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gyusbambi · 3 years

Text

trapped; chenle

genre: angsty fluff, dark academia, arranged marriage, pianist chenle, literature student y/n

note: hello, everyone. i just wanted to let you know that this is my first writing on tumblr and english is not my first language. therefore i am sorry if there are mistakes. also this might not be that good. still, i hope you will enjoy this and it’d mean a lot to me if you could like or give feedback? my chats are always open if you want to say anything. have fun!

words: 7,6k

“it’s time for you to get married.”

complete silence dominates in your father‘s old-fashioned work room, where you stand in front of his wooden desk with a confused expression. lines form between your eyebrows as you slightly tilt your head to the side, expecting your dad to continue talking. however, the old man seems rather unbothered as he simply flicks through his folder with documents. anxious about his frightening statement, your glance darts around the dark room. you take a quick look at the portraits of long forgotten people hanging on the walls, as if you could get an answer from them. dark brown wallpapers, a wooden rocking chair in the corner, antique curtains, a huge bookshelf and a beige vintage sofa decorate your father’s work room.

taking a deep breath and letting it out again slowly, you finally are brave enough to look up at him. still, you nervously tap your fist against your right thigh, opening and closing your mouth several times before forming words: “w-what do you mean it’s time for you to get married?”

you scold yourself internally for lightly stuttering. however, the man in front of you pauses before looking up with a look of puzzlement: “what part of it don’t you understand?”

“i’m only 18!”

an exaggerated sigh leaves his mouth while he crosses his arms and leans against his chair, “i thought we’ve already talked about this, y/n.”

“you’re right. we’ve talked about this once.” slowly getting irritated with every second passing by, you can’t help but raise your voice.

rubbing the brow as if to ward off a headache your father replies with a sharpening tone:

“look, young lady. i’m pretty sure you are aware of the importance of business relationships. if we want to grow successfully, we need to take this wonderful opportunity and get closer to the na’s.”

with disappointment you look down, chin almost dipping to your chest. after that you close your eyes for a moment. once again you feel trapped. sadly, you’ve felt so miserably hopeless over the years, as if you were locked in a cage. never have you experienced the feeling of freedom. you almost envy the several birds flying past your window every night. they seemed so carefree, enjoying every bit of freedom. on the contrary, you always have to follow your father‘s orders - from the way you act to the man you have to marry.

“you’ll get married to na jaemin, the son of mister na. he’s a kind gentlemen. it’s the best for you, my daughter.”

finally breaking the silence, your father speaks up while trying to make eye contact with you. whereas you try to avoid his eyes as much as possible in order to hide your teary ones. as much as you want to conceal your discouraged emotions, your hopeless eyes eventually meet the cold ones of the old man and you say one last thing with your shaky voice before finally leaving his room: “when will you ask me what i want?”

the library is the place where you find joy and peace. several bookshelves filled with various literature, beautiful framed windows, beige tones as well as the slight darkness creeping in your academies library cause you to ease up on your terrible thoughts. besides the calming atmosphere, you couldn’t miss out on the smell of books or the sound of raindrops falling outside.

books help you get lost in your own dreams, in your own fantasy. they distract you from your awful reality you so desperately want to avoid. therefore, you once again find yourself sitting at the back of the academy library with a novel placed on the desk. while flipping through the pages, you remember why you‘re there in the first place. obviously you have to confess you‘re a coward. a person shamelessly running away from their problems, while their whole life is falling apart.

after a while you finish the novel are way too excited to start the next book on your literature list. satisfied with the atmosphere in the library you leave your seat to make your way to your favorite section. in fact, that section wasn’t exactly located in the library but in the room right next to it. it was separated from the other sections and even had a piano placed in the middle of it. most of the time that area seemed empty, leaving only you searching for your favorite books.

when you eventually enter the room, you don’t see what you expected. instead of an empty place filled with complete quietness, you find a young man sitting in front of the piano. he plays beautiful tones, his look absolutely focused on the keys. for a moment, you are taken aback. instead of moving forward, you stand there like frozen. curiously, you take a closer look at the person running his fingers lightly over the keys. the young man seems so concentrated, so passionate and calm, he doesn’t even notice you standing right next to the door. he has dark hair, his bangs slightly covering his forehead. his skin seems soft and light. somehow it reminds you of snow, so clear and pure. he wears a black blazer with a white button up underneath.

certainly, you have never seen this man in the academy before. moreover you know that nobody really plays the piano in this neglected part of the library. therefore you are surprised, amazed as well, not only from his piano skills but also from his appearance.

it is only a few seconds later, when the pianist’s dark eyes leave the keys only to meet yours. a beat skips. at first he keeps on playing but soon it comes to an end. therefore a strained silence settles, while you two just stare into each other’s eyes. the eyes you were longing to look up were round and dark like the night. no single sound can be heard. only your heartbeat in your chest which speeds up. everything else stops existing. it’s only the two of you. yet, soon enough you start to worry. why can’t you focus on anything else? why can’t words leave your mouth? with the strained silence still taking over the room you blink a few times and get aware of the strange situation. before the pianist takes the chance to speak, your feet quickly move towards the specific bookshelf which is placed a little further from the piano. with your heart still beating like a drum, your fingers run over the old books on the shelf. at the same time you hide from the young man, who strangely makes you feel nervous.

you expect the pianist to continue playing. however, the room is still filled with quietness. shortly after you hear footsteps. maybe he left?

before you can distract yourself even more, your eyes scan through the books in front of you. when you finally spot the one you were looking for, you instantly reach for it. as you grab the book from the shelf, you spot someone through the gap between the books. there he is, on the other side of the same bookshelf, his fingers running over several novels. instantly your eyes meet and the familiar feeling starts growing in you again. surprised, you pull your book tight against your chest. neither of you say a word, which starts to make you nervous. however, a small smile appears on the pianist’s face as he grabs a certain book from the shelf, his eyes never leaving yours while doing so. as a result, you attempt to avert your gaze in order to hide the sudden shyness, but the rosiness of your cheeks give it away. in the end it’s just you standing there, watching him leave the room with the book in his right hand.

it’s the next day and you can’t deny that you’ve been thinking about the mysterious pianist from the library. the memory of him playing the piano or gazing at you through the bookshelf is enough for you forget about the uncomfortable situation you currently find yourself in.

“...right, y/n?”

your father’s sudden voice brings you back to reality. renjun, your best friend, nudges you from your right side in attempt to draw your attention. unfortunately, you didn’t pay attention to the conversation your father was having with the people sitting in the same room as you. instead you preferred to doze off by replaying the same scenes from yesterday in your head over and over again. several seconds pass, yet you still can’t seem to reply while you push the food around on your plate.

“y/n?” your dad calls your names once again.

with huge embarrassment you finally look up to find him slightly glaring at you with disapproval in his narrowed eyes.

“hm?” first you pretend to have unheard him, yet soon his glaring basically forces you to continue after clearing your throat nervously,

“i-i’m so sorry, i wasn’t paying attention.”

“of course you weren’t.” jaemin scoffs playfully yet so quietly that apparently you are the only one who hears him. completely annoyed with his actions, you can’t help but give him a hateful glare. after that you feel renjun’s hand on yours under the table, trying to calm you down.

renjun, you, both of your fathers and the na’s are currently sitting on the same table for dinner. obviously, they so desperately wanted you and jaemin to get along. however, his annoying behavior and your lack of interest cause the complete opposite.

“that’s understandable, y/n. you must be stressed out from all the exams. our jaemin is going through the same thing.” mister na says with a caring tone and offers you a smile.

“actually, i’m not-”

“i heard you study literature! that sounds quite interesting. in fact, jaemin is into books too. he spends the whole day in the library, you know.” jaemin can’t finish his sentence when his father doesn’t hesitate to interrupt him.

“would you look at that! y/n is exactly the same.” your dad laughs while patting your shoulder which leads you to smile awkwardly. all you want in that moment is to escape.

clearly nobody in this room is actually interested in what you do. only attempting to bring you two closer. involving jaemin in every single matter made it obvious enough. you like reading? jaemin does too! perfect, just marry each other already!

it is true that you see jaemin in the library almost every single day. besides that, you are pretty sure that he helps around there as well. usually you two would simply pass by each other without greeting. sometimes jaemin would sit near your table, eyes shifting towards you once in a while. at the dinner table you eventually glance at him with curiosity, only to find him already looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“i heard family zhong has returned? his youngest is already attending the academy...”

now everyone is engrossed in their own conversations again, enabling renjun to talk to you. your friend leans in, sliding a chair closer. head tilting to the side, eyebrows slightly furrowed, he speaks up with a soft voice:

“what’s wrong with you?”

“nothing. why?” you shrug, attempting to hide your lack of concentration.

“nothing?” renjun repeats your words with a questioning voice,

“tell me one thing you picked up on this conversation.”

with arms crossed in front of his chest he patiently waits for you to answer. resigned, you sigh before facing him eventually,

“yesterday i was in the piano room and there was someone who played the piano.”

“so?” renjun chuckles after the short silence.

“the thing is i have never seen him before. in the academy i mean.”

“he must be a new student then.”

“probably. he-” you trail off suddenly, the scene of his eyes meeting yours for the first time appearing in your mind.

“what? was he attractive?” renjun jokes with amusement while bumping shoulders with you.

however, when you don’t seem to reply, he almost chokes on his food with widen eyes,

“don’t tell me you fell for a stranger.”

shaking your head you look away from renjun with red cheeks.

“no, renjun,” your groan,

“it just felt different when we saw each other.” you remember that moment precisely which causes a fluttering in your stomach.

suddenly, renjun throws his head back in a bray of laughter while grabbing at his ribs like he has a stitch in his side at the same time. everyone turns their head to the laughing boy sitting next to you. soon, he covers his mouth with a hand to hide his amusement before apologizing politely.

“what the hell, renjun, are you out of your mind?” you whisper angrily.

“i couldn’t help it. how can i not when you literally sound like a fourteen-year-old girl crushing on someone for the first time.”

“the only thing i tried to explain you was that he looked- he looked alright but that’s not what i was trying to tell you- stop it!” you stutter while moving your hands in attempt to express yourself but punch your friend’s chest when he can’t keep a straight face.

“what’s so funny, huang?” jaemin asks with a raised eyebrow.

“oh, i just remembered how you call mark lee your oppa.” renjun smirked. you press your lips together to hold your laugh.

finally the family dinner comes to an end which enables you to breathe again. renjun waves at you with a worried smile when you leave with your father. just as much as you, your friend is completely unhappy with you forcefully getting engaged to na jaemin.

at the dinner table he told you about the new student from one of the richest families returning to the academy. apparently that certain person studies music and is known for his incredible voice. jaemin, on the other hand, chose not to talk much, besides leaving a few teasing comments now and then.

like always the neglected area of the library is completely empty. the utter silence is nothing new to you. everything remains the same in that specific room, yet one certain matter seems remarkable. truly speaking, you are a little upset when you don’t spot the particular pianist in front of the old piano. instantly you try to avoid the unfulfilled expectations in your head. they make you feel foolish, silly, delusive. how could you let yourself fall into your peculiar fantasy once again? perhaps your father is right when he claims that the books you read influence your expectations on the real world.

letting out a sigh, your hands brush over your dark green dress while your eyes scan through the rest of the library. instead of leaving that room, you spontaneously decide to try and play the piano yourself. after you take a seat, your fingers run over the cold keys. there happens to be a little dust, which you quickly brush away. at that moment, the memory of you playing the instrument for the first time appears in your head. you remember precisely how your beautiful mother wrapped her arm around your shoulder, the other hand over your small one. she placed your fingers on the right keys and gave you a loving smile before finally pressing them. although she had shown you multiple times, you still preferred to watch her play it herself. unfortunately, you never actually learned how to play it, since after your mother’s death, you haven’t dared to play it ever again. yet here you are, sitting in front of that specific instrument with absolute cluelessness.

a few minutes pass and you still sit in the same spot, pressing random keys on the piano. while doing so, images of your mother appear in your head. right when you are about to give up and leave the abandoned room, suddenly the sound of someone clearing their throat catches your attention. startled you snap your head to the sound of a stranger only to find the young man, you were admittedly longing to meet, standing at the entrance. the sight of him causes you to let out a small gasp. when you don’t speak, the pianist becomes uneasy.

“am i interrupting you?” he asks with his finger pointing to the piano, his eyebrows slightly raised while waiting for your answer.

"no! no, i was just playing around.” you nervously chuckle before looking down at the instrument in front of you, unable to meet the eyes of the stranger.

“ah,” he nods understandingly, “do you usually practice here?”

you shake your head, eyes not leaving the piano, “i can’t play. normally i’m here for the books.”

“true.” he mumbles, keeping his head down. you fail to notice the small smile creeping across his face.

chenle remembers perfectly how he spotted you on the other side of the same bookshelf. the small space between the books enabled him to glance at you. the sight of you holding your book tightly against your chest with red cheeks was enough for him to smile with amusement.

“i mean i kinda caught you playing random tones.” he rubs the back of his neck without making eye contact.

you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh, “you can admit that i’m miserable.”

“practice is the key. mind if i join you?”

“sure!” you respond a little to fast.

eventually the young pianist takes a seat next to you and places his hand on the keys. it doesn’t take him long to start playing a beautiful melody, making it look so effortless and easy. you are more than impressed when he finishes the short play and turn his head to face you.

“you’re really good!” you compliment when your eyes leave the piano keys to meet the ones of the stranger. his smile widens when suddenly an idea pops up in his head,

“thank you. do you want me to teach you a little?”

“that would be great.” you nod as you give him a thankful glance.

in a matter of fact, there has always been this desire to play piano deep inside you. with the hope that maybe, just maybe, a connection between you and your beloved mother could develop. when you think about it, it’s almost like the young pianist knows what you have been thinking about. even the simplest melody would make you satisfied. perhaps, the complete stranger could help you build a connection between your mother and you. somehow, he looks into your eyes a little longer, as if he’s trying to read you, before eventually focusing on the piano again.

“alright, so let’s start off with the notes.”

suddenly he slides closer to you in order to wrap his right arm around your shoulder and places his warm hand on your cold, small one. your skin tingles from the sudden contact of his skin with yours.

“now you need to...”

nervously you just stare at your hands on the piano, unable to meet the eyes of the young pianist, who sits way too close to you. you can feel the soft fabric of his blazer on your right arm. his knee touches yours under the piano. you can also feel his breath on your neck when he explains how to play the instrument. however, you can’t focus on what he’s saying. you imagine what would happen if you look up at him.

“... you still here?” the young man chuckles and you feel embarrassment when you realize that he must have noticed your lack of concentration.

when you look up to give him an answer, the closeness of his face makes you forget what you wanted say. again, you feel your face reddening.

the young man himself, is flustered as well when he notices rosiness on your cheeks. he is totally taken back by your long lashes, your beautiful eyes and your cherry tinted lips. besides that he really likes your sweet scent.

“i’m sorry! i zoned out a little.” you admit while you look into his eyes.

“that’s okay. we can try again!”

you take the nice offer and he teaches you one more time.

almost an hour passes, when you find yourself sitting in the library with the mysterious pianist, talking about several topics. for you, it’s great to have someone who communicates about books, music, art or theories, instead of business, money or work.

you both talk about your majors in the academy and you find out that the pianist, surprisingly, studies music. after you mention that you’re a literature student, he gets quite excited. with interest he wants to know more about it and expects you to talk more about it.

it’s when you two laugh about the ridiculous history professor, when suddenly your closest, and only friend, renjun enters the room with a worried expression on his face. however, his face changes to shocked, when he spots you and the stranger sitting on a table near the window.

“y/n, are you here? na jaemin wants to-”, he trails off before raising his eyebrows,

“zhong chenle?! what are you doing here?”

“renjun-ssi! aren’t you excited to see me?” the boy next to me tilts his head slightly with confusion and you notice the playful frown on his face.

“dude, i didn’t know you already arrived.” renjun doesn’t talk much but pulls the other boy in for a hug.

this is zhong chenle? the boy from a rich family who returns to the academy?

“i missed you, man.” chenle pats renjun’s back.

yet, renjun pulls back only to hit his shoulder playfully,

“why didn’t you let me know? since when are you here, huh?”

“i’m sorry, hyung. these days are very stressful for everyone, you know?”

renjun nods understandingly and finally pays attention to you, trying to hide the fact that he forgot that you are here too.

“you are zhong chenle?” you question with a confused voice as you furrow your eyebrows while pointing to him.

chenle sighs before nodding, “yes. that’s me.”

“y/n probably expected you to act like a rich snob.” renjun chuckles before you cough and send him a glare.

“hold on, don’t tell me the mysterious pianist you’ve been tal-”, before your friend can finish his sentence, you abruptly stand up in order to slap your hand on his mouth,

“shut up, renjeon.” you mumble, knowing renjun despises this specific nickname, originally created by na jaemin.

“are you two friends?”

“yes, we happen to be friends.” you answer while renjun gives you an annoyed look, still offended by the way you decided to call him,

“in fact, i’m your only friend.”

you are used to his odd behavior and decide to ask him something that has been in your mind since he came into the library,

“were you looking for me?”

“oh, right.”, renjun remembers and shakes his head to focus, “apparently na jaemin has something to talk about.”

the uncomfortable feeling appears again. soon you decide to leave the two boys and say goodbye before making your way to your fiance, na jaemin.

soon it turns out that na jaemin wants to talk to you about your upcoming marriage. of course, this matter makes you annoyed. for a certain reason jaemin seems to be serious about the whole situation. the young boy never fails to impress everyone by his charm, looks and intelligence. more important than that, he never disappoints his family. always coming up with the best ideas for their company, developing relationships with important people and giving his best in the academy. yet, you are quite confused when you find out that na jaemin wants to marry you. even in a situation like this, he can’t risk disappointing his family?

however, you certainly don’t care about his image and for sure won’t accept to be a part of his family.

“look, y/n, i know you don’t want this. trust me, i don’t want this either but it’s the best for us-”

“i don’t care about what’s best for us, this is my life and i should at least be allowed to decide if i want to marry.”

“would you stop being so selfish for once?” jaemin hissed.

“selfish?” you scoff, “i pity you, na jaemin. all you care about is how others think of you. i will never marry you.”

you once again you find yourself in one of your favorite places. this time it isn’t the peaceful library, but the flower garden. indeed, you adore the lovely smell of several flowers and the view of the scenery while you sit on the fresh grass, enjoying every bit of nature. just like the library, this place radiates peace. with a smile on your face you look around, checking if anyway was watching. when you don’t see anyone, you happily pick up some daisies - they’re your favorite.

from the building in front of the flower garden, chenle spots you through the window. the young pianist pushes the curtains further to the side as he watches you pick up a few flowers. you’re wearing a long sleeved white dress which reaches just above your knees. whenever he observed you, he saw a confused, worried and slightly shy girl. however, now that he looks at you, you seem like the happiest.

chenle doesn’t even notice a smile creeping across face, as he continues staring at you. he even considers walking downstairs just to meet you. as a matter of fact, the previous day keeps popping up in his mind. he enjoyed the moment he shared with you in the library: how his hand was placed on your soft one, how the redness appeared on your cheeks, how you talked about music and literature. desperately wanting the feeling of his rapid heartbeat to appear again, he doesn’t think twice before running towards the flower garden.

instead of greeting you he decides to walk up to you until there was only a few inches left between you. unawarely, you look at the flowers in your hand with keeping your head down. while doing so, you fail to notice chenle lowering his head slowly, almost touching your right shoulder. however, when the young man eventually whispers a hello in your ear, you let out a yelp and jump before turning around.

suddenly you are met with chenle standing right in front of you, your bodies almost touching. shocked by his sudden appearance, your eyes widen and your feet stumble over his. for a moment you close your eyes as you lose your balance and feel yourself fall. yet, before your back hits the ground, chenle is able to wrap his arm around your waist, holding you there, safe from falling. your fists are pressed against his chest, the daisies completely squeezed in your sweaty hand.

once your eyes meet his, a heavy feeling in your stomach appears. at the sudden contact of his body with yours, you feel your skin tingle. soon your pale face turns as red as the roses in the flower garden.

“woah there, did i scare you that much?” chenle chuckles as he looks into your eyes with amusement. you can feel his chest rising slightly while he does so.

for a moment you can’t find the right words as you try to avoid making eye contact as much as possible. after glancing around as if you‘re looking for an exit or escape, you finally look back to the pianist before speaking,

“why did you do that?”

“for fun.” he shrugs with a small smirk,

“what are you doing here anyway?” chenle asks although he already knows the answer.

“i wanted to walk around a little and... i also picked up some daises, i guess.” you mumble the last part, as your eyes leave his to look at the squished flowers in your hand, still in the same position,

“and you?” you ask, eyes moving back to his face,

“what are you doing in the flower garden?”

now it’s chenle’s turn to look for the right words. somehow, he does not want to admit that the only reason he came here was you.

now that he also notices that your bodies are still attached to each other, his arm around your waist while your hands lay on his chest, the situation seems to get difficult for him. with his heartbeat fastening, he clears his throat to answer the question. however, before he can even open his mouth, you take a step back slowly, your hands now swinging by your sides.

it is stupid how you both fail to notice the redness on each other’s cheeks.

“s-sorry.” you stutter as your eyes focus on his chest.

chenle raises his eyebrows, “no! it’s not your fault, i-”

“i mean the flowers,” you interrupt him as you point to the daises sticking to his sweater.

the pianist immediately looks down and can’t help but laugh at the sight of daisies pressed against his chest.

soon you both sit on the grass and talk about this and that. you have no idea how you ended up in this position, but your head rests on chenle’s thigh, his hand playing with your soft hair, while you look up to the sky.

“what do you want to do after academy?” chenle asks and starts playing with the daisies you had pressed against his chest before.

nobody has asked you this question before, not even your own father.

what do you want?

no, it is always you following your dad’s rules. not even once you have had the chance to decide for yourself. in fact, your whole life is entirely planned by other people.

what are you supposed to answer? that you will forcefully get married to a successful man you don’t want, and follow him around everywhere?

“i want to become a journalist.” you reply instead. with chenle, you want to talk about your dreams.

he looks at you with surprised eyes, “that sounds awesome! i can tell you’ll be successful.”

“you think so?” with a small, delighted smile you lean in a little.

“of course! your writing is excellent, you show so much passion and you’re quite ambitious. not to mention you pay attention to detail.” he braids the daisies in your hair but you don’t even realize, completely taken back by his words.

chenle smiles, unable to meet your eyes. he remembers how you couldn’t stop talking about writing and reading with so much excitement in your eyes. how you envy the lives of main characters because they seem to exciting, whereas yours is boring and somber.

“thank you, chenle. this means a lot to me.”

his eyes land on you and he finds you smiling with joy. this makes him happy and he can’t deny the butterfly in his stomach caused by that smile of yours.

little did he know, this was only the beginning.

somehow chenle and you start meeting each other more and more. the both of you keep seeing each other in the library and end up studying together. sometimes you write names of several flowers on his wrist, while he writes song lyrics on yours. you introduce chenle to many novels and he likes to play the piano for you. sadly, you fail to notice him peeking through the book he’s reading only to watch rays of the sun shine on your face.

in the flower garden, you usually lay next to each other, watching the clouds on the bright sky. every so often, you rest your head on his leg while he runs his hand through your hair. both of you pick up different flowers everyday and take them home. chenle even makes flower-crowns and you put daisies in his shirt pocket. yet, once again, you don’t notice him staring at you while you are busy observing the birds flying in the sky.

nevertheless, you catch sight of a rosiness on his cheeks every time you happen to look in his eyes a little longer than usual.

or how he casually holds your hand while you study in the library, his thumb running over yours.

or how he glances at your lips once in a while, thinking you’re too focused on fixing the collar of his jacket.

you are sure of your feelings for the pianist. however, you are unsure about his feelings. perhaps, he only sees you as a friend? what if you embarrass yourself in front of him? because of this, you decide not to say anything and continue hopelessly spending time with the music student, who you adore more than anything. in a matter of fact, it just makes sense falling for him.

unfortunately, it just seems so impossible to be with him, especially because you are engaged to someone else. chenle doesn’t know about your upcoming marriage with na jaemin and you have no clue when you should tell him.

however, that day comes sooner than you thought it would.

it’s when you both walk home from another study session at the library. before you turn around to leave chenle, you wave at him with a bright smile on your face. yet, it doesn’t take him long to call your name which causes you to turn around. with a questioning face you turn to face him and wait for him to continue.

