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withastolenlantern · 3 years

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What do you think it was like?” Rafael asked as he hacked at the tough vegetation with his hoe, pulling the dense vines into a pile in the pathway. The soil was nitrogen poor, even when heavily fertilized, and the local flora had a fibrous root that was always threatening to choke out their transplanted species. The ground cover was too thick for the harvesters to handle, so the crops were still pulled by hand at the end of the wet season.

“Why do you always ask that?” I said, stooping down to the ground and dusting the dirt from the now exposed potatoes, gently brushing them clear like an archaeologist might some ancient, precious treasure. I pulled the tubers from the ground and put them into the cart.

“You don’t wonder?” He leaned on the handle of the hoe, brushing the sweat from his dark brow.

“I try not to.”

“Come on, Shan. If I have to have one more meeting about soil nutritiation, I’m going to kill myself. And you’re down there all the time…”

“We’re not having this conversation again.” I hadn’t come out to the fields looking for a fight, but I was always prepared for one. “Stop changing the subject.”

He frowned. “Please don’t start.”

“I’m just saying. The season’s almost over, and we’re not getting any younger.”

He put down the hoe and knelt down next to me, lifting another potato and cradling it. He looked at me plaintively. “I just… are you sure this is what you want? To spend your life toiling in the dirt? I mean, your father…”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “My father is a drunk, and he has nothing to do with this.”

“He didn’t used to be. He might snap out of it. Some of them do,” he said. “I’m just worried you’ll get bored of me, of this. It’s not a glamorous life.”

“No, but it would be our life, Rafe,” I pleaded.

“One more season. The bureau is due to review the allotments soon, and I almost have enough saved up for a down-payment on my own forty.” He kissed me gently on the forehead, then stood, and stared up toward the sky and sighed. “You honestly don’t wonder? What it was like, knowing what was happening out there?”

I stood too, matching his gaze. I put my arm around his wrist and held it gently to my chest. “Come with me. I have to check on him, and then maybe you’ll see why I’d much prefer to farm potatoes with you.”

It had been one-hundred fifty-nine years since we’d last heard from anyone outside the system. The Network had gone down July 17th, 2938, or at least that’s what the history books said. And that is only if you went by the original Earth calendar, which no one did anymore. With a twenty-eight hour day and a rotation period of six-hundred seventeen days, matching time here on New Caledonia to that on Earth was pointless. With The Network, information would take an interminable time to transit the two-hundred eighty-four light year and four relay distance between us; even then, relativity was unclear on whether there was any such thing as simultaneous events at these stellar distances anyway. For me it was irrelevant: the Earth might as well not exist, may not exist, and Sol was just a very dim star you could barely make out in the southern sky.

For us, it had been a normal Sunday, Wet Season 12, CSY 134. New Caledonia is an eccentric planet with a single landmass in its northern hemisphere surrounded by a large planetary ocean. Because of its near forty-five degree axial tilt relative to the ecliptic, the year is divided into two seasons of nearly equal length. During the Wet Season, the more direct sunlight heats the seas, driving strong currents that bring strong storms to the western coast. The moist air blows in and dumps copious rain across the western plains before climbing into the central mountain range that separates the continent, the only remnant of the clash between the two gigantic tectonic plates that formed the land we now call home. This quirk of a jetstream leaves the eastern plains beyond the mountains in a giant rain shadow, barren and dry. For this reason, all the major settlements are here in the west, and in the Dry Season, the ocean gyres cease and we hunker down for a long, cold, arid winter.

The rains were strong that Wet Season, or so the stories go. At first they though the heavy cloud cover and unstable air was interfering with communication to the satellite arrays. Minkowski Transmission provides a supraliminal link through the interstellar void, but it was still subject to the space-time warps of a heavy gravity well; we are forced to rely on more pedestrian broadcast methods to communicate with the Network Relays out in longer orbits free from gravitational interference. But they checked the dishes and the transmission center and everything was fine. Then they checked again. Then they waited until the Dry Season, and checked again. And then they waited.

We walked up the path to the main road where I’d parked my truck, and Rafe loaded the cart, only half-full of potatoes, into the rear cargo bed. “How is he doing?” he asked, hopping into the cab and pulling on his safety belt.

I pushed the ignition switch and the engine purred to life. The battery chimed a plea that it needed to be recharged soon, and I felt that deep in my soul in a way the inanimate vehicle could never understand. “He has good days and bad.”

“How much longer?”

“Too long.” I put the truck into gear and programmed the destination into the navigational system. It lurched forward, the tracks catching slightly in the soft, damp clay of the plain. “Honestly I stopped counting a long time ago.”

We made it maybe half a mile before the rain started again, at first light pricks ricocheting off the windscreen of the truck, but quickly growing to fat blobs that exploded with a violent thud. I opened the valve to the distillation unit on the roof and a slow drip of cleansed water trickled into my canteen. After a few seconds I closed the valve and took a sip; the water was cool and clear. I offered some to Rafe, but he demurred with a slight wave. “Do you think he’ll go back to his career, after?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. At the beginning they said they’d welcome him back, but I think we all expect that was just a pleasantry. I’m… I’m not sure if he could handle it, now.”

We rode in silence for a few more minutes before he spoke again. “I’m not sure he’ll approve,” he said with subtle defeat. “Especially if he goes back to work.”

“He doesn’t get a say,” I replied. I reached across the seats and took his hand in mine. I smiled as brightly as I could in reassurance. “I’ve made my choice. This is what I want, for myself. For us. He can object if he wants, but what’s the worst that happens? It’s not like we can be further apart, not after what’s happened.”

It was several days into the Dry Season before the panic really set in. The original settlers had always known it was a one-way trip out here- four hundred years was a long time in stasis, and there was never a guarantee the planet would provide a sufficient fuel source to power the generation ship’s massive thrust engines back up. So like seeds in the wind humanity scattered itself across the stars, secure in the knowledge that the Network Relays would prevent them from ever being truly alone. Mankind might diverge physically and spacially; over time genetics and environmental factors would certainly breed out several new homo subspecies. But with the Network we could at least stay connected enough to share our stories, our art, our discoveries, and what else has humanity ever been but that?

The governor made an address and appealed for calm. New Caledonia had been self-sustaining since the beginning, she reminded everyone. They’d be fine. It was always a known possibility that this might happen, and the best everyone could do was to go on with their lives. The Network would come back, or it wouldn’t; they’d keep trying to re-establish communication.

The rumors started swirling immediately. The panel show ratings skyrocketed. We watched some of the footage in school, when I was younger; one talking head insisted it could be an alien threat, splitting us up before some pending invasion. There’s never been any sign of extraterrestrial intelligence even exists, let alone in competition for colonization, the other shouted. A third argued it was a sign from God, that humanity had outreached its grasp.

A popular conspiracy stream posited that maybe it was just New Caledonia. What if everyone else’s Network connection still works, and they’re cutting us out? The opposition party saw an opportunity and ran with it- what if the government shut down the link? On purpose! What if this was all a ploy to consolidate power and rule the planet as an oligarchy? The riots lasted three days, with violence and looting in the city streets before cooler heads prevailed. The government stayed in tact, and the opposition leaders were purged for fomenting insurrection. And thus was born the New Caledonian hermit kingdom.

“I don’t think I’d even want it to come back, at this point,” I groused. “Not after all of this.”

“How can you say that?” Rafe asked, incredulous. “You’re not the least bit curious?”

I thought for a moment. “Curious, yeah, I guess. But I don’t know that it would change all that much. It’s been so long. What if it comes back and it’s just… too different?”

“Yeah but think of what we might be missing out on,” he argued. “It might have helped with The Rot. It might have…”

“Don’t,” I warned, feeling the threat of tears welling my eyes.

For one-hundred fifty-nine orbits we’d tended our flocks and tilled our soils alone. Without a broader knowledge base, technological progress slowed. In CSY 204 a plague came, some meta-organic compound released from a pit mine dug too deep. The Rot claimed thirteen percent of the population before we could quarantine it out. When I was nine they finally found a way to inoculate against it. I remembered wincing at the shot as my father looked on, relief evident in his face that I’d be spared the fate that had claimed so many lives, including my mothers.

Maybe Rafe was right; maybe someone out beyond the stars might have helped us avoid that tragedy. And maybe someone here might know or do something that could save lives elsewhere. But in the years since the Network went down, we’d persevered, raised generations on our own. And inevitably just like Rafael they would stare up at the night sky with the same wonder as those before. And then they’d also ask about the abandoned broadcast center in the empty valley beyond the outskirts of the main settlement, grown over with the local moss-analogue from years of disuse.

The truck crested a small hill, the tracks struggling for purchase in the mud as they pulled the vehicle over the incline, and we looked down into the valley where that broadcast center sat. Every two years an adult was selected by random lot to man the station, in the increasingly unlikely event communication with the Network was re-established. The government called it “The Receiver” in an effort to present it as some important position, but everyone knew it was a joke. It came with no real benefits, just a small stipend and the obligation of a community. We all prayed at the Harvest Festival that our number would not be drawn from the bowl.

My father was a proud man, an engineer who helped manage the settlement’s geothermal power station. His luck had run out eight-hundred sixty-three days ago. He swore up and down that the lottery was rigged; that the government thought him being a technical expert instead of a field-hand, that the fact that his wife was gone and his children all grown, made him expendable. He might have been right, but that didn’t absolve him the responsibility. So he’d resigned himself, and us with him, to the doldrums of minding an interface that may never come back online.

He read a book a day, or at least he claimed, and while the library did have a fair amount of humanity’s literary efforts prior to the cutoff, their plots and concerns were divorced from life here on the frontier. He took up drinking, inevitably, as did everyone else assigned to the posting. What they don’t tell you when your name is pulled from the bowl is that the sacrifice is not yours alone- the burden is your family’s to bear. My brother’s and I took turns minding him, bringing him food and checking on his mental well-being but they all had families of their own now, and I was desperate to start mine too. We were all ready to move on, and I hoped by bringing Rafael with me he could see that I was serious about starting our life together.

We pulled up outside the comms center and dismounted from the truck.

“Hang on a second,” Rafe said. “I want to talk to him.”

I looked at him quizzically.

“Just… let me do this, okay?”

I smiled and kissed his cheek gently. He went inside while I unloaded a tote filled with fresh fruits and a sandwich I’d laced with some amphetamines to help keep him lucid. The interior of the building was dark; the lights hard burned out several months ago and no one from the government could be bothered to maintain the place on any expedited time scale. I brushed some of the local vines from the threshold of the entryway as I entered. “Dad? It’s Shan. I brought some food.”

As I passed from the mottled grey sunlight outside to the dark interior I could make out blurry figures backlit by the eerie glow of his reading lamp.. They were both standing, which was odd. Dad was usually in the chair when I visited, most of the time asleep.

Rafe emerged suddenly from the shadows and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Shan. Stop.”

“What is it?” I asked, taken aback. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s… here. Let’s go outside.” He pulled me gently but forcefully toward the door.

“What the fuck, Rafe, stop it. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s your dad. He…”

I shoved Rafael out of the way and stepped forward into the comm station. My father came into clearer focus, and I could tell immediately something wasn’t right. I came closer and dropped the basket to the floor in shock. His body hung limply, his feet swaying gently five centimeters from the floor. A length of electrical cord, half-stripped from the wall behind him, was wound tightly around his neck. I grabbed his feet and lifted, crying. “No no no no no, dad, fuck.” I pushed and contorted his body, trying to free him but to no avail. Tears were streaming down my face now, hot and wet.

I pulled a short table across the concrete floor and climbed up onto it, my vision blurred with anger and fear and sobs. I yanked at the cable, trying to unwind it, to free his body. I pulled and wrenched and screamed in desperation, banging on the overhead truss that supported it until I nearly broke my hand. I collapsed onto him, my hands around his shoulders, my face against his chest. His skin was cold and pallid. I was too late to save him.

“Shan.” Rafael stood in the entryway to the station. He offered his hand I took it gingerly, climbing down from the table and following him outside. He pulled me in close as I wailed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t…”

I pulled Rafe to the ground and cried for another few minutes, my chest heaving with agony. “It’s not your fault,” I whispered finally.

“It’s not yours either. You did the best you could.”

“I know.” I pulled the sleeve of my jumper up over my hand and wiped my eyes. “I think a part of me knew it would always end like this. It has so many times before. In a way it might be… I don’t know. Better? I’d always worried about what he would be like after.”

I gulped in air as my breathing stabilized. “Come help me get him down?”

“Sure,” he said, mustering a weak smile.

We went back into the station and looked upon him once more. He looked frail, fragile in a way he hadn’t before. Being alone this long, it just did things to a person. Rafael grabbed his feet as I climbed back up on the table. With Rafe bracing his weight I was able to loosen the taught cable and slip it free, and we lowered the body gently down to the table. He went out to the truck to get a bag to cover my father, and I stood silent vigil, until in the quiet I heard a strange humming noise from across the room. I turned and saw that the Network terminal screen was activated. “That’s… weird.”

I walked across and stood in front of the terminal, suddenly alive with activity. Rafe entered back in with the bag. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know. It’s not usually… on.” I leaned in close. “It’s displaying something.”

A line of dots and dashed appeared on the interface. “I… I think it’s old morse code. Dad had to learn it. I helped him practice.”

“What’s it say?” he asked, a sudden dread in his voice I didn’t recognize. I could feel my stomach welling up in anxiety as well.

“It says.... HELP.”

#was thinking about this again the other day #and then i expanded it to... this #i legit think this is one of the better short forms i've ever written #anyway screaming into the void etc

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fallen-gravity · 4 years

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Safety in Numbers

A surprise gift fic for @artsymeeshee, because the art she recently posted of the Stan Twins cuddling warmed my heart and apparently inspired me to write..uh...almost five thousands words.

Don’t you dare tag this as a ship.

Summary: Every great thing that ever happens to you is usually followed by something much, much worse.

You save the world from the apocalypse, you're convinced that you've lost everything and everyone you've ever loved.

You gain your memories back, you have nightmares so vivid that they fuck with your sense of fantasy versus reality.

It's a lose-lose, if you ask Stan.

AO3

Stan awakens to an alarm clock he doesn’t remember setting. Groaning, he sits up, eyes not quite open yet, and his back makes an ugly popping sound he knows he’s going to feel as soon as his body is fully awake. He blinks his eyes open slowly, and takes a few moments to re-familiarize himself with his twin brother’s old study room. He turns, to check the time and stop that infernal beeping sound, but his neck is so stiff that it makes him want to blow chunks. That’s what he gets for sleeping on a couch, he supposes, but he’s certainly slept on worse, and even if Ford did have a bed somewhere in the mess of a shack he chose to call home, Stan certainly didn’t deserve it, because people who are probably responsible for the death of their family don’t deserve nice things.

Grunting, he swings his legs off the couch, and stands so he doesn’t have to bend his neck in any more weird directions just to turn the alarm off. Its obnoxiously bright red letters blink 5:31am, and Stan scrubs a hand down his face as he punches the clock’s OFF button with the other.

That’s right. The only reason he set the damn alarm in the first place is because a stubborn customer who couldn’t speak a lick of English refused to leave the gift shop until she found the perfect gift for her little kiddo back home despite the Shack having closed nearly half an hour prior. It’s the only time in his life he’s ever been grateful for the year he was trapped in Colombia, because he’s sure if he wasn’t able to heckle with her in Spanish her into leaving with one of everything, he has a feeling she’d still be wandering back and forth across the shop. Stan laughs to himself at the thought, and makes a mental note to make that sort of thing an attraction someday if he ever gets a customer as stubborn as she is again.

But no, that’s not what matters right now. He bends over to pick up a hairbrush that’d been carelessly tossed to the floor the night prior and runs it through his soft brown hair that he promises he’s going to get cut as soon as he has the time and money, and as soon as his hair manageable enough to brush through it without snagging on any tough knots, he carelessly tosses the brush over his shoulder and heads out of the room, navigating himself around the place with a flashlight. He’s aware that it’d make things much easier to just turn the lights on, but keeping the gift shop lights on all weekend is already burning a hole in his wallet, and he’s not sure he could afford the electricity bill if he left the lights in the study room on by mistake for even ten extra minutes.

When he reaches the staircase leading to the basement, he flicks the flashlight off and sets it down on the counter by the cash register. It’s much easier to navigate down the winding steps with both of his hands free in case he falls and needs to catch himself, and the faint blue hum of the portal is enough of a light source to show him the way to the basement anyway. He sits down at the desk, adjusts the framed photo of himself and Ford at boxing practice in high school, and pulls Journal 1 out from the hidden shelf in front of the monitor. He’d spent all of last week desperately looking for 2 and 3, but the harsh winter snowfall had cut his search short and he didn’t want to waste any more time when he could just try to get the damned thing working without them.

“C’mon, Poindexter, y’gotta give me something to work with,” he mumbles, opening the desk drawer and pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. “I spent weeks memorizing all of your fancy shmancy ciphers. That’s more than I ever studied in high school. You can’t ramble on for two whole pages about how to crack them and then switch to this…” he squints at the squiggles scattered across the portal’s blueprints. “...Cooky alien language, or whatever. This is real life we’re talkin’ here. This is your life we’re talkin’ here. It’d be a lot easier if you didn’t write this thing in Klingon, or whatever”

Stan knows, at the back of his mind, that talking to the journal like it’s Ford himself isn’t going to get him anywhere, but in a weird kind of way, it makes him feel less alone. Helps a guy out from feeling too lonely, y’know?

He chuckles to himself at his own joke, taking comfort in the fact that if Ford were here he’d probably be rambling off about how Klingon is one of thousands of different intergalactic languages and how he obviously wrote it in Hqjolvk, thank you very much, and Stan can’t help but roll his eyes fondly as he flips through his notepad. He’s tried everything, he’s tried translating them to whichever letter in the English alphabet they just happen to look closest to, he’s tried throwing sentences in gibberish into three different ciphers at once to see if he could get anything even relatively close to whatever it is, and even when he “bought” a book at the store on ancient hieroglyphics and ancient symbolism the closest thing he got was just a bunch of dumb numbers. And even then, translating all of those dumb numbers back to English from a1z26 just hit him against another dumb wall.

Frustrated, he throws the pad of paper against the desk and kicks off from its edge, sending his swivel chair flying backwards across the room. When the chair finally stops rolling, his gaze fixes on the portal through the window in front of the desk he’d just been sitting at, and it’s really only now that he’s looking at it from this distance, from this angle, that he notices….the same weird squiggles from the journal carved all over the circular ring in the center of the portal.

But...if the weird squiggles in the journal came from the portal, and translating those numbers from the Egyptian book through a1z26 just gave him gibberish...could...could it be that easy? Could it be-?

“Coordinates!” Stan yells, jumping to his feet, and tears build in his eyes at the epiphany. “Sweet Moses, they’re coordinates! How could it’ve been so obvious?” he cries, and nearly trips over himself in excitement as he scrambles back over to the monitor, and his hands are shaking as he flips through his notepad. Once he finds the page he’s looking for, he forces his hands steady as he enters the number into the keypad.

The tiny, logical voice in the very back of his mind is screaming at him that it’s never going to work, he only has a third of what he needs, he really shouldn’t get his hopes up, but the slamming of his heart against his chest drowns that sound out as he frantically enters and re-enters the numbers when he’s sure he accidentally entered the wrong ones (damn his chubby fingers), and when he’s finally, finally certain he’s gotten them all entered correctly, he presses the dark red SEND button, takes a few steps backwards, and waits.

For what couldn’t be longer than two minutes but feels like six hours, there’s nothing. Stan’s about to sigh, call it a good stopping point for the day and kick himself for getting his hopes up too high, but then a flash of blue lightning sparks from the portal and strikes the ground.

“HA!” Stan exclaims, pumping his fists in the air. “I knew it! I knew it! Nothing can stop Stan Pines!”

He sprints into the portal room, pausing only briefly to grab the toolbox on his way in. Two more bolts of lightning strike against the ground with a loud pop as he enters, and the grin spread across Stan’s face rivals them in brightness. Kneeling down in front of the lever, Stan opens his toolbox and pulls out his lucky red screwdriver that’s gotten him out of his fair share of car trunks, and goes to work on fixing up loose bolts and that awful crunching sound the lever kept making the last time he tried turning it on.

Three bolts emerge from the portal, and Stan is too ecstatic to notice their uncomfortably close proximity to his head. He stands, once he’s absolutely certain he’s got the lever all fixed, and puts everything he has into shoving the lever from its off position to the on position.

He can hear the gears turning in the machine, and his heart is pounding so hard against his chest it makes his ears ring. He’s tearing up again, but he doesn’t care, just as long as he gets to punch Ford in the shoulder and tell him off to never scare him like that again when he emerges in the next couple of minutes. The circular ring in the center of the portal begins to spin, slowly, and those weird symbols carved along it start to glow blue.

Stan nearly drops to his knees, but no, he can’t let Ford see him at rock bottom, and maybe that’s a little selfish, considering all of the places Ford’s probably been the past two years, but the last thing he needs Ford to see is how much he’s been killing himself working to get him back. The ring spins faster, and faster, and where there was once a hole in the center of the portal that leads only to the back wall of the room, there’s now a blindingly bright flash of blue light, and Stan is knocked to the ground by the kickback.

He goes to stand again, but the sound of shattering glass turns his attention elsewhere. He looks behind him, and the lightbulbs in the other room are exploding like it’s nobody’s business. He’s lucky his hearing was heightened from the ten years on the street, because he’s just quick enough to hear the cracking of the bulb right above his head that he’s able to dodge out of the way of the shattered glass as it rains down towards him. He jumps to his feet, brushing his clothes off, but he’s horrified to see that the portal’s ring is beginning to slow to a stop with no twin brother in sight.

“No!” he cries, and sprints back into the other room to reenter the coordinates into the monitor. But it’s just his luck, because the monitor’s glass is shattered to pieces as well, and there’s a thin line of black smoke rising from it. “No, no no no! I was so close!” he shouts, and sprints back into the portal room. He switches the lever from on to off and back to on again, but nothing changes.

When the ring comes to a complete stop, the bright blue light fades away, an ugly kind of rage boils in the pit of Stan’s stomach. “This is all your fault, you dumb machine!” he yells, and launches at the portal like it was a thug trying to rob him of his wallet, and starts punching it like there’s no tomorrow, like if he gave it enough left hooks it’ll obey him and spit Stanford right out to his side.

He’s about to go in for another punch when he hears the sound of the machine’s gears turning again. He grins, rubbing his hands together, and steps backwards to watch the process in its completion. Four bolts spark from the portal this time, but rather than strike the ground, they lunge for him, and Stan screams in agony as they jolt through his whole body. He takes it as a sign that he’s probably better off watching the process from the desk in the other room, but when he tries to turn heel and run, five bolts of lightning reach out and snake around his leg before he can take another step further, and he collapses to the ground. Gritting his teeth to avoid letting out a choked cry of pain, Stan tries to inch himself towards the lever for support to stand up, but it’s as if the damned lightning has the power to read his thoughts, because it shocks the lever with such a thick bolt of lightning that it fries the thing black.

The charge from the lightning gives the lever just the right amount of static charge it needs to reactivate properly, and Stan doesn’t notice the hum of the portal’s gears getting louder and louder until he finds himself floating off the ground. “W-whoa, hey! Hey! Hold on a minute!” Stan scrambles around at nothing in particular, hoping his feet or arms will snag on something and prevent him from getting pulled in. “Let’s talk this over! We can work together!” He must be losing his damn mind if he thinks bargaining with the portal like it’s sentient is going to do anything, but it’s the only option he’s got left. “I just want my brother back! You want to stay on, yeah? You don’t like getting turned on and off at random, right? I’ll-I’ll keep you on! As long as it takes for my brother to find his way home, I’ll keep you turned on! I promise!”

The machine, of course, does not respond, and the higher Stan gets off the ground the blurrier his vision gets. Damn fear of heights. He flaps his arms around as if he could fly, but nothing seems to work. He starts kicking, as well, to see if swimming towards the ground could work any better, but he still doesn’t budge.

But that does give him the idea of kicking off of the portal itself, since it’s the only solid thing left, save for the ceiling, and Stan curls himself up into a ball to try and get himself to flip over. It works, thankfully, but when he turns his glance back towards the portal his heart drops to his stomach. Curling himself up had helped his body change directions, yes, but it also changed his course entirely. Rather than being sucked towards the edge of the portal’s entrance, like he’d been when he was hovering above the lever, he’s now heading right for the center of the portal with nowhere to kick off of.

