say?”

“Dad…”

“Virgil,” Logan says, his voice tight. “Please.”

Virgil shakes his head, his face flushing under his scrutinizing gaze. “As if you don’t know already,” he snaps. “Look, I’m sorry I’m such a huge let down to you but you don’t have to act like you’re so surprised.”

Something sharp flashes through Logan’s eyes. “You weren’t accepted.” It isn’t a question.

Something is squeezing Virgil’s chest at the cold tone. “No,” he says, hating how deflated his voice suddenly sounds. “I wasn’t.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Virgil looks down and stares at the black sheets on his bed. His phone. The Dear Evan Hansen poster on the wall. Anywhere but at Logan.

“How long have you known?” Logan asks eventually in a quiet, measured voice.

Virgil swallows and shoves his hands into his pockets. “A few days.”

He hears Logan take in a slow breath. In his peripheral, he sees his father nod stiffly. Logan then turns and walks out of the room. Virgil tries not to wince as the door latches shut behind him.

…

Days go by. Virgil does his best to keep himself busy and out of the house. He stays later after rehearsals to work on set design and building. Roman sticks around with him, rehearsing lines and blocking as Virgil adds more detail than had been asked of him to the brick texturing of the set wall. He pretends to not notice his best friend’s worried glances. He feigns ignorance of the questions he knows Roman wants to ask but won’t.

He spends more hours at the library, too. The good news is that he finishes his paper on Shakespeare’s The Tempest two days early. The bad news is that he can’t ever seem to focus on his Chemistry homework.

He checks Tumblr more often. He checks Facebook less.

When he gets home—usually around or just after dinnertime—he goes to his room first. He times snack breaks for after he hears Logan’s steady, measured footsteps come up the stairs and the bedroom door closed so that he can get to the kitchen without running into him. When Patton texts him in the early afternoon about whether or not he plans to be home for dinner, Virgil pretends that his stomach doesn’t twist with guilt as his answers go from idk to not tonight.

It’s surprisingly easy to avoid Logan, and Virgil begins to wonder if Logan might be avoiding him too.

…

It’s coming up on a full week since Logan had found out. 6 days exactly. Virgil shuffles quietly out of his room to the bathroom down the hall. It’s almost one in the morning, and the teen still needs to brush his teeth before he clocks out for the night.

The door to his dads’ bedroom is slightly ajar, a soft warm light peeking through. Virgil frowns. Usually, his dads went to bed no later than 11:00, often much earlier. The fact that there was a light on at one in the morning was… unusual.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and Virgil risks a quick glance in the open space of the ajar door.

Logan sits on the edge of the bed with his back to the door, Patton beside him with a hand rubbing his back. Logan has his head in his hands. He says something Virgil doesn’t quite catch. Patton stiffens, responds in a low, soft voice and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Patton pulls Logan closer.

Logan takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. Virgil watches, feeling like he’s intruding when he sees Logan tuck into Patton’s embrace a little more.

Virgil’s phone vibrates loudly in his pocket. He teen cringes at the noise and ducks into the bathroom before either of his dads can so much as look up.

…

The next evening, Virgil slips out of his bedroom and pads quietly down to the kitchen to grab a granola bar. Most of the lights in the house are off, so the teen figures it’s safe to assume his dads have gone to bed. Besides, Virgil hadn’t eaten much for dinner and his stomach was growling. He has seven problems left in his Pre-Calculus homework.

He still can’t quite shake the image of Patton with his arm around Logan from the previous night. He doesn’t know why it makes him feel uneasy. Guilty. A small part of him knows he’s at fault, but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

He can’t change that he didn’t get into college, and he can’t change how Logan found out. If he’d had his way, Virgil thinks to himself as he rounds the corner of the staircase, Logan still wouldn’t know. Logan would still be proud of him. Logan wouldn’t have realized yet what a huge mistake—

His thoughts cut out abruptly at he sees him in the kitchen. Logan is washing dishes, his hands plunged into a sink full of hot, soapy water. Virgil freezes in the doorway.

He wonders if it’s too late to rush back to his room when Logan speaks up.

“You missed dinner tonight.” It sounds more observational than accusatory. But Virgil can’t be entirely sure without seeing his father’s expression, and Logan hasn’t turned around.

The teen shrugs. “Yeah, I just… production week is coming up, so I’ve been staying late to work on the set and stuff.”

Logan sets a pot on the drying rack on the counter and picks up a plate. “How’s that going?”

Virgil feels like he could choke on the thick, tense air of the kitchen. “It’s fine.”

“Good.” Logan’s hands still in the water for a moment. “Is that the only reason you’ve been home later this past week?”