“i need to tell you something.”

the nervousness on his face is impossible for you to not notice. the way his hands slightly tremble, his ears turning into a red color and him gulping make you worry.

and that’s when you choose to tell him. the moment just seems perfect and if not now, then when?

“me too,” you say,

“i have to tell you something really important.”

“well, then you go first.” chenle rubs his neck while avoiding your eyes.

you draw your mouth into a tin line and press your lips together before taking a deep breath and finally answer,

“i’m engaged to na jaemin.”

of course, you are so overwhelmed and nervous that you fail to notice chenle’s face fall. his stomach drops as he stares into your eyes so deeply.

why would you say that right when he was about to confess?

but perhaps it was better this way. things between you would be very weird, if he confessed his feelings. still, he feels terrible. the girl he has been loving the whole time is engaged to somebody else.

“it was my father’s decision, not mine.” you try to meet chenle’s eyes but he looks away,

“oh, i see. that’s... great? congratulations.”

“what did you want to tell me?” you try to change the topic since you suddenly feel uncomfortable.

“me? ugh-,” the boy in front of you is slightly panicked, attempting to find a possible response,

“nothing important haha.” chenle tries to laugh it off.

you frown, “are you sure?”

he just nods, not able to form the right words.

“alright but i need to tell you something else. i’m aware that this might not be the right time or place, after what i just said, but i just need to tell you-”

right when you want to reveal your feelings for the young pianist, you hear a voice calling his name. his father is calling him, and he has to leave.

“sorry, y/n. see you at the ball.”

the next day you get ready for the dance, which takes place near your academy. in fact, it’s the most important dance out of all of them. pretty much all families are invited, including yours of course. unfortunately, you are aware that parents tend to play cupid in order to bring their children together. in this case, your father puts effort into his appearance and also gives you an expensive dress.

when you finally arrive at the ball your eyes immediately find the man you so hardly fell for. simply he stands there, a drink in his right hand, eyes shining while talking to your friend huang renjun. chenle is wearing a velvet burgundy suit which makes you feel dizzy.

however, during that night, you notice how chenle avoids you. whenever you try to approach him, he finds someone else to talk. whenever you walk towards his direction, he turns around immediately and walks away. now and then you glance at him from distance and when he finally turns his head to your direction and meets your eyes, he looks away in milliseconds.

even so, renjun eventually meets you and it’s his turn to play cupid. right after he greets you with a huge smile, he grabs your arm and leads you to where chenle is currently standing, thankfully alone.

after you both awkwardly greet each other, renjun decides to check on his other friend lee donghyuck. right when you are ready to talk to chenle, suddenly na jaemin shows up in the same room. apart from that people around you start to dance with their partner. it doesn’t take you long to realize that jaemin, your fiancé, is walking towards you.

he wants to dance with me.

your gaze flits around the room, never settling on a person or object for long as you plan an escape in your head. finally chenle decides to speak to you when the young boy notices your nervous behavior,

“what’s wrong?”

immediately you grab onto him, refusing to let go:

“i have to leave. now.”

“what? why?”, chenle watches you with curious eyes until you eventually make eye contact with him.

there is a tightness in your chest when you play with your fingers nervously,

“na jaemin is coming our way because he wants to dance with me. don’t look.”

although you clearly warned chenle so that he could avoid your narcissistic fiance, he still looks behind you curiously.

“i said don’t look!” you speak through your teeth with forced restraint.

“why don’t you dance with him? he’s your fiancé after all.” the pianist only ignores your words, more interested in your feelings for the young man called na jaemin.

“i don’t want to dance with him because i don’t like him. it’s my dad’s decision, not mine. remember?”, you sigh while looking for a way to escape.

“then dance with me.”

all of the sudden chenle’s right hand grabs your waist, pulling you really close to him. after that his other hand takes yours which makes you let out a small gasp. with confusion your eyes widen, not believing the situation you find yourself in. nervously, you gulp when he looks down to you with a small smirk on his face. instantly your cheeks turn a darker shade of red, eyes not leaving his beautiful dark ones. chenle’s hands on your body make the butterflies appear in your stomach once again, your heart races and you aren’t exactly bothered by the familiar feeling until you notice your surroundings.

all the guests in the room are focused on you both, whispering to each other with surprised faces. even the couples dancing are shocked by zhong chenle dancing with y/n, who’s already engaged to na jaemin, that they end up stepping on each other’s feet. your fiancé himself is just standing there with an angry expression, eyes not leaving zhong chenle, who dares to dance with you.

“chenle, w-what are you doing?” your tongue gets tangled when you attempt to whisper.

he shrugs, “i want to dance with you.”

your right hand holds into his shoulder while the other one squeezes his hand,

“everyone is watching us. are you sure this is a good idea?”

“they’re just jealous you’re dancing with the most handsome man in the room.”

chenle’s sudden change in behavior makes you frown and step on his foot intentionally. however, he only tightens his grip on your waist and pulls you even closer as you continue to dance with each other,

“oh. is this better?”

the feeling of his soft hands on the fabric of your dress makes your skin tingle. how could he pull you close to him so easily?

the music plays in the background when you are too focused on his face, now only a few inches apart from yours. you have difficulty focusing on your steps due to the sudden lightheadedness which leads you to stumble and step on chenle’s foot once again.

he smirks, playfully shaking his head: “you want me even closer?”

your eyes widen when he bends down to whispers in your ear,

“we’re in public, y/n.”

you think it’s the end for you when you feel his warm breath on your neck which makes your heart nearly explode in your chest but he just looks into your eyes deeply, his lips forming a smile when he notices the rosiness on your cheeks,

“do i make your heart flutter?”,

he only chuckles at your cuteness, completely unaware of your feelings for him.

“you wish.” you manage to say after clearing your throat, your eyes now on the people dancing around you.

after that he spins you around just to catch you in his arms again: “i wish.”

at that exact moment, when you both stare into each other’s eyes deeply with love and attraction, everything and everyone around you seems to disappear. all at once the music in the background, the sound of people laughing and the people themselves stop existing. chenle holds you in his arms, his grip on your waist tightening even more, his face really close to you. there’s a fluttering in his stomach when his gaze falls on your soft, rosy lips. you do the same when you notice his eyes on your lips and none of you dare to say anything. yet, you blink a few times before deciding to express your feelings for the pianist,

“chenle, i-”

out of the blue na jaemin dares to interrupt you and the popular zhong. swiftly he pulls you out of chenle’s grip by grabbing your arm. surprised by his sudden actions, you watch jaemin glare angrily at the boy in front of him, hand not letting go of your arm.

“what do you think you’re doing, zhong?”, jaemin speaks carefully in a controlled tone, trying to remain calm. however, you don’t fail to notice his fist pounding against his thigh lightly.

“who are you to tell me what to do?” chenle laughs annoyed.

“i’m her fiancé, you asshole.”

“then maybe you should ask your fiancée what she thinks of you. i bet you already know, right? things can’t always go your way, jaemin-ssi.”

after snapping at him, chenle pulls you ouf of jaemin’s grip and leads you out of there.

it is your wedding day. although you could never believe that in the end of the day you’ll have to get married to a complete stranger, you now observe yourself in front of the mirror, hair falling down your shoulders perfectly, make-up done, pearls around your neck and the heavy dress on your body. you absolutely hate your reflection, your eyes still puffy from crying the previous night. the soreness in your throat makes you feel even more uncomfortable. nonetheless you have to marry na jaemin in a few minutes.

after chenle left the ball with you, he confessed his feelings for you. therefore, you told him about your feelings as well. that moment was incredibly magical to you, yet also quite stressful. needless to say, you talked about your engagement with the other male and chenle told you to not worry about it. he told you that he would certainly find a way. however, unfortunately, nothing happened till your wedding day. you both met each other secretly now and then, sharing kisses in the neglected library when chenle played the piano but got distracted by you.

by all means you enjoyed spending time with your lover but had to admit that you got more worried every day. zhong chenle promised you he’d never leave you but now you enter the big room, where people watch you walk towards the other side of the room. you want to cry, run away, scream. how could chenle just leave you like this?

right when you are about to take jaemin’s hand and give in, the gates suddenly open which catches everyone’s attention. there he is, completely out of breath from the running, eyes looking for yours. soaked from the heavy rain, he runs his hand through his wet hair. your eyes widen when he runs towards you. the guests gasp as he reaches for your hand and stares into your eyes deeply,

“come with me, y/n.”

not knowing what do, you raise your eyebrows and continue looking at the young man in front of you. before your father can burst out in anger, chenle swiftly grabs your arm and starts running. you hear everyone in the room gasp and panic, na jaemin calling your name several times. nevertheless, you run away with your lover, nearing the huge gates which lead to an exit. while rushing towards his horse, your long dress gets dirty from all the rain.

“you came!”, you manage to say with excitement, while running.

“of course i came! i told you i’d never leave you!”

“what are we doing now?”

“we’re running away from here, love. i know i-” chenle trails off for a moment, still breathless from running the whole time,

“i haven’t talked to you about this but you have to trust me. i planned everything. is that okay with you?”

chenle jumped on his horse and offers a hand to you. eventually you nod without thinking twice and get on the horse.

before you both leave, he turns around to you slightly, his eyes staring into yours with so much love before his hands caress your face. your hurt flutters when his lips touch yours, your eyes closing immediately. breaking the kiss, he tucks your hair behind your ear,

“i love you, y/n.”

“i love you too, chenle.”

and you both head towards north, where you live happily ever after.

162 notes · View notes

mighty-ant · 3 years

Text

Just a Normal, Boring Family, Part Six

Part One, Part Five

Bentina Beakley is nobody’s secretary.

She doesn't handle diaries, arrange transport, or do any filing. When the phones ring, it is not her prerogative to answer them.

Rather, she is the housekeeper, a very different sort of profession altogether. Whether that means she is occupied with dusting a bookshelf or tossing a few Beagle Boys on their ears depends on the day.

Ten years ago she knocked on the door of McDuck Manor for what she expected to be the final time with a suitcase in one hand, her granddaughter in the other, and a bullet in the meat of her left shoulder. Scrooge answered the door himself, leaning heavily on his cane, small and withdrawn in a way she had never seen him before. Webbigail was put to bed in a bassinet that Bentina did not ask the origin of while she endeavoured not to get blood on a hundred and fifty year old chaise lounge as Scrooge stitched her back together.

“Just like old times, eh?” he’d said, but his usual joviality had fallen flat, as though his voice were unused to working around a smile. They hadn’t spoken in nearly five years, but Bentina knew that wasn’t the reason for the chasm between them.

To Scrooge’s credit, he remembered not to ask questions she couldn’t give him the answers to.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that they were back in 1965, fresh off a mission and brimming with adrenaline that made one scarcely feel the itching pinch and tug of the needle.

But it was 2007 and Bentina had never been one for flights of fancy, less now than ever. Instead, she tore apart the minutiae of her reality as keenly as she would evidence under a microscope.

Scrooge had led her to a random sitting room, one of many in the mansion. Even at the height of their partnership she hadn’t uncovered all of them, and this one was unfamiliar to her. It was elegant, as all the rooms were, with intricate carpets and tapestries decorating the walls. But there was a layer of dust coating every piece of furniture, thick enough that Bentina was certain if she ran her finger over the edge of a nearby bureau, it would leave a dark path in its wake. And though she passed through the foyer only briefly, Bentina noticed it in a similar state.

The mansion was heavy with disuse and neglect, and quieter than she had ever heard it. Not just quiet but hollow, like a tree that had rotted from the inside.

Bentina glanced at Scrooge over her shoulder as he carefully flattened a bandage over her line of stitches. His hands shook more than they had disarming a bomb rapidly counting down to zero.

At that moment, Bentina came to a decision that would be mutually beneficial to them both.

“Your mansion is in a sorry state, McDuck,” she said. “I do believe I’ve seen gulags tidier.”

Scrooge’s laugh, if one could call it that, was a short and brittle thing. “Aye, I’ve had my mind on matters a wee bit more important than housekeeping, I’m afraid.”

“No such thing,” Bentina replied lightly, shrugging her blouse back into place and buttoning the front. The bullet hole would be simple enough to sew up, but she’d have to soak the entire thing in cold water soon, lest the stain have an opportunity to set. “You are clearly in as desperate need of a housekeeper as Webbigail is a proper home.”

“Webbigail?” Scrooge repeated, startled into dropping his casual veneer. For all his cleverness, her old partner could be woefully oblivious to most obvious clues, and when she met his baffled stare he almost looked like his old self.

Bentina smirked, and she too was unused to smiling. “My granddaughter,” she said, her tone just the slightest bit admonishing. Buried deep and sealed away, her heart gave a pang when Scrooge spared the bassinet a hesitant glance.

“What about S.H.U.S.H?” he asked, and Bentina’s heart turned to lead. He tore his gaze from the bassinet to look her in the eye. Though she kept her expression carefully schooled, Bentina grit her teeth until her jaw ached and willed iron into her spine.

“S.H.U.S.H. is dead,” she said. “And F.O.W.L. with it.”

Scrooge nodded, the canny glint fading from his eyes. “Y’know, I suppose this old place could use a bit o’ spit and polish. When can you start, Mrs. Beakley?”

“Right away, Mr. McDuck,” she replied.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said, with a ghost of his usual vivacity. But his smile was genuine when he stuck out his hand to her, and Bentina shook it knowing she had just secured her granddaughter’s safety.

Over the years, they’d see their share of attempted break ins. The culprit is sometimes Glomgold, sometimes a Beagle Boy, and sometimes someone completely unexpected. None more so than Della Duck’s sons, caught by Webby’s cleverly laid net trap.

Bentina Beakley is nobody’s secretary, much less Scrooge’s. Duckworth might’ve consented to dogging his heels with pen and notepad at the ready to jot down reminders and meeting times, but hand Bentina a pen and she is more inclined to lob it at Scrooge’s head rather than use it. The same can be said of cellular phones, especially now that they’ve become so compact and aerodynamic.

No, for anyone with half a wit, it is plain to see that Bentina Beakley is nobody’s secretary.

But just this once, and only this once, she agrees to answer the phone in Scrooge’s stead.

He actually has a number of telephones in his study, most unused as of late.

There’s a ruddy heavy one built into a bust of William Drakespeare that can only reach the mist shrouded isle of Great Written, and a remarkably well preserved candlestick that connects directly to the phones in Castle McDuck, and which would gather dust from how little Scrooge uses it were it not for Bentina’s diligent dusting. There’s a boxy telephone made of white plastic that goes to the Money Bin which Scrooge installed in the 1980s and never replaced, a massive radio receiver designed to hail the faraway Cape Suzette, and a tin can dangled from a hook that receives calls from the sublab deep in the Pacific Ocean.

The telephone that Bentina uses now is the most plain of the lot, a black rotary that for the last decade has primarily been employed for business. Although, that is not what she uses it for now.

Sergeant Horsecollar of the 11th Precinct is fortunately of the levelheaded sort, and smartly doubts the veracity of her claims of representing Scrooge McDuck. That is, until his captain receives a call from the mayor confirming her statement.

From there it’s a winding road to getting a hold of the Calisota Department of Social Services and then unearthing the appropriate records.

“Hubert, Dewford, and Llewellyn Duck?” Sgt. Horsecollar reads off. “Says here they’ve been placed in a home in St. Canard. There’s a missing person’s report filed for their guardian, uh, Donald F. Duck. It’s four months old, and there doesn’t seem to be any movement in the case. There’s no suspicion of foul play, and without a body, the trail’s basically run cold.”

The sergeant is apologetic, though Bentina knows exactly what callous conclusion the police will likely have come to. But the Donald Duck she knew, even at a reckless twenty-years-old, was no coward. He would never have abandoned his family as the authorities likely suspect.

But all of that’s beside the point, so Bentina says none of it.

Behind her, Scrooge’s rhythmic three-legged pacing (Right leg. Cane. Left leg. Repeat) punctuates every second with greater urgency. None of that helps her either, so she puts it out of her mind and she speaks into the mouthpiece with a voice that has quelled and led uprisings.

“Yes, I am well aware of all that, Sergeant. But what I am trying to tell you is that the boys should have been placed here from the start, not bounced around the state. Mr. McDuck is…”

Agent 22 does not hesitate, but then she hasn’t been Agent 22 in over a decade.

Bentina glances over her shoulder to where Scrooge has halted in his pacing, his back facing her.

He doesn’t move for a long moment, his shoulders a taut line. Turning his head slightly, Scrooge nods once, a tight jerk of his chin, before he resumes his pacing with heightened fervor.

Bentina takes to the telephone once more.

“Mr. McDuck is the triplet’s great-uncle, and unless I am mistaken, the only living relative currently capable of caring for them.”

“Great-uncle?” Sgt. Horsecollar sputters over the line. “There’s nothing here about—”

Having been given all the information she requires, Bentina interrupts him neatly. “Mr. McDuck’s lawyer, Filler Brushbill, will deliver the appropriate documents to the Calisota Department of Social Services in the morning to clear up this mess. I trust that your department will call off the manhunt for three young boys who have already had quite an ordeal getting to where they were supposed to be in the first place?”

“Well y-yes, of course, ma’am—”

“Thank you, Sergeant. Good night.”

“Oh, uh, good night—”

Bentina returns the telephone to its cradle without further delay, the clack of plastic ringing with strange finality in the small study. Scrooge’s pacing has stopped again, and Bentina vaguely wonders what kind of damage it might have done to the carpets. In the past they had a Worry Room for a reason, after all.

“So,” Scrooge says as she turns to face him. “It’s true then.”

Aiming for strident, his voice is strained like a beam bent to the point of breaking. His eyes are as large and wild as the endless circles he’s been pacing, but there is a desperation to his mania she has not seen since the Buzzards forced him to summon the rescue ships back to Earth.

“Yes,” Bentina says needlessly. She speaks slowly, despite knowing that nothing can soften the blow. “They will be faxing over the official police report for confirmation, but it is all in line with what the boys have told us. Donald was involved in a hit and run, after which he was declared missing. There was no sign of another vehicle at the scene or that of a struggle. He simply,” Bentina’s beak curls into distaste as she recalls the sergeant’s exact words, ‘disappeared into thin air.’ It’s not much, but potentially suggests a magical explanation.”

Scrooge raises his head, gathering himself with an inhale so sharp he practically steals all the air in the room. Leaning heavily on his cane, he grips the handle tight enough that the curves between his knuckles deepen into valleys. “How long?” he asks. It verges on a demand. “How long ago was he taken?”

Though this is the answer Bentina has been dreading most, she doesn’t allow herself to hesitate when she says, “four months.”

She sees Scrooge’s expression twist into one of fury before he slams his cane against his desk with a bang like a gun going off. With the sweep of his arm he scatters everything on its surface. Weeks of documents, paperweights, and the telephone all clatter to the floor. Bentina looks away, but does not flinch.

“How did this happen?” Scrooge thunders. He slams his cane down again. “How did this happen? Why wasnnae I...why did no one…” Chest heaving, he clutches his cane in one shaking fist.

Bentina bends down to recover the telephone, returning the handset to its cradle as she places it on the desk.

“I will look into hiring private investigators we can trust, as the police are clearly out of their element here,” she says calmly. “With their insight, we shall be better equipped to coordinate a strategy for recovering your nephew.”

Scrooge’s deep breathing is the only sound for one, two, three heartbeats. “Aye,” he croaks, sliding his cane off the desk. “Thank you, Beakley. Ah, ensure that their pay comes directly from my bank account, not the company’s. I won’t have Bradford coming after me for this as well. And call Featherby at the Bin, have her cancel any meeting that doesn’t immediately concern the fate of the world.”

“Very good, Mr. McDuck,” Bentina responds, just this once.

He turns around suddenly to face her, expression drawn into a more familiar state of alarm. “The boys, are they—”

“Webbigail is keeping them company in the dining room,” Bentina assures him. “Am I safe to assume that I should make up three guest rooms?”

“I...yes,” he says. “Yes, of course, they’ll stay here.”

Bentina moves to the door and is immediately made conscious of the widening gap between them as Scrooge remains rooted by his desk.

“Would you like to tell them yourself or shall I?” she pauses to offer.

Scrooge grimaces, settling his still trembling hands atop one another on the handle of his cane. “Better-better if you see to it, Beakley. There’s business here I should attend to.”

She suspects his business has something to do with the key he keeps in the bottommost drawer of his desk. Still, Bentina recognizes the subtle dismissal for what it is.

She’s only just opened the door when his voice rises at her back, halfway to a plea.

“Beakley.”

“Yes, sir?”

“They...they don’t know who I am,” he says haltingly. With obvious effort, he forces himself to look her in the eye. “Make sure it stays that way.”

“Of course, Scrooge.”

There’s a portrait of a man and woman in old fashioned clothes looming over Scrooge McDuck’s dining table.

Louie hasn’t seen portraits outside of museums, much less in somebody’s home. But the walls of Scrooge McDuck’s mansion are chock full of them, large and small, hanging in ornate frames beside equally ornate antiques. The hallways that the housekeeper, Mrs. Beakley, leads them through on the way to the dining room are simply brimming with stuff. Massive wooden chests with gilded padlocks, spears and handcrafted masks, glowing stones with unfamiliar markings etched into them, a sarcophagus behind a case of glass.

And everywhere he looks, portraits.

Almost all of them with Scrooge McDuck at the center, each depicting what Louie can only assume is a different stage of the trazillionaire’s life: on the deck of a ship, fighting pirates, a poor sourdough with a rifle strapped to his back, wearing his famous red coat and holding a gleaming, golden fleece.

Whoever painted Scrooge McDuck depicted him with a scowl or a proud look in his eye—it certainly isn’t true to life, nothing like the flickering emotions of the strange, quiet man in the library. Scrooge McDuck hasn’t spoken ten words to them, hasn’t answered any of their questions, and then ditched all three of them as soon as possible.

But they haven’t been thrown out yet. That’s what surprises Louie more than anything.

Mrs. Beakley, who introduces herself as McDuck’s housekeeper on their way out of the library, is nothing like he might’ve expected a British housekeeper to be. The accent’s there, obviously, but there’s a certain lack of bowing and scraping about her, no desire to make herself invisible. Beakley walks down Scrooge McDuck’s halls like she owns them, and Louie respects that confidence as much as he fears it.

The dining room is large enough to fit their entire houseboat, with room to spare. The ceiling extends high above their heads, and the windows are nearly floor to ceiling, paned with diamond pattern glass and framed by rich maroon drapes. A ridiculously long wooden table is basically the only thing in here, aside from the portrait of the man and woman in its oval frame.

He and his brothers file in, slack-jawed, struck yet again by the size and scope of Scrooge McDuck’s home.

“I must ask that you boys wait here while Mr. McDuck and I look into what you’ve told us,” Mrs. Beakley says from the door.

That gets all of their attention very quickly.

“But-but we told you the truth!” Huey exclaims, distress making his voice pinch. “I know we don’t have much in the way of evidence but we showed you Uncle Donald’s license! If Mr. McDuck just calls the police I’m sure they’d tell him everything, he’s the richest duck in the world—”

“That is precisely what Mr. McDuck and I are going to do,” Mrs. Beakley interrupts smoothly, cutting Huey off midtirade which is no small feat in Louie’s book. “Trust me...Huey, was it? We will do everything in our power to get to the heart of this mystery.”

That she’s bothered to remember any of their names so soon is already a point in Mrs. Beakley’s favor. When their foster parents actually tried it still took them a day or two. But the awareness that they’re being shut out is grating, and tension threads its way between the three of them via uncomfortable glances.

“Okay,” Huey says at last, quiet as he breaks eye contact with Louie last. “Thank you, Mrs. Beakley.”

And that’s that. It’s only with Huey as their spokesperson, speaking for them with one voice and one face, that they’ve gotten to where they are now. They made it to the top of the hill, they breached the gates, they spoke to the richest person in the world because they stood behind Huey to do it. Incapable of lying, able to use big words like an adult, everything about him screams goody two shoes Junior Woodchuck, nevermind the scant few meetings the past months have allowed him to attend.

Dewey’s too hyperactive to be taken seriously, and Louie’s been told on more than one occasion that he has a “shady” face. It’s not totally undeserved he knows, what with his terrible posture and hands always buried in the pocket of his hoodie, his difficulties with making eye contact when he isn’t pulling a con. While Huey was off getting straight A’s and Dewey racing to join the next school play, Louie was on the playground placing bets with the eighth graders and swindling the sailors outside Chum’s with card tricks on nights Uncle Donald worked late.