“N-No! No!” He shouts frantically, kicking his leg away from the cold blue substance the portal emitted. When he spares another glance backwards, his feet are already sucked inside, and the rest of him is quickly following. “No! Somebody help! Somebody!” he shouts, his own words painfully echoing those of Ford’s when he’d been in the same situation.

Ford,

If the portal manages to stay active after he gets sucked in, Ford’s gonna be able to find his way home, but he’ll be all alone, left to wonder what could’ve happened to him. Vaguely, Stan remembers Ford had been saying something about shutting it down for good, and his panicked flailing at the thought that he may be the one never coming again only makes his descent into the portal quicken. “Stanford!” he shouts, in the odds that his brother can hear his cries from the other side of the portal. “Stanford, do something! Stanford!”

The blue substance within the portal is thick and flavorless as his head is sucked in. He closes his mouth, because he doesn’t want to risk suffocating on whatever the hell this stuff is made of, and closes his eyes for impact for the same horrors that swallowed up his brother just two years prior, and…

…

When he forces his eyes open again, he’s lying on a bed. An actual, decently sized bed with fluffy blankets and at least three pillows supporting his head and neck. He’s not sure he’s slept on one of those in….what, thirteen years, give or take, if he’s not including the bug-infested hotels?

All of his burns from the lightning strikes have seemingly vanished into thin air, along with that gnawing hunger that never seemed to leave his stomach even when he had the time to eat more than a single meal a day, and though the air feels cool, it doesn’t feel humid and stuffy like Ford’s old lab had felt moments ago.

The rest of his aches are gone, too, he realizes as he sits up, replaced now by a dull pain in his hips and knees that he supposes he could credit to getting sucked into a portal and falling thirty feet to the ground to...uh, wherever he is now.

Is this where Ford’s been stuck all this time? It’s no wonder he never tried to find his way back on his own, because all things considered, this place is actually pretty comfortable. Maybe he wound up on a friendly alien planet, and some locals rushed him to the hospital to get him fixed up. But there’s no calamity outside his door like there usually is in most hospitals back on Earth, and there’s no weird tubes attached to either of his arms and not a sight of ace bandages anywhere on his body. And...is he…swaying back and forth?

Stan glances down at his hands, and the rest of his body still wrapped in a thick comforter. No, it’s not him, he realizes quickly, it’s the room that’s swaying back and forth. If he squints hard enough, he can make out the foot of his bed gently rocking back and forth. Scratching at his head, he goes to stand up and investigate his surroundings, until he notices a round window next to where he’d just been laying his head, just outside of his current line of sight. He lies back down, and his breath nearly catches in his throat at the sight.

It’s the biggest cluster of stars he’s ever seen his entire life, and if he looks close enough, he can see streaks of what he can only assume must be the galaxy itself. It certainly looks like the Earth’s skies, and when he looks again he notices the stars are reflecting off of… some kind of body of water?

Ah, so he’s on a boat. That explains the swaying. There’s a twinge of warm nostalgia in chest at the realization, of the days two scrappy little boys from New Jersey would spend their afternoons working on a sailboat of their own, musing dreamily about the day they’d finally sail away from the dumb town.

But...no. That couldn’t possibly be right. He got kicked out at seventeen, and Ford is god-knows-where in the universe. This must be some sort of sick joke, or an optical illusion that plays on his greatest dreams, or something. He turns away from the window, covering that half of his face with the blanket, and fully intends to fall asleep so he can bug the boat’s captain in the morning about where the hell he is and how the hell he wound up here in the first place. Just as he’s about to close his eyes, though, he notices a bulky, bright pink book sitting at his bedside table next to the lamp.

Well, he’s got nothing to lose, right? Maybe this thing’ll have some answers. He flicks the lamp on and sits up. The book is called MABEL’S SCRAPBOOK, and the title written in glitter pen in a child’s handwriting.

He snorts in laughter. Maybe the book belongs to the captain’s daughter, and she left it in here by mistake. Still, it could help to learn more about the family keeping him captive, and it’s not like she’ll know he ever read it, right? He chuckles to himself at the thought, but as soon as he grabs for the book to place it on his lap, the feel and smell of the dried glue and paint on the cover makes him feel dizzy, and his head’s suddenly swirling with so many thoughts that he feels like he’s drowning.

Grunkle Stan, it’s me! It’s me Grunkle Stan!

There has to be something we can do! I know my grunkle’s in there!

This is our first day in Gravity Falls, and this is when you let me take the grappling hook from the gift shop! Dipper thought I’d never use it, but he couldn’t be more wrong. Zing!

Over and over, all at once, the voice of two….wonderful, incredible rascal little nuisance kids keep yelling at him in his head, and he slams the book back down against his nightstand.

Damn memory relapses. Ford warned him they could happen, since McGucket had experienced a few of them himself before Stan and Ford left Gravity Falls, but Ford never said anything about the nightmares. Yeah, yeah, he could see it as a good thing, extra proof that his mind’s intact and they don’t need to worry that it’ll ever be gone for good, but nothing sucks more than nightmares that are so based in reality that they fuck with your sense of what’s real and what isn’t.

Stan rubs his eyes, and stands up. He figures it’d be a good idea to step out on deck and get some fresh air. He has no idea what time it is, but maybe if he goes and stares at the stars long enough he’ll eventually feel tired enough to crawl back into bed. He flicks his lamp light back off, and he’s maybe three steps out of his bedroom door before he notices that the light in Ford’s bedroom next to his is still on.

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose. He wants to be mad at Ford for staying up this late, and any other night he would tell him off and guilt him into sleeping by lying about how his light and excessive scribbling is what woke him up, but tonight he’s actually relieved by his brother’s dangerous sleeping habits, because talking out loud about his relapses and distinguishing real memories from fake ones always seems to widen the gap between his next relapse, and it certainly doesn’t help that tonight’s nightmare was about Ford’s disappearance. He creaks the door open slowly, to avoid activating Ford’s flight-or-magnet-gun-in-your-face response, and his mouth closes just as quickly as he’d opened it to speak. Ford’s desk lamp is on, yes, but his nerdy brother is not, in fact, hunched over with a thousand stacks of paper covering his face like he usually is this time of night.

Oh no. The lamp, it seems, was left on by mistake, because Ford’s curled up in his bed, fast asleep with his face half-buried in the pillow and his glasses tucked away in the drawer of his nightstand that he must’ve forgotten to close. Rolling his eyes, Stan sneaks into the room as quietly as he can and flicks the light off so he doesn’t have to replace the lightbulb when it subsequently dies out in the morning.

He turns heel, and he’s set on going back to his original plan of staring up at the sky until he feels tired again, but as he turns to close Ford’s door he gets another close look at his brother’s sleeping form and his chest warms with nostalgia at the sight as another memory, one from his childhood, resurfaces itself tonight.

When they were kids, Pa was...never the comforting kind of parent. And yeah, while that was pretty obvious in that it was always Ma who helped patch up their skinned knees and splinters from the boardwalk and the occasional bee sting, there were times he’d be...more subtle about it, if that’s even the right word to describe him. If either of them came poking their heads in their parents’ bedroom after a nightmare, asking if they could crawl in bed and sleep with them for the night, Pa would always brush them off and send them back to their own room, giving them some excuse about the shop opening early tomorrow and how he can’t afford to lose any sleep in case someone tries to come in and rob them.

From a young age, Stan and his brother learned that it’d be easier just to stop asking Pa at all, and instead they’d resort to climbing into each other’s bed instead. They shared a bunk bed up until they were about fourteen, and they had this unspoken system going where if the other poked them awake or tried to crawl under their blanket in the middle of the night, they’d have to comply and let them in without asking why because it usually meant they were having bad dreams. Ford learned very early on never to hesitate for Stan, because he knew that if Stan was willing to climb to the top bunk despite his fear of heights that his nightmares must’ve been bad.

Stan pauses, and wonders if Ford still remembers those times as well as he does. He hesitates, his grip still tight around the doorknob, until he recalls that it had been Ford who had asked him to accompany him to the arctic, and Ford who kept their childhood photo tucked away in the pocket of his trench coat.

Well, here goes nothing.

Just as quietly as he’d been before, he tiptoes over to Ford’s bedside, and he’s thankful to find that there was still enough room for him to crawl under the covers without squishing Ford uncomfortably against the wall. Slowly, as not to jostle the blankets too much to wake his brother, he flips a corner of the blanket up, crawls underneath, and as soon as his head hits the extra pillow he’s out cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Ford had to complain about anything from his thirty year trip around the multiverse, besides, well...all of it, he’d have to credit the worst of it to his heightened hearing.

Ages ago, when it’d just been two weeks since he was sucked into the portal, he taught himself to sleep with his eyes open, and he taught his ears to pick up on the tiniest of movements, even the wind blowing the leaves off a tree branch. He couldn’t afford capture, and if that meant he had to sacrifice sleep to assure it wouldn’t happen, then so be it.

He’d lost the habit of sleeping with his eyes open after all the time he spent with Jheselbraum, thank god, but he could never quite get over the habit of listening. Every time something creaked in the Shack, every time Stan or one of the kids awoke in the middle of the night in search of the bathroom, it’d wake him up in a jolt, and it’d always take him longer than necessary to fall back asleep.

The nights on the Stan O’ War II are usually the quietest and most peaceful nights Ford’s ever experienced since his childhood. Though he and Stan always spend their days tracking and hunting monsters, they’re always able to find quiet little seaport towns to dock their boat when they need a place to rest for the night where nobody makes a peep until sunrise.

That is...until tonight. He’d been awake just a few minutes prior, mapping out the coordinates for the next monster they needed to track down and how long it would take for them to find it, but he finally got to a point where he had been so tired that his handwriting was starting to give up on him and he decided it was probably for the best that he just go to sleep. Standing to stretch, he places his glasses in the drawer of his nightstand and didn’t bother with the lamp light because he could just replace the bulb in the morning if need be, and practically collapsed face first onto his bed and fell asleep.

He heard mumbling coming from the thin wall to his brother’s room, and since their departure from Gravity Falls he’s become so used to Stan’s constant presence that it no longer bolts him awake. In a way it’s almost comforting, knowing he’s never alone on the vast sea. He shifts, when he hears his brother’s slippers lightly slapping against the deck, but dismisses that just as quickly.

He can feel himself dozing back off to real sleep when he hears his own lamp click off and his bedroom door closing. Ah, Stan was probably coming in to check on him but left when he saw that he was already asleep. That’s fine; he did that a lot the week before they left for their trip. He’s used to it.

What he’s not used to is the blanket getting ripped from his shoulders, and the bed making a dull creaking sound of...something sitting on it. Baffled, he pops his eye open, ready to reach for his weapon in case some sea creature managed to slip on board and into his bed, but his heart rate eases when he makes out the familiar shape of his brother fast asleep in the other half of his bed.

The sight of it makes Ford want to laugh.

He can’t believe Stan remembers.

Closing his eyes, Ford shifts his position ever so slightly, like it’s a maneuver he’s been practicing for ages, and scooches himself closer to Stan without shaking the bed. He snakes an arm around Stanley’s shoulder, whose whole body seems to release itself of tension at the gesture. Unconsciously, Stan shifts himself closer to Ford as well, and snakes his own arm around Ford’s chest, like he, too, had been practicing the maneuver since they were separated all those years ago.

#my writing #gravity falls #stan twins #sea grunkles #artsymeeshee

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sugarsugarmoon · 4 years

Text

Passion Project

Summary: artist!yoongi x poet!reader. yoongi and yn are friends that are attending the same university. in need of a muse for his latest assignment, yoongi turns to you for a rather intimate portrait.

Genre: fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Warnings: some swearing, teeth rotting, heart aching, cliche ass fluff

a/n: This is my contribution to the @heartsforbtsnet’s “The Chronicles of y/n” collab. It was tough for me to write only fluff, but I loved it. I love Yoongi 🥺. There will be an nsfw follow-up piece.

WC: 3830

Everyone always said “don’t go to art school,” and “what are you going to do with a fine art degree?”

You didn’t know, but you knew what you loved. Your passion is split between creative writing and film photography. You would give anything to be able to write poetry for a living, but you know that you’re no Rupi Kaur. Opportunities for poets aren’t very common. But you remained true to yourself, writing everything at every given opportunity.

You fell in love with photography at 13. You had saved up all of your spare money for a year to be able to take Film Photography 101 at the local youth center. From the first roll of film that you processed, you were in love. And now you’re here. Studying the things you love most.

You were filling an elective requirement and taking an intro to drawing course. Most of the people in there were musicians or writers or photographers like yourself. One of them was the music production and painting major Min Yoongi. You thought it was weird to see him in that class the first time you saw him there. Painters usually knew at least a little bit about drawing.

The first day of class, you’d gone around the room and said who you were and what you hoped to get out of the class. You had said your name and that you hoped to gain any skills in drawing at all. Min Yoongi had said that he struggled with still life, focusing mainly on the abstract in his paintings. He wanted to get better at figures. You could relate because you could draw a pretty decent mountain range, but a person? Forget it.

You knew Yoongi from around campus. A friend of a friend, kind of deal. You sat beside him and another Photography major that you get along with, Jeon Minju. Minju is sweet and silly. Yoongi is quiet and sarcastic. It was a weird juxtaposition that you found hilarious. Drawing might just be your favorite class this semester for that simple reason.

The class started out easy enough. Only drawing shadows. One continuous line drawing. Your favorite was playing with charcoal. It was just fun to manipulate and smudge. You loved playing with negative space and light. And getting your fingers covered made you feel like a child playing with chalk.

Yoongi and Minju were both good with light as well. Yoongi’s shadow drawings were incomparable with the rest of the class. You kept thinking to yourself that it was absurd he was here.

Until it came time for figure drawing.

That’s when you realized that though most artists can figure out light and shadows...figures are something completely their own. You listened carefully to every word from the professors mouth, trying to improve your craft. You were not great by any definition of the term, but man, were you better than Min Yoongi. His drawings looked like they were done by first graders who were trying their hardest to make anything look right but just couldn’t get it.

You tried to encourage Yoongi and not laugh at his drawings, but sometimes it was hard when the person in it looked like a straight up penis.

“Dude,” you said to him once, “you’ve seen a person before, right?”

He had blushed crimson and turned away from you. You felt a little guilty about making him embarrassed, and you tried to walk it back. The damage had already been done, and he didn’t show you any of his drawings for 2 weeks. When he finally showed you one, it was so much better.

“Yoongi, honestly I’m sorry I made fun of you, but this is so good.”

It wasn’t “so good,” but it was pretty good. You wanted to boost his confidence. It seems to work all right, and he starts showing you more of his drawings. You feel a slight feeling of redemption inside at fixing your own mistake.

Over the course of the semester, you, Yoongi, and Minju spent a lot of time together. Something about bonding over the stress of not being good at drawing had bonded the three of you. Every Thursday you eat lunch together at the taco stand in the student center. You even organized a couple of movie nights, watching B-movies together and laughing at how terrible they are.

Birdemic: Shock and Terror was one of your favorites. The three of you had laughed so hard at it because none of it made any sense, and it looked like it was filmed on the cheapest piece of crap camera in the weirdest locations possible.

You sat in your living room, eating popcorn and chips, watching the movies together. It started out kind of awkwardly keeping your distance from each other. Minju on one side of you, Yoongi on the other.

You kept your shoulders away from both of theirs, tending to lean further toward Minju just because you didn't want to make Yoongi uncomfortable. You felt unsure about him at first. Soon you'd started to get to know him more, and you learned that he wasn't cold like he had initially seemed. He was funny and sarcastic. You loosened up. You didn't mind if your shoulder brushed his or if the two of you shared a snack, occasionally brushing finger tips.

It was comfortable, your friendship with Minju and Yoongi. The three of you nearly inseparable. Your schedule coincided with Yoongi’s more than Minju’s, so you ate lunch together nearly everyday, swiping into the dining hall and finding his friends or yours. They knew now to save 2 seats for both of you.

The two of you were nearly inseparable except for when you were in classes. He would meet you in the quad, paint splatters on his face and hands, beaming at you. It was such a seamless friendship. He was an introvert who was kind of over people. You were an introvert who was kind of over people. It just clicked.

****

One night in November, you had a movie night planned with Minju and Yoongi. Minju calls you around 6pm panicking because she hasn’t finished one of her photography projects. You had finished it earlier in the week, and you offer to come down to the photography building to help her. She insists that she wants to do it on her own, but she won’t be able to make the movie.

You tell her it was no big deal and that you can reschedule for another time. You text Yoongi, and he asks if you still wanted him to come. At first you want to say no because you aren’t going to end up watching the movie you planned. Then you decide that it would be nice seeing Yoongi anyway. He is one of your best friends anyway, so why not?

When Yoongi arrives at your door, he’s wearing a gray beanie with a square, unamused gray smiley face on it. He has one AirPod in one ear. His slight frame is clothed with a gray hoodie with a white shirt poking out the bottom. He has on fitted, tapered sweatpants with a white stripe down the side. Quintessential cozy Yoongi.

He has a brown bag in his hand that you can tell is full of food. There’s a small damp spot on the side from condensation.

“I brought food,” he says with a shrug.

He makes his way to your couch like he lives there himself. He tosses the bag down on the coffee table, plops down on the couch, and begins to rummage through the paper sack. He pulls out several different containers, each holding some of your favorite foods. You feel a weird feeling in your chest as you watch him sitting there, casually opening the lids on each of the takeout containers.

You shake off the feeling and sit next to him. You dig into the food, picking out pieces of oi kimchi with your chopsticks and popping them into your mouth. Looking at the table, you see that Yoongi got extra of your favorite, oi kimchi, even though he doesn’t like it very much. You smile at the sight of it then keep eating.

The two of you sit in near silence, chewing away on the samgyeopsal and galbi.

You turn to him and ask, “Do you want to watch a movie? It’s almost Thanksgiving. We could watch my all time favorite Thanksgiving movie.”

“Two questions,” he replies. “One: THERE ARE THANKSGIVING MOVIES? Two: YOU HAVE A FAVORITE!?”

“Well, one, yeah. And two, of course.”

You switch on the TV and click over to the hard drive that you have connected to it. You hover over the title “Thankskilling” and turn and look over at Yoongi. He reads the title and chokes slightly on his food. A satisfied smile spreads across his face, and he nods at you. Both of you turn your attention back to the screen.

The two of you laugh out loud immediately upon, “Nice tits, bitch!” being uttered by the turkey. Yoongi laughs hard out loud.

“Oh, I am so excited about this,” he utters.

The movie continues on, you and Yoongi laugh and add commentary as you watch. The tears brim in your eyes as you watch, and Yoongi grabs your leg hard as he laughs at “Gobble, gobble, motherfucker.”

You look down at his hand on your knee and stare at it for a moment. You feel weird seeing it there, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels warm, calming, and comfortable. Yoongi turns and sees his hand resting on your leg. He immediately pulls it away and looks up at you, cheeks turning pink. You turn away and try to pretend like you didn’t feel something in the pit of your stomach.

The rest of the movie, the two of you sit a little further apart from one another, still laughing and commenting the whole time. When the movie is over, you chat, turning slightly toward one another, joking about the turkey and school with one another.

After an hour, your roommate walks into the apartment from her study group with her friends. She looks up at the two of you on the couch and raises her eyebrows.

“Sorry, yn, I didn’t realize you had a date tonight. I would have stayed out longer.”

You feel the heat coming to your cheeks, and you drop your head. “It’s not a date. It’s just Yoongi,” you snap as quickly as possible.

You don’t look at Yoongi at all, so embarrassed by Jinhee’s comment.

“Well, I gotta go,” Yoongi mutters awkwardly next to you.

He gets up and stalks out the door quickly past Jinhee. He barely tosses a “goodbye” your way as he makes his way into the hallway. You glare at your roommate, and when she closes the door you roll your eyes.

“Thank you so much for making that as awkward as possible,” you say and begin cleaning the food off the coffee table. You sulk off into your bedroom as soon as you have cleaned up. Jinhee shouts sorry after you.

***

Near the end of the semester, the professor assigns you a project. Any medium that you want to use to draw. 5 human figure drawings.

Passion.

That’s it. That’s the whole prompt. He didn’t give you any more information. He just said passion. When asked by students, he did say that it could be the same figure or 5 different figures. Any size. Any paper. Any style. And an author’s statement about the techniques used and how it represents passion.

Easy enough. But challenging in so many ways. You decided to draw your 5 best friends - Jungkook, Jimin, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin. The passion there would be the different passions you see within all of them. Jungkook’s passion for boxing. Jimin’s passion for baking. Hoseok’s passion for dance. Namjoon’s passion for social justice. Seokjin’s passion for acting. Together, the five of them were the most passionate people that you know. They were chasing their dreams, and it helped you feel like you could absolutely complete the assignment.

Yoongi was a different story. He seemed panicked from the moment the professor said that it was figure drawings. You could see him wracking his brain for something that could represent passion to him. You wanted to grab his hand and comfort him, tell him it would be okay.

You and Minju chatted excitedly after that class about the ideas that you had. Yoongi lagged behind, dragging his feet slightly. At the lunch table in the dining hall, Yoongi seemed distracted, poking his food and barely eating.

“Yoongi, what’s your deal, man?” Minju asks, a small smirk on her face.

“I’m not sure,” he says in a faint voice.

Minju turns to you and shrugs. You keep working on your bowl of cereal. You know it’s not the most nutritious meal, but hey, you’re in university. This is the time to eat cereal for every meal. You aren’t sure what you could even do for Yoongi, and you’re pretty sure the project is getting to him. He was fine before class started.

“Hey, Yoon, is it the project getting to you?”

“I just don’t know what to do,” he grumbles.

“Well, that’s okay, Yoongi. You have some time,” Minju pipes.

You stuff another bite of cereal into your mouth, looking between the two of them. You aren’t sure what you could even encourage him to do because you know him, but you don’t really know his passions beyond painting and music.

“Maybe you could draw something that has to do with painting?” you ask between bites.

“I just don’t know,” he says and turns his eyes back down to the plate in front of him.

The three of you sit in awkward silence eating your food. You are unsure how to comfort your friend, but you don’t want to push him any further. When lunches ends, you all go to your classes, saying brief awkward goodbyes.

*******

You hardly see Yoongi except for in class over the course of the next two weeks. He’s a little distant and stoic in class, so you just focus your attention on drawing your final project. You love the way that the shadows you create on the paper show the love and beauty within your friends. They aren’t perfect drawings, but you see each of your friends in each of the drawings.

For your artist statement, you decide to describe the technique and medium normally but write the statement about them into poems.

Seokjin. Charcoal on paper. The faces you wear Hide the pain within you You put on each of your masks Dazzling the crowd Your eyes sparkle They tell the story Of your life And the thousand others You play

Namjoon. Graphite on paper. Someone said You couldn’t do it When in reality You were doing it all along You hold up the world Against the light To see it for what it is Examining it like a researcher Like a warrior You won’t stop

Hoseok. White charcoal on black paper. Your movements Fluid Like water Dancing Lapping at the shore

Your passion Love Like the moon Pulling Pushing the passion from within you

Jimin. Graphite on paper. Like the cinnamon roll. You are warm and sweet. Filled with love and spiciness. Without the tang of the cinnamon, The sugar would be too sweet. Without the sugar, The cinnamon would bite too hard. You, like the cinnamon roll, Are a comfort A joy A love To be savored.

Jungkook. Charcoal on canvas. The sweetest and softest. The kindest and brightest. The golden boy. The strongest and the fiercest. The boldest and the truest. My golden maknae.

You looked at your drawings and the pages, the short poems. You feel a pride inside that swells in your chest as you breathe deeply, looking down at it. The way that you feel like the aura of each of your friends radiates from the pages. Even from the black and white, you can feel Hoseok’s orange, Seokjin’s pink, Jungkook’s red, Jimin’s purple, and Namjoon’s blue. The warmth of them jumps off the page.

You wonder to yourself how Yoongi is doing.You send him a text, and he doesn’t respond. You assume he’s working hard on all of his classes because it’s the end of the semester. Personally, you’ve put together a portfolio of 200 poems and completed a photo folio. You were burned out, and you felt like the drawings took the most time for you. You can imagine that with painting and drawing, Yoongi is swamped.

You see him on the day that you’re supposed to have a gallery walk for all of the classes final projects. He isn’t in the room at first when everyone starts setting up, their pieces and their statements displayed together. He jogs into the room a little late with papers stuffed under his arm, pressed against his side.

He lays out his drawings hastily and flops down a paper in front of them in the last open spot. He doesn’t greet you and Minju, but you figure he’s just stressed. The class begins, and you make your way around the room. You read each artist’s statement carefully, feeling self-conscious about yours when you read the explanations that your peers wrote. Much more in-depth about the topics and the subjects. You worry about your grade.