He tenses at the question. “I mean, basically,” he lies.

“I am inclined to believe that is a falsehood,” Logan says, slowly and carefully. “Given that this didn’t start until after I found the letter in the trash.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything. Here it comes, he thinks, and takes in a breath to brace himself.

“Virgil, I just…” Logan sighs. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

The teen harshly shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He swallows, even as he feels a rush of defensiveness. “What do you want me to say?” he demands.

“Virge—“

“You want an explanation, dad?” Virgil continues. He can feel something cracking in his chest and he can’t stop the words racing up his throat and past his lips. “Do you want to know why they rejected me? Why I’m always such a fuck-up? Because I don’t know! I don’t know why.”

“That’s not—“

“They… they just didn’t want me, okay?” The words burn Virgil’s throat and taste bitter on his tongue. “God knows why you ever did.”

Logan’s hand slips from the plate in his hand, clattering into the sink. He whirls around, his eyes bright and pained. “I have always wanted you here,” Logan says, firm and unyielding. His jaw jumps. “Always.”

Something gives a sharp tug in Virgil’s chest. “I’m a screw-up.”

“No.” Logan shakes his head. He isn’t looking at Virgil. “If anyone in this family deserves such a label, it is myself.”

Virgil blinks at his dad, disbelieving. “You? Mr. Advanced Degree? Mr. Straight-A’s-All-Through-College? You’re probably the most accomplished man I know—“

“If I have made you feel like you couldn’t come to me,” Logan cuts in in a soft voice, “when you found out that you got rejected, then the logical conclusion is that I must have made a terrific mistake somewhere along the way as your father.” His father’s gaze finally meets his. Virgil stops cold at seeing tears pressing against them.

Virgil shakes his head quickly. “Wait—“

“And you have my deepest regret, Virgil. I’m…” Logan’s voice wavers. He pauses and tries again. “I’m so deeply sorry if you felt unsafe in coming to me with that news. If I gave you any reason to think that my support, my affection, or my love was ever conditional.”

“No. That’s… I didn’t…” He blows out a breath. “God, I just… I wanted you to be proud of me.” The confession falls from his lips and lands heavy in the air between them.

The silence that follows is deafening. Virgil feels suddenly desperate to fill it. “It’s just… you’ve done so much for me. And I just… I guess I just wanted you to feel like it… paid off. Like this person you brought in seven years ago was… worthy of it or something. I don’t know.”

But he does know. He doesn’t want to let Logan down. Not after everything.

Logan swallows. He looks abruptly young and vulnerable, his slender frame smaller in the dim lighting of the kitchen. His hands are shoved in the pocket of his jeans, his tie pulled slightly loose from his neck, his sleeves rolled to his elbows from when he’d been doing dishes. There’s an unusually soft kind of earnestness in his eyes behind his thick black glasses.

“Virgil, you’re my son. I would never wish to do any less for you.” He pauses, then continues quietly. “I have made many mistakes in my life. Choosing you, choosing to spend time with you, choosing to help you… those are not counted among them. Watching you become the young man you are has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life. You have always been, and remain, one of my greatest sources of pride.”

Virgil’s throat closes up. He coughs in an effort to clear it. He doesn’t know what to say. Logan’s words ricochet in his mind. You have always been, and remain, one of my greatest sources of pride. They fill the silence that follows in the kitchen.

“I…” he tries, because he feels like he should say something but he doesn’t know what. He swallows and tries again. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Logan’s brow pulls together in confusion.

“That I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” Virgil blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know what to do. I…” Virgil’s voice cuts out suddenly when he feels strong arms wrapping around him in a hug. He hadn’t even noticed that Logan had crossed the distance between them. Virgil leans into the embrace a little, taking in a deep breath of soap and paper.

“This has no bearing on the pride I feel in who you are, Virgil,” Logan assures him softly.

Virgil closes his eyes for a moment. Logan lets the hug linger for a moment before pulling back. His dark brown eyes are still wide and searching. Virgil feels the last of the tightness in his chest relaxes for the first time since getting the letter in the mail.

“I… don’t know what comes next,” he admits softly. “What do I do now?”

Logan glances down at his shoes before meeting his son’s gaze again. “Plenty of students take gap years, Virge. There’s a wide number of possibilities open to you.” He speaks carefully. “It… is something we can figure out together, if you would like.”

The teen looks back up at his father. The corner of his mouth tug upwards in a faint smile. “Yeah, dad. I’d like that.”