Huey’s their best shot at getting anyone to take them seriously, especially now, and Louie’s not about to be the one who jeopardizes that.

So that’s that, or so he thinks.

“Wait!” Dewey blurts, startling Louie and Huey, and causing Mrs. Beakley to raise a single eyebrow. “Is it true? Does Scrooge McDuck know Uncle Donald? He never answered the question!”

For one long moment, Louie isn’t sure that Mrs. Beakley is going to answer him.

But she tips her head forward slightly, and her placid expression softens. “I’m afraid it isn’t my story to tell.”

Dewey steps forward, undeterred. “But—”

Louie grabs him by the arm, quickly drawing him back before he can continue. “We understand, Mrs. Beakley. Thanks.” When Dewey makes an affronted sound, Louie shoots him a quelling look that he hopes his brother grasps the meaning of.

She didn’t say no. That’s as good as a yes.

Mrs. Beakley nods once, apparently satisfied. “Now then, as Mr. McDuck and I will be temporarily indisposed, I’ll be leaving you three in the capable hands of my granddaughter. And if you feel peckish, please help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

“Your granddaughter…?” Huey repeats questioningly, and Louie and Dewey join him in looking around the otherwise empty dining room. The frightening girl who had dropped a net on them is nowhere to be seen, having disappeared after their meeting with Scrooge McDuck in the library.

“Hi again!” The girl’s high voice, the same they heard in the pitch dark bedroom, reappears inches behind their heads.

“GAH!” Louie cries with a start, and his brothers leap away similarly.

When they turn around it’s to find the girl standing just a foot away. She meets their wide eyes with a small awkward smile. “I’m Webby,” she says, raising her hand in a brief wave.

Huey rallies the quickest. “Yes, I-I remember. But, uh, where exactly did you come from?”

“The air vents,” Webby replies, blinking.

“Dewey Duck!” Dewey announces grandly, sticking out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Dew forgive my brothers for their lack of manners.”

Webby shakes his hand with a smile that loses some of its initial nervousness. Not about to let Dewey make him look bad, Huey shoves him out of the way and introduces himself to Webby next.

She shakes his hand bemusedly. “Yes, I know who you are.” Behind them, Mrs. Beakley clears her throat. Webby says, “You told Granny your names earlier.”

“Well, now that the four of you have been properly introduced, I’ll leave you to it,” Mrs. Beakley announces. “Webbigail,” she says, in a tone of voice that has her granddaughter immediately lifting her head. She gives Webby a significant look. “Ni slova.”

Whatever Mrs. Beakley said plainly wasn’t English, but Webby nods like she understands. “Yes, Granny.”

The door to the dining room closes behind Mrs. Beakley, leaving them under the watchful eye of the strange girl who has arrows embedded in her walls and stars hanging from the ceiling of her bedroom. All they can do now is wait.

“You can put your bags down if you like,” Webby says after a moment, wringing her hands together.

Needing no further prompting, Louie lets the straps of his backpack slide down his arms so the bag plops to the ground. There’s nothing in it besides an empty water bottle, his phone charger, and a change of clothes anyway. He strolls away from it, hands in his pockets as he surveys the room.

Behind him, Huey scoffs and picks up Louie’s backpack to deposit it against the nearest wall, where it’ll be out of the way. He drags Dewey with him before he can drop his backpack where he stands too.

“So,” Louie begins on his lazy circuit of the room, “who are you exactly?”

Webby blinks. “Oh, um, I’m Webby?”

“Yeah, got that.” He briefly looks her up and down, reevaluating what he already knows. Her outfit, while relatively plain, is also clearly expensive. He’s learned to tell the difference between their Bull-Mart clearance rack shirts and the name brand stuff, if only for the sake of singling out ideal marks. Similar to her grandmother, Webby’s accent is light and smooth like the actors’ in the period dramas Uncle Donald always denied watching.

“I mean who are you to Scrooge McDuck?” Louie reiterates, gesturing loosely with one hand. “You live in his mansion after all.” And had an elaborate net trap set up in her bedroom, but he’s not ready to revisit that yet.

“Oh.” Webby looks down, tugging at a lock of her hair. “I’m-I’m no one. My granny’s the housekeeper, and she and Mr. McDuck are old friends.”

“Louie, you’re being rude,” Huey chastises, walking back over with Dewey in tow.

“Oooh,” Dewey says in an undertone, grinning when Louie sticks his tongue out at him.

Webby shakes her head. “No, no it’s okay. I know you probably weren’t expecting a random girl to trap you under a net,” she says, pulling out a chair for herself at the ridiculously long table. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way!”

Huey wastes no time in taking the seat beside her. “Water under the bridge,” he assures her. “By the way, what kind of knot did you use? My first thought was an overhand, but I couldn’t see too well in the dark.”

“Actually, it was a slip knot,” Webby says, her smile becoming less forced in the wake of Huey’s enthusiasm.

“Slip knot, of course!” he exclaims, flapping his hands excitedly. “And the net, did you make that yourself, too?”

Rolling his eyes, Louie tunes out their conversation as he continues ambling around the dining room, at least until he’s made it to the opposite side of the table. To his displeasure there isn’t much of interest here, not like the rest of the heavily decorated mansion. Just the lone portrait of the couple, the smiling woman and unsmiling man, looming over them.

Reluctantly, he pulls up a chair across from Huey and Webby’s ongoing discussion about knot tying. Ever the industrious Junior Woodchuck, Huey has a fair length of string in his pocket that he lets Webby use to demonstrate.

Just as Louie begins to wonder where his middle brother might have gone to, he hears a shuffling sound beneath the table. The chair to his left is pushed away from the table and Dewey pokes his head out from beneath the edge of the table.

“Having fun?” Louie drawls, slouching in his seat.

“Huey definitely is,” Dewey replies, climbing into his own chair with a huff.

“Yeah, he’s missed having someone to talk nerd with,” Louie says, idly scratching his cheek. He decides not to tease Huey too bad; as much as he’ll mock the Junior Woodchucks, those meetings are important to Huey. It’s just one piece of a life that they want to get back.

He tunes back into the conversation on the other side of the table as Webby says, “And did you know that Mr. McDuck had this table fashioned out of the wreckage of pirate captain Yellow Beak’s shipwreck?”

Dewey perks up. “McDuck fought pirates?” he asks eagerly.

“Not this time,” Webby replies with a little laugh. “The real fight was safely transporting the wreckage off Phantom Island while keeping it mostly intact,” she explains over Dewey’s groan of disappointment.

“Wow,” Huey says, running his hands over the polished tabletop with inordinate reverence. “What an impressive find. Mr. McDuck was smart to keep this.”

“Yes, speaking of our humble host,” Louie says, reinserting himself into the conversation. “You, Webby, have got insider access that most people can only dream of. So, what can you tell us about the old man?”

Webby’s smile dims. “About Mr. McDuck?”

“Unless some other quadzillionaire lives here that I don’t know about?” he replies easily, folding his arms atop the table.

“Louie…” Huey says in warning, his worried gaze darting back and forth between them.

“Hey, I’m not being rude or whatever.” Louie raises his hands defensively, looking at Dewey for backup before turning back to Huey. “Nobody’s heard a peep out of McDuck for ten years. It’s been all business, no public appearances, no interviews. Uncle Donald said he knew the guy, but which one? The swashbuckling adventurer or the old guy who doesn’t leave his mansion?”

“Yeah!” Dewey pipes up. “We need to know what to expect if he ever lets us talk to him again.”

Huey sighs in the dramatic, long-suffering way Uncle Donald does, and Louie knows they’ve sold him on it. Involve research of any kind, he’s automatically in. “I suppose hearing a firsthand account would be useful. Would you be willing to tell us a little bit more about Mr. McDuck, Webby?”

Webby, for her part, seems to be practicing her impression of a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh...well, I actually...Mr. McDuck and I don’t see much of each other, actually,” she answers hesitantly, returning to her previous habit of avoiding eye contact.

“But you live in the same house,” Dewey points out, confused.

Webby shrugs. “Yes, of course, but we’re both pretty busy doing our own thing. He has his businesses to manage after all, and I have training. Besides, Granny’s always said it’s best if I don’t bother him.”

Louie leans forward. “And would that training have anything to do with the net you trapped us with?”

She brightens slightly. “Exactly! Granny trains me to be ready for anything, including but not limited to home invasion. Although, it’s usually the Beagle Boys trying to break in.”

“Technically, we didn’t break in!” Huey is quick to protest. “The window we climbed in through was already open.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Hue,” Louie says, smiling lazily when Huey shoots him a dirty look. “But getting back on topic; that was your big conspiracy board we saw, right, Webby? With the red string and the newspaper clippings? Anything there that might help us out?”

Webby winces. “Yeah, that’s mine. For a while, I was really interested in researching the history of Clan McDuck—Mr. McDuck’s family—as a-a side project. His family tree has generations in Scotland going back hundreds of years, which means hundreds of years of history. But…my research stalled out the closer I got to the present. I’m sorry, but I really can’t tell you what Mr. McDuck is like now.”

Outside of his family, Louie’s first instinct is to distrust people. Whether it’s upperclassmen bullies, a foster parent that complains about having to take in triplets, or the richest person in the world sequestered somewhere over their heads. But something about Webby, wide-eyed and awkward, compels Louie to give her a break.

He feels the weight of his brothers’ curious stares as he leans back in his seat, very clearly putting an end to his line of questioning.

“It’s fine, Webs,” he says smoothly and, more importantly, quickly. “Can I call you Webs? That’s on us, it wasn’t fair of us to grill you like that.”

“I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to be of more help,” she says with a feeble shrug.

“Hmm.” Louie makes a show of tapping his chin. “Well, there is one thing you can help us with. Y’see, my brothers and I haven’t eaten for a couple hours, and your grandma did say we could help ourselves to anything in the kitchen, so…”

Webby practically leaps out of her chair. “You’re absolutely right! Oh my gosh, where are my manners? You three are guests! Hold tight while I make sandwiches and the best English tea you’ve ever tasted!” She makes for the single door at the other end of the dining room, does a flip, and finally cartwheels through the entryway that swings open to grant her passage and closes behind her.

“I don’t think I’ve even had American tea before,” Dewey says into the silence that follows.

Huey sputters across from them, looking absolutely aghast. “Louie, what was that all about? You could’ve at least offered to help her make us food, not guilted her into doing it all herself!”

“I do feel bad about that,” Louie says, and it’s even mostly the truth. “But we need to talk without James Pond Jr. listening in.” Huey levels an unimpressed look his way, and Louie raises his hands defensively. “What? They’re both British, they both know too much, and she apparently fights Beagle Boys on a regular basis.”

“Mrs. Beakley does look like she could be a wrestler,” Dewey adds helpfully.

Huey throws his hands up in surrender. “Fine! Fine, what did you want to talk about?”

Louie shrugs, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “I dunno. Aren’t you the ideas man?”

Dewey laughs while Huey glowers. “Me? What about you! Trying to ferret information out of poor Webby.”

“I am a schemer,” Louie states with great ceremony. “I doubt a scheme is gonna get us far with Scrooge McDuck. We’re gonna have to be, ugh, honest from here on out.”

Huey crosses his arms with a scowl. “Unlike you, I have been honest this entire time.”

“Like when we let Gosalyn pickpocket for us?” Dewey responds cheerily, counting off on his fingers. “Or when we ran away from Mrs. Cavanaugh’s? Or when we hopped the fence—”

“I’ve been honest where it counted!”

“Point is,” Louie interrupts before Huey can lunge across the table at Dewey, as funny as it would be, “my way of doing things isn’t gonna fly here. So what’ve you got, Hubert?”

A pensive expression flits over Huey’s face as he ends his staredown with Dewey. “I think, at this point we just need to wait and see,” he admits slowly. “We told Mr. McDuck everything we know, and if Mrs. Beakley was telling the truth, he’s getting the full story from the police right now.”

“So that’s it?” Dewey demands, looking from Huey to Louie and back again like he’s expecting one of them to disagree. “All that, everything it took to get us here, and we’re just supposed to wait?”

Louie shrugs, slumped against his seat. “We gotta wait for the almighty McDuck, Dew. He’s our last chance.”

“More like our only chance,” Huey murmurs.

The conversation ends there, and their final words hang in the air, heavy like smoke. Huey fiddles with his piece of string, tying it an overhand knot, untying it, and retying it with a slip knot. Dewey taps out an indecipherable pattern on the table, and Louie stares at the portrait over the dining table.

There’s a slam and a clatter as Webby reappears, her entrance as silent as the previous two times. Just like the previous two times, all three of them startle so badly that they practically leap into the air.

“Tea’s ready!” she announces, ignorant of or ignoring their gasps and chest-clutching. The slam was her placing a tray on the table bearing a teapot and four teacups on individual saucers, as well as a pyramid of perfectly square cut sandwiches stacked atop a large plate. “Please help yourself.”

Louie wasn’t lying about being hungry; their last meal was hours ago, at the Hamburger Hippo outside their second bus stop. The sandwiches, ham and cheese, are incredibly fluffy and in that moment the most delicious thing Louie has ever tasted. He and Dewey waste no time in creating individual piles for themselves, staying well away from Huey who, while eating calmly, has a red gleam in his eye that warns of the Duke if any of them try to steal one of his sandwiches.

While they stuff their faces, Webby turns each teacup over onto its saucer and begins pouring tea. “Any milk? Sugar?” she asks with each teacup she fills.

Dewey points at their older brother. “No sugar for Huey,” he says around a mouthful of food, grinning when Huey narrows his eyes at him. As funny as it is being in the same room as Huey when he’s on a sugar high, Louie’s glad that Dewey had the foresight to prevent it just this once. The last thing they need is to get kicked out because Huey had the grand idea of swinging from a chandelier.

Huey accepts his sugarless tea with aplomb, ignoring Dewey and Louie when they snicker. He swallows his mouthful of food before politely saying, “Thank you, Webby.” He acknowledges Dewey and Louie again via a pointed look.

“Fanks,” Dewey says, spitting crumbs. Huey hides his face behind his free hand.

“Thanks, Webs,” Louie says with marginally better manners.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she replies, cheerfully doctoring her own tea.

Louie finishes another sandwich before turning his attention to his teacup, which Webby had placed in front of him on a matching saucer. Whereas the teapot is plain white, both the saucers and the teacups are fine bone china with an intricate gold trim that almost has him doing a double take. Considering where they are, there’s no way it isn’t real.

Swiveling his gaze around the room, Louie lands back on the portrait above them.

“Hey, uh, by the way, who’re the stiffs in the painting?” he asks, pointing over everyone’s heads. When Webby and his brothers look up, he slips the saucer into the pocket of his hoodie.

If possible, Webby’s expression brightens further.

“Oh, that’s Fergus and Downy McDuck, Mr. McDuck’s parents,” she explains. “They commissioned the painting and had it mailed here a few years ago because Mr. McDuck sees so little of them.”

Something about Webby’s phrasing, the use of present tense in particular, gives her all three boys’ undivided attention.

“You mean before they died,” Dewey clarifies, tactless as usual.

Webby tilts her head to the side, confusion in the motion and the pinch of her brows. “No, Mr. McDuck’s parents are still alive.”

Caught in the middle of a sip of tea, Louie starts choking when it goes down the wrong pipe. “How?” he coughs out, pounding on his chest. “They must be over a hundred years old!” Dewey reaches over to pat him on the back unhelpfully.

“Almost two hundred actually,” Webby replies eagerly. “They live at Castle McDuck, the ancestral home of Clan McDuck in Dismal Downs, which is located in the Rannoch Moor of Scotland. It had been in a state of total disrepair since the 17th century, at least until Mr. McDuck rebuilt it in the early 1900s. He used mystical druid stones in the rebuilding process, which granted anyone who lived there immortality!”

Huey very carefully places his teacup back on its saucer. He clears his throat. “Are you saying that Scrooge McDuck’s parents are immortal?”

“I am!” she says, once again not seeming to notice their shell shocked expressions. Louie would call her a liar but so far everything about Webby has screamed of honesty. “Unfortunately, Mr. McDuck can’t visit them very often, even if he wasn’t so busy. The mists around the castle are of magical origin; they hide the castle completely except for ten days every five years, when the mists part enough for the castle to be found.”

Glancing at his brothers, Louie realizes that they’ve come to the same conclusion he has: they’re in way over their heads.

The mansion was one thing, the signs of obvious wealth another. But Scrooge McDuck looks like any old man and that deception hides a truth greater than simply being the richest. This man they’ve come to for help, who resurrects pirate ships for his dining room and makes his parents immortal on a whim, is one they don’t know what to expect from. And the larger question being, how could such a person be indebted to Uncle Donald?

Webby stops talking, looking embarrassed again, and Louie struggles for a moment to understand why.

“I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t be bothering you with a history lesson,” she says, having obviously misunderstood the reason for their silence.

“No, I love history!” Huey retorts at once, with the vehemence of someone whose honor is on the line. “It’s just that when it comes to matters of a...magical nature, we’re a little out of our depth,” he explains diplomatically. “I mean, the extent of my experience is learning how to set up sasquatch traps with the Junior Woodchucks!”

Webby looked surprised by this admittance. “Really? You and your uncle never encountered any mystical objects or beings?”

It’s a flatly ridiculous notion, and Louie snorts into his lukewarm tea as his brothers fail similarly at hiding their amusement. It’s almost a relief to let their earlier, shared dread melt into indulgent recollection.

“Uncle Donald is the most boring, unlucky guy on the planet,” Dewey says vehemently, fondness overwhelming his mock exasperation.

Webby blinks several times in rapid succession. “Really?” she responds, like she doesn’t quite believe them.

“Uh, yeah,” Louie says, a laugh bubbling in this throat. “He makes us wear lifejackets whenever he’s not on the houseboat, like we’re gonna slip, hit our heads and drown if he’s not watching us 24/7.”

“Remember the photos?” Dewey says with a grin, and Huey buries his face in his hands with a groan.

“I was the waterboy one month, and for a year afterward he wouldn’t stop showing the picture to anyone he spoke to for more than five minutes!” he moans, muffled behind his hands.

Louie leans forward, excitement propelling him out of his perennial slouch. “What about that elaborate portrait he got Uncle Goofy to take of us all in the umbrella?”

“That was like magic!” Dewey gushes. “I still don’t get how he made it look like we were on an ocean.”

“There’s a little thing called photoshop, Dewey,” Huey informs him with exaggerated, elongated syllables, as one might speak to a particularly dimwitted four-year-old.

Their conversation continues in this way, light and comfortable in a way little about their life has been, even with the benefit of Gosalyn’s company. Plied with sandwiches and tea, their energy returns and anxieties take a backseat, however temporarily, in favor of happier reminisces. The coldness of Scrooge McDuck’s mansion with its impossibly large rooms and high ceilings ebbs in this small bubble of warmth they’ve created, helped in no small part by the friend they never could’ve expected on their winding trek up Killmotor Hill.

Webby’s confusion and unfamiliarity with the notion of life outside a mansion’s walls should be infuriating, but there’s no conceit to her questions or eagerness to contribute. They learn that until four months ago she’d never eaten a hamburger, which they respond to with an appropriate amount of horror. She then enthuses about the usefulness of a ventilation system when it comes to sneak attacks, which does nothing to dissuade Louie from the growing belief that Webby’s some sort of child assassin.

Reality returns, bracing as a dip in the marina in mid-January, with the reappearance of Mrs. Beakley at the door.

Dewey’s laughing as Huey tries to explain to Webby the many faux pas to avoid when riding a bus, only to immediately trail off when he also spots Scrooge McDuck’s housekeeper. Huey is the last to notice, continuing to speak in his gently lecturing way until Webby says, “Oh, hi, Granny!”

She smiles warmly at her granddaughter despite Louie and his brothers’ rigid stares. “Hello, dear.”

“Mrs. Beakley,” Huey says, stammering only slightly when he glances between her imposing figure and the tea tray on the table, littering with crumbs and half finished sandwiches. While Huey kept his side of the table free of any rings of condensation, there are plenty on Louie’s side since he pocketed his saucer. “We-we can help clean up.”

“Nonsense,” she replies, entering the dining room fully. “You are our guests. And more importantly, you’ve had yourselves a long journey. However,” she fixes each of them with a quelling look over the rim of her glasses, “in the future, you will be expected to clean up after yourselves.”

“In the future?” Louie repeats, eyes narrowing at the implication.

She smiles in the face of his suspicion. “Mr. McDuck has invited the three of you to stay in his home until the investigation into your uncle’s disappearance is complete.”

Louie, Huey and Dewey look at each other for one breathless, wide-eyed moment.

“You mean he’s going to look for Uncle Donald?” Dewey demands, standing on his chair.

“At the moment, we are hiring several capable private investigators, certainly more capable than the police, to give us a better idea of what might have caused Donald’s disappearance,” Mrs. Beakley replies calmly.

Louie worries the sleeve of his hoodie between his thumb and forefinger, thinking back to everything Webby has said of the new world they’ve stepped into.

“Could��” he hesitates when he feels everyone’s eyes on him. “Could it be a magical reason?”

When he looks back up, it’s to see the corners of Mrs. Beakley’s mouth turned downward, her expression chagrined. “Perhaps,” she allows, “although we’ll know more when the professionals are through.” She allows this revelation a few moments to settle before lightly clapping her hands together.

“In any event, we’ll speak more on this with Mr. McDuck in the morning. It’s late, and you boys need your rest. I’ll show you to your rooms now.”

As the three of them climb out of their chairs and gather their backpacks, Webby lingers behind. “I’ll take care of the dishes, Granny,” she says, folding her hands behind her back.

“Thank you, Webby,” Mrs. Beakley replies, before kneeling to be closer in height to her granddaughter. “In case we don’t see each other until morning, good night, dear.”

“Good night,” Webby says, standing on her toes to wrap her arms around Mrs. Beakley’s neck in a hug. When they separate, Mrs. Beakley smoothes a few flyaway strands of hair on Webby’s head before rising to her feet.

“Right this way, boys,” Mrs. Beakley says, holding open the door that leads back into the foyer. Louie and his brothers exit in a single file, him last. He’s almost over the threshold when she delicately clears her throat above him.

When Louie looks up, she’s holding out her hand with an expectant expression on her face. “I believe you mistakenly took something that doesn’t belong to you,” she elucidates, and Louie’s blood runs cold.

“I….uh…” his silver tongue fails him in the face of whatever consequences he’d brought upon them. It was stupid to take the saucer, he knew it the second he pocketed it, but it was gold and it was right in front of him like a slap to the face, a guaranteed way to pay for anything they might need that their new ‘caregivers’ weren’t willing to provide.

Mrs. Beakley raises her eyebrows.

Fingers trembling, Louie pulls the saucer out of his pocket.

“Thank you,” she says, taking it from his hand. She looks behind him. “Webbigail, dear, heads up.” She flings the saucer like one would a frisbee, and Louie whips his head around in shock to follow its trajectory.

Webby has her back to them, in the process of carrying the tea tray back to the kitchen. But at the sound of her grandmother’s voice, she whirls around, leaving the tray balanced on one hand as she reaches out with the other and snatches the saucer out of thin air. “Got it!” she replies cheerfully, before disappearing through the kitchen door.

Louie turns back to face Mrs. Beakley, his mouth gone desert dry with nerves. But whatever he might’ve expected to see on her face, an utter lack of anger is not one of them.

“You and I will pretend this never happened,” she says quietly. “And I would recommend against trying to pilfer any other shiny object you might see. There are some that might react badly to being stolen.”

Magic, Louie realizes with mounting dread. She’s talking about magical objects, like Webby said.

He nods stiffly. Sorry, won’t happen again, is on the tip of his tongue when she continues speaking.

“More importantly, we will be providing you and your brothers with any and everything you might require while you’re in our care,” she says, looking him straight in the eye with a burning sincerity he only thought Uncle Donald capable of. “You have my word on that count, Louie.”

He swallows thickly but his words still come out faint when he says, “Thanks, Mrs. Beakley.”

“Think nothing of it. Now, let’s go join your brothers, shall we?”

In the last decade, this is the first time Scrooge has visited the nursery twice in one year.