You make your way to Minju’s, and you smile at the drawings of cameras and photographers. Minju is so committed, so passionate about photography. You can feel her smile in each of the drawings. They’re not perfect, but they are pretty good. Minju was the most talented of the three of you. The smile creeps across your face again as you read the words detailing her love for photography, the way a camera feels in her hand, the joy she feels when the developer starts to reveal the image.

When the timer goes off, you continue to move. There are a few more that you read before you arrive at Yoongi’s. You stare at the pages, your eyes darting around the page at each of the features. Your breath catches in your throat, and your stomach does a flip. There’s no way.

On the pages before you, you see the curve of your own nose and cheeks. The way your hair rests against your collarbone. The glitter in your eye. You can’t mistake the face and body that you see in the mirror every single day.

You snatch the artist’s statement off the desk and pull it close to your face. Your eyes scan the words as tears start to well your eyes.

Passion. To me passion is the way that you can watch any B movie and find the good in it. Passion is how you write poem after poem, searching for the precise word. Passion is the way that you want to capture every beautiful moment on film. Passion is your smile as you read a text from your mother. Passion is the way that you bite your fingernails when you’re thinking hard. Passion is the way that your pen moves on the paper as your forehead crinkles. Passion is the way you make me feel. Passion is you. Graphite on paper.

You can’t stop the tears that fill your eyes, and your heart is pounding in your chest. You turn and scan the room. You can’t see Yoongi through the sea of bodies across the room. The feeling overwhelms you, so you decide to take a moment in the hallway. No one will notice you're gone.

Once in the hall, you take a deep breath. You hear a shuffling down the hallway from you. You snap your head toward the sound, and there stands a cat-like man in a black sweatshirt and a gray beanie. He’s looking at you with a sadness in his eyes, and the tears start to fall from your eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, walking toward you.

You shake your head unable to form the words.

“Did you see it?” he asks, timidly. “Oh my god, you hate it!”

He turns his face away from you, but he doesn’t walk away. He brings his thumb up and wipes a tear away from your cheek. You sniffle and wipe the tears from the other side. Your eyes finally meet his.

“No, I didn’t hate it, Yoongi. So far from that.”

A light spreads to his eyes and across his face. “Really?”

“Yoongi, those things that you wrote. Did you mean that?”

With a smile on his lips, he gently grabs your chin and says, “I meant every single word of it. Over the last few months, things have seemed...lighter. Brighter. You’ve done that in my life. My paintings are more bright, with warmer colors. Hell, I’ve been whistling. You make everything seem okay. Honestly, yn, you make me so happy, it’s stupid.

“Yoongi, I feel the same way. You should read the sappy poems that I’ve been writing. You have changed me for the better. I look forward to talking to you every day. I light up if your name shows up on my phone.”

You mean to say more, but at that moment, Yoongi tilts your chin toward him and presses his lips against yours. His mouth is soft and pillowy; the sweet minty flavor in his mouth draws you in further. You kiss him more deeply and wrap your arms around his neck. When the two of you separate, you smile at him. You can’t help but be reminded of Cho Chang in Harry Potter. You kiss the boy that you like so much while there are tears on your face.

The classroom door clicks, and you hear a familiar voice from the room.

“Oh god. It’s about time you too,” Minju calls toward you. She giggles then you hear the door click shut.

“As much as I love this moment, we should probably get back inside and get back to class,” you whisper against Yoongi’s lips.

“I don’t want toooooooo,” he whines and kisses you again.

You pull away from him and lace your fingers through his. You pull the reluctant man toward the classroom. He whines and moans the whole time, but eventually, he gives in and enters the classroom with him.

After the class period is over, you and Yoongi walk down the hall with Minju, you two holding hands. You kiss him on the cheek, and Minju murmurs, “gross.”

“I don’t even care what grade I get,” Yoongi says. “I got the best possible thing from that class.”

He looks at you and both you and Minju, and the two of you groan at the cheesy comment.

“What? I mean the ability to draw better,” he laughs. “Oh!? Did you think I meant you? Look, you’re great, but I mean...I’m an amazing drawer now.”

#heartsforbts #btswritingcafe #coycollaboration #btsguild #minthlynet #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #sfw bts #reader insert bts

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snowbellewells · 4 years

Text

Self Promo Sunday: “The Simplest Touch”

Today’s selection is an older one shot I wrote during 3b, back when Emma was still fighting hard against that attraction and connection she definitely felt with her pirate, still not sure she wanted to make the strange little town of Storybrooke (and all that came with it) her permanent home. There all of these beautiful little quiet moments between CS in that stretch of the show, and particularly in 3x18 - that almost-touch of Killian’s hand at Emma’s back! - which really prompted this. It’s pretty much canon compliant up to that point as well.

The reason I’ve truly chosen it for this Sunday’s Self-Promo though is that I shamelessly want to show all of you and sing the praises of the fic art to accompany it that was made for my this week by @searchingwardrobes. <3 Thank you so much for this lovely story cover art Melanie! I’m so flattered at the thought and how wonderfully it fits the story I had in mind.

Summary: In the moments between scenes in 3x18's "Bleeding Through" there is more brewing under the surface for Emma and her pirate than they yet know how to express...

Notes: This little one shot fits right into show canon during episode 3x18, and more than being divergent or AU, it’s missing moments in a way - or at least, it’s the thoughts and feelings behind some of the quieter, tiny moments we saw onscreen. I was attempting some stylistic things in this, and to switch from Emma to Killian’s point of view at various moments in that episode. I still think the result turned out pretty well. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

"The Simplest Touch"

by: @snowbellewells

He acts as though he is cursed.

Emma Swan doesn't understand what has changed in the pirate captain, but something is different. His eyes haven't twinkled mischievously at her these last few days, and she suddenly realizes how much she liked the playful attention, how it made her cheeks flush and her heart beat fast, even as she rolled her eyes and pushed him away. His innuendos are missing from their most recent interactions, and though Emma did nothing to encourage his outrageous attentions when he was lobbing them at her constantly, she feels strangely bereft now that they are gone. When he does toss her a line now, it feels empty without the lascivious heat and intent, and she comes close to begging Hook to tell her what is wrong, what has changed…why he no longer seems to want her.

Thinking back over the past week, Emma cannot come up with any new disagreements they have had, insults or slights directed at Hook. There is no way for her to question him the way she wants without revealing just how much she really cares, how much he does mean to her. Instead, she practices her magic, making sure she can protect him – and all of those she loves – prompts and playfully needles him while trying not to let his blackened mood and purposeful distance sting…and she hopefully watches and waits.

^^^00000000000000000000000000000000000^^^^

She touches his stump as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

It nearly steals his breath, heat rising unbidden within him at the sensation of her fingers lightly gripping the leather that covers his violently truncated wrist. So many years – literal ages – have passed since anyone made to hold what was once his left hand, and the sensation of warmth and comfort would risk bringing him to his knees if he were not already seated at Regina's table. Most avoid getting anywhere near his left arm, and especially the prosthetic hook and brace, but his Swan has surprised him once again and claimed even more of his affection.

Killian Jones, notorious pirate captain and erstwhile villain of the realms, is holding his breath at the mere pressure of a lost princess's fingers, but he cannot help the reaction. For one horrified second, he had wanted to shy away from her, pull his arm from her grasp for fear she would make contact with the amputated limb and show disgust, but he had held himself steady, and now he is praying that she doesn't let go. Emma prompts inexplicable reactions within him: thaws parts of him long frozen in hatred and anger and makes him want to feel. Her simplest touch can do things to him that the most powerful magician surely could not accomplish. This though, is new and even more intimate. Her gentle clasp around his brace, that he swears he can feel completely even through the heavy leather, shows no fear, no horror or repulsion, and speaks to him of nothing more than pure, blessed acceptance. His devotion to her swells even higher – when he could have sworn he would never be able to love her more than he already did.

Her fingers clasp just a bit tighter, holding on that tiniest bit more firmly, almost as though she wants to stroke his skin. Her eyes lift from where they have followed her fingers' movements to meet his gaze. She gives him a wavering half-smile, in spite of the chaos and dead witch summoning about to begin, nods to him slightly, and he simply knows. They are in this together now, and they will be from now on…

^^^^0000000000000000000000000000^^^^

He had nearly guided her down the stairs with a hand at the small of her back.

Emma sucks in a sharp breath at the tingling sensation he causes with his good hand wavering just shy of touching her until he snatches it away. Whatever has been troubling Hook is still present; he retreats just before making physical contact, and it has the effect of making Emma feel starved for his touch. She doesn't understand the reversal that seems to have taken place; her following him, being drawn to him, and Hook pulling away from her, but he seems to have decided he is some sort of poison – a threat – the way he so studiously avoids contact when always before he has been creeping into her personal space.

They are preparing to leave Regina's after the failed séance, to make another patrol seeking signs of the Wicked Witch. She wants to pull him after her, drag him off into the woods where they can find some true privacy, not be overheard, and she can demand that he explain what is troubling him. The near-touch was tantalizing enough in its assumed closeness and almost possessive nature. The pirate captain, for all his dangerous rebel tendencies, is an old-fashioned gentleman when all is said and done. The chivalry in his nature still sometimes steals the breath of a formerly unwanted, ignored, orphan Lost Girl. Moments like this one, where they are about to go out seeking danger again, show her anew that he is right here at her back, intending to guard it with all that he has.

She brushes her hair back impatiently from her face, stealing a quick glance over her shoulder at Hook before turning again to precede him down the steps. There are too many words she wants to say to him for the company they have and the task they are attempting, but she wants him to know that she is onto him, she sees what he is doing, and she wants to help. He wouldn't allow her to be alone in a world of lies, and so now she won't let him drown in whatever lie he is determinedly keeping.

Her skin burns with longing for the touch he almost gave unthinkingly, and then robbed them both of. She is not accustomed to letting someone else take care of her; it is a concession, a weakness that has always made her distinctly uncomfortable. Wanting to allow him so much of her now is both frightening and a long-awaited relief. They will fix whatever has been marred – she will not leave him alone until he tells her his secret – so that she has the chance to experience how good letting him in could be.

^^^^0000000000000000000000000^^^

Killian knows that he has been cursed.

If he had thought there was any loophole, any way to lessen the pain for what has been lost, he sees now that those were vain hopes.

He watches Emma darkly as he broods in his seat at one of the booths in Granny's Diner. She seems so light, so happy, since she has just made a mug of cocoa with cinnamon appear before her at the counter, and he wants to smile, to chuckle along with her, and celebrate her unparalleled brilliance when she magically makes it disappear and reappear in front of him. He does not wish to darken her mood or spoil her moment, but he cannot bring much joy to the surface either.

Cringing at himself, Killian wants to stab his hook into his own chest when he snaps at her for playfully stealing the weapon with her powers. The mischievous light in her eyes flickers fitfully, and she stops teasing him, lowering into the other bench at his claimed table. She starts to reach out, to take his hand, and he wants so badly to meet her halfway, to pull her close, to rain kisses all over her face and tell her everything. Knowing that he can do neither seems almost too cruel to bear, but he cannot give in. The risk is too great; he will not have anyone else he loves hurt because he fails them.

Something in Emma's expression makes him think she knows, or has guessed, more than he realized, and he lets himself dare to hope that she understands his fear. She cocks her head, raising an eyebrow at him curiously and blowing out a tense breath. Finally, she comes out and asks him beseechingly what is wrong. He leans forward, literally biting his tongue so as not to let it all pour from him in a rush.

Then Belle is there interrupting breathlessly, and Emma snaps back to attention, a true leader through and through. He cannot help watching her in awe, drawn to stay near her; despite the pain it causes, he cannot separate from her. He watches her make up her mind and stand from the table. Following her, he cannot help believing in this tough, street smart princess, and hoping that there may still be a cure for Killian Jones – a chance for redemption at the touch of Emma Swan.

#self promo sunday #cs one shot #ouat 3b missing moments ff #the simplest touch #cs canon compliant #gorgeous cs fic art #thank you a million @searchingwardrobes

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mythicamagic · 5 years

Text

Young Love - Oneshot crossover

Zutara & Sesskag

Summary: Deciding he needs to do something about his long time crush on Katara, Zuko enlists the help of self-proclaimed relationship expert and matchmaker, Kagome. With the help of her bodyguard, the busybody will stop at nothing to ensure the couple's success. AU, highschool. Tropes! Why have one otp when you can have two?

AN: This is a writing commission for the lovely @prationality ^^ Highschool AU has demons integrated into it. Yes it makes no sense. Just suspend your disbelief, buds.

Young Love

For the better part of a year it had been a thorn in his side. The niggling, aching, irritating feeling of complete and utter warmth flooding his chest whenever a certain person entered the room.

Zuko trudged moodily through the hallway, gaze fixed ahead. He needed to do something about Katara. Having a crush on one of your best friends was not ideal, and worse still, he couldn't talk to anyone about it.

Sokka was out. He would either immediately tattle to his sister or get protective. Aang was possibly the worst one to ask, as he'd harboured puppy love for her since kindergarten, though Katara remained willfully ignorant. Suki would tell Sokka. Toph had been a serious candidate as a confidant but he'd decided against it when she'd blabbed last week about his secret tradition of watching Love Amongst the Dragons every year at the theatre.

He'd never be able to live that down.

I could tell Uncle, Zuko briefly thought, soon shaking that idea away. He'd rather not have a lengthy anecdote about turtle ducks swimming in the pond of unrequited love.

This left confiding in an outsider. However, he couldn't tell just anyone or it would become the gossip of the whole school.

Knocking on a classroom door, he waited.

"Come in!" Came a hearty chirp.

Wincing, Zuko pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him. The empty pottery classroom felt perfect for a secret meeting since the department had suffered cutbacks. Including the teacher. And the pottery classes themselves.

A young woman leaned against a desk, dark hair cascading around her shoulders. Glittering blue eyes danced with mild amusement, causing Zuko to become instantly wary. Maybe this had been a mistake.

"Glad you could make it!" Kagome Higurashi grinned, gesturing to a seat. "Come sit down, silly. I don't bite."

Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, Zuko leaned against a desk as well. "I'll stand, thanks."

She let out a huff, shrugging and relenting. "So, let's cut to the chase; as you know, I'm the best matchmaker in this school."

Zuko was pretty sure she was the only matchmaker in the school.

"Anything you say will be kept totally confidential. I can't guarantee you'll get the partner you want but my track record speaks for itself," Kagome beamed.

"I'm going to stop you right there," Zuko sighed. "I don't...want to trick her into anything. I just-"

"It wouldn't be tricking," she looked affronted. "You seriously think Kouga and Ayame or Sokka and Suki would last if the foundation of their relationships had been built on lies? No, no. I'm just going to help you put your best foot forward."

Dragging a hand down the scarred side of his face, the teen grunted. "Maybe I just want to talk about it."

Kagome blinked, spreading her arms wide. "Well go ahead. No one's stopping you, Zuko."

Gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to sigh again, his lips pressed into a thin line, suddenly reluctant.

Tilting her head, the busybody took him by surprise. "This is about Katara, isn't it?"

He jolted violently. "H-how did you know?" He croaked. Shit. Did Katara know? Was it that obvious?

Kagome smiled while flipping dark hair dramatically over one shoulder, idly brushing down her green skirt. "Hey give me a little credit. I did say I was pretty good at this gig."

A quiet noise, like a snort, sounded out behind Zuko to his left. He turned sharply, startled to find another student leaning against the wall. If Zuko remembered right, the imposing young man was an upperclassman. "The hell- I thought we were alone."

"Don't mind Sesshoumaru. I hired him a long while ago to watch over these types of meetings," Kagome waved it off. "I've had clients get pissy before."

Sesshoumaru stared at him, unblinking. Pale white hair was tied back into a low pony tail, features fairly delicate and regal, clashing with the heavy energy rolling off him in waves.

Zuko felt a shiver run down his spine and faced forward. If she needed a demon bodyguard of such high calibre within a school with relatively low level onis, he wondered what kind of clients she'd dealt with in the past.

"So, Katara?" The matchmaker prompted.

"Yeah well...I like her," he said lamely. "I mean I...she's…"

The young woman peered at him curiously, causing Zuko to grit his teeth. "I don't know! Gn...maybe this was a mistake."

Kagome pushed off the desk to approach and gently touched his arm. Her expression no longer looked amused or playful, now very earnest. "Hey, it's okay. These kinds of feelings can be really complicated, especially when they're for a friend. It makes you worry that you'll cause a fissure in your friendship group."

Golden brown eyes widened a touch, throat becoming dry with mild fear. He could only nod mutely. Perhaps she did have somewhat of a talent for reading people.

She gave a smile, "look I completely understand if you want to keep your silence around her and just vent to me. That's fine, buddy. But I really, really think you should go for it and let me help you guys get together."

"Aang and Sokka-"

"Don't rule Katara's love life," Kagome cut in, voice firm. "Besides, if she does go out with you, Sokka will probably just give the protective brother speech and threaten to harvest your organs if you hurt his sister-"

"That's fair, I'd deserve it if I hurt her," Zuko mumbled soberly.

Kagome winced and patted his shoulder. "As for Aang, he'll come around. From what I've seen he might get upset but Toph will straighten him out. What do you say?"

The moody teenager stared down at his calloused hands. Exhaling hard through his nostrils, Zuko clenched his jaw. "Do you think I have a good shot?" He grumbled, glancing at her.

Kagome grinned, nodding enthusiastically. "With me by your side, you've got the best shot."

---

Overlooking the martial arts group as a type of mole for Kagome felt incredibly easy, considering Sesshoumaru was well versed in many of them.

At the moment, Katara stood a little ways away on a tatami mat, practising her Tai Chi form. He'd never had much cause to speak with the girl beyond small talk. Still, Kagome had nudged at him to try and glean more of her personality.

Walking over and stretching his arms, Sesshoumaru grunted. "Your right heel kick should be higher."

Her gaze flattened, becoming defensive. "Did that old goat Pakku tell you to say that?"

"No, this one is telling you."

Katara hummed, going back a form and trying again, kicking higher so that her leg pointed out straight. Sesshoumaru nodded, chancing more conversation. "You are a female."

"Astute observation. Where are you going with this?" She raised a brow, smoothly moving her body into another form.

"This one seeks advice. Be grateful you are the one I have chosen for council."

Katara released a long breath, straightening out of her form and minding her long braid aside. "Arrogance isn't a good method if you're wanting my help but go ahead. I'm used to the tough guy act from pre-Suki Sokka."

Sesshoumaru did not need her permission but spoke. "How does one secure the attentions of a human female?"

"Are you asking me dating advice?"

"Hn."

Katara eyed the demon, raising her arms and turning on one heel to move into another stance. "I can't speak for most girls because my family has its own traditions to follow, but a necklace wouldn't hurt."

"A necklace?"

She nodded, holding her posture. "Something personal, though. I'm sure you demons have traditions to follow too, don't you? Maybe include one."

Sesshoumaru mulled this over, inclining his head, expression wiped of emotion as per usual. Kagome didn't need to know what exactly he'd asked Katara, that was his business. "Hn, you were mildly useful."

Huffing, she kicked her left foot up near his enigmatic face. "You're welcome. Was that form good enough?"

"You wobbled on your right heel. Again."

Katara grumbled under her breath.

---

Sitting quite contentedly in a cafe a few days later, Sesshoumaru sipped some tea. The atmosphere around him lulled into contentment. Despite the hustle and bustle of the patrons, he didn't feel particularly uncomfortable or annoyed. This sense of peace was abruptly broken as the scent of citrus and summer brushed into his nose.

"Hi!"

Kagome set her bags down in the opposite seat, sliding into the booth beside him and accidentally bumping his shoulder. The tea sloshed in his cup. "Okay, so their class had a project to complete and were separated into partners. Katara was originally paired with Haru, but!" She grinned, holding up a finger. "I pulled some strings and managed to switch him with Zuko. Isn't that perfect?"

Sesshoumaru blinked slowly. "How is it perfect?" He uttered, though she'd tell him anyway even if he didn't ask.

"Well this way, they get to spend quality time together totally alone!" Kagome gushed, opening a menu. "They'll be here any second. I reserved a booth for them just over there. You picked the perfect spot for spying."

"I did not know you would be here," he said flatly.

Tugging up her bag and rifling through it, Kagome produced a wig. Tying her hair back, she put a hairnet on, smoothing the blonde wig atop her head. Sesshoumaru felt used to her antics by now, watching while she took out a headset with a microphone and earpiece.

Kagome remained immensely serious about her unofficial job. Near everyone knew who she was in school, therefore a disguise became necessary when snooping. If Katara noticed her, she'd get suspicious about her presence.

"Is it still alright for me to babysit Rin later?" She asked casually.

He hummed, sipping the cooling tea. That was their exchange. Sesshoumaru remained a bodyguard of sorts while Kagome repaid him for his time by looking after his adopted sister when he needed to work after school.

They'd entered into their strange agreement six months ago. He could still hear the raised voices coming from the classroom. The abrupt slam of a desk hitting a wall and scent of salt in the air. How Kagome's wide, terrified eyes swung to him once he entered the room, her struggling form pinned beneath an incensed human student. An unhappy customer who hadn't taken too kindly to her failure.

In contrast to this grim memory, Kagome happily fussed with her equipment, stilling when a pale hand reached out to touch a dark strand of hair that escaped her wig. Lithe fingers tucked it back into hiding, sharp nails lightly skimming her cheek.

Kagome glanced up at him, blushing slightly. "Uh...thanks," she murmured.

Sesshoumaru stared, voice a soft rumble. "Hn."

Noticing something out of the corner of her eye, she gasped and shook his shoulder. "They're here!"

---

Sitting down across from Katara, Zuko took a breath, glancing around. It didn't take long to locate Sesshoumaru. Next to him sat a smaller blonde woman who gave a cheerful thumbs up. Zuko's gaze flattened. This was going to be a disaster, he could tell.

"Are you alright? You seem troubled about something."

Zuko jumped, looking at Katara as she set up her laptop and took out a binder. She was incredibly organised already despite the project just starting. It was just a little thing, but he liked it about her. She'd even arranged the papers by subject matter alphabetically.

"I'm fine," he said in a dusty voice.

Katara frowned slightly, the waitress interrupting them to ask what drinks they wanted to order.

Swallowing stifling nerves, Zuko did what he always did and ploughed on through uncertainty. Opening the envelope Kagome had given him, he slipped the earpiece in while Katara was mulling over the orders.

"Hey~ can you hear me?" Came Kagome's amiable voice. "Just nod if yes."

Zuko nodded. Katara ordered a Darjeeling tea, while he stiffly asked for a coffee.

"Okay, just talk about the project with her for now."

Katara was already a few steps ahead, talking while the waitress left. "I think we should start with the community centre."

"Huh?"

She tilted her head, hair loopies brushing the sides of her face, brunette hair falling in waves down her back.

Zuko's throat became dry, clasping shaking hands and resting them on the table. "Right. The project. Yeah, the community centre could definitely use some improvements."

Blue eyes blinked, the light from the window beside them bathing her dark skin in a soft glow. "How do you know that?"

An automatic sneer graced his features, glaring hard at the napkins. "My father poured money into building it just to secure a business deal by looking like a humanitarian. However, the second he got what he wanted he pulled the funding for resources."

A gentle touch startled him out of that particular tangent.

Katara gave an encouraging smile, "that's fine. Because you know what?"

Her smile was infectious and he gave a reluctant one in return. "What?" He grumbled.

"We're going to get the funding for even better resources and more involved staff, all without his input. You're going to do that. And it'll be great, Zuko."

Zuko swallowed, skin pricking with the sensation of her hand on his. She knew. She knew everything about his history with his tyrant of a father. How he'd given up the position that would've allowed him to succeed his father. Now he lived in a humble apartment with his Uncle.

Ozai had been responsible for evicting a large portion of Katara's neighbourhood from their houses through some legal jargon many years ago. After some arguments and fights in school, the two old enemies now sat in amiable silence. She could look at him with such soft eyes. Her forgiveness had soothed so much hurt between them.

The waitress returned, breaking the spell between them. Letting out a heavy breath, Zuko stiffened when a young man stepped around the waitress to address his friend.

"You're miss Katara, correct?"

She straightened, raising a brow questioningly. "Yes. Can I help you?"

The young man produced a bouquet of radiant flowers from behind his back. Fire lilies. Katara's mouth promptly fell open, the orange flowers placed in her frozen hands.

"Looks as though you have an admirer," the stranger winked, turning away.

Katara rose from her seat slightly, blushing. "Wait! Who are these from?"

"No idea, miss," he said over his shoulder, glancing at Kagome and smiling slightly. She gave a quick wave, grinning as Miroku left.