…

#sanders sides fanfiction #sidescontentweek #familial lamp/calm #familial analogical #virgil sanders #logan sanders #cursing #angst #arguing #miscommunication #lkgn i dont know how well this one turned out friends #im highkey nervous #i hope its okay #aaaaaaaaaaa why is always scary to post fanfics

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phoenixisstrange · 5 years

Text

The Best Day Forever Chapter 1 (Edited)

But I am wrong. It begins with me, in a nice suburban house doing my own thing going about my day. I guess I live here? I don't know who I live with or if I live alone but I encounter neighbors and friends (I don't remember specific interactions). I don’t even know how I got this beautiful house OR what town it’s in. It’s like someone created me and my life, peppered in some aspects of my personality and memory and dropped me into it. So I wake up in my? bed.

I wake up, make myself breakfast, and acquaint myself with my neighborhood. As if I haven’t lived here for quite some time-- judging off of the bills I have sitting on the counter waiting to be paid. I open the front door. It’s a big wooden door with a little window that has decorative iron bars encasing it. Whoever designed this house did a damn nice job. I admire my front door as if I’ve never seen it before. As I step out onto my front porch I am greeted by a symphony of wildlife and a beautiful panorama of the forest. This was an intentional design point of the house. The way the forest sits inside of the frame of my porch is so perfect that it must be deliberate. The facade of my house faces a dense forest but I do have neighbors on either side of my property.

To the left I see a mother herding her 3 kids into her minivan, well trying at least. One of the kids is running around screaming; wearing only one flip flop on. The other kid has dropped her bookbag on the ground. The third sits strapped into the car quietly. “Brandy stop moving and put your damn flip flop on, we’re going to be late!” the mom corrals her child into the van.

I chuckle and breathe in the crisp morning air as it mingles with the scent of my piping hot coffee. The house to the right is a bit smaller and nobody seems to be home. After I finish my coffee, I go back inside and look at my schedule. It’s my day off.

I text my girls, Iz and Cree to see what they’re up to. I guess they also live in the area. Whatever the area is. The girls arrive and we set up camp in my warmly-lit living room. A low-budget Netflix horror movie plays in the background as we sip our Rosé.

“So how’s Carter?” I ask Iz.

“He’s good, he’s interviewing for a job at a new dealership as a sales manager”

“Good for him, I wish him luck in all his managerial endeavors” I say with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Phoenix---How’s your love life??” She did it. She asked the dreaded question.

“Heh, funny you should ask… You would probably have an easier time finding a human being on Mars than I would finding a lover. ” Wow, I’ve actually lost count of how many times I’ve answered that. Me? Jaded? Never. Just realistic. I have too much going on to focus on finding someone right now. That’s what I tell myself at night when the loneliness hits.

“Unfortunately my lover either doesn’t exist or doesn’t want me.” I add. You can practically see my dignity leaving the room.

“Sometimes you just gotta ride the wave alone...” Cree-- who appears to be catatonic on the couch-- mutters from beneath a blanket.

“Facts” Iz and I say in unison.

We finish a bottle of wine and cook some ramen. I never eat Ramen, I can’t stand it. But Iz and Cree love it so I guess that’s why my cabinets are stacked with the stuff. Either that or I am preparing for the inevitable collapse of our organized society. In that case, I know for a fact that I won’t go hungry. There’s so many packets of chicken flavored instant noodles hiding in my cabinets that I could feed a tribe in the post apocalyptic world.

The fragrance of the salty noodles dances with the incense that burns in the living room. The sound of a woman being possessed by the devil blares from the tv speakers.

“Haven’t we watched this movie already?” Iz clearly isn’t into it. “Probably, but all Netflix horror movies are the same. They usually end up as white noise anyway.”

“I like it.” Cree chimes in

“If Cree thinks it’s a good movie, then obviously it’s a good movie Iz.” Sarcasm.

“Cree said Suicide Squad was her favorite movie. She cannot be trusted to judge a good movie!”

“Everyone thought that movie was so bad but y’all just don’t appreciate good art.” Cree stands firmly by her decision.

The movie concludes with the predictable ending where the antagonist--who has succumbed to demonic possession-- is cleansed of evil through a dramatic exorcism. The entire house that the movie is set in is destroyed. This forces the traumatized family to move out of the beautiful home they recently purchased. The movie ends on a cliff-hanger where a new family moves into the very house--which has now been repaired--in hopes to start a life. Boring.

The girls leave at about 11 pm. I take a quick shower and pour myself a glass of seltzer. Nights like this are ideal for stargazing. Not a cloud in the sky and cool enough to have the windows open in the house. Apparently, I missed my mark. I open my door to a rather jarring sight. Expecting the usual chirping of the cicadas and a star speckled sky; I am met with a rising sun. The sky is not an 11 pm sky it’s a 6 am sky. I’m confused and kind of scared. My mind starts to race. How drunk did we get last night? It was just a few glasses of wine not enough to black out the entire fucking night. I text Cree and Iz. No response. I figure they’re sleeping.