As always, the room looks no different than it did on his last visit or the one before that. Dust sheets cover every piece of furniture, and the white fabric practically glows in the brilliant moonlight streaming in through the tall windows. It only aids in the room’s already eerie quality, like a portrait half begun and then abandoned, leaving only a skeletal outline of what was meant to be a masterpiece.

The dust covers were originally put down because they had been repainting the nursery. Della and Donald both agreed that the brown walls, while perfectly suitable for a Scottish manor on the whole, were much too dark for a room belonging to three children. Two and a half of the four walls are mint green in color; or as Della delighted in reminding them, “Mint Hint,” was its correct, albeit asinine, name.

Scrooge can still see her in his mind’s eye, wearing her filthiest pair of overalls with a paint roller in hand and a streak of Mint Hint across her forehead from where she’d wiped the back of her hand without realizing it. She’d smacked Donald in the face with the paint roller by accident and after laughing instead of apologizing resulted in an all out brawl that only ended with them dumping their buckets of paint on each other rather than on the remaining walls.

Duckworth is the last person to have properly cleaned the nursery, only a few months before his death. Scrooge has never told Bentina to leave it be, though she has somehow always known to avoid it on her rotation. Perhaps because it is the only locked door in the mansion that she does not have the key to. Whatever the reason, the dust has never been disturbed by anyone but him these last eleven years.

On this visit, his second in as many months, he hasn’t bothered to remove the dust sheets from any of the furniture, not even his favored red armchair. In a room populated by ghost-like figures, it leaves him as the single spot of color, even as moonlight does its level best to paint his coat silver.

Two months. Scrooge laughs hoarsely, a sound that’s too loud in the otherwise oppressive quiet. Two months ago, he sat in this very room on the anniversary of the boys’ birth like he does every year, and every year it is the perfect excuse to sit back and feel sorry for himself in the safety of the dark. He allows himself to feel grief, longing and guilt, every weakness he despises, before locking everything away again, to be forgotten for another year, so he can carry on with the familiar drudgery of his company.

There was a safety to the monotony, a lack of responsibility for anything that wasn’t amassing more wealth and he’d always been a canny hand at that. It became easier not to think of the cavalcade of failures that led him here. His own: for not stopping Della, for not saving Della, for building the damn rocket in the first place. Donald’s: for not accepting his apology, for abandoning him, for taking Della’s children from him.

Eleven years ago he’d torn up a photograph of his gowk, smiling face posing before the Spear of Selene, a photograph that represented a time before he learned life’s harshest lesson—family is nothing but trouble. Trouble and pain and loss that you never see coming and can do nothing to prevent. Hortense’s children have brought him as much grief as she ever did, in life and in death. Pressing on every nerve, worming their way through cast iron defenses, and leaving a great bloody wound when they were gone.

But Scrooge has been a coward.

In his hand, slightly crumbled in his grip, is the first page of the police report he’d been faxed. The police report that labels Donald as a missing person’s case in cold black print.

There were photos in the report as well. Crime scene photos, Scrooge supposes, though he has had little to no interaction with police in his long, long life, either too poor or too rich to bother with them. The photos were of an old station wagon in a ditch, its hood dented, its side scraped free of paint. Photos of a trunk stacked with enough luggage for four people, an ajar driver’s side door but no driver inside.

Scrooge has read the entirety of the report and he knows what “Duckburg’s finest” suspect has happened, what conclusion their detective work led them to.

Donald Duck was not a rich man. His credit was terrible, his job record even worse. He was a nobody with three mouths to feed. To the officers, it wasn’t a leap to assume that Donald had left of his own volition and did not want to be found.

What they don’t know is that Donald is perhaps the most stubborn bastard Scrooge has ever met, second only to himself. They don’t know that Donald never gives up on anything, no matter how painful it is, maybe even especially then. They don’t know that Donald would rather saw off one of his own limbs than abandon the last connection he has to his twin.

And until now, the police also weren’t aware that Donald was Scrooge’s McDuck’s nephew. That he’s been out of the game for eleven years is immaterial; Scrooge McDuck has enemies going back decades who wouldn’t hesitate to hold a member of his family hostage.

But therein lies the rub. Four months, and there’s been no ransom call. No mysterious letter or package at his door. Donald was taken and whoever has him not only doesn’t want him to be found, they have no interest in money. At this point, Scrooge isn’t even sure what they’re after, if it isn’t revenge.

Scrooge looks up, up, up at the portrait hanging over the empty fireplace. His own smile, reflected back at him, mocks him with the promise of a life he could have had, even if only a shadow of it.

He let Donald walk away from him eleven years ago, too mired in grief and guilt to hold onto what family he had left and refuse to let them go. Eleven years during which he could have shelved his pride and gone to see Donald, met Della’s bairns, been as involved in their lives as he was before they hatched. Della is smiling right up there with him, so excited to be a mother. What would she say if she saw him now, if she saw how utterly he abandoned Donald, her other half, and the three boys she’d wanted to show the stars?

Not to mention that Della’s boys are grown now, practically teenagers, and the thought sends his mind spinning. He’s known, on a practical level, with every year he visited the nursery that Della’s bairns were bairns no longer. At two years, he wondered if the boys were still in nappies, if they were walking, if one could tell them apart at a glance. He wondered what their first words were. He wondered what their names were.

He sat in this very chair every year and wondered, threw his little pity party and moved on. He never tried to visit, never even bothered to learn where they lived—a houseboat on the marina, he learns today, not even a half hour’s drive from the mansion. He was too much of a coward to look Donald in the eye and now Donald’s gone and Scrooge is a stranger to Della’s children.

And because he’s a coward, he almost prefers it that way. Better that they believe the infamous Scrooge McDuck is an old acquaintance of their uncle, a source of plentiful help and resources, than know he’s the man responsible for tearing their family apart.

He’ll tell them the truth when they find Donald, he decides. Or better yet, Donald can do it himself. That way, the boys will have someone to turn to after they inevitably reject him.

“Huey, Louie…” he says aloud, and snaps his fingers, trying to remember the name of the third one. It’s the blue one, he’s fairly certain. The boy in red, Huey, introduced them all but the shock of their identities blew the names right out of his head. Bentina read them aloud to him later, in his study. “Bluey?” he attempts.

Della’s smiling face looks unimpressed.

“I’ll get them right tomorrow, I promise,” he tells her. Looking at Donald provokes fresh pain, but he can’t bring himself to ignore his nephew any longer. “I promise,” Scrooge repeats.

Save for appearance, he couldn’t see anything of Della in her children. Or Donald, for that matter. As much as he was the more levelheaded of the two, at the boys’ age he was just as much of a little hellion as his sister. There was nothing in his study safe from sticky fingers or prying eyes, no antique swords that wouldn’t be played with or bannisters that wouldn’t be slid down.

The triplets he met were timid, guarded and afraid. Scrooge is willing to chalk most of that up to nervousness about meeting him, not knowing if Scrooge McDuck the impossibajillionaire would turn them away. It’s not difficult to come to the noxious conclusion that while he was feeling sorry for himself two months ago, Della’s children were in a stranger’s home, putting together the perfect plan to convince him to help, while terrified that they might never see their uncle again.

Scrooge pushes himself to his feet, abruptly feeling ridiculous for lingering in this room so long. A glance and a squint at his watch proves the late hour, and he leaves the nursery, for once without his usual parting glance. His family is here in the mansion, not a figment of memory, and Scrooge can’t allow himself to be trapped in the past any longer when he’s needed in the present.

He locks the doors of the nursery behind him, stashing the key in the trick drawer at the bottom of his desk. Exhaustion follows him out of his study, and he feels as though he’s lived multiple lifetimes in the last few hours. Having been trapped in a timeless demon dimension for 8 months (which equated 7.90 minutes in the real world) it’s not a feeling he’s missed.

Raising a hand to rub at his aching eyes, Scrooge realizes he never put down the first page of the police report. He stares at it in the dim light of the hallway, focusing on the copy of Donald’s license they’d attached.

He’d seen it before, when Huey handed him the real thing in the library, but now he’s struck by the realization that this is the most recent photo of Donald he’s seen in eleven years.

The lad looks terrible, of course. There was never a passport or driver's license photo that did him any favors, and this one looks like it captured him mid sneeze.

Tired as he is, Scrooge musters a smile at the reassurance that some things never change.

He folds up the police report, flattening out where his grip had slightly crumpled it, and slips it into one of his coat pockets. The smart thing to do now is turn left and head straight for bed. The investigators he and Bentina called up won’t have any information until next morning at earliest, and he should be well rested to receive it.

But Scrooge knows himself, and turns right instead.

The guest rooms the boys were given are right beside each other, and just down the hall from Webbigail’s—should they need a friendly face, or so Bentina said. Even if he could bear the thought of putting them in Donald and Della’s childhood bedroom, it’s long since been converted into storage when its original owners outgrew sharing a room.

He slows down upon reaching the first door, hemming and hawing for almost an entire minute about whether or not to check on the boy inside. One of his great-nephews. He doesn’t want to frighten the lad should he wake, but Scrooge knows he won’t get any peace, much less sleep, if he doesn’t make sure at least one of the triplets is resting safely.

With exaggerated care, he takes the doorknob and turns it slowly enough not to make a sound. He moves with equal speed to open the door, pulling it open a crack, just enough to see—the empty bed inside.

Terror, suffocating and ice cold, sends Scrooge heart slamming against his sternum.

But he forces himself to take a breath, to keep a tight grip on his panic. There’s no need to jump to conclusions he tells himself as his hands shake. In all likelihood, the lad simply went in search of the loo. Scrooge will probably have to go looking for him when he inevitably gets lost.

With great effort, he moves calmly as he abandons the first door for the second. His heart pounds in between his ears, and he almost forgets to be silent as he opens the door.

The second bedroom is empty as well.

His stomach swoops, the floor on the verge of falling out from under him.

It’s impossible. No one could have snuck in without Bentina noticing, impossible for anyone to have snatched the boy from his bed without a sound. A shout is welling up in Scrooge’s throat, though he doesn’t know who he intends to call out to. Bentina? The police? All the while he races to the third and last door, he is astounded at his failure, at having lost two of Della’s three boys so soon after being entrusted with their care.

Scrooge opens the third door with none of his prior stealthiness, and it’s by sheer stroke of luck that it doesn’t slam into the wall.

His mind goes blank as he stands in the doorway, motionless save for the pounding of his heart reverberating through every nerve end.

All three boys are asleep in the bed.

They’re a wee bit cramped; one of their arms hangs over the side, another has his head wedged against another’s side. But they’re deeply asleep, despite Scrooge’s racket, and he realizes that two of them must’ve fled their solitary beds because they did not want to be parted from their brothers.

All breath leaves him in a rush, leaving him feeling thin and unbearably tired. Scrooge clutches the door frame with one hand to keep him standing. He must have dropped his cane somewhere behind him in his blind panic.

As his heartbeat returns to something resembling normal, he looks back up at the boys. Their chests rise and fall beneath the blankets, their faces slackened in sleep, and all at once Scrooge sees Donald and Della in their place.

It was a week after Hortense and Quackmore’s funeral, and Scrooge climbed the spiral stairs to the twins’ bedroom, just to check on them. He remembers standing in the partially open doorway and seeing them curled up together in Della’s bed.

In the present, Scrooge closes the boys’ door soundlessly behind him. Running a weary hand down his face, he reminds himself to ask Bentina to order a bunk bed in the morning.

Returning the way he came, Scrooge finds his cane where he dropped it between the first and second doors. With it in hand, he finally retires to his rooms.

He doesn’t check Webbigail’s bedroom, not considering it his place. If he had, Scrooge would have seen that her bed was empty too.

#ant writes #ducktales au #ant au #season 1 au #tw injury #ducktales 2017 #ducktales fanfiction #scrooge mcduck #bentina beakley #louie duck #webby vanderquack #huey duck #dewey duck #donald disappears au

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midnight-inthe-kitchen · 3 years

Text

“Hotel Potter” (Part 2)

Paring: Remus x Reader (Marauders Era)

Warnings: Fluff, kind of slow compared to the next part😎

Word Count: 2057

The Potter “Manor” was almost exactly what you were expecting... It appeared a little more humble from the outside, clearly trying to blend in with the other houses on the street, but was no doubt ‘the house to see’ on the block. The interior, which was filled and decorated with a million+ fancy, expensive, and delicately old items, was even more extravagant.

“Wow, James... I didn’t know your father was so wealthy,” Marlene joked as she brushed her feet off on the ornate outdoor mat. (Both Marlene and Mary, who was staying with the McKinnons for the rest of winter break, ran out to meet everyone when they saw them apperate outside. The Mckinnons and the Potter’s were next door neighbors... I checked ;)

James fixed his glasses as he opened the door for the rest of his friends. “Oh, I um- He just works for the Ministry, that’s all.” He knew Marlene knew full well of his family’s background, but decided to clear it up for everyone else.

“I think it’s lovely,” you mentioned, looking all around the front room. Your gaze was fixed on a stain glass window in the ceiling. Looking back down to the patterned tile, you watched the colors dance all over the floor as a swaying tree blocked certain beams of light from shining through.

Remus had started to wander to a large bookshelf in the entryway, skimming over the book covers, waiting for everyone else to enter.

“Okay James... Why don’t you show us where we’ll be sleeping before these two start drooling over your expensive things,” Lily guest wired to you and Remus as she defiantly strutted through the doorway.

James gave a low bow and pretended to tip an imaginary hat before practically dropping the door on Peter. (Mary somehow caught it before it could slammed into his face...)

“Of coarse, milady- But first...” He pulled out his wand and pressed it to his neck. After warning everyone to cover they’re ears in which everyone did except Sirius and Marlene, he muttering sonorus and followed it with “Alfred!”

Sirius cackled under his breath while everyone else flinched. “You’re still making him respond to that?” Sirius laughed, wheeling around to see James.

James just shrugged, “He can’t really hear when I call him anyways, so it just kind of sticked,”

“... stuck,” You corrected under your breath.

From around a corner, a very old, probably very deaf, house elf responded to his call. “Yes, master Wayne?”

You scoffed under your breath. Joining Sirius and James in the laughter, you realized you three were the only ones who got the reference. “Nice, James,” you smiled, giving him credit for such a golden muggle reference in such a pure-blooded house hold.

James shot you a quick grin before pocketing his wand again. “Alfred, my dear butler, have my parents left for Rome yet?” he asked respectfully.

Alfred-the-house-elf squinted his eyes before holding up a shaky hand to his ear. “Well, Sir, I saved Mr Black’s bone from his last visits, is that wha-”

Sirius’ eyes widened as James cut him off with a wave of his hand, completely confused as to what the house elf had thought he said. “No, no sorry...” He rested his hand on his wand, debating weather he should take it out again. He cupped his hands around his mouth instead. “...ARE EUPHEMIA AND FLEAMONT STILL HERE?”

The elf scrunched his face and waved his finger in the air. “Don’t try to fool me, Mr James, you and your friends are still to you to drink beer.”

James huffed, as he decided he’d look for them himself. “Stay here just in case they’re still packing...” he addressed the group of friends. “... They’ll want to see everyone before they head off.” He started down a hallway you had been eyeing with large portraits of what you could only assume were the many generations of Potters.

You walked over to “Alfie” wanting to be nice and ask such an old creature how his day was going. “Excuse me,” you started from behind the ancient potato sac. “Excuse me?” You raided your voice a little while taping on his shoulder.

He jumped a little, but smiled sweetly when he saw you. “What can I do for you, ma’am” he asked, completely opblivious to your previous attempts.

“Oh-” you stuttered at being called ‘ma’am’. “You can just call me Y/n,” you smiled. “O-or not if you don’t want to... Whatever you like,”

Suddenly realizing you were rambling and that Alfie probably couldn’t hear half of what you were saying anyways, you recollected yourself. “Sorry, but I was wondering how long you’ve been working for the Potters?” You tired to start up a friendly conversation but this time you bent down so that he could hear you better.

The house elf scrunched his face again trying to recollect the distant past. “Well,” he started, but before he could finish, Lily was bent beside you.

“Hi, I’m sorry,” she looked to you and then back to Alfred, clearly a little bit on edge. “... But do you happen to know what the sleeping arrangements are?” she asked ‘Alfie’.

He looked to her, smiled, and then went back to you. “... Masters Mr and Mrs Potter were so kind to have accepted me from the previous Mr and Mrs Potter, even after knowing of my poor hearing...” he whispered like it was a secret. “I always had a new master before Mrs Euphemia and Mr Fleamont... The whole Potter family would take turns passing me around for some reason, but I loved meeting all of them.”

He continued his life story for a few more seconds before you turned to Lily and smiled. “I don’t think he could hear you...”

“Oh,” she giggled before turning back to the house elf. “Excuse me?” she tried again, this time a little louder.

Alfred slowly tuned his head once he had finished his sentence. “Did James set up the beds so that I was with him by any chance?”

“On the conterary, Master Bruce Wayne made me wait to assign your bed so that you would be most comfortable...”

Lily heaved a heavy sigh before thanking him and walking around. You joined her because what could possibly be bothering her now?

“Okay, hey... What’s going on?”

Lily crossed her arms as she shifted her weight nervously. “This is nice,” she started.

You laughed because what a dumb thing to be so outwardly anxious about. “Yeah, I know, his parents must have loads of money to-”

“No,” she cut you off, squinting her eyes suspiciously. “This is too nice... I think he’s planning something— I mean why else would would he wait to pick the beds for-”

“BECUSE HE LIKES YOU AND WANTS YOU TO BE HAPPY!...” You whisper-yell in her face while throwing your arms up exasperatedly. “I can’t believe you can’t just accept you like him and make things easier for everyone...” Lily’s face betrayed her as it turned crimson.

Apparently you weren’t nearly quiet enough because before she could utter any kind of self justification, Sirius slid over from nowhere and leaned his elbow and her shoulder. “Talking about James and Lily’s love life?” he questioned nonchalantly.

Lily shrugged his arm off her. “EW, no.” she lied. “Just the... sleeping arrangements, you nosey pig.”

Sirius grinned as he looked slyly over to you. “Well... In that case, Y/n, I hope you like cheese or books because I just so happen to know the sleeping arrangements and James thought he’d give you the option...” Lily rolled her eyes as you blushed while trying to mentally run thought all the people in correspondence with cheese and books. Books had to be Remus, right?... So Peter must be cheese??? YiKeS... Um, I’ll take the books please.................That’s not what came out though.

“Whatever works is fine with me, I really don’t care,” you smile sweetly. Lily hits you in the arm but you ignore it along the stare you can feel boring into the side of your face. Sirius just watched you skeptically trying to decide wether or not he should step into your nonexistent romance and take matters out of your embarrassed, slow-moving hands. Apparently he has decided because a couple seconds later he shouted across the room, “Hey Moony?” You turn on instinct to see Remus look up from the book he was studying. “You wanna bunk with Y/n this weekend?”

Remus’ eyes darted from Sirius, to you, and back to Sirius.

Sirius gestured to you like a toned-down Will Smith “behold” meme and shot Remus an subtle “mate, this is the flipping chance you were taking about before your bag ripped on the train” face.

You just sat there awkwardly. Feeling the heat rush to your face every other second the three of you stood there in an undecided pose, you were about to mutter another, “it’s fine, really...” but was cut off by James sprinting back into the room.

He was pretty out of breath from running around the large property. “They’ve just left... I guess they were running late, but they wish everyone a good weekend,” he shot Sirius a very non-innocent grin. Marlene and Mary, stood up, not missing a second of they’re conversation while everyone picked up their bags.

You were a little upset that you never got an answer to the most important question of the weekend, but figured it was going to have to be answered one way or another.

You all followed James up the grand staircase and stopped in a long hallway racked with doors.

“Merlin, James, tell me again why you live in an actual hotel?” Mary laughed. James squeezed in front of her to get to the first door.

“Ha-ha...” he mocked half-heartedly, testing to make sure the door wasn’t locked. “Look, my parents are only letting us use the first five doors for some reason so I had to pair everyone up, sorry.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Oh yeah, and that means two people can have a room to themselves, so whoever wants it can have it.”

From the way he was taking, you assumed whatever his “sleeping arrangements” were, they were very loosely planned.

Alright, alright I think it’s safe to say, no parents; no sexist restrictions...” Sirius stretched his arm out, landing over Mary’s shoulder. Marlene’s arm came around to hit him in the abdomen.

James laughed as he finally got the old knob to open. “Um, I don’t think Mar— Sirius... Why don’t you just sleep with me, and then Lily and Mary and then-”

“I am NOT sleeping with the rat,” Marlene started. Peter started to protest but was cut off by James again.

“Fine! How about Mary and Marlene, Y/n and Remus, and then... wait no-”

“Oh for the love of Merlin...” you sighed, “Sirius and I, Remus and James, Mary and Marlene, and then either Lily or Peter can take the spare room. That way, no one has to share with someone they aren’t comfortable around and I can make sure Sirius don’t accidentally burn anything down.”

Sirius looked mildly offended, but still didn’t mind being able to share a room with a girl for once. You had to mentally tell yourself you were “taking one for the team” because in all honesty, the reason you weren’t with Lily was because Sirius was way more of a safety hazard, and wether she planned on it or not, her and James would need a bit more privacy if they were ever going to work out their blatant and blind emotions.

#remus lupin #sirius black #remus lupin x reader #marauders era fanfiction #fanfiction #harry potter #james potter #marlene mckinnon #mary macdonald #peter pettigrew #lily evans #hogwarts #godrics hollow #padfoot #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #remus x y/n

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sunnygang · 3 years

Text

analysing the sep 24 wigfrid animated short (don’t starve)

I am rewatching some Don’t Starve animations and catching up on some i hadn’t seen yet. I am watching the Wigfrid animation tonight for the first time (the sep 24 one). I am a few months late, whoops!

I will be putting this analysis under a cut, since I will be pairing a lot of screen caps from the short itself! Also this turned out WAY longer than I originally intended it to. There’s a tw for incest mention in one paragraph (about a stage play that is relevant, NOT about Wigfrid) and I put the warning surrounded in asterisks and bolded before the paragraph referenced!

The short opens with a shot from what is safe to assume is her front hallway. Wigfrid is an actress and she appears to live alone in a nice home.

The walls are of course covered in her various photographs and stage play memoriam. Over the mantle on the left the framed poster reads Die Walküre (The Valkyrie). Keep this in mind as this is Wigfrid’s best role. Also peep that nice chaise lounge she’s sitting on!

Some national culture, we get to see the newspaper she is reading. This paper is The Kronicle. The real life Chronicle newspaper, upon searching it, returned a good number of results. I am going to say that this particular article is the Ohio Chronicle (founded by the Lorain Printing and Publishing Co which was founded in 1829, the paper itself may or may not have been founded that same year), and I will get into why later.

The front page features the Tragedy in San Francisco. The tragedy of Maxwell and Charlie! The article header specifically reading “Tragedy in San Francisco! Many Still Missing After Devastating Earthquake!” This is around the same date, it has to be within a matter of days for this short to take place from the date of the Charlie and Maxwell disappearance in San Francisco. We don’t get to see Wigfrid reading this article, however. This is merely set there for the viewer’s sake. This is helping form our timeline of when these events all occurred. Many still missing. That means the search continues. This article could have been published a few days after the mentioned earthquake or a week even. Still, it gives us somewhat of a timeline to reference. The earthquake and the events of this Wigfrid short happened in relatively short time from one another.

This newspaper article header reads “Is It Curtains for This Prima Donna? Former Rising Star Seems Unable to Recapture The Magic of Her Precious Role”

Wigfrid isn’t shown reading the front article because she is focused on the news centered around herself. She’s called a prima donna here in this headline. Being called a Prima Donna can mean a number of things. It can mean a principle female singer in an opera or concert organization OR someone who is vain/undisciplined and finds it difficult to work as a team. She doesn’t have any quotes in DST that would indicate Wigfrid doesn’t work well with others. She mostly greets the other players warmly and hopes for good blessings from Yggdrasil, etc.

I think the journalists who wrote the article were looking to have this kind of double idea happening. The term Prima Donna comes directly from Italian for the types of female leads to the definitive aspect of the term. However around the same time (19th cent) it came to mean the second definition as well. Those writing the article likely wrote it with both aspects in mind. This gives Wigfrid her personal reason for wanting to ask Maxwell for help in some way. This is her drive. She is obviously a talented lead opera lady given the decorations and extravagant nature of her home. But this article says she is unable to recapture the magic of her previous role. The role in question looks to be very different from the Wigfrid Valkyrie we know. Her best role may be her Valkyrie role and maybe when she’s trying to branch into something else it isn’t working. And the critics and journalists think it isn’t good for her. She was a powerful Valkyrie, but not whatever this role happened to be.