Zuko remained frozen in place. Fire lilies were almost too obvious! They were a type of flower well known in the city as one his family had produced. Hell, they were part of the logo on their company. He winced a little, thinking they might cause offence-

"They're beautiful," Katara inhaled the scent, blushing slightly. "They smell kind of like cinnamon," she mused, glancing up. "Do you...know who they might be from?"

"No idea," he mumbled, hearing Kagome's groan through his earpiece.

"Damn it, Zuko. Wait for me to give you some guidance. You could've said something much smoother!"

He touched his ear and turned his head slightly into his collar. "I'm not smooth! She'd know I was being weird if I fed her a line!" He hissed.

"Are you talking to yourself?" Katara bit her lip, fighting a smile.

From across the room, Kagome hit her forehead. She could only afford so much tech and had given him an earpiece. She couldn't hear his ramblings personally, it was only because of Sesshoumaru's excellent hearing and relaying of information that she knew what was going on. Zuko was right, he wasn't smooth at all.

Flustered, Zuko turned back to Katara a little too quick- knocking over the coffee cup with his arm and making a noise when the contents spilt onto the table.

Katara gasped and scrambled to place the lilies down, lifting her laptop away. The spillage headed towards her pristine, organised notes that had been set out to discuss. Zuko yanked his red jacket off his shoulders and pressed it down onto the table. The material quickly soaked up the coffee greedily.

Katara stared.

Kagome gawked, grasping Sesshoumaru's arm and shaking it slightly. "Wow. I didn't think things would escalate so quickly! This is perfect."

"Hn."

Lifting his gaze awkwardly, Zuko met smiling blue eyes. "You didn't have to do that," Katara said quietly, minding the papers away. "Thanks, Zuko. Would take forever if I had to print those out all over again."

Ah, of course she'd have backup copies. Duh. "Y-yeah, no problem. What are friends for?"

The sound of a hand smacking a forehead graced his hearing once more through the earpiece. "Honey, you're trying to leave the friend zone, not dig deeper into it."

Zuko glared at nothing in particular.

"Try saying: I know how much your notes mean to you, and anything that's important to you is important to me too."

Sighing, he ran a hand through dark shaggy hair, parroting Kagome's words out loud.

The girl sitting across from him took hold of his jacket, looking thoughtful. "I can wash this for you," she mumbled, glancing up at him. "And about...us being friends. I uh…" she blushed slightly. "I was wondering if-"

"Are you Katara?"

They looked up with twin scowls on their faces. This time a group of young men stood around their table. Zuko's face coloured red the second they opened their mouths and started singing. Every head within the cafe turned to watch.

Belting out some romantic ballad that hurt their ears and made Zuko want to shrink in his seat, he watched as they serenaded Katara. She looked mortified.

From across the room, Kagome gave another thumbs up. Something within him snapped.

"FORGET IT!" He burst, getting to his feet and shimmying out of the booth to storm out of the cafe. Katara called out somewhere behind him but the sound of his heart pumped deafeningly loud and fast in his ears. He couldn't continue, he realised. Embarrassing Katara wasn't something he'd set out to do. She didn't deserve that.

Cool outside air fanning over flushed skin felt like a welcome respite compared with the confusion and unease within the cafe. He marched through the parking lot, hands balled into fists.

"Zuko-" he yanked the earpiece out and stuffed it in his pocket. And yet, the calling of his name continued.

His heel dragged, Zuko stopping with mild surprise when he noticed Katara jogging after him. She'd left her things behind, laptop included. Taking a breath, she brushed one of her hair loopies away from her eyes.

"What's going on with you?"

Air rushed out of his lungs. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Zuko let the words quietly escape. "I...hired Kagome Higurashi."

"The matchmaker?" Katara's brow furrowed. "Why would you need to-" it clicked, and she glanced back into the windows of the cafe where the fire lilies had been abandoned. "Oh. Were...those from you?" She said slowly.

Zuko stared hard at the cement beneath his feet as though willing the ground to swallow him up. "Sort of."

She huffed, drawing closer and planting her hands on her hips. "There's no 'sort of,' Zuko. Are you interested in me or not?"

His eyes widened and slid up. Katara looked obstinate for information and oddly unoffended. He'd half expected anger or immediate dismissal. But maybe...maybe he hadn't been giving her enough credit.

Squeezing calloused hands into fists, he nodded. "Yeah, I am."

Katara's eyes widened slightly and the shock slid her hands free from her hips.

He ran a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time, minding the bangs from his eyes. "I like you," he muttered. "I've liked you for a long time. It's just that I didn't say anything because I didn't want to be greedy. You don't have to like me back or anything. Just don't break up the group because of me, Katara. This doesn't have to make things awkward. You all… mean a lot to me, ever since you accepted me into your group. So I don't think… I could take not seeing you," the words kept coming until Katara stepped forward, touching his hand.

"You never think things through, do you?" She murmured.

Zuko bristled. "Are you making fun of me? I'm pouring my heart out here-"

Katara giggled and suddenly grabbed him close, hugging him tightly. Zuko froze, stiffening within her arms. His breath fanned over her ear, hands settling at the perfect height on her waist, drawing her closer and revelling in the feel of her. The sensation of fingers brushing through the hair at the nape of his neck felt heavenly. "You wouldn't be kicked out of the group no matter what happened between us. You're not buying time or there by accident. Everyone wants you with us. So cut that out. As for the other thing…"

She surprised him by tilting her chin up, blue eyes connecting with golden brown. Zuko stilled, gaze flitting over her face, before giving in to the impulse to press his lips to hers.

They yielded easier than anticipated. He inhaled her scent, traitorous hands sliding up to touch the fall of soft hair. It was then that his mind caught up with his actions and Zuko broke away from her. "Ah- sorry, that was stupid. I didn't think-"

Katara made a frustrated noise before pulling him down again, cupping his face in both hands. He wondered what the scar felt like to her. Katara kissed him again, turning his brain into mush by parting her mouth and sliding a wet tongue against his lips. He granted her access, making a slight groan in the back of his throat. When her thumb brushed his ear Zuko near melted in her hands, fingers curling tight in her clothes, the material straining.

She then broke away with treacle immediacy, face flushed. She boldly took his hand, smiling. "Let's get our stuff and go for a walk together," she seemed to decide for them, a sparkle in her gaze. "There's a lot to talk about."

Zuko opened his mouth, croaking out a few nonsensical noises, before nodding astutely. "Okay."

If someone ever asked them how they'd gotten together, he honestly had no idea what to say.

----

Kagome hadn't moved an inch after watching Zuko run off. In fact, she'd seemed quite pleased with herself instead of concerned. Sesshoumaru hadn't understood why until Zuko and Katara reentered the cafe with a contented air about them, their gazes finding each other every few moments. They grabbed their bags, the flowers and the ruined jacket, leaving together without a backwards glance.

Kagome stood and removed the wig and headset, putting them away.

"You knew," he uttered.

"Hm?"

"You planned for this to happen, did you not?"

Sliding her bag over one shoulder, she shrugged. "After reviewing their profiles, I understood that Zuko has a temper and could get overwhelmed. Katara has one too and is fiercely stubborn as an ox about looking after people. I just prodded him a little and knew she'd follow him if he lost his nerve. Then there'd likely be a culmination of feelings," she turned. "My work here is done. Thanks for sharing your booth with me, I'll leave you to it," Kagome smiled and waved, walking out of the cafe with a spring in her step.

Sesshoumaru set some money down and smoothly rose, following with a blur of colour.

"Kagome," he said quietly once the doors slid shut behind him.

She blinked and looked up at him as he joined her side in the parking lot.

"This one does not need a culmination of feelings to understand what emotion I experience around you."

"What's that, irritation?" She teased.

Sesshoumaru frowned and reached into his pocket, pulling out a necklace with fangs as the charms. "We should engage in courtship," he said gravely.

Kagome's eyes widened, gaze flitting from the grim necklace and then back to his face, searching as though trying to discern his sincerity. His lips thinned, until a small smile tugged at her mouth, morphing into a gentle one.

Taking the necklace, she blushed slightly. "Is it customary for dog demons to give a tooth necklace when you want to date someone?"

"Hn, those are mine."

"YOURS?"

"They will be most useful when it is time for us to have children."

"C-children!?" Kagome looked a little unsteady. "Sesshoumaru!"

"Hn," a hand slid around her waist. "Though I'd like to have you all to myself for many years first."

"I should hope so, buster! We're in high school and I didn't even say yes yet," she huffed.

He lifted a large hand, palm up. "Then I will take the necklace back-"

"No, it's mine, no take backsies!" Kagome held it away from his grasp, soon grinning and leaning up to kiss the underside of his jaw. Sesshoumaru stilled at the action, gaze flitting down to her. "I accept, silly," the young woman murmured, hand curling around his own. "Though you could've wooed me a little first. Have my clients taught you nothing?" She teased.

Sesshoumaru's lips curved, gaze becoming half-lidded. "We may go to a restaurant tomorrow evening if you wish."

"I do wish," she hummed, putting the necklace on and wincing a little at how weird it was. Still, they didn't exactly make a normal couple themselves. "Let's bring Rin, though. She hasn't been able to spend much time with you lately."

Sesshoumaru gathered her closer then, causing her heels to lift from the floor. A deep well of warmth and pride spread through his chest right down to his toes. The matchmaker was truly a perfect choice for a mate.

"Hn," Sesshoumaru rumbled, pressing smiling lips to hers.

End

#zutara #sesskag #zuko x katara #sesshoumaru x kagome

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diddlesanddoodles · 4 years

Text

Dumpling ch. 20

(Author’s notes: Posting this one early as a thank you to @thespicynoodle for all the amazing art work they did for Dumpling!)

To Yale’s credit, he did not immediately dismiss her claims of dead people in the walls as the stressed induced imaginings of a lunatic. He waited for her to calm down and then asked her gently, “What do you mean in the walls? Here in the castle?”

She nodded, fighting a fresh wave of tears. “I saw them...when...”

“S’alright. Don’t force yerself. Just take deep breaths and talk when yer good and ready, eh?”

After a moment, she had regained enough composure to begin to explain just how she had managed to come across the catacombs.

“Oh, Dumplin’. No need t’be scared of some dusty old bones,” Yale assured her. “The dead can’t hurt ya.”

“But...”

“Probably been there since the castle was first built thousands of years ago. This place has been destroyed and rebuilt and switched hands so many times over the centuries I wouldn’t be surprised t’know it use to be a human castle. Someone had t’ave built them tunnels after all.”

“Yale...” she said quietly. She was so afraid to say it out loud. “They spoke to me...”

He blinked in confusion and seemed to have trouble understanding exactly what she was trying to say. “The...bones?”

“I’m not crazy...” she sobbed, feeling the shame and fear of not being believed, but Yale hurriedly hushed her.

“Nah, nah. I believe ya!” he assured her, bending his head lower as if to show her his grinning face. “Just...never heard of bones talkin’ before.”

He watched her for a moment, studying her face. “Ya tell Maevis about it?”

She shook her heard as she wiped the moisture from her face with the collar of her smock.

“Just you...”

“Just me?” Yale asked pleasantly surprised. “Well, don’t that make me feel special.”

She could not help but smile at that and it was glorious how it seemed to break apart the heavy stone that seemed to have lodged inside her stomach. The welling of emotion seemed to be drying up and she began to feel a little more in control of herself.

“S’ what did they say?” he asked, propping his head up in his hand. “These chatty bones.”

“I couldn’t understand them at first,” she said. “But they were saying...the prophecy about the King? The one that… why everyone calls him the Gold King...”

Yale looked incredulous and just a bit disappointed. “That’s...odd. I would’ve thought they’d have something a little more interestin’ to say stead of that old thing.”

“But in my dream...the nightmare, I mean...” she said. “It said...he said that someone could see me and was coming...”

“Hm,” Yale pondered that, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That what has ya scared, eh? Something from the dark’s gonna come after ya?”

"I don’t know...maybe...”

“Well,” said the young giant. “I’ll say this. You’ve had a rough go of it fer as young as ya are. I’m not gonna tell ya yer wrong to be scared, ‘cause if I were ya, I’d be terrified all the time. But if ya can believe anything, ya can believe me in this…"

He pinched her face gently between two fingers. “I ain’t gonna let anything bad happen to ya.”

She did believe him, but even that wasn’t enough to fully erase the questions and concerns. As though sensing her doubt, he squished her face lightly and despite her somber mood,

Nenani could not keep the giggle from escaping. Yale hummed, satisfied.

“Have I ever told you about my family or how I started here?” he asked. Nenani shook her head, still smiling, as she pushed his fingers away. He gave her no paused and scooped her up then settled into his bunk himself. One he made himself comfortable, he sat her down on one of his bent knees. “Well, there’s me Mum. Dad passed some years ago when I was small, around yer age. I’m the oldest and only son and then there’re m’ sisters. I’ve got six younger sisters, lass. Six! Lots of hungry lil’uns running round, gettin’ into scapes and pullin’ hair. I had t’be there fer ‘im when I was still a babe myself.”

Yale paused, lost in thought, and then seemed to snap back to attention. He smiled warmly at her. “And ya remind me a whole lot of ‘em. Th’way they were back then. Suppose that might be why I took such a likin’ t’ya right after I first caught ya.”

He poked her in the belly, grinning when he was able to weasel another giggle from her.

“It was real rough after dad died. Real tough. Mum and me were at it alone just the two of us fer a long while, just trying to keep food in the house and a fire lit. I...didn’t handle it well. Started stealin’ and being a lil shit and makin’ hard fer Mum.” He paused to take a long rejuvenating breath. “I know how hard life can get when ya don’t have just one of yer folks around and had I lost Mum too...I don’t know what I’d done. I was a mess back then. Worried Mum sick that I’d end up arrested or worse. So she got me a job here as a tenderfoot under Farris since he had a reputation fer straightenin’ out snot nosed hooligans like me. M’first day I called Farris fat and he punched me in the face.”

Seeing Nenani’s incredulous expression, Yale laughed. “Oh yeh, I did. It took some time, but he managed to straighten me out right. Hatin’ him fer it fer a while too. But once he saw that I wasn’t entirely hopeless and actually had a brain, he made me his assistant and started teachin’ me about the spices and plants. Gave me responsibilities. A purpose. A direction t’my life that I didn’t have before. And in a lot of ways he saved m’life too. And m’family’s. S’why he call yell and scream and curse at me all he wants all day long and I’ll still be singin’ his praises till the day I’m six feet under the dirt. He made me family.”

“...but don’t you miss your Mom and sisters?”

“A’course! Oh, I write to’ em when I can,” Yale said. “Four of m’sisters are married with lil’uns of their own now. I try to visit ‘em just before th’ winter solstice, but I haven’t been in a long while. Last letter I wrote t’my Mum was just after you came to us actually. Wanna know what she said?”

“What?”

“Well, first she scolded me fer makin’ ya think we were gonna eat ya and makin’ ya cry, but then she also reminded me to remember what it was like right after Dad passed and all that hurt I had inside and how scared I was. She said imagine if ya were one of my lil’ sisters goin’ through all what ya were and to make ya feel like ya had a safe place to just be to get through that hurt.”

He smiled sadly at her and for a moment, he looked much older than he was and she could see the faint traces of his own trauma etched into the lines of his face.

“Now, I know we ain’t ya blood family and maybe we’re not the best role models fer a wee lass, but I think we’re an alright substitution. We do in a pinch, eh?”

Nenani belatedly realized she was crying again, but the fuel that was feeding the tears was an entirely different emotion. “So ya don’t need to be scared no more.”

Gingerly, Yale wiped her cheeks with a corner of his apron. His smile was so comforting to Nenani that she could feel the last flecks of her night terror dissipating and leaving her with a solid sense of warmth and security. Wordlessly, Yale plucked her up again and settled down against his pillow before placing her on his chest and draping one hand over her shoulders and back, rubbing lightly. He began to sing…

Far away in the blue hill valley

Therein lies a weeping willow tree

Its bark is silver

and the leaves are golden

But I care for none of these

Don’t cry my darling

For I am here with you

Though you can no longer see me

I’ll be with you

In the blue hill valley

Sleeping with you

Underneath that weeping willow tree

…………………………………………..

When she woke the next morning, light was spilling through the open curtain to the barracks and she was confused to find that she was all alone. All around her, the other bunks were empty with clear evidence that they had been slept in, but no giants. She found it very odd that she had not been awoken with the rest of them, but as she thought about it further, she decided not to question it and enjoy the relative quiet and comfortable place on Yale’s pillow. However, just as she was drifting back to sleep, the light from the kitchens flickered and she opened her eyes to see Farris standing next to the bed, looking down at her with an amused smirk.

“Enjoy yer pitty sleep, Dumplin’?” he asked. She stretched and tried to bury herself further into plush bedding while making an incoherent mewling sound that translated roughly to ‘I still wanna sleep’. Farris laughed and slapped the wooden support of the bunk above. “Yer burnin’ the mornin’ away, lass. C’mon, up with ya. Yer with me today.”

She mumbled something in reply, but her words muffled by the pillow.

“Well, suit yerself,” Farris replied, walking back through the curtains and yelling back to her, “Ya just wont be gettin’ any breakfast then.”

Nenani pushed herself upright, strands of wild frizzled hair draping over her face and she hollered back. “No! Wait! I want breakfast!”

Nenani rolled down the pillow and hastily clambered down the side of the bunk and stopped just outside the barracks entryway where Farris’s boots blocked her path. He looked down at her expectantly and raised an eyebrow. “Yer lookin’ a lil’ bushy there, lil’un.”

Nenani ran her hands over her head and tried to brush down her wild hair. She had not braided it the day before as she normally did to keep it neat as Lolly had shown her, and having slept with it unbound had left her with quite a mane. Farris watched her try to tame her hair for a moment before shaking his head and bending down, crooking his finger at her and trying not to laugh. “C’mon, lass. Ya can try and manage that thing over yer porridge.”

Farris sat her on the long table with a small helping of porridge and handed a note off to a footman before disappearing into the spice pantry. Kol and Quinn were in the throws of the last big push for the morning’s baking and had no time for morning greetings as servants and footmen flooded in to collect their offerings onto trays and into baskets for the upstairs tables. Herit was on pit duty and still wore his torn shirt, now repaired, but not very well.

“Feeling better?” he asked, smiling at her despite the arduousness of his task.

“Yeah, a lot,” she replied, flushing a little in embarrassment. “It was just a nightmare. Sorry for screaming...”

“I had real bad nightmare once,” Herit told her. “I dreamed that m’ old Gran visited me here and she started yelling at me fer not puttin’ enough sultanas in the scones like she’d taught me,” he said. “Then she turned into Farris, but still had on Gran’s frock and I ended up brunin’ the scones.”

Nenani snorted into her porridge, which Herit deemed a victory, but his smug grin dropped as soon as Farris exited the spice pantry. The spice master pinned the younger Vhasshalan with a warning eye. “I don’t wanna be hearin’ nothin’ about me wearin’ yer Nan’s frock again, Herit.”

“Aye, boss.”

“Good lad. Keep that spit going now, no slackin’. It’ll put some strength into them beans ya call arms.”

Red in the face with both embarrassment and exertion, Herit turned his attention back to turning the iron handle of the spit. A fat boar, just barely showing any color, rotated slowly over the fire. Nenani ate her breakfast, watching the comings and goings of the kitchen in full swing. When no one was looking, Kol ran over and slipped her a piece of sweet roll and then gave the remaining portion to Herit, who gratefully stuffed it into his mouth. When Farris walked back into the main kitchen, the young giant hurriedly began to turn the spit faster to make it appear that nothing was amiss while trying to quickly chew and swallow.

Farris had began to organized a selection of various cloth covered pots and small satchels filled with herbs, placing the lot of them in a basket. Once satisfied, he set a kettle onto to the fire and then took a moment to check the rotating boar. He hummed disapprovingly and turned his head to bark at Herit that he was turning too fast.

“Yer gonna drop dead at that pace,” he warned. “Steady, boy.”

“Avery makes this look so easy...” Herit grunted, wincing as he went. “No wonder he’s built like a bull.”

“Let that be a lesson to put ya off from fightin’ in my kitchen,” Farris laughed. “Think about yer sore arms next time ya get the urge to throw a punch.”

“What’s this about fighting?” Nenani’s head turned at hearing the familiar female voice and she smiled brightly as Lolly stepped down from the servants stairway and into the kitchen.

“Nothing, lass,” Farris assured her. “The tenderfoots got into it last night. Gjerk’s got a busted lip, but that’d be the worst of it.”

Lolly looked Herit up and down with a critical eye. She did not seem impressed. “Brawling at your age? Really. Your mother would swat you.”

“Already did it fer her,” Farris quipped proudly. “Pit duty fer that one today, then Gjerk’s turn tomorrow. A few hours turnin’ a boar will do the trick nicely.”

“I suppose it would,” Lolly said approvingly before turning her attention to Nenani who was standing near the edge of the table. She crouched down, smiling brightly and gently took each of Nenani’s hands in hers, playfully swinging them to and fro. “But I’ve come to check on this one. How are you, my darling?”

“I’m doing good,” Nenani said. She had not seen Lolly very much at all since first arriving in Vhasshal as her duties kept her very busy and it made her that much happier to see her again. Lolly and the other lady servants had been so charitable to her and she had never forgotten that kindness. Lolly laughed lightly, turning her attention to Nenani’s wild mane of unkempt hair. “What are we going to do with all this? Haven’t you been keeping it tied up like I taught you?”

“I have, I promise,” she assured Lolly. “But I didn’t yesterday. I...forgot.”

“She had quite th’adventure yesterday,” Farris added. “Suppose ya heard all about the Ibronian.”

“Creag?” Lolly asked, saying his name almost like a curse. She scowled at the mentioning of it as though it left a sour and unpleasant taste in her mouth. “Yes, I am regretfully very familiar with his person.”

“S’ya hear about him tyrin’ t’kill Jae, then?”

“I did,” Lolly said, looking genuinely concerned. A stark contrast to how Nenani recalled the last time she had spoken about the King’s ward. “He isn’t hurt is he?”

“Nah, the brat’s still in one piece,” Farris assured her. He jerked his head down in gesture towards Nenani. “That one was with ‘im when the Ibrinoan went after ‘im though.”

Lolly’s eyes grew wide.

“What? No!” Lolly turned her attention back to Nenani, seeming to be searching for some evidence of injury or trauma. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? Ah! That bastard, I could skin him.”

“Oh, ho-ho!” Farris laughed, eyes bright with mirth at Lolly’s verbal slippage. “Language, lass!”

“Oh, shut it, Farris. I’m sure she’s heard far worse down here with you lot.”

“Oh, aye,” he agreed. “That she has. But narry ya worry. He wasn’t interested in that one anyway. They’re both fine and unharmed. Rattled a bit maybe, but nothing more. Did manage to lose her marker though.”

“Oh, did she,” Nenani felt her face flush as Lolly hummed thoughtfully, scanning her over with a critical eye. “Well, I see you’ve gotten her a new one.”

“Keral found her wanderin’ the halls alone,” Farris explained as he retold the story of the prior day’s escapades. He seemed to have been able to find the humor in it and didn’t seem to be at all angry and she was very grateful for that. “And ya know how he gets with ‘em.”

“Oh, you haven’t any standing this that defense,” Lolly reprimanded. “You’re just as terrible. You all had this one absolutely petrified. Took us over an hour to convince her she was safe and no one was actually going to eat her.”

Farris just shrugged noncommittally. He was not denying the accusation.

“Best way to keep wayward humans from wandering onto the grounds is t’make ‘em too scared to even try,” he said. “’Course that was before I decided I’d keep her. Then she caught the reap.”

Lolly’s eyes turned sad for a moment and she nodded knowingly.

“So it’s true then?” he asked her suddenly, bringing the topic back to Creag. “He’s bein’ sent off?”

“Yes,” she said. “He was escorted to the border this morning.”

“Suppose the Queen’s not too happy about that.”

“It was her idea,” Lolly replied. “His majesty was going to have him serve a small sentence and return back to her service, but she recommended that he be sent back home.”

“Really? Well, I find that shockin’.”

“I know what people have been saying about her. And while I don’t think she has not been deserving of some of it, Queen Rosanna is making an effort to conform to our ways.”

“The humans ya mean.”

“Yes. She’s been very receptive to my and the other ladies advice when we speak of their virtues. The war is over. These people are broken and lost and mean no harm to us. I think we finally began to get through to her and I believe that might have been what angered Creag into action.”

“That’s why he went after Jae? ‘Cause he was pissed his mistress might be changin’ her tune?”