My phone says 5:47 am on Saturday, 7/23. My day off is Saturday, which would be the 23rd. Saturday was yesterday. I turn on the TV to verify the date and News 12 confirms my fear of today’s date, 7/23. The annual family cookout is being held tomorrow at the park. 4 pm sharp, don’t miss it! Did I skip work yesterday? No way, I would’ve gotten a call. My head is spinning at this point and I decide to lay down for a bit.

The sound of the news 12 anchorwoman echoes in my head. “This weekend is going to be a hot one. Anyone planning on traveling west towards the coast should take care to leave a little bit early because of heavy delays along all major highways.”

I drift in and out of consciousness and finally give up. I’ve watched the sun rise through the skylight that is fixed above the couch. That big ball of fire has climbed straight into the center of the skylight. The big ball of fire is blinding me. The time is 8:30 according to my phone. I barely slept a wink. My mind was too busy trying to figure out if I was going batshit or if I was actually trapped in a temporal loop. I mean, that would be cool because then that would mean that time loops do exist but not cool because of the fact that I would be caught in one by myself.

My phone buzzes to life with a message from Iz. “What are you talking about? Ladies night didn’t happen hunny.” I’m wigged.

“Must’ve dreamt it! We need a night soon, hunnies.” I reply.

“Ok Phoenix… This is the sitch, yesterday was Friday. You accidentally skipped work and today is Saturday. Wine night was just a dream because you have been missing Cree and Iz lately…” I am rambling to myself in the dark. Yes, that will spare my sanity. I drag myself off the couch since sleep isn’t happening. I step outside at around 9. Once again, the forest is roaring with life and so is the mother next door…

“Brandy stop moving and put your damn flip flop on, we’re going to be late!”…. I need to leave.

I go to the store and begin piling snacks and random food items into my cart. It’s been a while since I’ve been food shopping so this is OK.

“Ice cream and wine. Check.” I say to myself. Drink myself out of the loop. Yeah, that’ll work. I see this really cute girl staring intently at a box of Gushers. For a second, it’s as if my world isn’t imploding on itself and I’m just at the store looking at a beautiful girl I’d like to know. For some reason, she’s engrossed by these artificially flavored fruit snacks. It looks as if she’s deep in thought, something is on her mind so she is occupying the time with food shopping. She’s about my height; she’s got long and silky chocolate brown hair that’s pulled back into a messy bun. I realize that I’m staring at her with as much focus as she is at those Gushers. She feels my eyes and returns to reality, she glances at me. A subtle smirk spreads across her face as she looks me and my wine bottles up and down.

“The bigger the bottle the bigger the problem huh?” She jokes.

“No bottle will solve this problem but at least it’ll make me forget about it.”

She chuckles and walks away. I buy my wine bottles and go home to forget what day it is.

Listen, I won’t lie, I like to party. I love day drinking. But cracking open a fresh bottle of wine the size of a bowling pin at 10 am by myself after realizing I may never live to see tomorrow is new for me. I can’t say I hate it. I sit on the couch. The News 12 anchor-bitch is still blabbering about the family cookout-- that is supposed to take place tomorrow-- too bad. I drunkenly type away on my laptop. Scouring the darkest corners of the internet to find out anything about time loops that exist outside of science fiction. Turns out, not many people who find themselves in my situation take to Reddit to write about it... I take notes from the Twilight Zone subreddit because at this point I’m desperate for answers. My quest for information bears no fruit.

I did learn that a time loop is different from a causal loop, which would occur because of a previous event. My situation however, is anomalous and is unrelated to anything as far as I know. I’ve started a fresh note on my laptop titled “The Best Day Forever! :)).” This is where I dump everything I know about the situation.

So far, I know that this loop resets but I don’t know the interval or the trigger. Things that I interact with seems to stay the same with the exception of people, they don’t remember our interactions. The coffee I made the first go around was still in the pot when I went for coffee round 2. People and things outside of my control reset as if they’re characters in a video game who have a script and a path. I begin thinking, dangerous thinking.

“Why is this happening? Why to me?” I ask aloud as if someone is going to answer me. At this point, I wouldn’t be shocked if I got an answer from some omniscient voice.

“What is the point of all of this?” I ask out loud again. Then I begin to think of everything I had done leading up to the moment I woke up on the morning of July 23rd the first time. My memory is extremely fogged, almost non-existent. I’m struggling to produce even the vaguest memory of anything that happened before Saturday. Was it raining yesterday? Did I even leave my house yesterday? I don't know.