We get to see her finishing reading the article (or maybe this short interrupts her just barely skimming it) and angrily crumple and toss the paper to the floor. She turns her nose up at it and dramatically walks to a bookshelf in the room and pulls out this record:

Die Walküre. This is the recorded orchestral arrangement for the stage play Die Walküre. In the bottom right of the record sleeve is the names of who I believe to be the composers for the recorded version of the orchestral arrangement. Vincenzo De Vera and Emmental Halle. Wigfrid’’s. Best. Role. The role with such “magic” that she has been since “unable to recapture.”

**incest mention in this next paragraph in the contexts of norse mythology and the real life stage play of The Valkyrie, not Wigfrid herself**

Interestingly enough, Die Walküre is a very real stage play. It is based on Norse Mythology about two twins who are separated in childhood and then eventually meet and fall in love (yikes!). This union angers the gods and they demand Siegmund die. Sieglinde and their unborn child are saved by the defiant actions of Wotan’s daughter, The Valkyrie. Valkyrie Brunnehilde faces the god’s retribution as a result of her actions.

More Valkyrie content hidden away in her shelves. She adored her role as The Valkyrie. Her house is, as we have seen, filled with memoriam from that stage play.

She plays the record and walks over to her wall and looks at her poster of herself as the Valkyrie. The newspaper clipping on the left reads “Audiences Left Spellbound by Soprano’s Powerful Performance.” Wigfrid is a GREAT performer and she is a soprano! She even has a little statue/sculpture of herself as The Valkyrie.

Here’s where I am going to go a little more into the Prima Donna bit. Wigfrid was the lead female for Die Walküre so she is a Prima Donna in that sense. however, she is also vain. She has surrounded herself with HERSELF. All over the walls in her home. Posters and pictures and photographs and SCULPTURES? You Prima Donna girl you, Wigfrid!

Her ceiling is even intricately decorated with scenes from Die Walküre.

And then we get here. We enter Wigfrid’s fantasy about performing as The Valkyrie who has to face a challenge. This challenge being a dragon that forms from this stack of newspaper pages. More entertainment pages that discuss Wigfrid’s stardom reaching an end.

Wigfrid’s real name is scratched out. So we know for certain that Wigfrid is NOT her real name. We can still call her real name whatever we please until we get more solid evidence surrounding her name. Wigfrid is probably Die Valküre’s name in the stage play that Wigfrid acted in. In The Constant it’s safe to assume that the character she takes on in the world happens to be this character, Wigfrid. At this point it raises some question as to whether or not Wigfrid is treating The Constant like a stage. Where she gets to really perform the role of The Valkyrie.

Back to the newspaper taking the form of a dragon, though. The papers are her enemy. The journalists writing about her in such awful ways literally conjure up as her enemy, a dragon, to vanquish. This reveals how she feels about the way others speak about her. Especially when they are critiquing her so harshly with claiming she is a fading star unable to capture her magic.

Wigfrid is thrust into the air by the dragon and she seems lost for a moment before she regains her composure and strikes down the dragon. These are the feelings she is expressing through her singing accompaniment with the arrangement playing on her record player. And Maxwell notices this.

Maxwell appears before Wigfrid through the newspaper. This intrigues me because we know that Them (the Shadow Creatures of the Constant) are capable of reaching into the real world from pages. Thinking back to Maxwell’s Codex Umbra where he first discovered Them and became Maxwell instead of William. Maxwell (or probably rather, They) reaches through these pages to communicate with Wigfrid and have her make a deal. The deal to regain her former glory.

Whisked away with this Shadow Maxwell form by the Shadows from the pages. And with that Wigfrid joins the missing group, taken to The Constant.

And then theres these shots in succession:

All that mail piled up. How long has it been since Wigfrid has disappeared. I think we can assume that some of the mail in her box might be fan mail. SHe has packages on her front step (in front of double doors for her entrance wowie!). I spy at least three packages there piled up with all the assorted mail she otherwise has accumulated while missing. I also spy at least four newspapers. It’s hard to say whether these newspapers are Morning Dailies, Afternoon Dailies, or Weeklies. And then we get the final, fifth newspaper copy tossed on top of the stack that labels Wigfrid as someone who is also now missing. This is an important newspaper because this paper is a DAILY newspaper.

The Kourier paper is likely a mirror to the IRL newspaper in Findlay, Ohio. This paper puts out a copy DAILY. I am going to assume that the first newspaper we see Wigfrid read is a weekly newspaper. It covers more national events such as the San Francisco tragedy. This final newspaper is a daily newspaper. This helps the timeline. Wigfrid has likely been missing for only five days at this point. At most it could have been a week, pushing it to of course seven days. Maybe one of the other papers in the could be another Kronicle copy, which I am deeming the weekly style paper. In my hunt for information about the IRL version of this paper in our real Ohio, I struggled to find specifics online whether this paper published weekly or daily. I do know for certain that tthe IRL Courier is put into circulation daily.

OKAY! Next I want to discuss the colors used in this short. Ignoring the fully colored bit in the center while Wigfrid fantasizes about performing for a moment.

In the beginning of the short we have warm colors. These colors can both reflect Wigfrid’s mood and also the time of day. Wigfrid is angry about the way she is being talked about in the newspaper articles. She is silhouetted by orange-red. It could also be the evening. Adding a little to what I stated just a bove about the newspapers, I think The Kronicle is a paper that is delivered in the afternoon. I personally deem this accurate because in this scene Wigfrid of course is just now reading this article (or rather just barely skimming it over for the first time). Judging by her reaction which I’ve detailed above. She isn’t reading it over again and having an already bummed reaction, One of her eyebrows is raised while she looks over the article before throwing it down. Thus, it was her first moment seeing the article along with us.

We see her anger melting into a kind of sadness, or forlorn feelings even when she first puts on her record. She is still angry of course, but she’s feeling a lot of emotions, as we do, at this point in time.

At the end of the short we have cold colors. At this point, Wigfrid has gone through her fantasy of performing The Valkyrie. She is feeling solemn about it all now though. What if the papers are true? What if I am losing my magic for my roles? I think it’s also into the night or even possibly into the morning. It’s either the shine of the moon coming in from the windows, or early morning blue hours peeking in. I don’t want to say that she spent the whole night fantasizing and performing for herself (The Valkyrie is not an 8 hour performance). BUT. When we get to see the scene where the last newspaper is delivered to her doorstep, it is again in the blue lighting. The Kourier newspaper delivered onto her stack of mail. The Kourier is a morning delivery vs The Kronicle being an afternoon delivery.

ALSO. Remember my post about Winona? WELL she was ALSO located in Ohio pre being dragged into The Constant. So far we have two characters safely concretely placed IN Ohio at the time of their disappearance. Obviously, The Shadow Creatures do not discriminate since Wes was likely trapped way back during the train derailment with William, and of course Charlie and Maxwell/William himself were taken from San Francisco.

Okay. That’s all I have time for this time around of over analyzing don’t starve content. I am glad I got into the imagery and symbolism this time around. I also went WAY in depth in this one. I plan on going in way depth on the other animated character shorts, so stay tuned!

#dont starve #dont starve together #don't starve #don't starve together #wigfrid ds #wigfrid dont starve #klei entertainment #video game analysis #well its video game ADJACENT #because its ABOUT the video game CHARACTERS

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angst-king · 4 years

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Buko no witch Academia

(this is my BNHA witch AU, I do not own any of the characters in this fict so don’t come for me^^)

Ever since the normies have been getting more aggressive, Inko has been very nervous about allowing her son to attend UA Academy. That was until her husband came home with great news, sitting on the couch Inko was folding the laundry with Izuku when Yagi came in with a wide smile on his face. "I am home!" He cheers "with great news!" heads turned to the blue eyed blond, Inko smiles. "what is it dear, you seem like its big news." Yagi took off his magic canceling bracelets and took out a letter. Clearing his throat while he unfolds it he prepares to read the information to them. "Due to all the recent normie attacks against Magic users and the hesitance of parents allowing students to attend UA. We are implementing a dormitory to keep them safe. They are still able to leave the dormitory campus to go into town or on the weekends to see family. This is to diminish the chances of your child from being out of our reach. We also as staff will share some what of a joint custody of your child. If something were to happen or if they needed a legal guardian to provide protection or sign for a document we are able to step in. Believe us when we say we will put their lives before our own if anything were to happen. We hope to have your child attending UA. Sincerely the joint staff of UA." When Yagi finished both Izuku and Yagi then look to Inko, "So mom can I go?" the healing witch bites her lip contemplating herself but. "Come on honey I'll be there too ya know, and you know that I will not let anything happen to Izuku and it will allow him to finally get into depth with his magic. He may even be able to awaken it." Yagi persuaded "please mom, this is a once in a life time chance" Both males were begging her and this time she couldn't bare it any more. She sighed and looked Izuku in the eyes. "Please please promise me you'll do your best to be careful." She pleaded Izuku hugs her tightly, "I promise mom" hugging back she kisses his forehead happily. Yagi joined in pulling them both into him, the family of three now having a group hug in congratulations. It was everyone's first day and Izuku was honestly pretty excited he couldn't wait to meet more magic users. Hugging his crying mother good bye, she wished him well and let him go. Arriving at the school Izuku had his luggage bag of his clothes rolling while his book bag was on his shoulder. Spacing out over the excitement of now being able to attend UA. Izuku's clumsiness caused himself to trip over his own shoe. As he was falling he suddenly felt a sudden surge of magical energy and then boom! He wasn't falling anymore but hadn't collided with the side walk's pavement? He felt himself becoming weightless, and with a look around it was real. He was floating in a bubble!? He freaked out a little, he hadn't activated a floating or a bubble spell. He frantically looked around until he heard a "Oh gosh sorry if I scared you!" A young brunette haired girl hurried to him, looking up at Izuku who chuckles. "Its alright, at least I didn't face plant" Being inside the bubble was a bit overwhelming and confusing, besides he needed to get out to meet her and thank the girl properly. "Uhm could you let me out of the bubble please?" Blushing heavily the girl nods apologizing once again before lowering the bubble which allowed it to pop freeing the small Midoriya boy. "I'm so sorry I shouldn't have just did a spell like that to you" Izuku smiles and makes sure he has all his stuff on him. "Its alright I mean you kept me from face planting, that was a cool spell by the way." He then stuck out his hand "I'm Midoriya Izuku" taking the hand sweetly shaking it the girl introduces herself. "I'm Uraraka Ochako nice to meet you, we should get going though." Uraraka says which earned a nod from Midoriya, so the two walk up to the dorms. The giant double doors were already open, strolling inside the place was huge and filled with students! Looking around Izuku immediately notices a certain red eyed blond. Sure they were childhood friends but, Izuku knew it was one sided and grew apart from Katsuki Bakugou who tormented him. The only common ground they shared was that they both had the same type of magical energy. Katsuki's main magic was earth magic, he could grow flowers, vegetables, studied crystals and such in other words, Katsuki is a green witch. Izuku's magic was energy magic, he could sense almost taste other's magical energy around them and could guess the type of magic that they use or main. Energy magic was also called generalized magic, it meant you don't exactly have a main like Inko's healing medicinal magic. Though energy magic users main use is to energize or enchant something like weapons, or to weaponize an object with their magical energy. They can also share magic with another magic user like Uraraka. Izuku would be able to link into her magic and use her abilities on his own but the original holder still is able to use the magic. the only draw back is that Izuku's magic is like a life source, the more he uses it the weaker he is, it is a stamina based magic. Trying to avoid Katsuki wasn't working when he hears a "Oi what the hell is Deku doing here?!", Uraraka looks to an annoyed and slightly anxious Midoriya who rolled his eyes. "do you know him Midoriya?" Midoriya sighed "sadly yes i do-" "oi lil normie fucker don't ignore me!" Barked the blond who stomped over and grabbed Midoriya by the collar. "What the hell are you doing here Deku, you weren't supposed to get in with your weak ass magic!" "Looks like you haven't changed a bit have ya Kaachan?" Rolling his emeralds eyes at the scarlet eyes glaring down at him. "What'd ya say ya lil normie, I'll shove a vine up your ass!" "Kaachan do you have to do this on our first day? I haven't even put my stuff away yet." Grumbled Midoriya who used his magic to lightly burn Bakugou on the wrist for him to let go. "the hell was that Deku!?!" Regaining his footing Midoriya just adjusted his book bag and huffed, thankfully Midoriya was able to pull out his slip of paper that had his dorm room number on it before Bakugou could try anything else. He scattered over to the elevator to go and find his room. Up in his room, Izuku was setting it up. Izuku uses his magic to arrange his room the way he wanted which made the process a whole lot quicker. Right now he was finishing up and prepared to go and maybe meet some new people. Maybe he'll see Uraraka again, he'll probably ask for her number so they can always be able to talk to each other maybe share social medias too. Walking out of his dorm he's already greeted by a much taller male with blue hair and glasses, standing next to him was Uraraka. He seemed to be carrying some things for her, which Midoriya found sweet of him. "Oh hey Midoriya, did you finish setting up your room?" "yeah, have you?" "No I've been struggling to get my stuff up here but thankfully I met Iida and he wanted to help me." Midoriya looks up to Iida with a smile "hello Iida, I'm Midoriya Izuku." "Hello Midoriya, sorry I can't shake your hand at the moment but once my hands are free I will greet you properly." Midoriya then looks to Uraraka "Need any help setting up, I can help you guys?" "that would be great Midoriya would you mind carrying this?" She hands him a medium sized box with a smaller one on top, which he willing takes. Uraraka goes to the front and leads the boys to her room. Opening the door to the empty room, the boxes are set down. "Now lets get started, should get the bed and dresser together. and in place first." Suggested Izuku "yeah lets do that" Uraraka got out the contence to make her bed it was quite the mess with all the pieces and was pretty overwhelming. "u-um s-so like we need the instructions right?" Iida pardoned himself towards the scattered parts, arms out Izuku knew what the other was going to do. He could feel Iida's magic energy powering up to be used. With a flash the pieces and parts were floating and Iida was putting them together, constructing the bed with a vision in his head. Both Izuku and Ochako watched in amazement, Izuku could sense that Iida was a tech witch just by his focus on the task at hand. It was done in ten minutes and now while Uraraka was putting her bed spreads and decors on the bed, Iida moved on to her dressers. When the dressers where done, Izuku decided to help put together the bookshelf which wasn't too hard, the instructions were simple. When the room was done the trio looked proud of themselves, Izuku noticed Uraraka's collection of space themed books and the over all decor of the room. "Uraraka, are you a celestial witch?" "yup I am" She says proudly Iida huffed and stretched his arms before going to shake Izuku's hand "Now we can properly greet each other, I'm Iida Tenya." Midoriya shakes the male's hand "nice to meet you Tenya, you must be a tech witch." Iida chuckles and nods while Uraraka is confused as to how Midoriya guesses so easily. "I can sense your guys's magic energy, also I'm very observant." Explains Midoriya, "oh that's so cool!" compliments Uraraka who's blush appears in strange form, it was a soft galaxy look constellation like freckles twinkle gently. "wow that's so beautiful." Iida blurts out then ended up turning red in the face and apologizing. "S-sorry if that was inappropriate Uraraka!" The girl only giggles, Iida is still blushing about it. "Its alright Iida, and thank you glad you like it. Also thank you both for your help in setting up my room." "You're welcome Uraraka, hey why not trade numbers we can text each other if we ever wanna hang out or something?" Offered Midoriya who had his phone in his pocket anyway, "Oh yeah that'd be great, hey Iida wanna trade numbers?" Iida didn't decline and got out his phone, the three were now giving each other's numbers.

#celestial witch Uraraka #green witch Bakugou #Generalized witch Midoriya #tech witch Iida #healer witch Inko #bnha witch AU

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millie1536 · 5 years

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Safe?

The second instalment of Izzy’s story. I’ve been calling it The Little Princess AU but I’m not 100% sold on the name

TW: Panic attacks, Mentions of abuse, Voices

Kathrine was surprised at how quickly the other Queens agreed to take Izzy in. She had been expecting at least one of them to reject the idea but all five women agreed. It took a few days for all the paperwork to go through but once the formalities were out of the way Anne and Kathrine were able to pick Izzy up from her temporary foster parents and bring her home. They had told the others the bare minimum about Izzy’s past, it wasn’t their story to tell.

“She’s been through a lot,” Kathrine had told them. She was relieved when the others nodded but didn’t push for any more information. They had arranged to bring Izzy home on the cousins day off. Kathrine hoped that it would be easier for Izzy to adjust to the new environment if the others weren’t there.

The house was large, it wasn’t anything excessive but it did have 6 bedrooms. Originally the room next to Anne’s had been Kitty’s but it hadn’t taken Kathrine long to move into Anne’s room and so that became Izzy’s room.

“I know it’s plain, but we thought you’d like to decorate it yourself.” Anne said as Izzy put her rucksack on the bed. She gave Anne a small smile. “Are you hungry?” Anne couldn’t help but notice just how thin the girl was, “We could make pancakes? The others won’t be home for a few hours so we don’t need to worry about Jane or Catherine telling us to ‘clean as you go’.” Anne suggested. Izzy shrugged; she didn’t know what Anne wanted her to say so she decided that not saying anything was her best bet. Anne seemed to take Izzy’s response as a yes and the two of them headed downstairs into the kitchen. Kathrine, who had been sitting in the living room reading through the information they had been given about Izzy, joined them.

“Could you grab the eggs, milk and butter from the fridge?” Anne asked Izzy, “And Kitty can get the dry ingredients from the pantry.” Izzy hurried to collect the items from the fridge, setting them down on the counter before looking back at Anne. Kathrine came back a minute later with everything they would need from the pantry. Anne couldn’t help but notice the blank expression on Izzy’s face, Kitty seemed to notice it too.

“Hey Izzy, I think I left my phone on the couch, could you get it for me?” Kathrine asked, Izzy nodded before heading into the lounge room. Once she was out of earshot Kathrine turned to Anne, “We need to be careful,” Kitty warned her cousin, “She’ll do anything we ask.”

“What do you mean?” Anne asked.

“I don’t know how long he had her but it was long enough for him to get her to a point where she won’t question anything. It’s going to be hard to break his hold on her.” Kathrine elaborated, she remembered how Mannox was able to worm his way into the minds of the people around him. How he slowly but surely broke people down until they couldn’t fight any longer. “We’re going to have to be careful what we say, the others too.” Anne nodded; they couldn’t risk hurting Izzy.

By the time the others returned home Izzy was beginning to relax a little. She was curled up under a blanket between Anne and Kathrine watching TV when she heard the front door unlock. Instinctively Izzy jumped up from where she had been sitting and squeezed herself into the corner of the room, partially hidden by a bookshelf.

“It’s alright Izzy.” Anne went to move towards the girl but Kathrine stopped her.

“Don’t let anyone come in here just yet.” Anne nodded before going to meet the others, “Izzy, can you breathe for me? Just relax, alright.” Kathrine made no move to close the gap between the two of them. “No one’s going to hurt you.” At that Izzy’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

“Kitty?” Izzy murmured, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

“I’m right here, you’re alright.” There was a flash of movement as Izzy dived into Kathrine’s arms.

“Kitty, I’m scared.” Izzy whispered, her voice shaking.

“Shh, it’s alright. You don’t need to be afraid of them, they won’t hurt you.” Kathrine held the shaking girl close. Talking to her softly until she relaxed. “They’d like to meet you, when you’re ready.” Izzy nodded.

“I-I think I’m ready.” Izzy said, holding tight to Kathrine’s hand.

Izzy was aware that, alongside Anne and Kitty, there were four other women living in the house. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting but it wasn’t anything close to the reality. She followed Kathrine into the kitchen to meet the four women. She studied each one carefully as they spoke. In particular, she watched their eyes. She searched for any hint of malice, any sign that one of them wanted to hurt her. Nothing. As she watched the women she could see nothing that indicated any danger. Slowly, she lessened her grip on Kathrine’s hand, though she didn’t let go entirely. Her eyes were drawn to one woman in particular. She was shorter than the rest with curly brown hair that Izzy couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to play with. After a few moments her eyes fell on the book under the woman’s arm. The woman must have noticed because she smiled before asking,

“Do you like to read?” Izzy nodded, still a little shy. “You’re welcome to read any of the books in my room anytime you like.” Izzy’s eyes widened at the prospect.

“Really?” She asked, she didn’t notice the way everyone else in the room looked at each other when she spoke. All she could see was the curly haired woman with the book under her arm.

“Of course.”

Later that night, after Izzy had gone to bed, the queens sat together in the living room.

“She’s a sweet kid.” Aragon said, the others nodded.

“Yeah, but we need to be careful.” Kathrine told them, “It’s going to take time for her to realise that she’s safe here. Mannox had a strong hold on her and it’s going to be hard to break.”

“Mannox?” Anna asked, “As in Henry Mannox?” It wasn’t until then that Kathrine and Anne realised that they had left that out when telling the rest of the group about Izzy.

“The one and only.” Anne said bitterly.

“He’s back?” Jane couldn’t bring herself to believe it.

“Yeah, but he’s in prison now.” Kathrine said, reassuring herself more than the others.

“Anything else we should know?” Aragon asked, there was nothing but concern in her voice.

“Just be gentle with her.”

Upstairs Izzy was pacing across her bedroom floor. She was exhausted but something inside her was telling her not to sleep.

If you go to sleep they’ll hurt you, a voice whispered. Izzy shook her head.

“No they won’t. Kitty promised they wouldn’t.” She muttered to herself as she walked faster.

That’s what he said isn’t it? ‘don’t worry, we won’t hurt you.’ The voice seemed to morph into that of Mannox. ‘Just relax, it won’t hurt.’ But it did. They hurt you and so will your new friends. How many of them will it take to hold you down do you think? Or will they tie you down instead? Maybe they’ll drug you? You’ll have no chance of getting away then.

“Stop it.” Izzy growled, slamming the heel of her palm against her forehead.

What makes you think these people will be different? Everybody wants something. Maybe they don’t want you for your body, but if that’s the case what do they want? Perhaps they want a maid. After all, they were once Queens. Surely they’re accustomed to certain standards. Or maybe you’re just a publicity stunt?

“Shut up!” Izzy yelled, forgetting that there were people downstairs. “Shut the fuck up!”

“Shut up!” Six pairs of eyes turned to the stairs. “Shut the fuck up!”

“Stay down here.” Kathrine instructed before running up the stairs and towards Izzy’s room.

Izzy could hear the footsteps approaching her door.

I told you, the voice said, everyone wants something.

“Izzy? Are you alright?”

And look who it is. Kitty’s no different to Mannox and his friends. She doesn’t care about you. None of them do.

“Izzy? Can I come in?”

Who knows, maybe she’ll be gentle. Maybe it won’t hurt as much with her as it did with them.

“No!” Izzy yelled, “Leave me alone!”

“Izzy, what’s going on?” Kathrine asked through the door. She was debating whether or not to give the girl some space when she heard a loud crash. Without wasting another minute Kathrine entered the room. She froze, trying to comprehend what she was seeing.

The room was a mess. The bed had been stripped and the sheets and blankets strewn across the room. The lamp that had sat on the nightstand now lay broken on the floor. Clothes and whatever else had been in Izzy’s bag had been throw across the room. But what worried Kitty the most was the little girl in the corner of the room. Izzy was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest in the far corner of the room, her eyes were screwed tight and her hands clamped over her ears as she rocked back and forward, with each rock her head slammed into the wall behind her.

“Izzy?” Kathrine approached the girl slowly as if approaching a wild animal. “Can you hear me? It’s me, Kitty.” She sat down across from the girl, leaving about two metres between them. Izzy made no indication that she was aware of Kathrine’s presence. “Izzy, it’s alright. You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you.” Kathrine could tell that she wasn’t going to get through to the girl before she knocked herself out, she’d probably already given herself a concussion. “I’m sorry Izzy.” She said before moving forward and pulling the girl off the wall. Izzy screamed as she was pulled away from the wall. Her eyes stayed shut as she fought against her attacker. Kathrine had been expecting the panicked response and was prepared for the kicks and punches that were being thrown. What she wasn’t expecting was for Izzy to bite her. Kathrine was trying to hold the girl’s arms still when she felt a sharp pain in her hand. Looking down she saw Izzy’s teeth had a firm grip on her hand.