“I don’t know this for a fact,” Lolly replied. “But the day before yesterday was when I suggested she try and make amends with Jae or at the very least allow him to properly apologize for his behavior. As a good faith gesture to the King at the very least. His majesty has been worried that Jae hasn’t come to see him in so long. Since the wedding, I believe. She must have noticed her new husband was not happy about that. And then yesterday Creag did what he did. And now here we are speaking of it.”

Farris leaned against wall, humming contemplatively. “Hm.”

“I was actually hoping to speak with Jae,” Lolly said, craning her head looking about the room. “He is here is he not?”

“Aye,” Farris replied with a nod. “King’s orders were to keep ‘im down here till he collected the brat himself. Bart’s puttin’ ‘im to some weed pullin’ out in the yard. Gotta keep them little hands busy or they’ll find their own trouble.”

“Ah, good. I will go to him later,” she said, running her fingers over the brush of Nenani’s hair. “For now, though, I think I need to fix this one’s hair before she starts attracting birds.”

“Attracting birds?” Nenani asked bewildered. Farris grinned at them both.

“She’s sayin’ birds might wanna start buildin’ their nests in yer hair,” he chuckled. “If they haven’t already.”

Nenani opened her mouth to protest, but could not come up with an adequate response.

“Hm,” Lolly mused, again studying the whole of Nenani’s person. “Maybe a bath first and a change of clothes. Farris, could I trouble you for-”

“Already ahead of ya, lass,” Farris replied, pulling the boiling kettle from the fire and setting it down atop a wooden trivet. “I’ve got a basin ready in the pantry and her spare clothes are in the chest on the shelf just there.”

Lolly nodded approvingly. She gathered Nenani up and tucked her into the crook of one arm and reached for the kettle with her free hand. “If I didn’t know any better, Farris, I’d say you’re starting to become quite good at this.”

“Ain’t nothing to knowin’ when someone needs a bath, lass,” he laughed.

“I do not stink!” Nenani snapped, incredulous.

Farris did not reply and Herit just laughed.

…………………………………….

She had forgotten how nice a hot bath felt, especially as the weather was increasingly cold and rainy. The basin was quite large and its normally use was for pealing giant rhotas, which were just very large potatoes. So she had plenty of room to splash about and Lolly even indulged her and allowed her a few minutes of free play before getting down to the business of actually washing. Her hair, as Lolly warned her, was a beast to get washed and untangled. But at last, Lolly exited the spice pantry with a clean and brushed Nenani. Hair neatly plaited and tied.

“I’ll talk with the girls about making you some more clothes,” she muttered as she rummaged through the small chest of clothes, all of which had been made by her and her fellow lady servants. “You’ll be growing out of these ones in no time. And a scarf too, I think. And some boots, as well. These slippers are starting to wear awfully thin and – oh! Jae there you are! I had hoped to...why are you all wet?”

Jae had wordlessly entered the kitchens, red faced and fuming. And completely soaked from his head to his toes. Out in the courtyard, Bart was hysterically laughing. Upon hearing Lolly, both Quinn and Kol glanced over and upon seeing the boy’s sorry state, they too let lose a bout of hearty laughter.

“Yer lookin’ like a drowned rat!”

“Fuck off,” Jae growled.

“What happened?” Nenani asked.

“The gutter was clogged,” he growled, not really looking anyone in the face. “I unclogged it.”

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“No,” Jae replied. “Not really...”

Jae leaped easily down the few steps and into the kitchen proper and made a bee line towards the hearth, ostensibly to warm himself up. Lolly stopped him, blocking his path with her foot.

“You need to change out of those clothes, young man. You’ll catch sick.”

“Fantastic,” Jae replied flatly, glaring up at the large woman. “But it doesn’t matter anyway since I haven’t any spare clothes.”

“You have plenty in your room,” Lolly replied, returning his glare. “You remember, don’t you? Your room? The one you haven’t even seen in weeks?”

“Well I can’t get to them now,” Jae snapped, raising his voice and becoming visibly agitated. “Warren says I can’t leave till he says so. So here I’m staying. In wet clothes. Because fuck it!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, son,” Lolly shook her head disapprovingly. “What has gotten into you of late? You disappear for weeks at a time and when you do show up you’re in the Library and you don’t speak to anyone-”

“You mean I don’t speak to you,” he spat.

“Or the King,” Lolly spat back. “Do you have any idea just how worried he’s been?”

“Obviously not enough to actually come and find me!” Jae yelled angrily, his voice breaking. “You tell me that I’m wrong for not going to him? Why did he never come to check to see if I was okay? Because I’m the joke. Oh let’s have a big laugh at Jae! Fucking idiot can’t do anything right. It’s so funny how he got drunk and spilled gravy on the Queen! So embarrassing for him. Let’s laugh at the poor fucking orphan boy who can’t even sleep in his own damn room anymore because some boulder headed lunatic thinks I’m somehow going to kill Vhasshalan’s unborn heir. Isn’t that fucking hilarious!”

No one was laughing anymore and Herit’s winding of the spit had slowed almost to a stop. Both Quinn and Kol were frozen and staring, bowls of dough stopped mid-knead. From the outside courtyard, Yale and Avery poked their heads inside, curious at the commotion.

“Jae,” Lolly said softly, her words painted with faint concern. “None of that is true...”

“You wanna know why I spend so much time up in the tower with Barnaby and Maevis?” he asked, breathless with emotion and anger and pain. “BECAUSE THEY DON’T MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I’ A FUCKING IDIOT!”

“Alright,” Farris snapped, appearing from behind Lolly. He glowered down at the human boy and reached down to sweep Jae up in his two calloused hands, not very gently either. “That’s enough of yer bellyaching, ya lil’shit.”

Jae was not happy at all as he was lifted off of the ground and he struggled violently, tears blurring his vision. “Farris, I swear to the fucking Gods if you don’t put me down right now-!”

Farris deftly grasped the boy’s face between his fingers, forcing him to maintain eye contact. “You’ll be quiet is what yer gonna be, boy. Do you understand me?”

Jae’s breathed hard through his nose, nostrils flaring. He glared into the kitchen master’s face, but did not say anything. Farris brought his face closer to Jae’s and lowered his voice in warning. “I said...do you understand?”

Jae jerked his head in something akin to a nod. Satisfied, Farris tucked Jae under one arm and turned to Lolly. “We don’t have anything fer ‘im to change into. Ya mind fetchin’ him something, lass?”

Lolly looked as though she wanted to say something, but stopped herself. She spared one sad glance towards Jae before nodding to Farris. “I can do that. I won’t be long.”

As Lolly turned to rush up the servants entrance stair well, Farris turned and disappeared into the spice pantry and closed the door behind him.

………………………….

Nenani sat quietly on the table, staring at the green door and worried. Since she first met Jae, she had sensed a sadness about him, hidden under his jokes and laughter. And it made her incredibly sad to know her friend had been hurting and not once had she tried to help him.

She was a terrible friend and it made her feel wretched.

“Cheer up, Dumplin’,” Yale told her as he took an empty seat near her. “Jae will be fine.”

“He was really sad,” Nenani answered back without looking away from the green door. Her dejected and sad frown gave Yale pause, and he reached out nudged her shoulder. When she turned her doleful eyes to him, he sighed.

“Remember what I told ya last night?” he asked her. She nodded. “Well, he’s going through that hurt too. Best thing ya can do fer ‘im to keep being his friend, eh? He thinks just ‘cause we give ‘im a hard time means we ain’t ‘is friends, but it ain’t true. Don’t gotta be ‘round here long before ya realize we haze all the tenderfoots. He’s just growin’ up and confused. Old enough to know some things and too young to know anything else. He ain’t the same lil’ urchin the King dragged back from the moors all them years ago. When ya get t’be around his age you’ll understand. The time between being a kid and becoming an adult is really hard and confusing.”

“...will I be that angry?” she asked, not entirely following.

“I’m ain’t no prophet,” Yale shrugged. “But maybe. Ya both have a lot in common, losing yer folks young. That pain can make ya real angry if ya don’t know what t’do with it.”

She did not find that to be much consolation, but she nodded anyway. Lolly returned a little over twenty minutes later with a small bundle and without any greetings to the others, she went straight for the green door and knocked lightly.

“It’s me, Farris,” she said. “I have his clothes.”

The door opened a crack and there were some words exchanged that were too quiet for anyone else to hear. Finally, Lolly nodded and turned back towards the stairway as the green door closed shut once more.

Yale’s attempt at distraction was to have Nenani name all the herbs and vegetables as he went about his work prepping for the afternoon luncheon. Avery made himself a nuisance of himself by walking near their work table every so often and try to convince her that she was mispronouncing the names.

“It’s not pars-lee, lass. It’s pear-shly.”

“No it’s not,” she said as he walked away. “Pars-lee.”

“Pear-shly!” he yelled back with a cheeky grin.

He would repeat the exercise whenever he walked by and over the course of a half hour, its scope extended beyond just the items that they were working with to any random fruit, herb, or vegetable. Yale was no help and allowed the torment, finding it too amusing.

“Tay-mat-a,” Avery quipped as he walked by with a basket of venison heads to be boiled down, heading out into the courtyard.

“Tomato!” Nenani yelled back at him.

Avery poked his head back inside and answered back, “Poy-ta-ta!”

“POTATO!”

From her vantage point, she could just see Avery’s back as he turned towards the courtyard, but he stopped and turned completely around, hurrying back into the kitchen. He plopped his basket of deer heads onto a counter and peeked back through the archway.

Yale stared at his fellow cook bewildered. “What’s all this?”

“The King’s in the courtyard,” Avery replied in a hushed whisper.

Yale started. “What now?”

“The King!” Avery turned to look at Yale with fervent eyes, a mixture of excitement and confusion. “He’s in the yard right now!”

Yale was immediately on his feet and rushed to the archway, peeking out curiously. Nenani saw every muscle in the black haired giant’s body stiffen.

“Oh, fuck. He is.”

“I wasn’t lying!” Avery protested, still in a hushed whisper.

“Well so much’a what comes outta yer gob is rubbish,” Yale countered. “I had t’make sure.”

“Ah, go fuck yerself, Yale.”

“Not in front of the King, I ain’t!”

Avery looked like he wanted stay mad, but his scowl broke and he snickered. Something outside caught both their attentions and they scrambled away from the doorway and stood stiffly to the side. A Vhasshalan guard, dressed in the same type of boiled leather armor as captain Rheil, walked through. He scanned the kitchen, eyes falling to all persons inside.

“Over here please, gentleman,” he said to Avery and Yale, gesturing with a jerk of his head for them to stand off to the side and away from the door. Both cooks moved with alacrity and stood straight and stiff. He pointed to Herit. “You, over here too.”

Herit looked panicked. “B-but...but I can’t stop spinning the spit sir, it’ll burn!”

“I’m not going to repeat myself, lad.”

Poor Herit was shaking, looking between the guard and the green door and knowing very well what Farris would have to say of he saw Herit walk away from pit duty. Guard's orders or none. With extreme reluctance, Herit stepped away and moved to stand next to Avery and Yale. The guard spotted Nenani on the table and did a double take, blinking. “Ah...uh, y-you’re fine there, human.”

“Oh...okay,” she replied awkwardly. There wasn’t many places she would have been able to go in any case. She couldn’t climb table legs like Jae.

“William, please,” said King Warren as he stepped into the kitchen. The air seemed thinner suddenly as everyone seemed to breath in all at once. He was much as Nenani remembered him, but he was dressed more formally than she had ever seen and his hair had actually been pulled back into a plait. “These men have plenty to do without us interrupting them. Please, continue as you were. I don’t wish to distract you from your duties.”

The King nodded to each of the kitchen staff present and he eyes fell to Nenani and he smiled warmly. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well, little ma’am. I do hope these fine fellows have been taking good care of you.”

All of a sudden, Nenani lost all sense of what she should be doing with her hands and her face felt hot. She nodded.

“A-are you here to see Jae?” She asked, hoping she wasn’t stepping out of line. She suddenly realized she had not curtsied. Did she need to curtsy? How did one curtsy again?

“I am,” he replied with no inflection of irritation. “I’ve come to collect him, actually.”

There was a part of her that was aware that she was being impertinent and she really just should remain silent, but she decided it was worth the risk. “He’s been really sad. But he won’t say it. And he’s really angry too, because he’s hurting. I think...I think he misses how things were before the wedding. Uh, your majesty.”

She bobbed awkwardly in a pathetic attempt at a curtsy. Her heart thrummed alarmingly in her chest, hoping she had not insulted the King or spoke out of turn. But the King did not look angry at all. He looked sad in the same way she had seen Jae look sad.

“Thank you,” he told her, voice gentle and he sounded sincere. “Thank you for taking care of him. He is very dear to me.”

“You should tell him,” she said. “It would mean more if you told him.”

The King nodded thankfully before turning his attention to the green door. As though sensing, his Majesty’s presence, Farris pushed the door open and stepped through. He bent down in a shallow bow to King Warren. No words were spoken as the King walked to the door, giving Farris a nod before entering. Farris closed the door behind the monarch and stepped aside as the guard took post in front. The kitchen master gave the guard a once over and snorted as he moved away. A glance to his left and upon seeing the boar over the fire standing still, jerked his head towards Herit who was decidedly NOT at the hearth.

“GET YER ARSE BACK ON THAT SPIT!”

Herit leaped back to his place and began to spin in earnest, sweating and panicked. “S-sorry!”

Farris loomed over poor Herit, laying into him, but Nenani’s attention was drawn away as she was suddenly swept up and carried out through the archway.

“W-what?” Nenani looked up to see Avery’s face. He grinned down at her.

“Got a job fer ya, Dumplin’,” he told her.

“What job?” she asked, frowning with suspicion. He walked along the side of the wall to a small window set near the ground. It was the window that looked into the spice pantry. He sat her down carefully and stepped back. She looked at him confused. “What?”

“See what the King’s sayin’,” he whispered. “Yer small enough no one’s gonna notice ya.”

“I-I don’t wanna get in trouble!” She replied, matching his hushed whisper.

“Ya wont!” he assured her before slipping back inside the kitchens.

She stared incredulously at the spot where Avery had been and then looked around the courtyard to find it quite empty. Bart and Gjerk were no where to be seen and neither was anyone else. Her ears prickled as she picked up the faint sound of the King’s voice and she turned to the window. It was dirty and obscured by weeds. Careful and trying not to make a sounds, she knelt down near the edge of the window and listened.

“Are you going to speak to me at all?” the King asked.

She wiped some of the dirt from the window and through it, she could see Jae sitting next to the basin, his hair wet, but now dressed in dry clothing. His eyes were red as though he had been crying.

“Jae, I know you’ve been avoiding me these last weeks. But this silence is not helping. I cannot fix if I do not know what is wrong.”

“I just want to be left alone,” Jae replied, his voice raw. “I know your busy.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t make time for you. Gods above, I rely on you to give me an excuse not to have to speak with Lord Eldherst. I’ve had to sit through seventeen meetings with that old fart. He is convinced that the south moor would be the perfect spot to erect the new armory.”

Jae’s morose face cracked a smile. “Heh. Serves you right.”

The King seemed to take heart in his ward’s small smile. “Please tell me what you want of me.”

Jae’s smile faded and he looked down at his feet, pained. “I don’t need anything from you that you’ve not already given me. I know...I know I’ve been a brat. I haven’t exactly made this marriage thing easy for you and I’m sorry for what happened at the wedding. I thought it would be easier for me to just...not be around while you and the Queen...y’know. Got to know each other?”

The King looked tired and as Jae spoke, he seemed to wilt. “Rosanna does not hate you, Jae, if that what you fear. She wants a chance to apologize to you properly.”

“Why? What does she have to apologize for?”

“For driving you away. From me.” Jae had spent most of the conversation staring at his feet, but upon hearing that, he looked up. “You are very dear to me, Jae. I owe you so much that I could never put into words and will be in debt to you for the rest of my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything Warren,” Jae snapped. “I was gonna die out there if you hadn’t found me. You took me in, clothed and fed me, you even taught me to read! I don’t want to be a burden or to get in the way. I don’t feel like there’s a place for me here anymore. So, it’s just easier this way.”

The King crouched down so as to be eye level with the human. “Why would you ever think you’re in the way?”

“You’re gonna have a kid soon,” Jae replied, scrubbing fiercely at his leaking eyes. “There isn’t a place for me by your side anymore. I...I k-know I’m not...I’m not your son, so...”

Jae’s words broke and he shook with real effort to hold back his emotions. King Warren looked awestruck and horrified. Then without a word, he reached out his arms and wrapped them around Jae, drawing the sobbing youth into him and tucking him into the crook of his shoulder.

“What would make you ever believe that?” the King demanded. “Of course you are my son. From the moment we left those moors, I took on that mantle and I will never betray that vow. You are my son, Jae. And I love you dearly.”

Jae’s eyes were wide and he shook as he began to cry and hiccup. His face disappeared as he buried it into the King’s shoulder.

“Of course you are, you daft boy!” the king answered, though Nenani did not hear the question. She felt her cheeks and there were wet. But she was not sad. She felt happy and relieved and looked down at the King of Vhasshal, an imposing giant with the power of an entire kingdom behind him. And there was Jae. A human. Small and penniless. And she felt so happy for them.

The back of her shirt was abruptly yanked upwards and she was swept up from her spot on the ground and lifted high into the air. A warn calloused hand wrapped around her middle and she found herself the focus of a very unamused Farris. “Just what in seven hells d’ya think yer doin’?”

“Nothing...” she replied meekly.

“Nothing,” he echoed back, clearly seeing through her. “’Nothing’ she says. First yer caught stealin’ from th’ King and now I catch ya spyin’ on ‘im? Yer sure determined to see them dungeons, ain’t ya, Dumplin’?”

“No!” she said, worried now. “I didn’t...I wasn’t! It...it was Avery’s idea!”

Farris covered her with his hand, muffling her cries of protest and shook his head with a long suffering sigh. “Yer hopeless, lass. Right ‘n properly hopeless.”

#Dumpling #fantasy story #gt #g/t #giant #tiny #Vhasshal #KING OF VHASSHAL #warren #jae #farris #nenani #yale #avery #lolly #angst

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

Text

Dragon Dancer IV: Understanding

Chu Zihang sat at the table with a small sharp knife, a brush and tweezers. The tracking device was embedded in tough dental amalgam, but it was no match again his determination and patience and slowly the thin chip and hair like wires were being freed from where they had been for years.

Every so often he would get up stretch, and take a drink of water. But other than that, there was only the gentle scraping sound as he wore away the tough material until Ru’Yi was asleep in her crib and the moon rose above the horizon.

Then I heard his voice as I lay on the pillow.

“Meixiu...”

“Yes?”

“I was just... remembering my Dad. Like I’ve done every night for the past 9 years but now... things are so different. It’s strange how the same scenarios that go through my head have changed so drastically.”

“How have they changed?” I asked.

“I... used to feel so terrible about my actions that day. I blamed myself for his death. Even though I knew I would probably die that night if I fought with him. I thought, that’s okay.”

He was quiet for another few seconds, blowing the white dust from his work. “But now... I just can’t think that way any more.”

“Now when I think about going back to fight and die with him, imagine myself doing it, I think that’s a stupid idea. That I’m being foolish. It’s like... I’ve switched sides.”

“If I was driving and that was Ru’Yi in the passenger side, I would never ask her to fight with me. And if she turned around to fight with me, I’d be upset. And if she died with me... I would have... felt like a failure. Maybe worse than what I felt all these years.”

“It’s just strange that... now when I remember that night... I realized that I didn’t have to tell him he was a failure of a parent. He knew that. That last fight was the only thing he had left to give me. And... if I turned back around and fought, it would have been one last, terrible failure.”

He chuckled. “Because what jerk of a parent would make his kid fight for him?”

He shook his head and his expression sobered.

I asked. “You understand your Dad’s feelings now?”

“Mmhm.” He looked at me briefly. “I also remember being that fifteen year old and seeing you, so strong, protecting Ru’Yi and Mingfei. I think, if I had someone like you to show me these things earlier, I would have spent a lot less time feeling guilty.”

I gazed at him fondly, his strong back upright as he worked on the delicate equipment. “But then... you wouldn’t be you. The guilt was awful but it motivated you to find Cassell and to work hard. To tailor your life around martial arts.... you regret feeling this way all this time? Because I don’t.”

“And in the end, that strength was transferred to me. So that when you did come back believing you were fifteen again, I could use all the things that you taught me... things that you learned out of guilt.”

He turned and looked at me where I was grinning from the floor mattress.

Then he turned back to his work. “You always know what to say.”

I continued. “It was that guilty Zihang that help us survive. The guilty Zihang that did his best to survive. And he did survive. And now he has a family of his own to protect. So he’s still working hard.” I tried to convey the admiration I felt in my voice, even though he may not feel like it was deserved.

I added. “Angry teenage Zihang said... you’re a better Dad.”

Zihang paused in his work briefly. “... I did say that...”

“Do you agree with him?”

“Hm...”

My smile faded. “No?”

“I almost made the same mistake. Running off to work before Christmas. If I hadn’t...” He pushed his bangs from his face and sighed, going back to his work.

“Hey.” I raised my voice just enough for him to pause and look at me. “If you’re going to beat yourself up for that, then you’re going to have to beat me up to. That job was our mutual decision. I...”

Tears suddenly welled up in my eyes, my voice squeaking with barely held sorrow. “I encouraged you to go!”

I sniffed and turned my face into the pillow to soak the tears and rested my head on it. “It’s just as much my fault as yours okay? We should just... take the L and move on.”

“L?”

“Loss. Take the loss. It means just accept that you can’t win at everything.”

“请节哀顺变...吗？(Restrain grief, accept fate...?)

I looked back up at him. “Yes.”

He lifted the transmitter from the extracted tooth. It was basically a single wire attached to a tiny microchip.

“How can you reprogram something that small?” I wondered.

“I’m not going to. Sailor Moon is the one to do it. Once she’s done... we can go.”

“We?”

“Focus on your part of the plan... my part of the plan is... flexible.”

I laughed. “You’re just going to do whatever is best in the situation.”

“You’ll have no idea where I am.”

“Which is for the best! I don’t know, officers! They got on the plane and I lost contact! Right?”

Zihang smiled at me.

#Chu Zihang #Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing

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missjosie27 · 4 years

Text

Year 3 Part 7- Keeper of the Keys

Hey, guys. I'm sorry this update took so long. Shit has been well...weird. Hard to explain. However, rest assured I am not abandoning this pic, not by a long shot. Updates just won't be consistently regular as a warning to all my readers. To make up for some lost time, this is a longer chapter and I hope you all enjoy!

To say that Tulip Karasu was eccentric was an understatement. Nevertheless, David had no choice but to play ball for now if he wanted any of the information he sought. He was a bit apprehensive sitting at the Ravenclaw table during dinner, but luckily Andre’s assertion proved to be correct. No one desired to sit near her and therefore they could spend the meal alone and in peace.

Stuffing Dennis into her shirt pocket, the Ravenclaw began to serve herself and cut up her chicken into several tiny pieces before eating. The young Gryffindor was hungry, but he preferred to focus on the matter at hand. Something about this girl was oddly fascinating. He also had many questions to ask.

“So how exactly did you stumble across my brother’s room and how was I not aware of that? Furthermore, since when are multiple people looking for the vaults?”

“One question at a time,” Tulip countered with a smile. “I still need to know why I should work with you, David Grant.”

The use of his full name was another idiosyncratic habit she seemed to demonstrate. That being said, it couldn’t hurt to give her a pitch. Especially since it sounded like she had been working with another person, possibly more than one in searching for the vault. From the looks of it, their progress was better than his in finding the latest one.

“I don’t usually play this card but...I’m the best chance you have at getting inside of a vault. I’m one of the strongest duelists in our year and I’ve broken one curse already.”

“You’re a very determined and talented person, there’s no denying that,” Tulip replied thoughtfully. “But it seems like I’m closer to finding the next vault than you are. Why shouldn’t I just go off on my own?”

“Because if we assist each other, it’ll help us solve the mystery faster,” David explained. “You found my brother’s room, but I doubt you’re any closer to knowing the vault’s location.”

“True. You make logical points. But Dumbledore forbade any student from searching for them this year. What if something goes wrong and you try to pin the blame on me?”

Tulip was testing him, he knew that. She followed rules no more than he did. But clearly this was a person who didn’t trust people easily.

“I don’t rat on my friends,” David said simply. “When I thought Bill might not make prefect, I tried to take the blame from McGonagall. I’d do the same for you.

“Perish the thought of me ever becoming prefect,” Tulip laughed. “However, I am glad that you value the people around you.”