Come to think of it I don't remember much of anything before Saturday. I don’t know how I got this house. I don't know who Iz and Cree are except that we’re friends and have wine nights pretty often--though they have been less frequent for some reason. I don’t know Carter…But I do.

It’s as if these memories were fabricated. I remember the facts. I, Phoenix, own this house in this pacific northwestern town and I am a barista at a local coffee shop. I moved to this town after graduating-- in hopes to pursue my dream of opening my own shop and building a house in the forest. Anything beyond that is smudged. I can make out the memory if I hyper-focus. But even then it’s just the blueprint of a life, details are scarce. I’m spiraling, existential crisis mode has initiated and now I’m just stressed out and drunk at 1 in the afternoon. I need air.

I step outside and check my phone. The time is exactly 1:27 pm and a blue Subaru drives down my road with a big old husky hanging out the window living his best life. I start down the road towards the forest.

#chapter 1 #The Best Day Forever #fiction #science fiction #writing #My writing #short story #storytelling #beginner #writeblr #wip #work in progress #work #books

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ask-de-writer · 5 years

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FRIEND AND THE IMPERIAL EGGS : Part 2 of 7 : MLP Fan Fiction

Return to the Master Story Index Return to MLP Fan Fiction

FRIEND AND THE IMPERIAL EGGS

A Daring Do tale

by De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Part 2 of 7

8927 words

This is a Fan Fiction based on My Little Pony. Canterlot, Princess Luna and the name Daring Do are owned by Hasboro Inc.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.

1.) They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.

2.) They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

3.) All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction are actively encouraged.

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For new readers, this link leads to the beginning of

FRIEND AND THE IMPERIAL EGGS

This story is a direct sequel to

DARING DO and the GRYPHON’S QUEST which begins here.

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Friend made the nest bed, where Daring Do was spending her bed rest time as she recovered, bounce as she eagerly hopped off and charged. Grata tolerantly allowed the little changeling to cuddle and nuzzle in her excitement!

Crest indicating dry humor, Grata corralled Friend and said, “I take it that this means yes you will?”

“Oh yes! I/we will love them so well! I/we will keep them all warm and turned and loved to be strong and healthy!” Friend looked lovingly at her Eagle “nymphs” and added, “My/our Eagles will give me/us new eggs as soon as they can but they will not have more until next year.

“Friend was going to be lonely while raising these wonderful little nymphs with Matunen Do. New eggs will make everything so right! So good!” She paused and enveloped Grata in her soft, loving green glow of magic.

Grata, crest raised in pure pleasure, luxuriated in the glow for a bit and then offered, “It will take us a little while to have the eggs for you, Friend. When we do, you must not neglect either Matunen or the new nymphs.”

Without letting up her magic, Friend vowed, “I/we will love all of them properly, Grata. You may be sure of that.”

Nodding with happiness, Grata agreed, “We were sure that you would, Friend, or we would not have asked you to do this special thing for us.”

As she left the room, Grata murmured, “I must get my Sisters of the Throne to experience Friend’s loving. I feel so much better for the time that I have spent here.”

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Baron Yoksonu was back to grumbling. The train that he and Moreegg were riding was descending another long grade, as it headed back to the interior of Equestria.

“All of this expense. This whole expedition was to garner the egg of an Eagle’s Vale Eagle. Not only were there no Eagle’s eggs, there were not even any eagles of any sort!”

Moreegg, nodded glumly. “All true, Sir. We did do quite well, though, for the other sorts. Excellent specimens and impeccably documented.

“What bothers me is the rumors that we heard. I mean the ones about all of those eagles leaving to follow their mother. Rumor says that Daring Do and some Gryphons lured the eagles away by using a small changeling. How it could make the eagles all think that it was their mother is totally beyond me.”

The Baron glared out the window at the woods and farmlands that they were rolling through, to the steady clacking of the rail joints under the wheels. He shook his head in frustration.

“We couldn’t even follow those eagles into the Gryphon Empire! That dratted travel ban posted by the Empress, back years ago, over some innocent collecting of mountain cerlew eggs.

“If that was not enough, the Princesses just had to cooperate with the Empress and bar me from the Empire border, too! I can’t even get a dratted ticket to go as far as the border!”

Moreegg, thinking of what the mare at the Gryphon’s Perch Inn had told them, understood, at least. The Princesses did not want an incident that could sour relations with a powerful neighbor. He dared not say so. He valued his work with the Baron.