“Izzy, I know you’re scared but I need you to open your eyes.” Katherine, despite the pain, kept her voice calm and gentle, “You’re safe here. We won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.” Something she had said must have gotten through to Izzy because the girl immediately pulled away. Kathrine could feel her trembling as her eyes began to focus.

“You can’t.” Kathrine could hear the terror in her voice, “There’s too many of them. They’ll hurt you too.” Izzy shut her eyes again as hot tears broke free, “I have to go back.” She sobbed into Kathrine’s shoulder, “They’ll be looking for me and if they find you then…” Izzy held tighter to Kathrine as she thought about what would happen to them, “I can’t let them hurt you.” Kathrine just sat there, her hand rubbing circles on Izzy’s back as she whispered soft words of comfort. Her mind, however, was spinning.

Them? There’s more than one. How many are there? What if she’s right? What if they come after us?

Kathrine’s mind continued to spiral until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, turning around to see who it was that had rescued her from falling down the rabbit hole.

“You two alright?” Anne asked, kneeling beside her cousin. Kathrine didn’t respond, instead she looked down at the exhausted child shaking in her arms.

“I’m going to take her back to our room,” Kathrine told her, “See if she’ll sleep there. Tell the others I won’t be coming back down tonight.” Anne nodded, watching as Kathrine left the room with Izzy in her arms. When she heard the door to the bedroom she and her cousin shared close she turned back to the room. She had known from the beginning that it wasn’t going to be easy but the state of Izzy’s bedroom confirmed what she already knew. They were going to have to be patient with Izzy.

#six #six the musical #six fanfiction #anne boleyn #kathrine howard #Catherine Parr #catherine of aragon #jane seymour #anna of cleves #panic attack #trauma #abuse

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artdr3am6 · 4 years

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Case Study: Becky Suss

-My Chosen Room

Because of the quarantine, I’ve been spending majority of my time in my house with my parents. I was always quiet introverted as a child, so staying home and finding ways to entertain myself was never a hard thing for me to do. Weird thing to take into account: because of the weird circumstances that occurred over the years in my household, it was only until my senior year of high school when I finally got my own room (separate from my sister’s). I’m saying this because since I lacked my own room, I feel like I lost that part of me that could have been physically manifested through trinkets and small keepsakes. I never had the opportunity to decorate my own room, hang posters, or physically go through the different phases of life through the appearance of my room if that makes sense.

But my room now is my safe-place, and I’ve worked hard to make it into an environment that I enjoy being in. I wish I had an area that was more interesting for this case study, but I really don’t. I love my room, and it’s probably my favorite place to be, ever, in this entire world.

From a strangers perspective: The pink walls most likely mean the occupant’s favorite color is pink. The random keepsakes on the wall-mounted shelves look worthless, and useless, which means the occupant is a sentimental person who likes souvenirs. There is a bookshelf filled with books, which means this person probably enjoys reading. Not much on cultural background, but based on the Sailor Moon posters, this person probably had access to such cartoons as a child meaning they are between 15-25 years old, and most likely of middle or upper-middle class. I don’t want to make comments about gender or sexuality because we all know how sensitive those topics could be to some people (especially on tumblr), but based on the clothing size, this person could either biologically be a female, or a small framed male.

I believe all rooms have a mood, no matter what. In my case, this mood is created by the color palette (pink walls, red and dusty pink clothing, lavender bed sheets), the lighting (yellow-tinted lights), and the placement of objects around the room. Unfortunately, because I did not spend a majority of my life in this room, it does not conjure any particular memories. I do, however, recall the different arrangements of furniture, and how it took a while before I settled on the final layout.

-Photography!

I know I did not have to comment on this, but I found the photos and the context super interesting! It’s crazy how depending on the time and place, a photo can change meaning completely. I feel like this can be related to art as a whole. As humans we all experience different things, completely unique from each other. When looking at a piece of art, imagine the millions of interpretations it can have from all the different minds looking at it. Imagine the vast amount of internal connections the mind can make according to one’s experiences, to interpret one thing so differently from someone else. It’s just so cool to see how the mind relates to external sources.

-Becky Suss

I think the fact that Becky Suss’s work is not an exact visual representation of the room, but rather an imagined image mixed with real components and characteristics, is super cool. It reminds me of this thing that the police or FBI would do when drawing a portrait of someone who is wanted.

They would purposely over-exaggerate certain features of the face that stood out the most to them, so that people who see the sketch would remember it better. I know this is probably weird to relate to the painting of a room, but Suss’s concept of incorporating her imagined vision and detailing to better accentuate the mood of the room reminded me of this.

To better accentuate the “blueness” of “Blue Apartment”, there is lots of blue incorporated, including the books in the cubbies, and the ninja stars on the wall. There is also an enhancement of wallpaper and flooring patterns in most of her paintings, which makes sense because those are one of the biggest factors in a room’s mood.

Her imperfect take on perspective enhances the “dream-like” component, making it seem more like an image from a distant memory, rather than a photograph. That, along with the color palette on most of her paintings (bright and inviting), create a playful, child-like mood, which creates a sense of nostalgia.

Something else I noticed is how there is always an equal balance or symmetry on the distribution of color and objects on the painting.

-Ideas

I think I struggle with creating abstract art, or anything that has to do with incorporating imagination. I guess I’m just not that skilled when it comes to creating things in my head. However, if I were to mix in the most significant components of my room into one painting, it would be my desk, the collage on my wall, and my bed. In terms of relating these physical objects to my values, I feel it says a lot about my way of life. Enhanced fluffiness on the bedding shows I’m a comfortable girl who loves her sleep. The pictures and random stuff taped to the wall shows I enjoy keeping track of my life and what I’ve done. And the slightly messy desk emits a chaotic, but trying energy.

A room is a mood. A room is a physical representation of who you are. That’s why it makes so much sense to have various emotion connections to a place, despite it being just a place. I feel like this activity requires lots of self-awareness in terms of your way of life, and what you hold importance to. Because your room is never just your room. There’s always so much more to it.

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midnight-lightning · 5 years

Text

Piece of gold I Part 6

Loki x reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

A/N: wow. That’s it. That’s the last chapter of piece of gold and also the longest one. Really I enjoyed writing this story so much.

And also enjoyed, no more loved all of the amazing reviews you wrote,

Really, thank you so much.

And now, i hope you enjoy this last part

Summary: You live your dream as a worker in the royal library of Asgard, everything would have been normal if there wasn’t a certain prince between the bookshelf’s who’s passion also included books. Of course destiny has decided it was time to bring you two together…

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo "It might sting a little bit but just hold your breath, alright?" You placed the cotton with some alcohol on the wound of the small boy, who had gotten hurt during the battle. "Look! It's already over. There you go, you brave soldier." The boy murmelnd a shy thanks before he run in his mother's arms next to you. "Thank you for helping my son! The medicine hall is completely overfilled and we needed a healer." "It is a pleasure Ma'am. Though, we're not healers but could we help yourself in anyways?"You stated, touched by the woman's words. She stroke her boys hair with a small smile and answered, "No, I'm fine. What matters now is that we can finally go home. Thank you both again." Mealla next to you nodded seriously before she let out an exhausted sight. "That was everyone for now... I never thought I would ever experience something like that... well, at least the last time Asgard had been attacked Odin was here to defend our home." "I mean look at the library so many things, so many treasures are wasted and lost." Frustrated she put the medical utensils back in the bag we found in the remains of our office in the library. "Do not worry to much, Mealla. Asgard is build out of magic and the power of gods, I'm sure not everything is lost... you'll see we'll fix it." You stated, not really present with your thoughts. You just whisked you could do more... "We are you headed? Our rooms are that way", Mealla stopped you irritated once you both had left the room. You turned around to her, trying to avoid her eyes and bring out something believable. "Well..." Or just nothing at all... Great. Really what a great solution. "Oh, no. Don't say- Girl, it's in the middle of the night, no even the sun will soon shine again. You shouldn't-" "Believe me I should," you interrupted her, finally meeting her eyes.

The Mealla who's usually in top form and could work full three nights if she had to, looked after this single one nothing like her self. She was obviously drained but still managed to care for you and other people around a whole night long. And even her curiosity hadn't suffer. "Why?" "I- just... just to look if he's alright," you stuttered and looked somehow embarrassed down at your dress you'd worn to the ball. Well, you couldn't call this a dress anymore... "Please, Y/N, he is a god, also the prince of you didn't noticed. He has people who care for him and will be fine. Come on now I want to finally get some sleep before something new happen." She turned around and kept her way to her room, not stopping when you made your next decision. "Alright, but I'll come afterwards, okay?" Mealla sighted, but apparently put her sleep as her priority rather than to discuss further with you. "Fine, fine if you insist. But don't say I didn't warn you." Then she had vanished behind the corner. You took a deep breath and yawned. Yes, a little sleep would be nice. But you knew you wouldn't sleep a single minute. Not after what had happened yesterday. Not after you had witnessed Loki turning into a frost giant. The biggest enemies of Asgard. But this wasn't the real problem. It was rather the fact it seemed like you were disgusted by him. You had seen his gaze, when he had turned around loosing his transformation. A gaze you never wanted to see again and never should had appeared on his face. You made your way through the halls of Asgard, witnessed all the damaged the fight yesterday had cost this kingdom. So much dead and sorrow and pain. And at which cost? Why? What did the want here? When you entered the wing which lead to the royal chambers you were stopped by guards who suddenly pointed their weapons at you causing you immediately to raise your shaking hands and stepping back. "I- I want no harm, I swear," you stuttered, somehow feeing stupid. "I-I want to, no I need to speak to prince Loki." Forget it, now you were being stupid. Mealla was right! It's in the middle of the night, Asgard has been attacked and you appear at the royal chambers looking like you'd been overrun by a herd of horses and claiming you want no harm? Yesssss Of course, they'd let you visit the prince now also! Dumb, Y/N. Very, very dumb "I'm sorry miss but you have no permission to be in this section nor to enter the prince's rooms." One guard explained with a stern voice, but he lowered his sword, even if only a little bit. Told ya. Nevertheless you made one step forward, causing them to tense once again, but this time you didn't care. You just wanted to see him. "But sir,it's an emergency!" "Miss, you have to go now if you don't want to spent the next time in the dungeons," the other answered with a uncaring voice, but you knew the border was reached now. You couldn't do anything else, not with the guards looking at you like at an annoying child. So you gave up. For now. OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO The next morning -or rather only a few hours later- you awoke by something landing upon your face. And this time you hoped it wasn't once again a dead aspen. "Wake up! Hear me! Hello?? You'll miss the breakfast!" You groaned and simply turned around, pressing the pillow Mealla had thrown on your ears. "I'm not hungry." "Very well," you heard her mutter before your blanket vanished with one single tug and the sudden cold caused you to jump up. "What the hell, Mealla?!" You cried, trying to look mad at the woman but your eyelids just closed every time you wanted to open them. You heard her laughing. "You look like a troll, won't you want to shower a little bit, Alright? Ohw-!" She explained when your pillowed hit her on the head. "How could it be that you're already awake and be in this-"you let out a loud yawn on your way to the bathroom, "and be in this mood when you barely slept two hours?" You sighted when the cold water covered your face and all the bruises you get during the fight. Now you felt better, at least a little bit. "Well, what can I say? As the brilliant librarian manager I am i should be used to staying up late and waking up early. Besides, king odin called for everyone to rally outside for the mourning ceremony. He will explain everything that had happened last night." You stopped in you motion. "Really? Where do you know this from? Oh god, Mealla do you know if the queen-" "Frigga is fine. And so is Loki." You sighted in relief, it was a blessing that both of them of them had survived. You grabbed your clothes and started to change, while you waited for Mealla's answer in the bathroom. It was a wonder that these rooms had survived nearly unharmed, alike the royal wing. Only the central of the palace was in a bad state. "Unlike you, I was already outside of this doors and now hurry, I don't want to arrive late." You barely managed to brush your hair in an appropriate state when you were already dragged outside. "Your so slowly, you know that?" OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO Minutes later you arrived outside in the "garden"-if you could even call something as huge as this a garden. A field might fit better. The thing is, the great hall was completely damaged and not safe to enter, such as a lot of other section of the kingdom. Even if the horror only happened a few hours ago they managed to prepare and decorate this area with flowers, flags, chairs, also the columns contributed to the mood of sorrow and pain. And in this moment the things you unawarely hadn't processed came with such a power you gasped for air. No matter how hard you tried to stay calm, the realisation had grabbed you. You had had friends living here, how many of them would you see again? How many families were broken apart last night? How many people are still waiting and will be forever waiting for the loved ones to return? How many dreams were shattered and how many memories broken? Why? Why did it happen? What was the reason for this distraction? Odin's gaze was cold and emotionless as always. Out from the front he stared at his people, waiting for them to silence. He stood alone, without his queen or his sons. And when he started to speak his words contained sorrow. "Brave soldiers had fought for our lives yesterday, their lives. Lives that were taken by a folk called Aspen. Asgard would have come to an arrangement with the Aspen, when my son Thor and I myself set fourth last night. But we were mistaken by their true intentions-" The mission... That was the mission they excluded Loki from. But why... Wait, Odin wouldn't do it, would he? He wouldn't excluded his son just because he's a frost giant? Something told you, that Odin wasn't just the father that had the best intentions for his sons... Your thoughts strayed away and now turned to the man who appeared next to the king. Thor. He remained quite and fixed his gaze on a undefined point on the ground. "May their spirits and souls dwell on a place their bravery and good hearts deserve." The King closed his eyes and spoke a short pray we joined a moment later. The funerals will take place this evening, as always at the sea. A funeral in order to honour those who gave their lives for ours. Suddenly you felt a numb in your waist. You turned you head and noticed surprised next to Mealla her husband standing, drying his tears with a handkerchief. "What's the matter? You look a little bit displeased." You turned your gaze to Mealla. "Yes, but I don't think it's right that Odin doesn't even mention all the civilians who lost their lives. All the innocent people who weren't even involved. They and their families deserved to be at least being mentioned, an apology, anything by their king." She focused her gaze to the front. "Your right. And I don't think you're the only one with that opinion. Look." Your gaze landed upon the King once again, he's stopped with his speak and made room for Thor, who stepped next to him. His face was unreadable, also hard as Odin's but somehow in a different way. "It- It was foolish," he begun and you and Mealla exchanged a surprised glance. In all the speaks Thor already had, not once he had stuttered. He cleared his throat. "It was foolish of us to put our trust in a race as scheming as the aspens. And foolish to leave our folk during a time of happiness. During a feast which is a byword for safety, love and strength. And we owe to every man, every woman, every child and every family that get wounded more than just an apology. We can't undo this crime, but as the future king of Asgard I demand a funeral upon our holy lake for every single soul that gave their live for Asgard. And the wounded and retarded ones will be cared." He let gave us all a last glance full of sadness, before he left the front. And also the crowd dispersed. "I am certain that Thor will be a great long one day. He has a good heart," Mealla whispered. Yes, you were certain, too. You were proud of the prince. But now, it was time for you to make things right. May it be not the best moment for this, but who know when the next opportunity arrives... "Excuse me for a moment," you said to Mealla before you passed by her. "See you at the table later?" "Yes, of course!" You shouted before you focused on the blooms hair that went along the crowd. With mix emotions you hurried to him. Thor frowned when he recognised you informs of him. "Your majesty, forgive me but are aware of the whereabouts of prince Loki?" You asked, hoping he wasn't mad for disturbing him st this moment. "I'm afraid but I don't think it's a good idea for you to seek the company of my brother, right now." "What why? Is he alright? Did he get hurt?" "No, he did not get wounded physically. What do you need from him?" "I am- I have to speak to him." "I'm sorry but-" "Please,Thor!" You interrupted him. Your sudden outburst and the fact you forget the formality did Thor Falter in his motions. You took a deep breath before you awkwardly tried once again "I- i want to make things clear. The things that happened yesterday... it shouldn't have come that way... I shouldn't have... " you stopped. You didn't knew what to say, there were a lot of emotions in you right now you couldn't put into words. After a long pause in which he watched you with a serious expression and internally regarded your intentions he finally nodded. "Follow me." "Thank you." You answered with a relieved sight. You walked away from the place of the mourn ceremony, away from the garden and away from the entrance to the great hall. Thor lead you in completely silence through halls and corridors until you were completely certain to never being in this sections. The he stopped in front of a fountain on the wall, that were surrounded by stones and flowers and even two small trees. Suddenly the prince stopped infringe of you and blocked your view, the -only a few second later- the two trees reduced themselves and somehow opened a small gate in which you spotted the greenest grass you'd ever seen. What in Odin's- "It's the secret garden of my mother." Thor explained still focused on the entrance. Then his gaze landed upon you meaningful. "Don't make me regret my decision. In no ways." You nodded quite. Then with great caution you entered the garden and gasped in awe. Never in your whole life have you seen such beauty. There's no place in whole Asgard where the grass shines that green, or so many flowers grow. The small river that flowed through and which rustle of the waves calmed you in a strange way, contained such blue it couldn't be real. The birds in the trees sung melodies you've never heard but touched you deep in your heart. Suddenly you heard a rustling behind you and turned around in shock only to notice that the entrance was now closed again. But your intentions were not to leave yet. With a deep breath you turned around and flinched once more startled when you saw Loki standing in front of you. He seemed a little pale but apart from that he looked the same as always. He also wear that cold face of his, that made you swallow. "I don't think you're permitted do be here." Somehow you couldn't get your mouth to speak. You had prepared dozens of things you wanted to say, from the start to the end, ways to apologise and now- nothing. It opened and closed without any words. "You should go. Your not welcomed here," he said emotionless before he just left you alone. "I-I wanted to see you," you brought out weakly. He didn't stopped in his way so you just caught up to him. This time you won't let him go that simply. "You weren't at the ceremony." He remained quietly. No. You took a few fast steps and then stopped in front of him. To your big surprise he suddenly started to laugh. But it wasn't the kind of laugh you remembered. This one was cold and let you feel far far away from the Loki you spent so much time with. The Loki who had earned a place in your heart. "What is your intention, woman? Do you think you could stop me? You're not in the position-" "I'm sorry." He remained in his motion for a second before he rose his eyebrow in annoyance. "Loki, I'm so so sorry. It was wrong of me to walk away and let you alone. I shouldn't have just left you there when you literally just saved my life. So many lives. I-" "Left me alone?" You closed your mouth abruptly. Then frowned. "Let me put this straight. You came here to apologise for leaving me alone after the battle?" "Yes, and I know it was a mistake-" "Y/N, i literally used my powers in a brutal way and transformed into a frost giant which are -if I could notice here- a part of the cruelest monsters and enemies of Asgard and all you care about is that you left me alone?" You were uncertain of what to say in this moment. Did you hurt him even more? "Loki, by all means you're not a monster." He let out a dry laugh. "I'm not? Well, surprise but here I am. Odin's adopted bastard son. You should go now, if you have the tiniest bit of a brain." You shook your head with such power you thought it'd fell off. You took a step forward and wanted to lay a hand on his shoulder, but he caught it before you could even touch it. "You, my dear prince, are many, many things but for certain you are not a monster, you hear me?" "I don't think you have any idea about what you're talking that foolish about, woman." When you opened your mouth for an answer he slightly bowed his head forward and looked at you with a hard expression. "Why are you really here?" Haven't I... just told you? "I wanted to apologise." "I asked you why are really here?" "Fine! You want the truth?" You exclaimed, becoming more and more frustrated "Well, here it is." "The truth is, the first time I met you in the library I thought I'm gonna lose my shit. You were sitting there, the freaking prince of Asgard, quietly reading in the corner, as if nothing could bother you. The second time you found me sitting in the corner, reading the book you loved. And even if I hadn't finished I gave it to you, course but you gave it back to me. And I spent all night reading it in order to return it to you as soon as possible. I was new in this palace. I was warned. I was warned to keep a distance to the god of mischief, been told so many stories about you and I'm certain 99 percent weren't even close to the truth. And never the less, here I was the third time I met you, spending a god damn night talking about books and stories and life and morals with you. And you know why? Because I didn't care. I didn't care in that moment that you were the prince, I didn't care that you were literally Loki the god of mischief and could turn me with one snap of you fingers into a frog or what ever. All I saw in that night and all I saw the next time we spent together, was a man which showed me a new perspective of life, who understood me in a way nobody else seemed to, and a man with whom I could forget everything and just enjoy life. Because you," with a firm glance you pricked your finger on his chest. "You are a good man, Loki. And I couldn't care less if you were a frost giant or an aspen or whatever. All one needs to know about you is here," you pointed to the place where his heart is. "And nowhere else." When you stopped your outburst, you glanced on the ground, with a heart beating so loud Loki had to hear. There was silence for the next couple of moments. But then you looked up. You expected him to shout, to grab you push out, or him to just leave with any words. But what you didn't expect him was to look at you with an expression as if he'd see you the first time. Say something. Please. Something. But he didn't. So once again you glanced to the ground, avoiding his intense gaze and opened your mouth. "I'd understand if you don't want to have anything to do with me, but I just wanted to make sure you don't blame yourself for anything." You intended to leave, but suddenly you felt a hand on your wrist and the next moment you found yourself in the warm embrace against Loki's chest. You hold your breath, trying not to move. You're sure you couldn't even if you wanted to. And if he hadn't heard your heartbeat earlier he was now feeling it. "And you are a very, vert dumb person if you think I could ever hate you." A smile grin appeared on your face and you even dared to look up. "Well, I didn't say you'd hate me-" Your words were suddenly silenced when you felt his lips soft against your own. You froze. Literally, you couldn't move. Just when you finally relaxed, and closed your eyes you leaned in the kiss. And in this moment it felt like it had to be. It was right. This was right. And you were confirmed in your words the second your eyes opened slowly and you saw Loki's bright, green eyes looking at you with so much love, you der your heart and stomach explode. Well, your whole body felt if it had exploded. You smiled softly. It seemed like he wanted to say something when a voice behind you interrupted the moment. "Finally!" You both turned around in shock to see Thor standing there, grinning like he'd just get a second hammer. "I thought I have to wait another century with you mourning yourself until something happen between the two of you." You felt Loki's arm around your waist and suddenly get the feeling to be protected from everything. "Brother." Loki's voice was clearly full of annoyance but his eyes revealed his amusement about this situation and his words. "I was certainly not mourning myself." Thor clapped his brother at his back, still grinning. "Whatever you say, brother." An awkward silences appeared in which you tried anything to avoid Thors eyes. "Sooo," he started. "What about a double date?" "Absolutely not". "Never." Thor's gaze faltered for a second, before he finally said. "Well, well I don't wanna disturb you turtle doves any further. We meet later, Y/N. After all you're officially my sister in law! Mother will be so happy!" "Will you finally vanish," loki complained, now rolling his eyes. Thor lifted both of his hands in defence. "I'm gone, I'm gone." Then Loki turned around to you again. "I'm sorry, but you know my brother." You smiled. A smile from deep down your heart. "I know. And it's fine. Actually it's more then fine!" He rose sceptically his brow. "Have I reasons to worry?" You laughed. Realising how your words have sound like. "No. Never. I meant this. This is more then fine." He placed his arms around your waist. "And why is that?" "Hmm... maybe that way I can finally play with your hair." "And nothing more?" You castes an innocent look. "No, no I don't think so. Just the hair." "Well, then..."he joined your game and wanted to let go of you. But you grabbed his arm and pulled him down for a short kiss. "And maybe this is fine also," you teased. "Well, if this is only fine, we have to try a little more, haven't we?" Your mischievous grin turned into a honest smile when you crossed your arms behind his neck. "I have nothing against it."

_______________

Next Part: Here

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#loki x reader #loki x you #piece of gold #loki fic #loki god of mischief #loki imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #avengers #avengers imagine

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peter-parkers-passport · 4 years

Text

Flower Child (Peter Parker x ofc)

Chapter 3: Strange Nights

warnings: language, depictions of anxiety, poor Lila not catching a break

To say that Lila was weirded out by the events of the night before would be a semi-inaccurate understatement. She wasn’t weirded out, to her, it was more comparable to meeting a celebrity. Like when Peter told her how he came home to Tony Stark sitting on his living room couch. Peter Parker walking through her house felt like playing out something that was supposed to stay in her head. And her dad was definitely not part of the picture.