“I’ll put this simply: I don’t care about whatever so-called power the vaults have. I’m only in this for one reason and that’s to find my brother.”

The Ravenclaw girl scanned him up and down, as though he were a mildly intriguing piece of modern art. David felt a bit uncomfortable but said nothing. Finally she spoke again.

“I don’t know that I like you yet, David Grant, but I do trust you.”

Okay that’s a start...I guess

“Then will you tell me who your accomplice was?” he asked her.

“Merula Snyde.”

David immediately spit out the pumpkin juice he’d been consuming causing a few Ravenclaws to look over with mild disgust.

“WHAT?! But why would you team up with her of all people? You seem way too smart to trust Merula.”

Tulip gave him her most serious look yet.

“Merula is a lot smarter than you give her credit for. You may not like her personality, but there’s no denying her skill.”

David scoffed. “Yeah I’ll get back to you on that one. I’ve beaten her so many times in duels I’ve lost count. She’s always trying to one up me but never succeeds.”

“Her greatest weakness is that she believes she’s invincible. But more on that later. The point is we were working together at one point but then we had a falling out. Unfortunately she still has the other key to your brother’s room.”

“Then we have to get it back.”

“Agreed,” Tulip said. “But the question is ‘how’? She’s not going to hand it over willingly.”

“I’ve found over the years that the only way to get Merula Snyde to do anything is by forcing her. Typically after one beats her in a duel.”

“That may work, but this situation is also quite delicate and we don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves from the teachers. Especially if they caught us fighting.”

David agreed with that conclusion. They would need to try another method.

“Then what do you suggest?

Tulip gave another sly smile.

“Leave that to me. I’ll come up with something that will turn Merula on her head.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tulip told him she would need some time to plan and would message him when ready. In the meantime, David kept busy with homework which was significantly heavier this year with two added electives. He also enjoyed the start of Quidditch season given it was the first week of November. Unfortunately, unlike the previous year, things didn't go as swimmingly for Gryffindor this time around. Slytherin edged them 300-260 in the opening match. None was as ecstatic as Merula and she constantly reminded him about it during the week.

“I really hope Tulip comes up with a plan soon,” David muttered one day while sitting in the common room with Rowan and Bill. The two third years were finishing Transfiguration homework while the prefect looked over potions he might expect to find on his OWLs. “If I have to listen to Merula brag about Slytherin’s victory any longer I might just have to learn the silencing charm in order to shut her big mouth.”

Rowan chuckled as he turned the page on Intermediate Transfiguration by Emeric Switch.

“You’ll get your chance at payback soon enough, especially if you intend to get that key.”

“I know...I just wish she’d hurry up. Losing to Merula in anything is unbearable.”

“Be thankful you weren’t directly responsible for the loss,” Bill said to him, indicating the somber figure of his brother slumping in one of the chairs. Charlie had been noticeably quiet since the match, avoiding crowds and shutting himself up in the dormitory most of the time outside of class.

“Is he going to be alright?”

“He’ll get over it,” Bill assured them. “But despite what you may think, Charlie is super competitive when it comes to Quidditch. He hates losing and this was the first time in his career he’s never caught the snitch.”

“Can’t win them all I suppose,” David sighed. “We should have won, though. Skye was flying circles around them again. And that Slytherin beater totally committed a foul before Charlie could seal the deal.”

“It happens. I hate losing to Slytherin too, but a little perspective never hurts. There’s another cursed vault out there we need to find.”

David and Rowan nodded. You could always count on Bill to be level headed when it came to these situations.

“Speaking of, any luck with deciphering the rest of that book?”

“It’s slow going,” Rowan said shaking his head. “I swear I’m going barmy from trying to make out all the symbols. It gets more complicated the deeper you get into the book.”

“Don’t overwork yourself,” Bill said kindly. “The best thing we can do now is getting into that room.”

As it happened, there was more progress on that front. Jae Kim suddenly appeared in front of their group.

“I was told by a certain Tulip Karasu to tell David that she wants you to meet her in the courtyard straight away.”

The three Gryffindors looked at each other with anticipation.

“Did she say anything else?”

Jae shrugged.

“Nope. I’m just passing along the message. If you’ll excuse me, I have orders to fill.”

Bill gave an uneasy expression as the Korean boy walked off.

“I sometimes wonder if I shouldn’t be doing more to prevent him from running that little black market of contraband he has.”

“Jae does plenty to get himself in trouble without your involvement,” David chuckled. “I swear we don’t even need Zonko’s. He supplies half the school with Fanged Frisbees by himself.”

He stood up and brushed off some of the couch lint on his jeans.

“Guess I better see what Tulip wants.”

“Hopefully she’s got a plan,” Rowan said eagerly.

“Yeah...hopefully.”

Despite barely knowing her, David had a feeling that whatever Tulip Karasu wanted, it was bound to be interesting to say the least.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He made his way down to the specified area where Tulip was waiting just outside the entrance. Unlike her uniform, she wore a blue coat over a thick sweater with a matching beanie hat with a puffball on top combined with a flowy skirt, black tights, and flats. It was a brisk day despite the sunny weather and winter was well on the way.

“Good. You made it,” she greeted him. “Are you ready for my plan?”

“Don’t need Trelawney’s ‘Inner Eye’ to predict you’ve got something cooked up.”

“You’re becoming more perceptive,” Tulip said with a mischievous smirk. “Merula is over there, holding court with her lackeys.”

David gave a small peek, and sure enough the Slytherin girl was there alongside Barnaby and Ismelda. What they were talking about, he couldn’t hear but Merula was clearly animated about something.

“I’d recognize that orange tuft of hair anywhere. So what’s the big plan?”

“Even though they aren’t that bright, Barnaby and Ismelda are still tough and ruthless,” Tulip explained. “We need a diversion to lure them away from her. And luckily, I have the perfect item for the job.”

Out of her coat came a dungbomb, except twice as large and covered with some kind of outer shell.

“I call it the ultimate dungbomb,” she grinned. “Mixed in with some stinksap. I used the hardening charm ‘Duro’ to give it some heft. We toss this into their little circle and they won’t know what hit them.”

“Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that thing,” David said, eyeing the putried projectile. “So now what? Do we levitate it or something?”

“Follow my lead. We hide behind the fountain until the perfect moment to strike.”

And so they entered the courtyard, tiptoeing along the way, careful not to make too much noise. The wind aided them in this goal and as they drew closer David could make out the conversation the three Slytherins were having.

“...can’t believe this! We’ve searched everywhere! We’re never going to find a cursed vault!”

“We should cast the Cruciatus Curse on Grant on his friends. Torture makes everyone talk,” Ismelda suggested with dark glee.

“Talking to you is torture. You have some serious issues, Ismelda,” Merula responded.

“We should ask Dumbledore. He’s really smart,” Barnaby said thickly.

By now Tulip and David were crouched low behind the fountain, peering over slightly to get a sense of distance from their opponents.

“Dumbledore spent half his welcome speech telling us to stay away from the vaults. Or did you forget that, you nitwit,” Merula chastised.

“We could give him Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. I heard he likes those.”

“Sometimes I wonder if your brain was replaced by a Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean.”

“I still say we should use an unforgivable,” Ismelda cut in. “I’d like to cast the killing curse on the next Gryffindor I see.”

That earned a look of derision and disgust from her leader.

“You don’t even know the killing curse.”

“I sat on a bowtruckle once!” Barnaby pipped up.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Ismelda asked, looking at Barnaby as though he had a second head.

“I thought we were talking about killing things.”

“Ugh, I hate you both,” Merula commented, rolling her eyes.

David shook his head behind the fountain.

“Merlin, this is literally too stupid to listen to. Now?”

Tulip nodded.

“Now!”

Using her wand, the Ravenclaw sent the ultimate dungbomb flying into the air towards the Slytherin trio. It exploded upon impact causing a toxic mist of green and yellow to fill the air and all three began to tear up, covering their noses with their arms.

“Dear, Merlin that is awful!” Ismelda cried, coughing into her arm.

“I can’t breathe!” Barnaby said coughing as well. “Let’s get out of here!”

Merula was hacking and wheezing too, but she still had enough oxygen to call after them as they ran.

“Get back here you cowards! It’s just a dungbomb!”

David wasted no time in stepping out of the shadows, Tulip in tow. They both confronted the angry Slytherin, who became irate upon laying her eyes on them.

“I should have known it was you!” Merula shouted, trembling with rage.

“Your powers of perception are truly dizzying,” he said to her in a bored tone.

“Hand the key over to us, Merula. I don’t know how long I can stand your stink,” Tulip demanded.

The look on the Slytherin’s face went from rage to incredulous.

“Us? You betrayed me, started working with Grant and have the audacity to ask me to give you the second key?”

“Actually...yeah.”

Merula’s expression returned to its usual nasty leer.

“Well too bad. I’m not giving you anything. How does it feel knowing I found your brother’s room before you did, Grant?”

“I don’t have time for this, Merula,” David said sternly. “Give us the key, now.”

Tulip then did something unexpected, stepping forward, a note of sympathy in her voice.

“We could use your help. This doesn’t have to turn ugly. Work with us.”

David was surprised at the offer of assistance and wondered where it stemmed from but predictably, Merula turned it down.

“I don’t want to work with you, I want to duel. Specifically you, Grant. Beat me again and the key is yours…” she withdrew her wand from her sleeve. “But I don’t plan on losing to you. Not this time.”

David withdrew his own wand and prepared for battle. In truth, he was looking forward to pop her ego once more.

“You never learn, do you Merula?”

He quickly fired a disarming spell, but she ducked while sending one of her own which missed over his shoulder, causing Tulip to dodge.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Despite it heading straight for her chest, the Slytherin demonstrated remarkable athleticism by rolling to her side and firing back a retort.

“Flipendo!”

David was forced to copy the same maneuver, scraping his elbow on the stone but managed to avoid the knockback jinx. Wheeling back around he aimed a jelly legs jinx but again it missed due to Merula’s agility.

She’s clearly learned a thing or two since last year

The Slytherin began pressing forward, drawing closer with each curse she fired off, putting David on the defensive retreating from his original spot back towards the wall. Some of the spells he recognized, some he didn’t and he was fairly certain a few were the kind a thirteen year old girl wasn’t supposed to know. All the same, he had to think of something before one of them landed on his person. Then, he remembered her weak spot, the same one as always.

Too aggressive. Too wild with her spells

Indeed while she was driving forward, he could see a manic look in her eye, the kind that someone had when they were determined but unhealthily obsessed. David then came up with an idea. Dropping his stance and his wand into a wide, lazy position, he allowed his opponent to think she was catching him off guard. Sure enough, Merula took the bait.

“Remollio!”

A jet of sickly, yellow light headed straight towards his head. Smiling slightly, he ducked forward into an almost ninety degree angle and sent back a spell of his own.

“Fumo!”

A mass of black smoke issued in front of Merula, blocking her vision and senses. It was all the time he needed to strike the winning blow.

“Depulso!”

The banishing charm smashed into the Slytherin girl sending her flying back and hard onto the ground into a groaning heap, wand dislodged.

Dissipating the smoke, David walked forward, wand aimed and ready in case she tried to cheat or lash back out.

“I win again, Merula. I won’t ask a third time. Give me the key.”

Clutching her shoulder painfully, she rose from the ground, grabbed her wand, and proceeded to chuck a golden key at his feet.

“Fine! Take the stupid key! I already got what I needed from that loser’s room anyway.”

Tulip came up behind him now that the duel was over, picking up the key, sympathy still lurking in her dark brown eyes.

“Merula, please we could still use…”

“My help? Save your breath. I don’t work with traitors!”

Lavender eyes switched over to David and for the first time, he saw that they were on the verge of tears.

“Watch out for this one, Grant. It's only a matter of time before she stabs you in the back.”

Without another word, Merula brushed past them, the sound of combat boots hitting against stone echoing across the courtyard as she ran back towards the dungeons.

David wondered what Tulip’s reaction would be to these thinly veiled accusations but to his slight surprise her sympathetic expression was gone, replaced by her usual mischievous delight.

“Mission accomplished, David Grant. Let’s go to your brother’s room.”

Though satisfied with receiving the key, Merula’s reaction unnerved the teenage Gryffindor. He didn’t bring it up further but there was no doubt Tulip hadn’t told him everything about her history with his chief rival.

At least not yet.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The two teens wasted no time in heading towards Jacob’s room and soon they were standing in front of the dark brown, wooden, door. However, there was one question still burning in the back of David’s mind.

“Tulip?”

“Hm?”

“What did Merula mean when she said she already took what she needed from my brother’s room?”

Tulip shook her head.

“She was lying. We used this room because it was full of valuable information and research but there was nothing worth taking or pointing to the location of the vaults themselves...at least nothing that I saw.”

“Jacob was always pretty savvy at hiding things,” David informed her. “It’s perfectly possible you missed something. Hell, I just found a quill that turned out to be his transfigured notebook. I know this will sound strange, but I haven’t felt this close to him since he disappeared. There are a lot of things I’m still finding out.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” the Ravenclaw teen asked him seriously. “You may not like what you find.”

David didn’t hesitate with his response. Any potential negative revelation about his brother could not outweigh the possible benefits of discovering more about his whereabouts.

“That’s a risk I’ll have to take. I have to see where he did his research.”

Tulip nodded, taking out her key and inserting it into the first part of the lock. She handed him the one they received from Merula.

“Do the honors.”

He did so, unclicking the lock, the golden seal falling to the floor with a metal clank. The door creaked open and the two teens entered the mysterious space. However, it was dark and impossible to see anything.

“I can’t see two feet in front of me,” David said aloud. “Tulip, you there?”

“Yeah. Lumos.”

The sight that greeted them was both unexpected and horrifying. Out of the shadows stepped a tall, bald, sickly pale man cloaked in black robes. His features were gaunt and waxy as though they had been warped or burnt, especially his nose, which was disproportionately smaller. But that was not the most disturbing aspect of this person. Within the skull like head were a pair of deadly, luminous blood red eyes that reeked of menace and murder. There was no mistaking who it was.

“Y-Y-You Know Who! It can’t be!” David cried.

“Run, Grant! RUN!”

Tulip immediately pulled him back before the figure could pull out his wand and slammed the door shut behind them.

Catching their breath from the near heart attack they both suffered, it took a few moments before either one could say anything.

“How is that possible? You Know Who is dead,” he panted.

“Use your common sense, David Grant. That was clearly a boggart. Hogwarts is crawling with them these days.”

Regaining his wits, the Gryffindor realized Tulip was right and mentally smacked himself for being so gullible.

“Merlin, that was embarrassing.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself,” Tulip reasoned. “A lot of grown witches and wizards would have reacted the same way, if not worse.”

She paused before adding. “I am curious, though. Why is your boggart, You Know Who?”

The truth was, David didn’t know the full reason why but before he could explain that to Tulip they were interrupted by another very unpleasant presence.

“Well, well...David Grant and Tulip Karasu...why am I not surprised to find you two here together?” Severus Snape spoke in his usual dangerous, silky tone.

Oh, shit

“Professor I-”

“Silence,” the potions master cut across him. “Your brother was the most disobedient student Hogwarts had seen since James Potter. You may have overtaken him.”

“But we’re allowed to be here, sir. It’s not after hours yet.”

“Do you really believe me to be a naive simpleton, Grant? Stay away from this corridor and give up your search for the vaults, or I will ensure you will share your brother’s fate. Now back to your common rooms, both of you.”

The two teens did not dare argue but before they parted company under Snape’s watchful eye he saw Tulip mouth to him, ‘We’ll talk later.’

They would need to. With Hogwarts' nastiest professor onto them and a boggart taking the form of Voldemort blocking the way, another method of gaining access to the room was needed.

David sighed as his brother’s room went out of view. He really hated roadblocks.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thankfully, Snape couldn’t be everywhere at once and that included meal times as well as meetings after Transfiguration which the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws shared together. Though both David and Tulip were eager to try and go back to the room they mutually agreed to stay away for the time being lest the head of Slytherin catch them again. The main priority was getting rid of the boggart.

“Professor Sprout used some kind of spell to defeat the boggart that scared Penny earlier in the year,” David mused while he and the Ravenclaw walked together after class one day.

“Well technically we’re supposed to cover boggarts in Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. But we can’t wait for that incompetent buffoon to actually bring it up or teach us for that matter.”

“I swear these gormless prats are more and more useless with each passing year,” David agreed. “Guess it’s time to hit the library.”

“Let’s agree to research there after lessons are done every Friday,” Tulip suggested. “I’m sure there’s a lot we can learn before the holidays come around.”

“Sounds like a plan. I can bring Rowan along too. He’s one of the smartest people I know. Super brainy.”

Tulip suddenly hesitated.

“Actually, I’d prefer it to just be the two of us...for the time being. I can’t really explain it right now. Just trust me.”

As it was with Merula, David didn’t press the issue but he was steadily growing evermore curious about his new partner’s past. Whatever happened between her and the Slytherin teen must have been severe but he sensed there was more to it than that.

Adding to the surrounding mystery was another anonymous message he received one night. He had just come back from dinner with Penny, Tonks, and Diego when Rowan rushed to greet him quite frantically.

“David!”

“Whoa, steady on. What’s up?”

His best friend proceeded to pull out a letter from his robe pocket and hand it to him. The envelope was not addressed and carried no visible distinction.

“I found this on your bed,” he explained. “It just...appeared there. I didn’t open it in case it was private or cursed.”

David stared at the mail for a split second debating his chances. If it was a message from ‘R’ once again he was mostly certain it wasn’t cursed. Such a group would have tried to kill him by now. Then again he also had no idea what they were capable of given the general mystery surrounding them.

Taking his chances, he slit open the envelope, removed the parchment inside and read the contents aloud.

“You are in grave danger. Your investigation into the Cursed Vaults has drawn the attention of a group who is not to be trifled with. Be careful, but remain courageous. I’m depending on you to reach the final vault before the others. I will assist you when I can. I hope the next time I deliver you a message, the circumstances are far less mysterious.

Sincerely,

A Friend’”

Taking a moment to reread the letter and analyze its contents David looked towards his brainiac friend for a possible explanation. Rowan appeared to be as lost as he was.

“For the record, I have no idea who wrote you that letter. Do you?”

David certainly had no more inkling than the hippogriff by Hagrid’s hut. There were a number of possibilities, which included his brother, an enemy playing tricks, or even the Headmaster himself.

“I’m as lost as you are. I’d say it was a ruse except for the fact none of the Slytherins know how to get into our common room. If anything, it sounds like an ally of some sort.”

“I sure hope so,” Rowan responded with a bit of anxiety. “These anonymous messages are starting to creep me out a bit.”

He paused before asking another question.

“By the way, what’s with this Tulip girl? Why does she insist on working with you alone?”

David genuinely shrugged.

“I wish I knew. Your guess is as good as mine.”

In truth, David had little time to reflect on it at the current moment. Tulip was a vital piece in all of this and he could scarcely afford to scare her off. Whoever the mystery man was that claimed to be on his side, there was no use in dwelling on that either. Aside from his schoolwork, which he was careful to pay close attention to, the only thing that mattered was learning how to get rid of that pesky boggart in his brother’s room in order to properly access it.

Thankfully, that wasn’t too difficult in principle. Within their first round of research the Ravenclaw girl discovered the spell ‘Ridikkilus’ which was the same one Professor Sprout used to disperse the boggart in the Herbology classroom. However, given the risks of using the spell without prior experience and with Snape still looming over their heads, Tulip advised against going back to the room before they were ready. David wanted to head back as soon as possible but he eventually relented as his new partner in crime told him to practice over the holidays while she thought of a plan.

Honestly, she’s always scheming that one

However, with Christmas around the corner, the dreaded return back to West Country loomed over his head and he was not looking forward to the strained, emotionally stunted holiday as was per custom in the Grant household. But on the eve of his departure, he received a distraction of sorts, something quite unexpected.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was the last Hogsmeade trip of the season before the holidays and David used that time to share a glass of butterbeer with his friends namely Rowan, Ben, Tonks, Penny, and Charlie. The Three Broomsticks was even cozier and warm this time of year and full of festive cheer and decorations, many of which he helped Madam Rosmerta put up before the big customer rush as a ‘thank you’ for giving him the quill. In return, he and his companions received a round of free drinks.

“I tell you what. Life doesn’t get much better than this,” Rowan said, taking a satisfying swig.

“I can’t wait to go home and see my family for Christmas,” Penny beamed. She was snuggled up in a blue coat with a matching beret, leggings, and snow boots. David couldn’t help but notice the rosy glow on her cheeks and how pretty she looked. “My sister is dying to know more about Hogwarts even though I’ve told her so much already.”

“What about you, Dave?” Ben asked genuinely.

David tried to hide the fact that he was secretly conflicted and tried to play it off with his usual sarcasm.

“Well my mom will stress herself needlessly from making the dinner, my dad will read his newspaper and do paperwork, we open some presents followed by an awkward crying session from said mother who tops it off with a bottle of wine….so yeah. Merry Christmas to me.”

The blond boy was unsure how to respond to that as flushed with embarrassment.

“I...uh…”

“Relax, Ben,” Tonks cut in. “Dave knows you didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, I know exactly how to cheer him up.”

She transformed her face into that of a toucan’s beak, something usually never failed to elicit a laugh. But this time the Gryffindor teen didn’t budge.

“Oh come on, David that always works. Show a little festive cheer!”

Before she could stick another butterbeer under his nose the second Weasley brother came back over with another round and a message.

“Drink up you lot. Also David, my brother wants a word with you.”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“For what? Did he mention a reason?”

“Just said it was urgent. He’s over there sitting by himself. Pretty moody by his standards.”

Shrugging, he took the spare butterbeer weaved and ducked his way through the Christmas crowd and found Bill seated at one of the tables meant for two people. Indeed, he had a curious expression on his face.

“Charlie told me you wanted to talk?” he said, taking his chair. “Is everything okay?”

“How are you in the ways of romance, Dave?”

It was a loaded question, one he was not prepared to answer at all. Because the answer was not at all.

“Uh, Bill...I think you may want the tea shop down the street,” he joked referring to Madam Puddifoots. “What’s this about, anyway?”

“I’m obsessed with this girl named Emily Tyler,” the prefect explained and there was a swooning glint in his eyes. “She’s not only beautiful but in Defense Against the Dark Arts she single handedly stupefied an entire swarm of vampire bats.”

“That’s not saying much given the current state of that class,” David joked again, taking a sip from his glass. He did, however, see Bill’s point. He knew of Emily Tyler and many older Gryffindors had the hots for her. She always hung out with the same group of friends chatting away about gossip, makeup, Witch Weekly, and whatever they found interesting that day. She was also quite wealthy on both sides of her family. “So what’s the next step then? Are you going to tell her?”

“You make it sound so simple. But I was actually hoping you could talk to her for me.”

David had never seen Bill this...timid before and it was a bit unsettling. The tall, lanky, long haired Weasley was usually the cool one of their group- collected, confident, the voice of reason and was a favorite among the student body in the way he conducted his prefect duties. To witness him as being so unsure meant this girl meant a lot to him.

“Bill, no offense but you’re asking the wrong bloke. I know less about this stuff than you do. I’ve never even had a girlfriend.”

“Well neither have I. I’ve also never been in love before.”

“And what makes you think...wait you’re in love?” he asked, completely floored.

“Am I? I don’t even know anymore. What’s happening to me?”

It was then the adolescent Gryffindor knew just how important this was to Bill and the least he could do was try and spread some cheer before Christmas. Just as Tonks pointed out. If he could play matchmaker for one of his best friends, what was the harm?

“Don’t worry about a thing mate. I’ll go talk to her. No problem.”

Bill smiled in response, his worried brows relaxing slightly.

“Good. She’s actually right over there.”

He pointed behind him ever so subtly to indicate her presence, and sure enough, there she was hanging out with her usual assortment of friends, holding court at one of the wall booths.

“You sure you want me to do this?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t serious.”

“Then I will,” David replied simply. “I’ll be right back.”

He drained the latter portion of his butterbeer and made his way over through the vast crowd. Upon finally reaching the booth it didn’t take long for the group of girls to look up at him with curious looks as though he were some kind of exotic alien. That certainly didn’t help his nerves but he pressed forward anyway.

“Emily Tyler?”

David didn’t need to ask as he recognized her right away. He could see what the elder Weasley meant. Like Bill, Emily was a fifth year but physically quite mature, and could have passed for two or three years beyond her age. True to word, she was very pretty, piercing brown eyes to go with high cheekbones and a slim, feminine jawline to go along with extensive makeup. Dark brown hair formed a widow’s peak along her forehead and was pulled back into a high ponytail. She also appeared to be quite fond of the color pink as she wore a long sleeved magenta dress complete with thick, pink tights, a cardigan and boots. It was indicative of someone who grew up quite upper class.