The next day, after a leisurely breakfast in the dining car, the conductor pony called, “YOKSONU LANDING! We will be twenty minutes for fuel and water! All those leaving the train for recreation, be sure to reembark in plenty of time!”

The Baron and Moreegg gathered their luggage and left the train. The weather was fine, and there was even a Hanson Cab awaiting for fairs at the platform. Home coming, at least was going well.

Inside the cool halls of Yoksonu Manor, the two opened the doors of now famous Yoksonu Library. The row upon row of glass fronted cases contained almost every type of egg known in Equestria and some from far lands like the Zebra Confederation and even the Chineighese Empire.

There were but few empty places in the vast collection. Among the Eagle section, the Eagle’s Vale Eagle stand still stood empty. Next to it were the Dragon’s eggs. He had the Sylvan Dragon, the Wyvein, and the Burrowing Dragon, sometimes known as a Wyrm. Only the Fire Drake was empty in that collection.

There was the smallish case that had caused so much controversy and actually got the Baron his Travel Ban. Gryphons. Altogether there were four kinds and all of those stands were empty.

Moreegg was torn between the pride that he felt when he saw this, the greatest egg collection in all of Equestria, and the idea that the Gryphons could see it, and him as ghoulish.

With a small snort, he put the confusion aside and fetched the Baron his newspaper to read as soon as he was done mounting and cataloging the ten new specimens that their trip DID get.

He left the busy Baron both warm tea and the newspapers accumulated in their absence, ready to read, on a side table.

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The Gryphon nurse came in, crest up and rippling slightly with suppressed amusement. “Time for your physical therapy, Doctor Do! Do not forget your therapy equipment!”

Friend already had the Eagle chicks removed to her smaller nest. Returning the nurse’s good mood, she chuckled, “Matunen will not forget! Daring Do loves this part of recovery.”

Daring Do nodded agreeably as she fished her big Spiderly revolver out from under her pillow. She pulled her favorite combat and throwing knives out from under her coverlet. The night stand by her Hospital nest yielded a long barreled semiautomatic pistol and box of ammunition.

The nurse loaded all of the “Therapy Equipment” into a big pocket on the mobility cart, except for the combat knife. Daring Do kept that, taking the moment needed to strap the blade’s scabbard to her left foreleg.

They were just about to leave the room when Grata sauntered in. She had two armed guards along. Crest up in interest, she gestured at the whole room. “Gentle Gryphons, no actions of any kind. I want your assessments of this situation. Sargent Raakh, you may be first.”

Raakh, started into the room waiving and flapping at the roosting Eagles. The big birds looked down with disapproval but stayed on their perches.

Grata simply reached out and grabbed Raakh by a hind leg and pulled hard, dropping him flat.

Crest laid back in disgust, she snapped, “You have just disobeyed a clearly given order! I told you to take no action of any kind! I asked for your assessment of the situation only!

The fallen Sargent Raakh glared back until it sank in that he was being held from rising by the Left Wing of the Imperial Throne - - and she was angry.

Sullenly, crest flat in both anger and embarrassment, he snapped, “I was just going shoo the birds out! That is a changeling over there! We need to put it down before it kills us by taking our love!

“That patient gotta be moved to a common ward! She is a dratted pegasus! Got no business in a Hospital Aerie for honest Gryphons!

“Now you got my assessment! Hop to it and get it done!”

Crest flat in rage, Grata demanded, “Get out of this room! Report back to Guard Commander Striike! Do not delay. I will check to see that you get to him in a timely fashion!”

Turning to the other guard, her crest now up in interest, she asked, “Sargent Waraak, no action of any kind. Simply give me your assessment of this situation.”

Crest slightly rippling with amusement, Waraak offered, “First, Raakh made recommendations framed as orders to his most senior officer. He offered no actual assessment.

“That was the first part of my situation assessment, since Sargent Raakh became a part of the situation.

“Now, first and foremost, the single most dangerous being in the room is the changeling. That was demonstrated at the banquet where Daring Do was poisoned. In terms of threat assessment, she is presently a low level risk. She sitting on her nest and is tending chicks of the Eagles. Unless she is disturbed, she is not likely to do anything else.

“The Eagles have free access through an open flight port, thus they belong here, too. Again, unless disturbed, not likely to be a threat.

“The pegassus in the mobility cart has the second highest danger risk. Not having met her, my guess is that she is the famous Doctor Daring Do. She presently has a combat knife strapped to her left foreleg and has two firearms in the side pocket of her mobility cart. There is a box in there too, of uncertain purposes. At a guess, ammo for the firearms. There are a few other things in the cart pocket that I cannot make out due to fabric distortion.