Regardless, her dad made tomato basil as promised, and got acquainted with the boy Lila had been secretly crushing on for forever. Lila picked out a record from her mom’s collection (Sheer Heart Attack from Queen’s repertoire) and they all enjoyed the conversation that lasted through the evening. And for a while, Lila merely observed the two of them talking about a wide variety of topics. Content with only piping in here and there, it wasn’t until Peter started talking about Tony Stark’s clean energy initiative that Lila really started investing herself in the conversation. It was something she and her dad had talked about countless times, trying to incorporate several of Stark’s inventions into their store to minimize their carbon footprint. Peter listened with great and genuine interest, pitching several ideas to Ted and Lila about how to better involve the clean energy they wished to use. Dinner ended with Ted jotting notes down on a legal notepad as Peter spoke rather excitedly.

When it was time to do the dishes, it was mentioned that Peter’s aunt was May Parker, the woman the Landry family volunteered with on Sundays down at one of the local homeless shelters in Queens. Peter smiled a small, proud smile as Ted talked about how amazing her work was in the Queens community, how she was instrumental in keeping everyone close and friendly with each other. Almost bashfully, Peter repeatedly said thanks, knowing May would be thrilled to hear that. He was politely insistent that he help clean everything up, and it became an assembly line of dishwashing. Ted washed, Peter dried, and Lila placed them in the dishwasher. Lila thought the night was ending, until Peter asked if she had Mr. Puth for AP Literature. Peter missed the homework assignment for that day, and wondered if Lila had it written down somewhere. Which she did, it was in her planner, which was in her backpack, which was in her bedroom since they got home.

She anxiously led Peter down the hallway, furiously blushing as her dad mouthed to her to keep the door open, and walked into her bedroom. She silently thanked the Asgardians that she made her bed and pick up her room that morning before school. Peter looked around the room with a polite interest, noting the brick wall, the bed, the large desk, even larger bookshelf, and the record player perched in between. “You guys seem to really like record players,” He noted, walking further into the room. He could smell the faint notes of the candle that sat on Lila’s desk, and it didn’t go unnoticed the picture of the beautiful woman that matched all the other pictures around their house. This one was different, she had a little girl perched in her lap, both elegantly dressed, and they were looking at each other like they had the funniest secret between them in the whole world. When Peter looked back to Lila, he saw she was looking at the same picture.

“Yeah, my - my mom and dad kind of bonded over that stuff. I g-grew up on the sound, since they both had an extensive collection. And when records started coming back, I started building my own. It was - it was a way to feel closer to my mom.” She walked over to her bookshelf, where an entire shelf was dedicated to vinyl records. She pulled one out, smiling softly at the cover, and placed a record on the player. Soon, soft notes of trumpets filled the room. She then went over to her desk, where her backpack was sitting in her chair, very aware of Peter still looking around her room. In her mind, she was going over any and everything that could possibly be judged. Part of the reason why she kept her room minimally decorated was so she could avoid that-

“You’re into photography?”

Lila’s head whirled around, back to the bookshelf where Peter now stood. He held her camera in his hands, observing the model and its features as well. She blushed, gripping her planner tightly. “Yeah, uh - just a hobby. I like - I like looking back at how much New York’s changed just over the c-course of my life.”

“Do you mind?” Peter held up the camera, asking if he could look through her photos. She shook her head and invited him to sit down on her bed. She sat down on her desk chair and watched with bated breath as he looked through all her pictures. It wasn’t something she was embarrassed of, or felt they were very private, but she knew that Peter was an avid photographer, and felt that they were on too different of skill levels to be comparing each other’s work. Yet again, Lila was surprised by Peter’s kindness, for he smiled at every picture she took. “These pictures are really… happy. All of them.”

He looked back up at her, silently asking for an explanation. She shrugged, sighing as she thought about it. “Yeah, well, some photographers capitalize on pain, and anguish, and stuff that really m-matters. I guess... I think people sometimes forget that h-happiness matters too. I know all about - about anguish, and pain, and - and sadness. S-So I think it’s important to remember that happiness happens all around us. And I take happy pictures so I - so I remember that.” A look that Lila couldn’t read ran through Peter’s eyes, before a smile took over his features.

The pair spent the next hour talking about random topics before Peter had to leave. They were so wrapped up in their conversation that Peter almost forgot to get the homework assignment from Lila. And Lila didn’t even realize that her stutter lessened significantly over the course of the pair talking to each other.

*****

“One black coffee,” Lila declared as she held out a thermos to Michelle. She found her friend at the foot of the stairs, her hands moving across the pages of her sketchbook as she took on the morning scene. MJ glanced up, eyeing the coffee suspiciously, like Lila had slipped arsenic in it just because. She then looked up to Lila, who sighed, “My dad made some this morning. Apparently, he’s scheduled to provide arrangements for a charity event with the Osborn’s, and has to get started on it today. I asked him to save you some.” Michelle merely stared at Lila, and she took it as a need to fill the silence. “I didn’t have any, okay? I had some Earl Grey this morning.” A skeptical raise of the eyebrow made a huff pass Lila’s lips. “It was decaf.”

“It’s just that the last time-”

“I’m well aware of the last time I had caffeine,” Lila stated grumpily as Michelle took the thermos from her, savoring the drink. She was with Lila that Saturday in April, when Lila’s anxiety had taken a turn for the worse. It was nearing the anniversary of her mother’s death, and Lila was feeling not at all like herself. Michelle suggested coffee and a bookstore, trying to get her mind off of her troubles when she realized that it was a mistake. She’d left for a few minutes to look at sketchbooks when she found Delilah sobbing over a kitten calendar. Realizing that the caffeine probably only made things worse for her, Michelle made Lila promise that she’d cut it out of her life entirely. Lila agreed wholeheartedly, and hadn’t touched it since.

A honk sounded from behind them, and Lila turned around in time to see Peter narrowly avoid being hit by Flash Thompson’s expensive car. He greeted Peter in his usual fashion (“Sup, Penis Parker!”), and drove around to the parking lot. Silently cursing Flash out, and making sure to make their next tutoring session extra difficult, her eyes once again landed on Peter. She saw as he clenched his jaw, and took out his headphones. Walking over to the stairs, she gathered up her courage to say, “Good morning, Peter,” as he walked by her. He glanced to the side, and smiled softly at Lila, not forgetting what she told him about Flash yesterday. He waved to her, then to Michelle, and headed inside. Lila turned back around and looked to Michelle, blushing as she noticed MJ watching the whole interaction. “That was what the coffee was for.”

Michelle took a sip, “It was for Peter?”

“No, no, it was for you,” Lila tightened her ponytail before resting her hands on the straps of her backpack. She waited for Michelle to put her things away before heading up the stairs with her friend and into the school. “I just wanted to say thanks for pushing me to talk to Peter.”

“I didn’t push you to do anything of the sort. Talking to high school boys is pointless.” MJ’s locker was the closest to the two of them, and she pulled out everything she needed for her morning classes. She silently handed back the coffee to Lila to hold and placed her bag into her locker before shutting it. Taking the coffee from Lila, they headed down the hallway to her locker, so she could get ready for the day as well.

Lila smiled, knowing that Michelle had her quirks, and had her ways of being there for Lila, though she’d never outright admit it. This was one of them. “Thanks for knowing it’s not - it’s not pointless to me.” All she got in return was a nod.

*****

The next time Michelle showed that she was there for Lila was during lunch, when the two of them sat at the end of a table. On the opposite side were Peter and his friend, Ned Leeds, another boy Lila knew from academic decathlon. Michelle hadn’t taken her eyes off of her book save to drink out of her milk carton. Lila was working on her homework, occasionally eating some of the veggies and hummus she’d packed. She usually would’ve been editing something or other for Sophie’s podcast, or helping her dad with certain orders for the shops, but Liz Allan had mentioned that Lila might need to practice some more with the other teammates for nationals. She did an excellent job the day before, but Liz wanted to make sure she could be competitive in every aspect of what they were likely to be tested on. So there she sat, working on calculus homework across from her best friend.

Speaking of Liz Allan, she was busy working across the cafeteria, setting up homecoming posters and banners alike around the room. Lila would’ve thought nothing of it, but then Peter and Ned had to start talking to each other. Glancing over at the pair of them, they were sat next to each other rather than across like Lila and Michelle, and they both had awestruck expressions on their faces. Following their gaze back to Liz, Lila’s stomach sank. “Did Liz get a new top?”

“No,” Ned answered easily. “We’ve seen that before, but never with that skirt.” The pair of them and Lila looked back over at Liz, who was sporting a very preppy sweater and jean skirt, paired with white high tops. There was nothing remotely outstanding about Liz’s cute outfit, but Lila couldn’t help but start feeling uncomfortable in her soft sweater and jeans, wondering why she didn’t start wearing cuter clothes…

“We should stop staring before it gets creepy, though,” Peter suggested, still not taking his eyes off Liz.

Michelle, who noticed Lila’s grip on her pencil tighten significantly, but otherwise showed no outward signs of distress or discomfort, looked over to the two boys. “Too late,” She said. The boys looked over to her and Lila, who was also looking at Michelle with a confused expression on her face. “You guys are losers.” If she felt the kick that Lila landed to her shin, she didn’t show it. She simply turned back to her book.

“But, then why do you sit with us?” Ned asked.

Looking back up at them, Michelle answered, “Because I don’t have any friends.”

If the boys weren’t bewildered before, they sure were at that statement. Both pairs of eyes slid to Lila, who still had a slightly wide-eyed look. A pale pink sat on her cheeks when they both looked at her until Ned looked back at Michelle. “I thought Lila was your friend.”

“Is she?” Michelle didn’t even bother to look up from her book at that statement. Peter and Ned both looked back to Lila, who merely offered a shrug in response. She was about to say something to them when her phone buzzed with a text from Sophie. She saw the time displayed on her phone and realized she had to leave if she wanted to talk to one of her teachers about some of the homework. She started putting everything away, but not before tapping Michelle’s foot with her own, much more gently this time, as a way of saying thanks for supporting her when she was letting her mind and her jealousy get the best of her. Then she scurried off out of the cafeteria.

*****

“Next question,” Liz said, staring between the two tables perched on the stage. She stood in front of them, note cards on her stand as she read them off. “What is the heaviest naturally-occurring element?”

Sat at one of the two tables were Abraham and Cindy, then Ned and Charles. Lila sat next to Michelle at the edge of the stage, both reading different books. Lila’s was still for school, while MJ’s was merely for fun. Although, she wasn’t sure how Of Human Bondage would be a book to read for fun, but who was Lila to judge. Charles, a boy with big glasses and an even bigger sense of humor, rang the bell on his table. “Hydrogen’s the lightest,” He answered confidently, before adding, “That’s not the question. Okay, yeah,” He went back to look at his notes, but the other table rang the bell. “Uranium!” Abraham answered, and Liz nodded approvingly.

“That is correct. Thank you, Abraham.” Abraham had a smug look on his face as they turned back to their notes. Lila’s gaze flickered over from Liz to Flash, who was sitting with his feet propped up and was reading what looked like a comic book. She saw Sally laying on the floor, feet in the air as she worked on her own homework. “Please open your books to page ten.”

Then finally, Lila’s stare caught on to Peter, talking in a hushed voice to Mr. Harrington. “... Because if Mr. Stark needs me, I have to make sure I’m here.”

“You’ve never even been in the same room as Tony Stark,” Flash said from across the way, the degrading tone of his voice not sitting well with Lila. It never did. The way Peter tensed, Lila could tell it didn’t sit well with him either. That made her feel worse.

“Wait. What’s happening?” Cindy asked, taking everyone’s attention and putting it on Peter and Mr. Harrington.

Sally answered, “Peter’s not coming to Washington.”

Everyone felt a tinge of dread. Peter was one of their strongest assets on the team, and everyone remembered how he dominated the physics question that stumped everyone else in a competition last year. Cindy was just the first to vocalize her dismay. “What? No, no, no, no, no.”

Abraham rang the bell. “Why not?”

“Really?” Liz added, trying her best to be nice but her disappointment came through over much else. “Right before nationals?”

“He already quit marching band and robotics lab,” Michelle pointed out, to everyone’s confusion. The only person who wasn’t confused was right next to her, and her eyes got big. Lila panicked briefly, for everyone started to stare at Michelle for saying that out loud, wondering why she knew that. She looked at her teammates at the tables, who were all unashamedly looking her way, waiting for her to elaborate. “I’m not obsessed with him, just very observant.”

It did little to comfort her teammates, but Lila blew out a breath of relief. She was the one who mentioned all of that to Michelle in passing. She said it just to talk about it, not caring if Michelle was really listening. Lila supposed it was a little comforting to know that MJ did, in fact, actually listen to her when she talked from time to time. But then her mind shifted back into worry, wondering why Peter decided he needed to quit the team when he’d already given Mr. Harrington a permission slip to go with them all to Washington.

“Flash, you’re in for Peter,” Liz said, giving one last pointed look to Peter before returning to her cards.

Flash shook his head, not looking up from his comic. “Oof, I don’t know. I’ve gotta check my calendar first. I’ve got a hot date with Black Widow coming up.”

A bell was rung, followed by Abraham’s voice. “That is false.”

“What did I tell you about using the bell for comedic purposes?” Mr. Harrington scolded, before resignedly telling Peter it was okay for missing. The rest of the team went back to their normal practices, interchanging people who sat at the tables so that everyone (except for Peter) could get a chance to practice. Lila was improving, even managing to answer a few questions herself, which Liz praised highly. And at the end of their time, Liz pulled Lila aside and told her how great of a job she was doing.

She would’ve felt proud of herself, but Lila noticed Peter slip out before most of the kids could get their stuff. She sent a quiet thanks to Liz before following him out of the door. The bell overhead rang, and students started leaving their classrooms, making the hallway noisy again. She caught up to Peter, feeling a sense of déjà vu that she had to ignore. Like always, Peter seemed to sense that Lila was right behind him, for he turned around. He was looking relatively impatient, and that made Lila feel more nervous about talking to him. “P-Peter.”

“What’s up, Lila?”

She couldn’t beat around the bush, for she was starting to see patterns that she herself struggled to avoid for years. “I just - I just wanted to make sure you’re o-okay.” She saw him tense up slightly, not making herself gain more confidence. “I know we’re not - we’re not really that c-close or anything, but you - you seem kind of off.”

It was Peter’s turn to seem kind of nervous. Scratching at the back of his head, he looked down at Lila. “Really? How - how do you figure?”

“Quitting marching band, q-quitting robotics lab, and now - and now the decathlon. I don’t-” Lila swallowed, knowing that if she could help, she had to do her best. “ - I don’t want to overstep any b-boundaries by asking this but, would any of this - any of this h-have to do with - with your Uncle Ben?”

Peter’s eyes widened in understanding, and he shook his head. “Oh, no, it’s not-”

But Lila was on too much of a roll to stop. “B-Because when my mom died, I quit a - a lot of stuff, t-too. I sh-shut myself off from a lot of things that could’ve r-really helped me - helped me cope. And I just want t-to make sure that you’re doing okay-” Peter put his hands on her shoulders, not knowing how else to interrupt her. But it instantly shut her up.

Peter retracted his hands, smiling softly. “Thanks, Lila. It’s not that. I’m just - I want my internship to lead to a real job someday, so I’ve been taking more time to focus on that instead. You know, picking up extra jobs over there, it’s just taking a lot more of my time.”

Lila nodded. “I get it, my dad’s shop takes up a lot of my time. And I really like helping out over there, so I get it. Just - just make sure you soak up your t-time in high school, being a k-kid. It isn’t a-all so bad.”

He seemed to think about it, Peter’s smile growing a bit bigger. “I’ll be sure to do that. Thanks again, Lila.”

“S-Sorry you couldn’t make it to Washington,” She said before waving goodbye to Peter.

*****

“Ugh, my brain has been chucked in the deep fryer, Lila. Not even the Avengers are gonna be able to save me.” Sophie folded her arms on top of the counter and rest her head, shutting her eyes in exhaustion. Lila stared on in amusement, before turning back to her corner of the store and continuing to sweep. Collecting the scattered soil and placing it in the trash bin, she walked over to where Sophie was sprawled out and stood across from her in a motherly manner. Checking the clock, she realized she had every right to.

It read half-past seven, half an hour after the store closed for the evening. “Don’t you have, like, a giant test this week?”

“Friday,” Sophie groaned, not even moving from her spot.

Lila clenched the broom handle tighter and sighed. She was by no means a bossy person, it didn’t ever sit well with her, but when it came to taking care of the people she loved, Lila spared no expense. “And you told me you hadn’t even edited your next Origin Story. That’s supposed to be up on Saturday.” Sophie lifted her head from her arms to glare at Lila. Ignoring it, Lila set the broom down and placed her hands on the counter. “Look, why don’t you just go home? You can send me the file for your episode and I’ll do the editing before Saturday. You need to study for your test.”

Sophie stood up straight, suddenly looking unsure. “But our dinner-”

“Let’s just save it for when I get back from the decathlon trip, and you’re done with your test. Y-You should go, Soph, I can close up shop. I’ve done it before.” Normally, it would’ve taken considerably more of an effort, but deep down, Lila knew Sophie was desperate. With a touch more goading, and assuring her that she would be fine to be by herself, Sophie left the store. Lila turned her phone’s music on as loud as it could go, and began wiping down the countertops. She then locked all of the necessary cabinets and doors before spritzing a few bouquets with a bit of water. Grabbing her backpack and putting her headphones in, Lila set the store’s alarm and left, locking the doors behind her. Checking the time, she noticed it was still before eight, and her stomach let out a low growl in protest of canceling her dinner with Sophie.

Lila walked to the corner, where Delmar’s bodega was thankfully still open. Taking her headphones out of her ears, she ventured into the empty shop, the chime of the bell signaling her entrance and echoing through the space. She heard a soft mewl come from the far side of the counter, and Lila eagerly walked over to pet the large cat. “Hey, Murph,” She cooed quietly, scratching behind the cat’s ears. His head leaned into her hand, and a soft purr tickled her fingers as they moved to scratch his chin. She almost didn’t hear Mr. Delmar walk into the room from the back, but as he did so, she glanced up and smiled softly.

“Lila Landry, a pleasure as always.” Mr. Delmar grinned at the girl. She returned the greeting, and strode along the outskirts of the store, picking up some toothpaste for her dad, which she knew he was running out of. She came back up to the front counter and ordered a sandwich to go. Mr. Delmar rang her up, a stern glint in his eyes. “Little late for you to be out. Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“I had to close up shop tonight, Sophie’s got a huge test this week,” Lila answered, scratching her wrist after she handed Mr. Delmar cash. She watched him count it out and open his till, preparing to say something else to her. However, Lila beat him to the punch. “Dad’s working late in Man-Manhattan tonight, the Ritz is apparently hosting the Osborn’s for some benefit tomorrow. And he wanted to get the final touch-ups in tonight.” It was effective enough to silence Mr. Delmar’s further questions, not that he really doubted her. She was more than capable of taking care of herself, and he knew that more than most.

After handing back the correct change to Lila, Mr. Delmar stated he’d head to the back to make the sandwich she’d ordered. Leaving her to her own devices, Lila quickly pulled out her phone and began unraveling her headphones and walking slowly around the store. She’d started placing the designated earbuds in each correct ear when she happened to look outside of Mr. Delmar’s shop. Catty-corner to the deli was a bank, which was usually closed before Landry’s was on weekdays.

Usually.

This time, when Lila looked over at the bank, it was full of people, as well as money flying everywhere. It reminded her for a brief moment of one of those machines that were at arcades, where tickets would fly up in a glass cage and the person inside would have to grab as many tickets within the time allotted. Only this time, the glass cage held four men with Avengers masks, and Spider-Man, who was being thrown around by a device of the likes Lila had never seen before. It was emitting a bluish light, and held Spider-Man in a suspended state that he seemed to struggle to get out of. Lila watched as another one of the men in a mask grabbed a shotgun, and she felt her blood go cold.

“Mr. Delmar!” She called with urgency, and she heard him stop working on her sandwich. “C-call 9-1-1, there’s - there’s… I don’t kn-know.” She saw Mr. Delmar in the corner of her vision stand next to her and observe what she had been staring at. Mr. Delmar was quicker to react than she was, and immediately yanked her back away from the glass doors. He rounded the counter and reached for the telephone that was charging in the corner. Dialing the police, he looked at Lila and sharply told her to stay away from the windows while he waited to be connected.

He nodded slightly when an operator picked up his call. He stepped closer to the doors to get a better look at what was going on and relayed what was going on into the phone. “Uh - Spider-Man is fighting the Avengers in a bank on 21st Street… No, no, they’re wearing masks that look like the Avengers… Do they have - yes, they are carrying weapons… I don’t… they’re robbing an ATM and there’s money everywhere-” He didn’t even have time to yell out in surprise when a vivid purple light shone through all the windows. Lila saw the light grow brighter before it crashed into Delmar’s, shattering the glass and making several things explode. The smell of smoke and dust filled her senses before a heavy shelf to the left collapsed on top of her, sending her small frame to the floor. A flare of pain radiated in her side before a rack of gummy worms went tumbling down, the edge of it hitting her in the head and knocking her out cold.

*****

By the time the laser had shut off, Peter was already sprinting towards the deli that was currently up in flames. Leaping over a pile of rubble, Peter glanced around, urgently looking for anyone in the store. “Hey, Mr. Delmar, you in here? Is anybody in here? Hello?” He didn’t have to search much longer, for Mr. Delmar was tucked in the corner, coughing on his share of smoke. Peter rushed over to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and hoisting him upright. Before Peter left, he noticed a ball of fur trembling under an overturned table. He swept Mr. Delmar’s cat up in his free arm, and rushed the pair out of the building.

Peter helped Mr. Delmar to the streetlamp just outside his deli, where he proceeded to cough violently as he breathed in the clean air. Peter kept trying to give him his cat when Mr. Delmar gripped onto his shoulder tightly. Due to the inability to form complete sentences while his lungs filtered out the smoke and dust, Peter couldn’t really understand what Mr. Delmar was trying to say. Leaning closer, he heard Mr. Delmar say, “Lila.”

“Lila?”

“Lila, she… closed her dad’s shop… came in for… still inside… Lila…” Peter’s blood ran cold. Staring down the street, he saw the darkened sign of Landry’s Flowers, remembering that it was merely a few doors down and realizing just what Mr. Delmar meant when he mentioned a Lila. Without hesitating, Peter shoved the cat into Mr. Delmar’s arms before heading back into the burning building.

“Delilah!” Peter shouted, coughing slightly as the smoke began to creep into his throat. His suit was clearing the building of any other people possibly present when his eyes came upon a figure on the ground. Surging forward, Peter saw her honey-colored hair before he saw her face, and noticed a large shelf covering most of her small figure. He lifted the shelf off of her, barely reading the screen in his suit explaining her head was injured due to another object hitting it, or that she had some kind of injury on her side. Once everything was clear around her, he gently shook her shoulder in an attempt to make sure she wasn’t as gravely hurt as it appeared.

After a few seconds of yelling her name and shaking her shoulder, Lila’s face scrunched up before she let out several coughs. She did her best to roll over onto her back, but she merely groaned in pain. Opening her eyes and blinking rapidly to stop them burning from the smoke, they landed on Peter in surprise. He leaned over her, subconsciously clearing the hair from her face. “Are you okay? Mr. Delmar, he - he told me you were in here. Can you stand up, Miss?”

“Lila,” She corrected, her voice laced with discomfort due to the pain taking over most of her attention. “I can’t - I can’t get up by myself. I need - it hurts.” Peter did his best to gently turn her over before he thrust an arm under her legs and another around her shoulders, carefully lifting her off the ground. It was slightly awkward, for her backpack was still on her back, but Peter managed to ignore it thanks to the multiple whimpers she let out. He tried not to cringe at the pained expression she wore, nor did he try and let the guilt settle in his stomach either. He should’ve been more careful-

“Mr. Delmar-” She started as Peter carried her out, but the man in question was already there, helping Lila stand up as Peter set her down. He stared at her for a few seconds and how she clutched her side while she coughed, but for the most part, she was intact. He stared back over at the bank, seeing the broken glass everywhere, but no sign of any of the bank robbers. Throwing his head back in exasperation, Peter sighed. He turned back around to double-check on Lila and Mr. Delmar, hearing the sirens of police cars creep closer and closer. Knowing that they would be just fine was all Peter needed before he was off, swinging down the street in the opposite direction, already calling Happy Hogan with information on the technology in the weapons used against him.