Though she did not look annoyed, there was a haughtiness to her expression that was a tad unsettling to the third year cursebreaker.

“That’s my name,” she responded evenly, ignoring the whispers of her posse. “And you’re that cursed vault kid, David Grant. What can I do you for?”

“Well I’m a friend of Bill Weasley’s…”

This didn’t seem to impress her.

“Okay?”

Out with it. She’s not going to wait for the grass to grow

“He fancies you and wants to know how you feel.”

On cue the rest of Emily’s friends began to giggle though she gave no indication as to how she personally felt.

“If I can speak in his favor, he’s a solid bloke. You couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

“He fancies me? I have to say I’m surprised,” Emily finally responded.

“It’s true. Haven’t seen him this frazzled...well ever really.”

“Is this some sort of joke? Because I don’t want to look like an idiot. What did he tell you?”

“Fair warning: I know as much about romance as I do about advanced Arithmancy, don’t hex the messenger,” David told her bluntly.

“Perish the thought. I want to hear this,” Emily said as much to her friends as she did to him to stop them from giggling.

“What else can I say? He thinks you’re amazing, powerful, beautiful, strong. Bill is as cool as any person in this school but he’s a mess over you. And you couldn’t ask to date a finer person.”

There it was. A glowing recommendation and an honest account of his friend’s intentions and feelings. Surely that was enough to win over a girl right?

He thought wrong. A very unpleasant, arrogant smirk crossed Emily Tyler’s face as she began playing with her pink, manicured nails.

“What a prat.”

David did a double take.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t get me wrong he’s reasonably handsome but why would anyone date a Weasley?”

Anger surged through David as his right hand turned into a fist around his glass mug. Was she really turning him down for the reasons he thought she was? The resumed giggling from her cronies made it worse.

“May I ask why?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Everyone knows the Weasleys are one the poorest wizarding families in Britain. They have no means, no manners, and no prospects. Why would I lower myself to such a standard?”

“I think you should take that back,” David said with quiet fury.

“And so what if I don’t?” Emily sneered. “Tell your friend thank you for sharing his feelings, it was a good for a laugh but he’s delusional if he ever thought he had a chance with me.”

By now, pure hatred surged through his veins, temper getting the best of him. More from the shock of someone actually insulting Bill, Emily Tyler was now the queen bitch in his eyes. Slamming his mug on the table with tremendous force, causing the four girls to jump with fright.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” he growled. “Bill must be attracted to your looks because your personality is pure rubbish.”

Emily recovered from the shock and shot him a venomous, threatening stare.

“You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I know enough. You sit over here prattling on like my mother at a book club thinking you’re the greatest thing since Merlin’s first bowel movement. But you’re nothing but a stuck up piece of shite. I’m just glad I can tell Bill before he wastes any more time on you.”

He flipped the glass over, spilling the small amount of butterbeer left inside.

“Get bent...snobbish twit.”

Without wasting another second, he turned and left, still fuming over the audacity of Emily Tyler to call his mate ill mannered and inferior. It was also a highlight into the flaws of his own house. Just because you were bold and confident didn’t make you a good person. So pissed he was, he barely noticed Bill’s reaction when he sat back down at the table.

“Dave?”

“Huh?”

“You look like you’re about to explode. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

Of course, Bill didn’t believe that.

“What happened and what did Emily say?”

On the one hand, David really didn’t want to reveal the full extent of Emily’s denigrating insults. It might shatter his heart given how much he liked her. Then again, it wouldn’t do to have someone he looked up to pining after someone who would sooner rip his heart out and stomp on it than date him. The truth was more important than protecting him from it.

“Bill...I won’t lie to you. It wasn’t good.”

“What do you mean?”

He hated seeing Bill’s confused face and he suspected that what was to follow would be equally as painful.

“Mate, she’s not interested. And she didn’t mince words.”

The eldest Weasley’s expression fell dramatically.

“Oh.”

“You can do better than her,” David tried to reassure him

“But-but she’s the most beautiful girl in our year...this whole school.”

“She’s also mean, arrogant, and generally awful. Bill, she insulted you and your family.”

He didn’t want to go there but there was little other choice than to prevent his friend from continuing his obsession. And he wasn’t fibbing. Bill did deserve better.

“She did?”

“Heard it with my own two ears.”

“But what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” David emphasized. “And that’s the point. You’re too good for her. And not the other way around.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Bill said with the slightest of tremors in his voice.

The third year leaned forward, speaking with the utmost sincerity he could muster.

“Listen to me...you’re one of my best friends. You’ve taught me a lot about dueling, magic, and Hogwarts itself. Everyone I know looks up to you as a person, prefect, and role model….and so do I. Don’t let someone like Emily Tyler change that. Be good to yourself.”

His impassioned speech seemed to finally break through and the Bill Weasley of old shone through.

“Thanks, David...I’m sorry for acting like an idiot. She’s the first girl I really fell for...it’s hard you know?”

He didn’t, not truly since he’d never had a crush on a girl before. But David felt a great deal of sympathy for his friend. Anything that could rattle the cool Bill Weasley could rattle anyone else.

“Of course.”

“Now let’s grab another butterbeer. Next one’s on me.”

“Cheers, mate. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

He and Bill made their way back towards their friend group where Charlie, Rowan, and company were waiting, greeting them warmly. Though the drinks were sweet and the atmosphere quite merry for the upcoming Christmas season, David own’s spirits were far from being satiated. A part of him knew his angry reaction to Emily’s rejection of the eldest Weasley was due to his own misapprehension and unhappiness that plagued him this time of year.

Images of his brother flashed before his mind as though it were a dream sequence.

For all the faith people placed in him, he wished he could take his own advice.

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #mc #hphm fanfiction #Gryffindor #David Grant #merula snyde #tulip kasaru #penny haywood #rowan khanna #ben copper #bill weasley #charlie weasley #barnaby lee #ismelda murk #emily tyler #severus snape #nymphadora tonks

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morsquiesa · 4 years

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Hello, hello, @mvndrvke and I decided to have a Biancecil Week, which is a week where we write a drabble a day about a key word we choose, and I decided to publish my drabbles here too because in this tough and trying times I believe everyone should have a little bit of romantic, sappy, and grossly in love Bianca di Angelo and Cecil Markowitz on their dash. Likes and comments are welcomed and encouraged, but please do not reblog! Thank you, please enjoy some tiny babies!

BIANCECIL WEEK, DAY I: HOME.

Manhattan is cold.

That's the first word that pops up in Bianca's head when she wants to describe the city. It is awfully cold, it is loud, and it is fast- gods, the way people are walking in the pavements with such hurry they don't mind pushing other people out of the way, car horns protesting the terrible traffic loud enough to make her flinch... Manhattan is cold, it is rude, and there is an overwhelming chaos Bianca doesn't feel equipped enough to live right in the middle of anymore. She doesn't know if it's it's because she's getting older, or if it's because living with Cecil changed her preferences greatly and gave her a better idea of a life she wants to live- and it is certainly not in a tiny apartment filled with the city's harsh tempo.

But New Athens is wonderful. It is more than wonderful, with the two story, beautiful house they have right next to Nico's. There is plenty of space with a whole new exciting decoration process she gets to run with Cecil, and plenty of space for him to finally set up the art studio he so badly wanted. She gets to have a proper office instead of the small room she has in the back of the apartment. They get to have somewhere they can belong in, truly, and she is more than excited for this new chapter in their lives.

The catch is- as she is sitting down in her velvet, comfortable armchair right before the balcony, watching the raindrops trickle down the window with a dull gaze, she feels anything but excited. She knows it is mean to feel this way, but regardless of it's intention, her life is changing. Despite the years she has spent living the life of a nomad, going wherever the wind takes her, change isn't something she can find comfort in. It's always daunting, and it always leaves her with a tight chest, and a somber gaze.

“ Honey?”

Cecil's fingers brushing against her shoulder, and the tenderness in his voice as he speaks to her alongside his word of choice fills Bianca with a sense of peace as she remembers why. Yes, this is why they are moving out to New Athens, for Cecil, for living a happier life with him. She shakes her head, pushing all the unwanted feelings and overwhelming thoughts to the back of her head where they can't bother her anymore, and her eyelashes flutter as the light comes back to her emerald green eyes, especially when she looks up at Cecil. “ Yes? I'm sorry, did you say something?”

After a moment of confusion, Cecil gazes back towards the corridor, and opens his mouth to say something but Bianca knows what he said won't be repeated by the way his shoulders slumps with the short exhale of a sigh. He looks back at her again, and leaves a few papers to the coffee table before he pulls the other chair next to hers. Bianca watches him sink in comfortably before he tilts his head aside to see her again. “ You're thinking of something,” He states. “ Penny for your thoughts?”

“ I'm not thinking of anything,” Bianca's response is more of a defense with an unusually higher pitch, and that alone is enough for the argument to finish before it even begins. Her sigh imitates Cecil's, but it's a little more guilty. Cecil leans towards her a little more when he senses that his guess isn't an empty one- though, Bianca doesn't know how true it is to call it guessing anymore. How observant he is and always has been of her is no secret, but how he knows her like the back of his hand is still baffling and unexpected from time to time. Her cheeks blushes crimson. “ Will you tell me what is it?” He continues calmly with his voice stripped from any meaning to rush or demand answers, simply starting up a conversation between them. He turns on his side to face her, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, but despite how unaffected he seems his fingertips softly tapping on the wooden material lets Bianca know now he is concerned too. Maybe not exactly concerned, but definitely alarmed, and she doesn't blame him for feeling that way with how her mood is just two nights before their moving out. The sound of raindrops hitting the window is the only sound stretching between them for a while as Bianca tries to find the right words, and Cecil doesn't seem to mind it as he spends his time with idly tracing the veins on Bianca's forearm with his fingertips with such interest Bianca thinks he is trying to memorize them. She watches him for a while. “ I'm just scared we'll lose what we have here, I guess,” It spills out of her with a quiet confession. “ I want to move into New Athens with you. I'm excited for the life we'll have there, but it means letting go of this.” The small smile curling on the corner of her lips is apologetic as best. “ I'm not the best when it comes to saying goodbye, you know me.”

It is impossible to guess what Cecil is thinking as he listens to her, but Bianca is more relieved than she'd like to admit when his fingertips drags across her palm tenderly before taking her hand into his palm, and lifts it. His soft lips are warm against her cold skin when he presses them to her knuckles, his eyes falling close with the intense vulnerability of the simple moment makes her sigh weakly. “ Tell me what you'll miss about here,” He asks, and opens his eyes to meet her gaze, taking her hand to his cheek and covers it with his. Bianca responds to the gesture with cupping his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone back and forth idly and lovingly. His questions occurs to her a few moments later, and she blushes once again, trying to think of something. “ I'll miss bumping into you in the shower,” She doesn't know why that's the first thing that comes to her mind, but she talks without thinking mostly, especially when it comes to Cecil and to this honest conversations they have here and there. They are precious, and so is this. “ And I'll miss laughing at you because you bumped your elbow to the shower door and got shocked because the shower is too small. I'll miss you picking me up to help me settle on the kitchen counter because they are too high.” She glances back towards the living room they are in, and the memories that floods back hits her stronger than she expects them to. “ I'll miss coming home to find you asleep in the couch in front of TV because the work took too long. I'll miss how you jump awake in your place and try to fix me a dinner with yawning the entire time.” She rests her head against the chair, and lets her eyes flutter shut. “ I'll miss you switching our places in bed after I fall asleep so I can be next to the radiator in cold nights,” She continues as her voice falls into an idle whisper, back of her hand brushing Cecil's jaw. “ And I'll miss you trying so hard not to swear at the door when the key gets stuck, and how we promise to fix it but never do it. I'll even miss our strip poker nights in budgeting nights,” This one brings a childish and wistful giggle out of her. “ I'll miss you sitting me in front of the window in the bedroom in sunny mornings because to quote you, I look beautiful in the first lights of the day. I try to seduce you the entire time. And I probably ruin all of your sketches and paintings. You never show me any them.”

“ It's just- this is home, Cecil, you know?” She ends what she has to say with what this is all about- this is home. This small apartment they have is a sanctuary for her, where she gets to come home to Cecil and his welcoming embrace and forget about the rest of the world. “ This is what home looks like for me. I know we'll find new things to love about the new house but I can't help but think how much I am going to miss this.” Cecil remains silent for such a long time that eventually Bianca opens her eyes again to check on him, worried she's said something wrong only to find him looking at her like that, his eyes are a little wider, lips parted open like he is meant to say something but forgot what it was, searching her face desperately for something unknown to Bianca. She doesn't speak either, waiting for Cecil to find his words with the same patience he's waited her with. But he cannot find them, Bianca guesses, because the hand he has placed above her on his cheek reaches, and fingers slides beneath her chin swiftly and gently as he tilts her head as he leans in to close the short distance between them. The kiss he blesses her with says everything he couldn't speak, yet it is so much more, warmth of his soft lips moving against hers makes Bianca feel warm too, providing a welcoming haven in the winter cold, his nose softly nudging hers. Bianca absently plays with the baby hair on the nape of his neck, and the content sigh he breathes into the kiss makes Bianca smile a little with pride. “ What was that for?” She asks, with both surprise and endearment.

“ C'mon,” What comes next is unexpected, and leaves Bianca disappointed when he breaks the kiss abruptly, getting up from his chair and pulling Bianca to her feet by holding her hands. “ It's enough work for today, c'mon.” Before Bianca can find the time to protest, he guides them towards the corridor, and into their bedroom, which is now empty except for the bed still seated next to the radiator, and one of the white nightstands Cecil bought after losing a strip poker game- Bianca still thinks he's lost it on purpose, because he had been so excited to buy new things for their new home, but whenever that comes up he insists she's that good of a player. The knowing gleam passing between them says otherwise, but they do not need to speak it out loud. The pale grey matching nightlamp is the only thing left above the nightstand, and when Cecil lights it, a dim yellow light illuminates the room. The door closes behind them, and Cecil's tall silhouette blocks Bianca's light as he shifts to stand in front of her. His palms slides across her cheeks, and her eyes falls shut again to how much tenderness he holds when he touches her, how vulnerable he makes her feel. In times like this the love she feels for Cecil is overwhelming, when she realizes how much she craves his touch like her lungs crave the oxygen.

“ It's our last night here,” He murmurs, and even that sounds too loud in the peaceful silence of the night. He rests his forehead against hers, and lets his fingers trace down her jaw, her neck, and eventually push the warm cardigan she's wearing down her shoulders. Bianca lets him. “ And all I can think about is,” He continues quietly, leaving the cardigan at the end of the bed before he guides her back towards the bed, his hands resting on the small of her back. “ How much I love you,” He lays her down. “ And how much I want to move in to New Athens with you. I was very worried too, you know?” He moves into bed with her, and Bianca welcomes him with open arms, and he finds his place next her without the slightest of fumbles because of the familiarity of it. Their legs tangle beneath the covers, and Cecil props himself up in his elbow until he leans above Bianca, his warm brown eyes melting even more in the dim light, mixing with love- the love he has for her, and it makes Bianca's heart skip a beat in her chest. She likes the way he looks at her. She often wonders what he sees when he does.

“ I was worried when I was first moving here with you, and I was worried when we agreed to move into New Athens. Same worries as you. About how much I loved our life as it is and wondered if the path we are taking is any better than the one we have.” His free hand settles on top of her head, brushing her hair away from her forehead, his thumb softly stroking her temple whenever he reaches it. “ But then I learned a secret,” He tells her. “ And all of those worries went away like they were never here. Do you want me to tell you?”

Bianca's nod is a tad childish, and so is the curious gleam shining in her eyes. The smile Cecil offers in return is what her heaven looks like. “ This isn't my home,” He shakes his head. “ The camp wasn't, either. And neither will be New Athens.” Bianca's face is just about to fall, but before her heart can break, Cecil's hand slides down across her chest until she feels his palm right above her heartbeat. “ This is my home. This is where I belong to. As long as you love me, and as long as I feel this heart beat, I'll always have my home with me. Rest is just a fun adventure. An adventure I am excited to live with you, that is all.” Bianca doesn't mean to cry- and she doesn't realize she is until Cecil's knuckle tenderly brushes her cheek. “ Ssh, don't cry,” Now he sounds a little panicked. “ I didn't mean to make you cry, I'm sorry, please don't cry.”

She responds to his pleas with wrapping her arms tighter around his neck, and pull him down to her, until his weight presses her to bed. One hand settles on the back of his head, and the other remains around his shoulders. Cecil falls into his place pretty quickly, tucking his face into her neck, his hand still smoothing her hair. “ I love you,” It's been said a thousand times during the three years they've been together, but this one feels like a confession, voice heavy and trembling, like it is a secret only meant to be heard by him. “ I love you,” She repeats, pressing her lips to the side of his head. “ I love you, I love you.” Cecil relaxes in her arms, and his warm kisses finds her neck this time, making sure there is not an inch left they haven't touched, carved into his memory with devotion. “ I love you,” He whispers it back, and even if it's muffled by her skin, Bianca feels it right in her chest, where he belongs to. “ I love you so much,” He rises from his place just enough to see her face, cupping her cheek. “ Now we get some sleep, pack the rest of our things in the morning, and sail for our new adventure, alright?” The smile that brightens Bianca's face is a one only he can bring out. “ Okay.”

Rest of the night is silent with their slow breathing, and the raindrops falling on the window.

#i am my own ghost‚ haunting the memories i love the most. —— ⚜ memories.#when they ask me what my favorite moment is‚ i will say him. i will always say him. —— ⚜ bianca & cecil ⊱ mvndrvke.

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ozzdog12 · 5 years

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2019- Top 7 (And 1)

Another year has come to an end and thus the hotly anticipated Top 7 (And 1) from your ‘average at best’ Ozzdog12 is here for you to feast your eyes upon. 2019 was an extremely odd year for me, gaming wise. As parenthood has taken the full brunt of my time, my gaming time and the choices of what games I decided to play, have changed. I played several games this year that, under any previous year I may have stuck with longer or tried again, but as time for gaming has become more and more thin, I now have less ‘patience’ to stick with a BIG RPG (Disco Elysium, one day I’ll get to you). Now I’m going to contradict my previous sentence with this next sentence. I was unemployed for a stretch of 5 weeks and in between looking for jobs I also found myself with a decent amount of time to play some games. What I did with that time is played 2 games that ultimately made the list, for two very different reasons. I also cleared out a chunk of backlog games (Finally beating Diablo 3 for one, thank you Switch) and played several, shorter smaller games in the process. If interested in my previous Top 7 (And 1) 2017 & 2018.

And now on to the And 1 this year

Favorite game that came out in 2019 that actually came out 20+ years ago: Legend of Zelda: Links Awakening (Switch)

This one was actually a hard one to decide as Age of Empires 2: Definitive Edition also released this year. AOE2 is the one game I may have put the most time into ever, cumulatively. But I’m giving the nod to Link’s Awakening simply because its BRAND NEW to me. I did not play the original release and this has been an absolute joy to play and is by far, the best Zelda available on Switch. The updated graphics are gorgeous and the art style is great. I haven’t completed the game yet, but I’m slowly chipping away at it at night. It feels and plays like a Zelda game but updated properly to a modern console to make it feel like a brand new game released in 2019 and not just a reskin/up-resed re-release. The game is also structured in a way that appeals to me more than Breath of the Wild was (see 2017 And One for reference). The world feels big, but is contained in a clever way to make it FEEL bigger than it actually is.

Number 7: Rage 2 (PS4)

Rage 2 is a very weird game. I don’t mean it’s weird in the sense that nothing clicks or that its bad. In fact, it’s a joy to play (especially is you love iD shooters). It’s weird because outside of the gameplay mechanics, it’s fairly barren (intentional or not). And I mean that in terms of both story, things to do and the world itself. Having very little to do with the previous Rage (which I really enjoyed on the 360), Rage 2 starts off quick and with a bang. You choose which version of the character you want to be, learn the mechanics and then are eventually sent to a town. There are a total of 6 ‘story’ missions that are stretched out by requiring you to complete tasks for one of the 3 town leaders who you’ve enlisted for help to take down the General. Once you do this, you fight the General and that’s kind’ve it. Now along the way, you will kill a bunch of mutants and humans alike. There are 3 factions (4 if you count the Ghosts in the DLC) that are in an ever engaging gauntlet to the death and you get to play janitor by spilling more guts and blood, but none of it really matters, the Factions I mean. There are a few Crusher Mutants (BIG MUTANTS) to also fight, but they are essentially extra heavy bullet sponges. Now, I know I haven’t really sold you on it, but here’s the thing. I REALLY enjoyed RAGE 2. It was the perfect game to play during the summer. Due to a personal situation I was dealing with (the looming unemployment) it was nice to just sit down at night, turned my brain off and just kill things. It reminded me of a simpler time in my youth playing games like Doom. Same vibe honestly. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more of a story and narrative driven player, but Rage 2 scratched a nostalgia itch for me at the perfect time.

Number 6: Concrete Genie (PS4)

Concrete Genie is a game that is honestly out of left field for me these days. Not that I don’t like these types of games, it’s just as previous stated, time is somewhat of a precious commodity and had Concrete Genie come out in any other year, I probably would’ve skipped it entirely. However, it didn’t and I’m glad I picked this up for $20. It also scratched a nostalgia itch and reminded me very much of the PS2 era of games like Sly Cooper and Jax and Daxter. You play a kid who is bullied (something I am familiar with first hand, sadly) for being a loner and an artist. His creature drawings come to life with the help of a magic paint brush and your objective to put color back into an abandon town and bring it back to life. There is a VR component I wasn’t able to play because I don’t have a PSVR. The game is fairly simply and doesn’t deviate far from that formula. There is very little combat and just enough variety in the monster’s you can make to keep you going. It’s also fairly short. I was able to complete and collect everything in around 7-8 hours. Having a complete game in a bite size package is something I long for these days.

Number 5: The Outer Worlds (PS4)

This game should be higher on the list but I put it here simply because while I have played it a fair amount, I haven’t played it enough to warrant it being higher. I’m maybe halfway through? I love Bethesda Fallouts (And Obsidian’s New Vegas) and this is an improved New Vegas in space with a more cheeky approach. The Outer Worlds never takes itself too seriously and revels in its sarcasm. The companions are all mostly likeable enough and each planet has felt distinctive enough to entice me to keep exploring. The mechanics are improved and the overall gameplay is better than New Vegas. Its structured just like a Fallout game, so there is a lot of comfort there. However, just like any open world RPG, sitting down for less than an hour and trying to accomplish anything is hard. The Outer Worlds is best played in big chunks. It’s at the top of my list to finish in 2020.

Number 4: A Plague Tale (PS4)

A Plague Tale was THAT game that was on everyone’s ‘Hidden Gems’ list. I had seen a trailer around E3 and it intrigued me enough to check it out. I completed it over a whole weekend, a rarity. The game isn’t perfect, but everything is serviceable enough to work within the confines of what it’s trying to accomplish. It has some technical flaws and the occasional hiccup, but I’m a sucker for 3rd person action adventure games. The game is mostly centered around stealth with combat as a mostly secondary option. The game takes place in France in 1348 during the rat plague. You play as the daughter of an alchemist and your brother has been sick since birth. Once your village has been raided by the Inquisition, you are cast out to find help. The plague has taken over the majority of the country, but it isn’t until later in the game where the game takes a turn into the fantasy in a major way. You meet up with some really likeable characters with different personality traits along the way that really kept the story moving in an interesting way. The story was really grim at times, but honestly kept me hooked until the final chapter. The boss battle was extremely frustrating. With a sequel being announced, I am extremely interested in where they take the next chapter.

Number 3: Katana ZERO (Switch)

Katana ZERO rules. There is a fine line where a game is challenging and when a game is unfair. I like a challenge, but I don’t want to work (games like Dark Souls are work). KZ is very similar in style, gameplay, tone, and even music to Hotline Miami. The difference being KZ is a side scroller instead of top down. You play a samurai in a quasi-dystopian future after a war. You are programmed killing machine…or are you? The story is fairly heavy and can bring up some tough subjects. KZ is pretty challenging, especially later in the game, but never once did I feel the game was cheap or unfair. Every time I died (MANY, MANY TIMES) it was always my fault. Either I didn’t plan my attack correctly, I hit the wrong button, took the wrong path, or didn’t time it right. The game has a nifty way of dealing with ‘deaths’ in the game using a neat rewind feature. When you complete a level, it shows you a replay in ‘real time’ giving you a nice recap of your work. Every time I completed a level, I felt a sense of accomplishment. My Switch says I put around 5 hours or more into it once I completed the final level, but it honestly felt longer than that, in a good way. KZ is an absolute blast to play and you should go play it right now!