“The nurse appears to have a weapon of some sort in an under wing rig on her left side. She also has at least one auxiliary weapon, probably a knife on her right hind leg.

“There may be more, but that is all that I can tell without taking any action.”

Grata tilted her head, crest set inquisitively. “How did they do?”

The nurse, amused, pulled up her uniform’s hind quarters enough allow the knives to show. “He missed one knife and did well in spotting my wing rig.” She lifted the wing and allowed the pistol to show. “Lovely little thing. Doctor Do helped me to pick it out. It’s an 8 mm that fits my claw perfectly. She is teaching me how to use it and the knives.

“As a part of her therapy, Friend, whose orders we are following, recommended that Doctor Do be allowed to both shoot and throw knives for coordination and dexterity development.”

Daring Do slowly reached into the side pocket and pulled out her old reliable 13 mm Spiderly revolver and the long barreled semiautomatic. She added two throwing knives and a box of 13 mm ammo.

“You did really well, Sargent Waraak,” replied Daring Do. As for Raakh, he would make a fine clown in a circus, as long as he was not the one operating the clown cart. I would not trust him near the pedals or the steering!”

Crest showing a big grin of agreement, the nurse helped Daring Do to re stow her guns and knives. They wheeled out of the room and down the hallway.

Friend watched them go, a smile on her face. “I/we love the smell of cordite on Matunen’s gown when she comes back. She is always so happy to be doing well at her shooting and knives. She wants to swim too hard, too soon. She needs it to be gentle overall exercise for now.”

Grata nodded, crest showing happy understanding.

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#FRIEND AND THE IMPERIAL EGGS #Part 2 of 7 #MLP Fan Fiction #written by De Writer

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theouterdark · 6 years

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Dream: This Old Creaking Thing

This one turned out to be half a memoir. Part of me wanted to make cuts until it looked like something completely different, but I didn't. It is what it is. D