It did occur to him at some point that saving Lila Landry was the closest Peter had ever come to his two lives intersecting. The thought left him uneasy, and he was grateful to be in and out before anything could come of it. Just another close call for Peter. That is, until he came home, where his best friend found him crawling on the ceiling.

#spider-man #peter parker #spider-man fic #peter parker fic #spider-man x ofc #peter parker x ofc #mcu #mcu x ofc #marvel x ofc #slow burn #mine

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tibbinswrites · 5 years

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Prompt: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Prompt requested by @psychicbouquetblaze-stuff (sorry I’m retagging you for the same story but the ‘keep reading’ link no longer worked so I thought it would be best to repost. I’ve also edited it a bit because it needed doing).

Prompts are open. I’ve got a few lists to choose from in the ‘Prompts’ section of my blog or feel free to send me an ask or a message if there’s a specific one you’d like ^_^

Dean/Castiel

Prompt #5 from this list: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Castiel flashed his badge and a smile to the janitor as he opened his front door.

“Mr Faukes? FBI Agent Moore, and this is my partner, Agent Mathers. We were hoping to ask you a few questions about the incident you reported last night.”

Dean held up his own badge with a faint tightening of his eyes at the alias. It had been one of Cas’ spare sets of badges in the glove compartment of the continental, Sam had taken the impala to the next town over, where a possibly related case had also popped up. Dean hadn’t been happy about it, but he had conceded that point that seeing as he had a fully powered angel with him, it was best Sam take the vast majority of their weapons, just in case.

Faukes, after throwing a cursory glance at Dean, looked back to Castiel with a shy smile of his own. He was a tall man, late 30s, with strong arms and rugged features. His clothes looked to be a patchwork of different autumn-coloured fabrics but they blended together well and looked soft and comfortable. His light brown hair was neatly combed and he had kind brown eyes that Castiel found himself trusting.

“Sure thing,” he said, stepping back to let them in with the slightly awkward movements of someone who didn’t get a lot of visitors. His voice had a gravelly tone to it that matched the slight German accent. Castiel liked the sound. They walked past him into the small apartment. It smelled pleasantly of lemongrass and was sparsely decorated with an overflowing bookshelf, a sofa squashed beside it and a rickety desk that looked more like storage space than a place of work. A kitchenette was in one corner with a square table and a single chair for meals. The dish rack next to the sink was stuffed with crockery and there was a small sewing machine on another table, along with a couple of rolls of fabric leaning against the wall. A small electric heater clunked slightly as it fought against the morning chill. It was a messy home but meticulously clean. Faukes gestured them to the sofa and spun the dining chair around to face it before sitting himself on the plush cushion tied to the slats with ribbon, “And you can call me Matt. What do you need to know?”

“Your report said you found a jar of eyes in your boss’ office?” Dean cut in as Castiel opened his mouth. His tone was sharp, accusatory, as though Matt was their prime suspect when in reality he was just a witness. Matt looked a little unsettled at the heavy scowl Dean was levelling his way and Castiel couldn’t blame him, he shot Dean a look to take it easy, which was ignored.

“Um… yeah,” Matt said, dragging his eyes from Dean back to Castiel, who nodded encouragingly. Matt cleared his throat, fiddling with a stray thread on the hem of his shirt and began to speak, “So, I was cleaning up after we closed and I noticed the door to Mr Hitching’s office was open. I thought it was strange because even when he’s in he keeps it shut, and he’s supposed to be on holiday for the next two weeks. I figured his one of the other owners might have needed some papers or something and called up his secretary to come and fetch them so I thought I might as well just pop in to vacuum and empty the trash. But I saw it as soon as I turned the light on. It was just… sat on the desk. Like a paperweight, like it wasn’t something important enough to even hide. Five eyes. I remember thinking how weird that was, why five? That’s not even three people… That’s horrible, right? I shouldn’t have thought that.”

“Not at all.” Castiel assured him, leaning forwards intently, “When faced with trauma, the human brain—if it doesn’t reject the trauma entirely—might try to focus on certain details to distract from the trauma itself. You’d be surprised at some of the things people notice when faced with things of this nature. Sometimes their observations are vital to solving the case.”

Matt smiled again, smaller this time, but grateful. It was nice, Castiel decided, making this man smile.

“I bet you’ve got a load of stories like this, huh?” Matt said, shifting forward slightly too, sounding awed and impressed at the idea, “Job like yours. God, I couldn’t do it.”

“Well, we can’t all be janitors.” Dean muttered. The comment was innocuous enough, and Castiel would have ignored it if it hadn’t been for Dean’s tone, practically dripping with venom. Matt’s face immediately fell and Castiel shifted on the couch to glare his ‘partner’.

“Agent Mathers, that was incredibly rude. I think you owe Mr Faukes an apology.”

Dean flushed, an angry red tinge creeping up the back of his neck. He stared at Castiel and the angel saw a kaleidoscope of emotions flash across his face, too fast to catch any of them, but after a moment he relented and turned back to Matt.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “my partner’s right. I was out of line.”

“It’s alright,” Matt said, looking more confused than offended now, “but thank you.”

Castiel took over the questioning from there, gently prying for all the details Matt could remember. Castiel found himself intrigued by the man, it was clear he was very self-conscious, about his job, his home, himself, but there was also a confidence to him born of self-reliance that Castiel couldn’t help but respect. He also seemed grateful to talk. From what he told them, he didn’t have many friends in the community.

“It’s a small town,” he said, when Castiel asked him why that was, “around here, everyone knows everything about everyone, and they’re pretty quick to judge. Most of them are heavy church-goers. And not the kind that preach love and acceptance, if you get my meaning.”

“That must be difficult.”

Matt shrugged, “It is what it is,” he said, his head tilting slightly to the side as he met Castiel’s eyes, “but it’s nice to talk to some folks with a different mindset for a change.”

Castiel nodded, trying his best to ignore the click of Dean’s jaw and the tension oozing from the seat next to him, “I understand,” he said, “I too find it difficult to ‘branch out’ when it comes to socialising.”

That was an understatement. Excluding other angels, who were less likely to want to catch up than they were to want to bury an angel blade in his chest, most the social interaction Castiel had experienced was through the Winchesters. Sam and Dean were the best men he knew, and their chosen family was a good one, but that didn’t stop Castiel from thinking that it might be nice to have people to talk to without the weight of world-shattering consequences as a constant looming presence in every conversation.

“Anyway, thank you for your time,” he continued, standing and indicating that Dean should follow suit, “you’ve been very helpful.” He produced a card and handed it to Matt while Dean made a beeline for the door. “Here’s my number. If you remember something else, or if you just need to talk to someone with a different mindset, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely call.” Matt said with a wink. “Agent Moore, would it be terribly inappropriate if I were to ask you on a date?”

Dean froze, his hand on the doorknob.

“I- it would,” Castiel stuttered, heat rushing to his face, “but I think I would like that. Perhaps once this case is over?”

“Keep me updated.” Matt grinned.

Dean yanked open the door and strode off down the hall, not even waiting for Castiel to catch up. The angel rolled his eyes and glanced at Matt, who snickered and held up his card.

“Good luck with the case.”

Xxx

“I can’t believe you, Cas. First of all, you made me a rapper, what the hell? Second of all, how do you go into a freaking suspect’s house and come out with a date?”

“Nothing’s been arranged,” Castiel said calmly, watching from the end of one of the twin beds as Dean wore a path in the already threadbare carpet of their motel room, “besides, Matt isn’t a suspect, he’s a witness.”

“Until we can prove he’s not the one carving out eyes, he’s both.” Dean insisted. “I just… I don’t get it, man, I thought you liked chicks anyway?”

“I’m indifferent to gender.” Castiel said, frowning. “I’ve never understood why it matters so much to humans what pronouns their partners use. I liked him. He was interesting and kind and I would like to get to know him better, what’s wrong with that?”

“We’re in the middle of a case, Cas, you can’t afford to get… you know, distracted.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, “and how many bartenders and waitresses and almost-victims have you gotten ‘distracted’ with, Dean?”

“That’s different!”

“How?” Castiel demanded, truly irritated now. Dean had many wonderful traits that Castiel admired but his hypocrisy was not one of them. He supposed it stemmed from being the older sibling, more often left in charge than not, ‘do as I say, not as I do’ was practically etched into his bones.

“Because...” Dean spluttered, “because they’re just a bit of fun, alright? They knew the drill, we’re not exactly planning to settle down, and were never go out on dates.” He spat the word like something filthy, “What kind of future do you expect you can have with this guy, huh? Are you gonna tell him what we do? Bring him home and introduce him to your half-archangel son and all the people we yanked from another world? The guy was squeamish about a jar of eyes, how do you think he’d handle literally any of the crap we go through?”

“A first date is not a marriage proposal, Dean. What’s the harm in dinner and a movie?”

“You don’t eat.”

“I can, I just don’t need to.” Castiel shot back, “Random sexual conquests don’t appeal to me. I would rather find a person I have a connection with, and I felt I had a connection with Matt. Why are you so angry? The last time I had a date you were happy for me. Is it really because he’s a man?”

“No!” Dean yelled, a little too loudly, he winced as the sound bounced back to him from the cheap cinderblock walls and lowered his voice to a hiss, his arms folded tightly across his chest and he finally stopped pacing, “It’s because I think you’re being irresponsible. We don’t know that we’re not gonna have to gut that guy before the week is out. And what are you talking about a connection? You spoke for half an hour, you don’t build a connection in half an hour.”

“You’re not angry-” Castiel realised, squinting at the man in front of him. His hands were tucked up into his armpits and his shoulders were slightly rounded, almost as though he was trying to curl into himself, “you’re hurt. Wait a minute, are you jealous?”

“What?!” Dean exclaimed, “Jealous? No, I’m not jealous. Of what? I didn’t like that guy.”

Castiel tilted his head, “Then what?” he asked, his voice low and even, “You don’t like that I like him? You don’t like that I could possibly show interest in anyone other than you?”

Dean took a step back like Castiel had hit him. All the blood drained from his face.

“What are you talking about?” He said, which is what Dean always said when confronted with something he didn’t want to admit to.

“Come on, Dean,” Castiel said impatiently, “you’re not stupid and subtlety isn’t my strong suit. You know how I feel about you, you’ve known it for years. So you don’t want it but you don’t want anyone else to want it either?”

“That’s… that’s not-” Dean choked out, looking sick now, “I didn’t mean-”

“Then what?” Castiel cried, finally standing to be on even ground with Dean. He was frustrated, he was angry, he was overwhelmed, “Explain it to me, because I don’t understand.”

Instead of speaking, Dean’s jaw snapped shut and for a moment, Castiel was sure he was going to bolt from the room. Instead he strode forward two steps and cupped Castiel’s face with his hands before bringing their lips together, effectively shorting out his brain.

“I’ve always wanted you.” Dean murmured against his mouth, “Since Purgatory I’ve let myself want you. But if I had you, I could lose you. And I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

They stayed that way for a while, breathing each other’s air, foreheads pressed together, lips barely brushing. Dean’s hands were warm and calloused and gentle against his skin, Castiel’s hands gripped at the fabric of Dean’s shirt, though he didn’t remember moving.

“It’s worth it for this,” Castiel whispered back, half-lost in the feeling of Dean so close, “isn’t it?”

“Losing you sucked bad, Cas.” Dean said shaking his head and pulling back slightly, just enough that they could lock eyes, “I gave up.”

Castiel sighed and pulled away completely, stepping back, feeling cold as Dean’s hands left him. “I understand,” he said, “but I disagree. Neither of us can guarantee forever and it’s not fair for you to try and keep me from seeking elsewhere something that you aren’t willing to give me.”

“I know,” Dean said, but he reached out to take his hand and slot their fingers together, “So this is me realising that I’m willing, I guess.”

Castiel squeezed his hand and quirked a small smile, “Finally.”

#prompt #repost #Destiel fanfic #spn fanfic #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #prompt me #writing #TibbinsWrites #TibbinsAnswers #supernatural

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kamino-ink · 6 years

Text

Trust | Bang Chan

genre ⌁ haunting!au, horror, supernatural, angst, fluff, enemies-to-lovers-ish

summary ⌁ you are a regular ole’ demonologist, just living your best life attending the occasional possession or exorcism - until a novice exorcist with a giant ego accidently gets you into harm’s way.

word count ⌁ 2.8k

warning ⌁ kinda violent tbh, mentions of death n blood and religion

Check out my masterlist!

A/N - I hate this a lot I swear the other parts will be better :/

the case of the southend werewolf was one that would haunt you forever, for years to come until the day you passed

while the famous husband and wife duo, ed and lorraine warren, had solved the case many decades ago, one oddly similar instance popped up in news reports and videos over time

you’d been doing some personal research since the very first story came up on your recommended page, diligently applying your demonology knowledge to the strange case

yes - demonology

you weren’t exactly catholic, or... religious in general, for the most part; you liked to call yourself agnostic for lack of a better term

you didn’t quite believe in the idea of gods and all that jazz, but you did however delve deeper into the possible existence of demons or, rather, negative energy that fed off the masses

moving on

you decided that you really wanted to go to the area in England where the supposed possession was taking place, but on account of their authority figures (and the church) you required a professional to go with you

enter bang chan, novice exorcist in training

in the midst of your heavy digging for an exorcist to accompany you on the trip, you stumbled upon a verified site from the Vatican itself, which cited experienced or in training students all over the world

bang chan happened to be the first one who had a decent record, plus he was technically still training so if he came on the trip, his supervisor would have to go as well - meaning double the protection

after a week of arranging flights and meetings, you found yourself landing in an airport located in Essex, England

there you met up with chan and his supervisor, a decorated exorcist by the name of park jinyoung

together the three of you spoke about the case, from the ride to the hotel all the way into unpacking for the stay

while you and jinyoung had been in a heated discussion over the suspected possession, chan spent that time rolling his eyes whenever you presented your research or an opinion - he even had the audacity to glare at you as you asked questions about their church and services

“you shouldn’t even be here,” the Australian man finally spoke up, “you’re not a child of god, so why do you even care about our church or what we’ve devoted our lives to?”

jinyoung hisses and smacks the younger man on the back of his head, offering you a reprimanded look of apology

“chan, just because you’re technically a licensed student doesn't mean that you can ridicule others who have different beliefs than we do. our first lesson is to-”

“not judge others, for judgement is a sin.” the blonde finishes with a grunt, though he sends you another harsh glare at the same time

“my beliefs are my own, chan. while I don’t believe in your god, I do believe in the mere existence of negative entities in our world.” you reply shortly

he scoffs, abruptly standing from his chair at the dining table, “you’re completely unbelievable, woman. just - stay out of our way during our investigation.”

and with that, he left, storming off into his bedroom

jinyoung apologizes for his pupil’s behavior, though he doesn’t bring up the topic of your beliefs for the rest of the night

for the next three days, the three of you delve deeper into the possible possession of a man named mark tuan

he was a normal guy from la who moved to England a few years ago so he could be with his long-term girlfriend, and up until recent months he was just like any other man

but then he started to exhibit strange, inhuman habits; such as uprooting a fence post and crunching on the wire mesh, walking on all four limbs, and just the other day he reportedly sniffed out a deer carcass deep in the woods behind his home

after witnessing the man break out into a cold sweat and nearly attack a smaller dog much like a predatory wolf, father jinyoung decided they would perform an exorcism

the plan was to bring mark tuan back to their church in Australia, as the demon manifesting inside of him was something entirely inhuman and could potentially be a threat if it somehow wasn’t fully dismissed

however on the same evening you all were planning to fly to Australia, something triggered mark into a furious frenzy

foam started to dribble between his dry lips, his hair stood up all over his body, and the lanky man literally lunged at father jinyoung - effectively pinning him to the ground as he attempted to gauge out his throat

you leapt into action, throwing yourself onto the back of the man to try and pull his weight off of the priest

meanwhile chan was in a state of sheer panic, watching as his own mentor was being targeted by a very powerful demon before his very eyes

“c-chan,” jinyoung called out to the stunned man, letting out a painful scream as mark tears into his flesh with his teeth, “leave and lock all the door and windows - call father jaebum from the church in London-”

but chan doesn’t listen to him - he silently reassures himself that he can handle a real exorcism himself - it’s what he’s been training to do his entire life

so the blonde snatches a bible from the bookshelf behind him, flipping through it until he finds a set of pages, his gaze wavering in fear and panic as you whip your head around to gawk at him

you scream and shout at him, telling him to listen to the dying man’s words, all the while struggling to pull him towards the front door and away from the possessed man

still he goes on, reciting his teachings word by word until there’s a pregnant pause

mark’s body, still on top of father jinyoung’s, twitches after a certain phrase chan had stuttered out weakly

“y-you didn’t say it the right way-”

“how would you know!?”

“just because i’m not religious doesn’t mean I haven’t done my own damn research,” you hiss quietly, voice shaking as mark continues to twitch madly and turns his attention to the two of you, fresh blood and torn skin hanging from his stained lips, “c-chan, we need to go!”

“no - if we leave then there’s a chance the demon will use his body until it can find a new host and go on torturing innocent people just like mark!” he protests, glancing down at the bible as the brunette man takes a step forward

“chan-”

he doesn’t listen to a word you say, attempting the passage yet again, but more clearly this time

it’s too late, though

on his last word mark charges towards the man, his mouth wide open and prepared to take a chunk of flesh from his neck - but you’re somehow faster. you shove chan out of the way just as the deed is done, receiving a painful bite to your shoulder

in seconds mark’s body collapses onto the ground, a strange, cold presence emitting into the open air before all goes quiet

the series of events that followed that were a blur to you: from chan rushing to cover your wound to the two ambulances that arrive on the scene to take you and father jinyoung to the nearest hospital

before you know it, an entire month has flown by since the southend werewolf incident

you had to stay in the hospital for a majority of that time, since your demon-inflicted wound tended to get infected too easily

by the time you were given the okay to leave, you heard that father jinyoung was still being held there as a patient, his entire throat needing to be worked on for who knows how long

the one interesting outcome of the entire situation, though, was finding a defeated looking chan at your doorstep when you got home

“the church said that, due to my hasty actions and its consequences of you being injured by a demon I was instructed not to interact with, I am to be your caregiver until I am able to go back to learning.”

“... so you’re grounded, basically.”

“please, don’t say it like that.”

so that my friends is how bang chan the sort of exorcist was thrust into your life for good

“heyyy chan, can you please make me some chocolate-chip pancakes for breakfast?”

“your bite is healed, you can cook your own fucking food-”

“ah, but the church said that you have to do whatever I ask of you until you aren’t grounded anymore~”

“... I’ll make them super fluffy if you promise to stop saying it like that.”

so for the next two months, you were accommodating an amusing roommate of sorts

he slept on an air mattress you set up in the living room, so it wasn’t like the poor guy had to suffer with an aching back the entire duration of his ground- of his punishment

each morning he’d cook the both of you breakfast and begrudgingly watch exaggerated dramas with you until lunchtime rolled around

usually he’d take you out to eat and explore the city with you, something he refused to admit actually made him have some fun for once in his life

for dinner you’d both kind of give up on the idea of making real food and would instead order pizza or Chinese takeout, all the while hiding under a set of fluffy blankets next to you in favor of watching scary movies

you kind of hated to admit it, but chan had really grown on you - over time he seemed to accept his mistake back in the England exorcism, and one night he even took the time to apologize to you on his own terms

“chan, I still don’t understand why I have to wear a dress if- oh...”

there the man stood himself, clad in a black tux with a red bowtie next to the tiny dining table stuffed in the cramped kitchen. “I think it’s time that I owe you a real apology for what happened in England... and how I acted. I know that, to a degree, we have different beliefs - but you’re still an amazing, wonderful woman who I would like to call a friend.”

you totally didn’t almost ruin the moment by commenting on how his bowtie was crooked, shhhh

that night he treated you to homemade pasta and brownies for dessert, the first dinner either of you had actually made yourselves since he arrived at your home

ever since that night, the two of you would grow closer and closer - and then his punishment was over

the church had called him immediately, stating that he had to return quickly if he wanted to continue his training

neither of you admitted it aloud, but having to help him pack his things just so he could go back to Australia crushed your hearts

you’d grown so used to each other’s presence, forming a natural routine every single day that never became tiresome

after you bid farewell to the now silver-haired man at the airport, you found yourself feeling more lonely than ever before

sure you both exchanged contacts with one another and talked on the phone often, but it just... wasn't the same, honestly

then, out of the blue, just about two weeks after his departure, chan called you and told you about a haunted house he was being sent to investigate near your city

you weren’t required to go, but you found yourself offering to accompany him during his paranormal studies at the home

the moment you two met up at the house, you went straight into work mode, having no time to catch up since it seemed as if something was very wrong

cameras placed by the two husbands all over the two-story house showed signs of life, even when no one was awake

they reported that they’d seen furniture being tossed around their rooms and that their own daughter had started to experience hellish nightmares that ended with her being covered in scars the next morning

you and chan went to work, looking at every single audio or video file you could find in their tapes and cameras, even interviewing each member of the family alone to see if it was a hoax as the church suspected it to be

then one night, you felt an odd chill roll over your body in the middle of your slumber, though you at first thought nothing of it

but the next morning, there was a circle with a cross etched onto your wrist. chan immediately guessed that the demon had somehow managed to inch its way into your body - though that in itself was odd, especially since demons traditionally had to weaken their target host before fully possessing them

your condition continued to grow worse and worse as the days passed by, up until chan had finally decided that the best course of action was to take you to a church and see what more experienced priests could do

luggage in tow, chan lead you to the front door of the house, bidding a short farewell to the family and promising to send members of the church the same day - yet, you didn’t follow him

or rather, you couldn’t

something forcefully snapped you back into the house, causing you to stumble and crash into a shelving unit on the wall

“y-y/n?”

“mam, are you alright?”

you shake your head, slowly standing back up to walk back to the door where a worried chan was staring at you with furrowed brows

the second the tip of your shoes reach the doorway, another tug slams you onto the cold floor - quickly going to drag your limp body down the hallway into a bedroom before the door suddenly slams shut

you can feel the demon lurking in your body, hungrily feasting upon your state of utter terror - though you try your best to fight it off before it can fully possess you

seconds, minutes, hours - you're not quite sure how much time had passed since you’d been thrown into the secluded bedroom

all you knew was that you had grown so much weaker in that period of time, your eyes struggling to focus on anything in the room

you also knew that chan was banging on the door, trying his damned hardest to break it down

in a woozy state your head bobbles around until your blurry gaze lands on your now exposed shoulder, spotting the wound from the werewolf demon now irritated and red with pus seeping out of it

the demon had been able to subdue you so quickly because you’d technically already been afflicted before, and now it was a race against time before it was able to completely overpower you

with a snap the bedroom door flies open, a rugged looking chan standing with a bible and a slim jar of what you could only guess was holy water

“c-chan,” you echo his name just as the late father jinyoung had, feeling dread sweep over your entire being as another wave of pus pushes out of the inflicted wound on your bare shoulder, “leave, be-before you get hurt-”

“I won’t run away from you, y/n,” he whimpers softly, stepping closer to your now convulsing body as he flips to a page in his bible, “you’re not going to get hurt because of me... not again.”

you find that you’re too exhausted to argue, instead nodding your head silently

“I - I trust you, chan. you’re an exorcist, you can do this-” you stop in your tracks, heaving in pain as a spurt of red blood shoots out from between your cracked lips

with no hesitation at all, the silver-haired man clears his throat and continues to stare you down, occasionally glancing back down to his bible as he perfectly recites the words for the exorcism

he splashes a dosage of holy water onto your skin, wincing as you let out a screech of pain - but he knows it’s not you reacting that way, it’s the demon possessing you

in a matter of seconds he’s performed the passage perfectly, not once stuttering or saying a word incorrectly like he had in England

a wave of relief causes you to topple over when the evil presence vanishes completely from your body, but before you can hit the floor chan has wrapped his arms under yours to hold you up steadily

“I sent the family out to call an ambulance and other members of their church - you’re going to be okay, I promise.” he speaks to you softly, brushing your now frazzled hair out of your face

“I knew you could do it, you know.”

“but - but how, y/n?”

“because I trust you with my life, bang chan.”

#skzwriters #stray kids #stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #stray kids drabble #stray kids au #bang chan #chan scenario #chan imagine #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff

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