I wake with a thirst in the room under the attic of my father's childhood home. It is a thirst that leaves my mouth dry with the taste of silver,1 and the taste is not one that can be ridden by the scraping of my tongue or washed away by salivation. The room is not one I am comfortable in, and has made for many sleepless nights, like this one. I don't care for the itch of the fibrous duvet against my skin, nor do I care for the conventional artworks that adorn the walls, all of which have fallen quite démodé, like the architecture of the old place—which you can tell is old by the smell and feel of the sagging floorboards under your feet. The house is full of vacant places for darkness, and cold air, and through these channels bats scurry across timbers and insulation in the wintertime to find warm places where they can sleep soundly, but this house was not built for any creature's comfort.2 Indeed, the only reason it exists at all is because our home on Briar Lane has already been sold, and the foundations of our new home on the lake are being poured and constructed when there is open sky, and the thick flurries coming off Lake Michigan are not smothering the slope of our newly owned land. I should not say our, for in every legal sense, the land belongs to my father, and this wretched place that we reside in—only while father's new house is being built—belongs to his father. I don't know where father's father's father lived, though I'm sure I was told. The present alone concerns me, and the past is where it belongs. The grey, cubic monitor on the desk in the corner hums, and I wish it had the screensaver with the funny drawings of cows and sequined fat ladies on for me to watch, or that of the bison floating over impossible hills with strings drawn tight around their middles, suspended by colorful balloons.3 But it only makes that droning sound that it does, and instead I find it more interesting to look out the western-facing window at the lot across the street from father's father's—which has a sign that says Beeler/Gores Funeral Home—whose parking spaces I've only ever seen empty. The place never struck me with morbid curiosity, and this night is no different. Though I am young, and only experienced it extemporaneously, I know of death, and that people die, and I know that when they do they aren't here anymore. Beyond that, I've no other regard for it, though the man's bedroom I'm sleeping in belonged at one time to my father's brother, who is one of the dead people who are not here anymore. He died before I turned one-year old, and they put him in the ground somewhere across the river, and staked a plot for the rest of the family. There, in that stretch of grass about forty feet from the service drive and the pine trees would be my father's father and mother's spot. Diagonally from that, my father's, and mother's. There was even a place for me in the grass. In truth, even at this age, I find it refreshing to know that my death has been planned for. All roads, I know, will lead me there.4 I never met father's brother in the flesh—as my earliest memory is that of a cat attack in Seattle5—and I doubt I would remember his face as it was when it was alive. I've imagination enough to envision his form climbing the east side of the house to stare at me through the windows, and tap lightly on the glass, egging me to let him in. His eyes are dark and sallow. A loose navy tee-shirt hangs over his bony shoulders, and there is a bulge in his breast pocket, with a tobacco stain along the bottom. Does he have a mustache, or doesn't he? A naval officer's hat or none? Some times I imagine him differently, but always his visage makes me shudder. I don't know if these images are flights of fantasy from the mind of a scared child, or misremembered dreams. A man called Jewett joins him in time—when he dies, we live in the house by the lake, and I come running down the drive with my hands drawn tight around my backpack straps (as I never know what to do with them), and inside my mother and sister are full of tears, and I ask why, and neither can say so I ask how my frog is,6 and they say he is fine, but this man called Jewett is dead, and I know then when my stomach doesn't knot over and the tears don't fall so readily like they are down my mother's face and my sister's face, that something is different about me—and together Jewett and my father's brother tap on the window, and grunt passive suggestions to me. No one joins after Jewett, and I'm glad for it, for the window is too narrow to pack so many dead faces into view. In the future, when I write this, I only see them in my memory, because they aren't here anymore. I am putting it off. What I need is water, and where I can get the water is the kitchen, down below. Down a stretch of stairs that are steep, and made of wood, or carpeted—and if they are, it is thin carpet, in dark browns, reds and strands of yellow—but I don't want to go down there, because the Ragged Man lives under the stairs, and if he steals my voice I won't be able to stop him, and now as I stand poised on the threshold of father's brother's door, I test my nerve and take another step, and I feel the urgency rise in my calves like a surge of spiders' legs, and before I can stop myself I am bounding down, down, down the steps, and I don't care how loud because if I'm fast enough the Ragged Man can't grasp my ankles through the grate, and I leap the final three and roll, lumbering into a shaky-legged run into the kitchen, and hide behind the island. My sister and mother must think a possessed fawn is scrambling through the halls, but if this is what they think, they must not care, or perhaps I have not made as much noise as I thought I must have, and I fetch water that stinks like matches from the sink. It goes down well enough alone, but I seek another, and another. Going up is the harder part. Because the Ragged Man has full view of the dining room, if I were not behind the kitchen island, he could see me now. Were it not winter, I'd steal away to the sun room, where the screens protect me from the world and I can watch lightning bugs from under the table which is my forteresse secrète, where I play spy games like slipping in and out of disguises before the next coupe passes, or testing my plastic gadgetry on the unsuspecting occupants of le ménage Hamilton. But as I'm shivering now, the sun room should be christened anew, perhaps the snow landing or the ice temple, as it is not a place for comfort, just like the rest of this old creaking thing. Again, I move before I can convince myself a coward, and the sweat chills my legs—and how these pajamas could ever keep me warm falls on my mother for picking them out, they feel like stage fabric, more at home on Peter Pan's head than clinging to my legs—and I walk by the table, knowing that if I don't look at the grate in the stairs, the Ragged Man won't steal my voice. It is only in those few moments between standing on the floor and bounding up that he can get me, but his eyes sparkle like polished silver dollars, and my sweat is gripping me too cold to continue, and I steal a glance as I slow down and my stomach lurches into my abdomen and I can see him smiling. Always his hair is silver and oiled, and spills over his shoulders in tangled wires. The hollows around his eyes are black but the pallor of his skin makes me long for the days I spent home with the Chicken Pox, because at least then I didn't have to go to school, but this man, in his tattered rags and silver smiles, paralyzes me where I stand. My next breath drags stagnant across my tongue. I can't breathe in, and my sinuses grow hot, and thick. He smiles, silent.7 I call, Help, help... but the words fall deaf even to me, and he drifts toward the grate, smiling that haunting smile. Help... I wake with a thirst in the room under the attic of my father's childhood home. But at least the sun has risen over this old creaking thing. Perhaps today I'll go into the orchard of pears, peaches, and apples, and saddle the limbs of the Pirate Tree until it's too cold to stay out of doors. There are strawberries in a thicket of weeds and thistles, wild and prickly. And raspberries too. I check the insides for worms before I eat them, and play in the cellar. Until dad tells me about the snakes, then I stay away.

1 Blood. Copper. Pennies. Like I'd been running too hard and too fast.↩ 2 Mother's father is also not here anymore. But once in this old creaking thing he caught a bat with a shoe box and a tennis racket. Or was it a bird?↩ 3 The Far Side, by Gary Larson. It came on five floppy disks. And on this computer I played moon lander and Myst, and King's Quest VI.↩ 4 Only later did I think I could change this.↩ 5 My mother's brother's cat, Baba. Baba bit me. Blood ran in rivulets down my arm.↩ 6 His name was Mister Frog. And he had two snails for friends.↩ 7 Almost positive this is the Creature of Darkness from The Tale of the Quicksilver episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark?.↩

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