Number 2: Gears 5 (Xbox One)

I’m a fan of the Gears of War series. The first Gears of War still being my favorite of the series. As time has passed, I’ve become less interested in the series as a whole but still interested enough to play every entry. I thought Gears 4 was the Force Awakens of the series. Essentially a retelling of the same story, with a new coat of paint and new characters with the old ones sprinkled in. Gears 4 was ultimately, fine. So I was actually excited for Gears 5 was going to go and to see how they built upon 4 with a focus on Kait instead of a Fenix. Halfway through the story, the group is divided and it starts to take a different tone. Gears 5 experiments with a first of the series, a semi-open world. I thought it broke up the monotony of wall hug, shoot, reload, repeat. I finished the story in a few days and had a good time with it, though once again, the ending being kind’ve abrupt. The series has a knack for being sort’ve slow, then suddenly turning it to 11, then ending. I wished the campaign was longer, but it’s still solid. Gears 5 introduced a new mode called Escape, where you and two other players plant a bomb and try to escape a level with limited ammo. There is weekly a revolving door of new levels, which is nice, but each level is just reusing assets. I suspect with time and each new Operation (Season) that will be expanded. Horde mode is back and the character classes are fun. New characters have been added and will continue to be added, but they are an absolute grind to unlock (But you can always pay for them!) The reason Gears 5 is this high is mostly due to the amount of time I spent playing multiplayer. As stated, I loved the original Gears of War and put an insane amount of time into the multiplayer. That was in 2007 and the older I’ve gotten, my desire to invest into multiplayer has waned, almost completely. Once again though, right time, right place. I spent almost the entire month of October, logging on every night, completing challenging and playing online. Something I haven’t done since I was a freshman in college. I had an absolute blast. While I don’t delve into online as feverishly as I did in October, I still occasionally dabble when I get the chance.

Number 1: Mortal Kombat 11 (PS4)

As if this was going to be anything else. I’m a Mortal Kombat mark, plain and simple. I’ve loved the series my entire life. I love the lore, I love how ridiculously violent it is, how goofy and bat shit insane the story has evolved. I love it all. But its not all gore and lore, Mortal Kombat is a supreme fighting game. It’s not a nuanced as the likes of Street Fighter, but its infinitely deeper than a game like Smash Bros. Mortal Kombat is in a good sweet spot for both casuals and hardcore fighting fans. MK11 has maybe the greatest in-depth tutorial that has ever been made in any fighting game. It not only teaches you how to play, it teaches you the terminology. The story picks up right after MKX, with Raiden upset with everyone and taking matters into his own hands by torturing Shinnok. Liu Kang and Kitana rule the Netherrealm. Raiden plans an attack where he is essentially the Trojan Horse. All goes according to plan, until Kronika, The Time Keeper, decides she doesn’t like this anymore and eventually brings back some old friends to help her change time (again) and finally eliminate Raiden from existence. In doing this, Kronika has made all those mirror matches from previous games cannon. The production level and story mode in Netherealm games are on another level compared to other fighting games and they continue that trend in MK11. They implement the gear system from Injustice 2 into MK11 and its fine. The Krypt is amazing and is full of secrets. The Living Towers have returned, this time in the form of the ever changing “Towers of Time”. The roster, which is what everyone really cares about isn’t the worst but isn’t the best. None of the new characters are all that fun (Cetrion, Geras, & Kollector) and the returning roster was missing some notable characters. The DLC thus far has been fairly underwhelming compared to MKX. It was nice to see Shang Tsung, Nightwolf, & Sindel return (all 3 should’ve been in the main roster) but Terminator is lame. MKX had the likes of Tremor, Tanya, & Predator. MK11 seems to break what was a fun tradition in DLC having new, MK characters (Skarlett and Tremor, respectively). While I do think there is another set coming after Spawn, if the leak is true, then it seems underwhelming. I played MK11 pretty religiously for almost 2 months and still play at least once or twice a week. I love MK!

#mortalkombat #mk11 #gears of war #gears 5 #katana zero #a plague tale #rage 2 #legend of zelda #links awakening #concrete genie #ps4 #switch #nintendo switch #sony playstation #xboxone #videogames #gaming #games #2019

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pickalilywrites · 6 years

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Did you see arcanelucario's headcanon based on ilselani's fan art of Eren Annie and Falco? Could you write something like that with those three, it's been bugging me since I saw that fan art and I think you'd write something really good for it. Love your fics

Ah, this one has been sitting in my ask for so long I feel bad >///@arcanelucario and @ilselani are such talented people, so writing something based on their work is an honor ^^

Babysitting

EreAni. Modern AU.

3952 words.

Annie doesn’t hate kids. She doesn’t even dislike them. She just doesn’t know what to do with them when they’re in her presence, so she tries to avoid them as much as possible. It’s been tough to do now that she’s been dating Eren, who enjoys hanging with the Grice kids, family friends that are so close to him that they might as well be related. But even at family gatherings, she tries to keep interactions with them to a minimum, preferring to keep her conversations with them short although she suspects that giving children one-word answers to all their questions make her difficult to like. She can’t even bring herself to smile in front of them because kids make her so nervous, and her default bitch face isn’t that much better. Still, she tries to manage as best as she can.

But she can’t avoid any of that now that Eren has agreed to babysit Falco, one of the Grice children. Colt, Falco’s older brother, was spending the day with Zeke at a ballgame that was taking place downtown. Zeke only had two tickets, so Falco, who is far more thoughtful than Annie thought that an eight-year-old child could be, graciously volunteered to stay at home until Eren offered to spend the day with him so that he wouldn’t have to spend the day moping. She had initially shuddered at the thought of having to spend the day with Falco, who probably though her frightening because of her apparent dislike of him. (She doesn’t dislike him. That’s just her face. She actually thinks the kid is quite charming even though she never really knows what to say to him.)

Needless to say, she’s not really looking forward to this. She’s sure that the kid will come out thinking she’s some sort of witch by the time he gets picked up tomorrow.

“Do you want to sit in the front or in the back?” Eren asks Falco.

Falco hesitates when he sees that Annie slips into the driver’s seat, probably thinking that the cool blonde is far too scary to sit next to even though his cousin Eren has been dating her for quite some time. After a while, he finally says, “I think it’s fine if I sit in the back. You want to sit in the front with Miss Annie, don’t you?”

“You can just call her Annie, you know,” Eren says as he opens the door to the back of the car so that Falco can slide in. He takes the seat next to Falco, waving a hand when Falco begins to protest. “It’s fine. I get to see Annie every day. She’s probably thankful that you’re here now so I have someone else to bother all day.”

“He’s right. He’s annoying if you’re stuck with him all day,” Annie says from the front. She adjusts the rearview mirror so that she can see the both of them clearly in its reflection. Falco looks surprised as if he hadn’t expected her to talk, but Eren just gives her the same adoring smile that he always does. “Buckle up, boys.”

Eren helps Falco buckle his seatbelt before doing his own. “Is there anything you want to do? Play ball? Watch the game on TV? Play video games?”

“Er, it’s okay,” Falco mumbles. He picks at imaginary lint on his clothing, his eyes flitting nervously at where Annie sits in the driver’s seat. “I don’t want to disturb Miss Annie while she’s doing her work.”

“It’s just a bit of reading,” Annie tells Falco. She’s an editor at a publishing company, something she’s mentioned once or twice at Eren’s family parties. She didn’t think Falco would remember something like that or had even heard. “Even if you’re noisy, I listen to music while I’m working so I probably won’t hear you guys at all.”

Falco looks relieved, but Eren frowns and leans over to poke Annie’s cheek. “Are you really not going to hang out with us? Zeke’s out with Colt, so now Falco and I are lonelier than usual. Doesn’t a day with us sound better than reading a bunch of manuscripts?”

She takes a quick glance at the rearview mirror, eyebrow raised. “Falco? Sure, I’d love to spend a day with him. But you? No, not at all.”

She sees Falco smile a little bit to himself, stifling a laugh behind a hand, and she thinks that maybe they’ll be alright after all.

The car ride home is a lot livelier than she expected it to be. Annie was sure it would be filled with a lot of long and awkward silences – Falco was a quiet child and she wasn’t really one for conversation herself – but Eren had a surprising number of car ride games up his sleeve. He only played them with Falco knowing that Annie disliked distraction when she was doing anything, especially driving, and the two played numerous types of games all at once. She was impressed with their ability to jump from game to game seamlessly without any hiccups or confusion – word games, geography games, twenty questions, a game called padiddle where they would watch for cars with one headlight out, and punch buggy. It seems that punch buggy is Falco’s favorite because he can sock Eren as hard as he could and Eren would cry out, rubbing his arm and complain about how strong Falco is.

Annie doesn’t usually get too invested in what happens in the back seat of her car. She usually tries to ignore the people who sit there unless they’re too drunk and on the verge of throwing up on the car cushions. Otherwise, she’s learned to drown out whatever happens there. She kind of has to when Sasha and Connie clamber into the backseat drunkenly singing old 90s songs off-key, but watching Eren and Falco playing car games makes her smile and she finds herself searching for cars driving past with only one working headlight.

She finally spots one – a tiny white car with too many bumper stickers and strangely shaped headlights that are too round, only one of which is working – and before she can stop herself, she reaches up to touch the roof of the car and says, “Padiddle!”

Both Falco and Eren seemed surprised, but Eren smiles widely when he looks at the white car that Annie had spotted through her rearview mirror and says, “Ah, we’re going to lose if Annie’s playing, Falco. She’s a much better driver than I am, and she’s an expert and looking at all rearview and side-view mirrors.”

“Padiddle – Miss Annie: 1, Eren: 7, Me: 6,” Falco says, reciting the scores he’s kept tabs of off the top of his head. “She still has to catch up with us, so we could still win. Will you be playing the other games with us too, Miss Annie?”

“Um, sure,” Annie says, checking the mirror again but this time so she can switch lanes and drive around a particularly slow driver. (Really, if you’re going to drive that slowly, why bother even getting on the highway?) “And you know you can call me Annie, Falco.”

“Okay,” Falco says. He fumbles with his hands in his lap for a second, looking up shyly at her. “Annie.”

“Punch buggy!” Eren yells suddenly, giving Falco a good punch on the arm. It’s probably not the hardest he can punch since he might give the poor boy a bruise, but it’s enough for Falco to cry out in surprise, rubbing the spot sorely while Eren grins. “How many points is that for me now, Falco?”

In the end, Annie wins both the geography and word game, Falco wins padiddle, and Eren wins punch buggy (although Annie is pretty sure he cheated because it’s not like that many people drive Volkswagen Beetles anymore).

“Okay, I need to edit a few manuscripts by the end of this weekend, so don’t bother me unless it’s to eat lunch,” Annie yawns as she unlocks the apartment to let them in. She doesn’t mind her work, but it does get tedious after a while. At least publishing houses are pretty much over the vampire romance craze, although she does still get a fair number of weird supernatural romance books to look over.

“Will you be in your room all day, Annie?” Falco asks. There’s a little frown on his face that he tries to hide, but she can tell he’s disappointed. She thought he wouldn’t mind it and that she wouldn’t care, but she hates looking at his ocean blue eyes, sad that she won’t be joining them.

“I suppose if I finish early I’ll come out and play with you guys,” Annie says, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She never thought she’d actually consider spending time with a child willingly, but here she is. “I’ll try my best, okay?”

His face lights up in an excited smile. “Alright! Don’t work too hard, okay? My parents say it’s best to take breaks in between so you don’t wear yourself out.” He turns to Eren, tugging him along to where the TV is so that they can watch cartoons or play video games. “Come on, Eren!”

“Coming,” Eren says, but he gives Annie a smirk before he lets himself get dragged away.

If Falco weren’t here, she’d tell him to shut up, but now she only rolls her eyes before disappearing into her room. As she sits there in her room highlighting and crossing words out, she wonders why this work seems so unappealing compared to the muffled laughter she can hear on the other side of the wall.

Before noon, she had asked them if they wanted to order take out. She wasn’t in the mood for cooking nor could she take time off her work to make a meal for them anyhow. Eren, however, assured her that he would be fine making lunch for all of them. It would give Falco life experience too (although Annie thinks Falco is a bit too young for that). She didn’t really trust Eren with the stove or any kitchen appliance aside from the microwave (and sometimes not even that), but she figured that having Falco around would make him less likely to burn down the kitchen.

It was well past noon when she realized that Eren had not called for her, so either they hadn’t started making lunch or they had forgotten her completely. From the giggles she hears from the kitchen, she suspects it must be the latter, but when she enters the room and finds them laughing and sticking cooked spaghetti noodles to the ceiling, she thinks she probably should have thought up a third option.

She waits in the doorway waiting for them to notice her, but they never do. Pushing herself off the doorframe, she clears her throat as she walks towards them, eyebrow raised. “What are you two doing?” Annie looks around at the kitchen, chin raised to stare at the noodles that are creating unknown shapes on the ceiling. “Is this lunch?”

“Er…yes?” Eren says with a guilty smile on his face. “I was showing Falco how to cook the noodles. On a completely unrelated note, did you know that you can’t put oil in water when you’re cooking spaghetti?”

Annie narrows her eyes. “That’s where the expression ‘oil and water don’t mix’ come from, Eren. Did you try to put oil in the spaghetti water?”

“Maybe,” Eren says, not looking her in the eye as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s fine though! I emptied out the pot and just cooked it in normal water. Ask Falco.”

Falco nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, and Eren said that you can see if the spaghetti is ready by sticking it to the ceiling. These ones are all ready,” Falco tells her, pointing happily at the noodles that hang above them. They must have stuck half the noodles up there already. “I don’t know how we’re going to get them down though.”

“It’s sticking noodles to the fridge, Eren,” Annie sighs, but she must admit that there’s something amusing about this whole thing. She glances at the half-empty pot of noodles sitting on the counter and shakes her head. She’d cook more, but she knows that the rest of them will end up on the ceiling as well. She walks over to Falco and ruffles his hair. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just call or take out and you and Eren can do whatever you want with these noodles as long as Eren cleans up afterward. What do you want? Chinese, Italian, Indian? I have some menus if you want to look at them.”

“Oh, um,” Falco says. He follows Annie as she leads him back to the living room, handing him some menus to flip through. When she sits down, he takes the seat next to her, sitting so close that his fine blond hair tickles her arm as he leans into her, pointing at certain foods and asking her opinion of them. The noodles she told him he could play with are completely forgotten.

In the kitchen, Eren has fetched the little stepping stool and is using it to reach the noodles stuck to the ceiling. He looks over at Annie, admiring the sight of Falco sitting cozily beside her. When he sees Annie take a quick look at him, he smiles and mouths, “Cute.”

Quickly, she looks away and returns to attention to Falco, telling him which shops are the closest and have the best delivery. Looking after Falco is pleasant, she thinks, although she doesn’t know if she could ever get used to it.

After lunch and a quick board game (Apples to Apples, which Falco says is his favorite), Annie retreats into her room, trying not to look at Falco’s disappointed look when she disappears. She doesn’t dislike him, she just has work to do. At least he’s an understanding child who whines when she leaves (although she can’t imagine a child ever becoming so attached to her that they would miss her when she has to go). She’s back to reading more manuscripts – a time-traveling fantasy, a murder mystery, a fictional biography – when she hears a knock on the door. It’s gentle and hesitant, nothing like Eren who usually just barges in because he’s so excited that he forgets that she’s working.

She puts the draft down and takes off her glasses, rubbing her eyes a bit because reading has strained them, and she always forgets to take breaks unless Eren is there to bother her. Turning to the door, she asks, “Falco? Is that you? Do you want to come in?”

The door creaks open slowly and Falco’s head pops in. He quietly tiptoes in, a box of donuts in his hands. “Hello, Miss Annie,” he says, forgetting that she’s allowed him to just call her by name without using an honorific in front. “Would you like a donut? Eren and I went to go get some while you were working. He said they’re your favorite and that you could use a break.”

“Annie, Annie,” Eren says, barreling through her door and smothering her in a hug. “I let Falco choose all of them, but I let him know which ones you like the best.”

“This one,” Falco says, pointing at one with a gorgeous chocolate glaze on it. He points at another one that’s dusted with powdery sugar, probably filled with chocolate or some sort of cream. “This one is my favorite, the jelly-filled one. I bought two so you could have one too because they’re especially good.”

“How very thoughtful of you, Falco,” Annie says. She takes a napkin and plucks the napkin out of the box. She smiles at him. “I’m sure it’s delicious.”

“He didn’t get one for me,” Eren pouts, plopping over onto the beanbag Annie has in the corner. He waves a hand to call Falco over. “Give me a chocolate one, Falco.”

“Ah, okay!” Falco says, trotting over to Eren and giving him the donut he asked for.

“If you get any crumbs on that beanbag, I won’t hesitate to murder you, Eren,” Annie tells him. She takes a bite, licking some of the sweet strawberry jelly from the inside, relishing in how the sweetness goes perfectly with the soft doughy.

“She’s kidding,” Eren says, winking at Falco.

“Hm,” Falco says. He doesn’t look like he believes Eren entirely, but he takes a place next to Annie, putting the box of donuts down on the side of her desk that isn’t littered with manuscripts. He takes a jelly donut for himself and takes a bite of it, a delighted grin on his face after tasting its sweet goodness. He looks at Annie and asks, “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she replies, licking her thumb to get the rest of the powdered sugar off it. “You have good taste, Falco.”

“Thanks!” Falco beams.

She wonders if she’ll look after Falco again. She doesn’t think she’d mind it.

They eat Chinese food for dinner, takeout again because Annie doesn’t think she can stand seeing more noodles thrown at the ceiling, and play a game of Monopoly because Falco asked to even though Eren warns him against it. (“Annie’s a monster at Monopoly,” he whispers to Falco when he thinks Annie isn’t listening. “She’ll take the railroads, then Boardwalk, then Park Place, and she won’t even bat an eyelash once you start losing! She won’t even care!”) As expected, they both lose to her although Falco holds off surprisingly well considering it’s his first time playing against her.

“You’re just too good, Miss Annie,” Falco sighs, falling back and collapsing on the floor. He lifts his head and looks at her curiously. “Say, are you this good at video games?”

Off to the side, Eren shakes his head and makes a huge X with his arms, warning Falco not to even think about it. “She’s even better at video games, Falco. We’ve already lost this badly. We should just retreat now.” To Annie, he says, “Don’t you have some work to do? We’ve distracted you long enough, haven’t we?”

She ignores Eren and smiles at Falco. “Falco, do you want to play Mario Kart?”

Falco grins. “Yes!”

Behind him, Eren groans.

—

She wakes up that morning later than usual. Bleary-eyed, she sits up and looks over at the clock on the bedside counter, the screen blinking 10:30. She frowns when she realizes that Eren isn’t in bed with her, but it’s possible that he and Falco decided to sleep on the couches in the living room. Or, she thinks as she stumbles out of her bedroom to find them both sprawled on the floor and the TV playing the Mario Kart menu song in the background, he could have just fallen asleep playing video games.

Annie yawns, walking over to Eren and kneeling next to where he’s sprawled on the couch to poke him in the forehead. Falco’s on the other end, curled up in the corner with all the pillows. She had left them at ten after winning multiple games of Mario Kart, telling them to go to bed after a few more games. She never should have believed Eren would keep his word.

“Huh?” Eren mumbles, swatting at her hand. He blinks at her sleepily, smiling when he sees that it’s her. “Annie.”

“Eren,” she replies, poking him once more and ignoring his groans for her to stop. “What did I tell you yesterday?”

“Uh…” Eren sits up slowly, rubbing at his face. “Not to play video games all night.”

“What did you do?”

“We played video games all night,” Eren says, a sheepish grin on his face.

She pinches his cheek. “Wake up Falco and clean this up. We need to eat breakfast. Zeke’s going to be here soon to pick him up.”

“Alright, alright,” Eren yawns. He pokes Falco on the side. “Hey, kid, get up. We need to clean this all up and Annie’s going to make us breakfast.”

“Oh,” Falco says. His mouth stretches in a wide O as he yawns, his hand covering his mouth. He sits up, rubbing his eyes and giving Annie a sleepy smile. “What’s for breakfast, Miss Annie?”

“Hey, you’re supposed to helping me clean up!” Eren says as Falco leaves him with the tangle of wires and remotes.

“You can clean it up yourself,” Annie tells him. When Falco meets her in the kitchen, she hands him a bowl and reaches up to get the flour and sugar in the cabinet. “You want to make pancakes with me, Falco?”

“Yes!” Falco says happily.

“Aw, Falco, do you like Annie better than me now?” Eren says as he wraps up the controllers and puts them away in the cabinet under the TV.

“I just think Miss Annie is really nice,” Falco says, looking at her shyly.

Eren looks over at Annie with an accusatory glare like she had meant to steal Falco from him all along. The fact that Falco like her at all is a surprise to her and while she thought having a tiny human attached to her would be annoying, she does find Falco a sweet child and pleasant company.

She simply smirks at Eren before handing a mixing spoon to Falco and telling him how to sift the flour and sugar together. It’s nice being a child’s favorite, she thinks.

“So,” Eren says after his brother has come to pick Falco up and return him home. “What did you think?”

She can feel how tightly Falco had squeezed her as he was saying goodbye, making her promise that she’d play with him again the next time they saw each other. She doesn’t usually think children are cute, but she can’t help but think that word suits Falco exactly. She thought that looking after a child would be more tiresome, but Falco was surprisingly easy to take care of.

“He’s not that bad,” Annie replies, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I guess kids aren’t as bad as I thought.”

“Really?” Eren says, raising an eyebrow. He leans towards her, a mischievous smile on his face. “Does this mean you wouldn’t mind having kids? I think they’d be cute, especially if they looked like you.”

“What are you saying? I didn’t say anything…,” she mumbles, her face growing red. She reaches for his shirt, but he’s slipped out of her reach, dancing towards their bedroom.

“I’ve already thought of names. I wrote them all in a notebook, too,” he tells her as he disappears into the room. He pokes his head out, a notebook with the cover folded backward in his hand, and reads the list. “Chauncey, Gertrude, Ronald…” Each name is worst than the last.

“You’re not naming them,” Annie says, stomping after him and ready to grab the notebook from his hands. “You’re not naming them, Eren.”

He lifts the notebook so that she can’t reach for it and smiles at her when she glares. “So you want kids?” he asks her.

“Well,” she says, embarrassed. She fiddles with her bangs, brushing them out of her face. “I wouldn’t mind. Just as long as they don’t look too much like you.”

Eren laughs, letting his arm drop and allowing her to grab the notebook from him. It’s empty though – the names he had recited were all ones he had made up – and before she can say anything, he plants a hard kiss on her lips. He pulls away, a playful grin on his face. “Then let’s make a lot, yeah?”

#ereani #eren jaeger #annie leonhardt #snk #modern au #asks #answered #requests #anon #anonymous #ahhh titles are so hard #it's so hot!!!

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mollyraesly · 6 years

Text

Time with Wolves -- Chapter Twelve

They didn’t have sex that night in the Glass Gardens. Part of her wanted to, particularly when his mouth was on her collar bone and his fingers were curling inside her. But she wasn’t ready, and he said that was fine and that they had plenty of time to do other things—which were quite pleasurable in themselves.

Preoccupied as they were, they didn’t have sex until several months later in December, after Edric had met both her parents, come to dinner nine times, learned several new tricks about moving on wheels from Bran, lost seventeen rounds of rock, paper, scissor to Rickon, met Robb once, and had accompanied Sansa to three of Arya’s fencing tournaments. When they did have sex, it was in his bed while his mother and stepfather were away on a trip. She could tell he’d spent extra time making the bed and had cleaned up his room. Sansa had asked her mother weeks before if she could go to the gynecologist and start a birth control prescription; it had been a difficult conversation for them both. But Edric has used a condom anyway. He’d had it planned, just as she had. Sansa liked that. And she liked how earnestly he’d whispered in her ear how stunning she was when he entered her the first time and kissed her hard to distract her from the pain. She liked that he waited patiently until she told him to move and that he held her hand as he did so. She liked that he did his best to go slow, and that he’d gotten her off before they began. She liked that when they were done, he held her close and asked if she was okay. She liked that when they had sex the next few times, he watched her closely to see what she responded to the most and made sure to keep doing those things. She liked that he tried to make sure she came first and was honest about his preferences, just as he encouraged her to be the same. She liked that they didn’t just have sex every time they were together and that he still came to eat dinner with her family. She liked that he didn’t take it for granted that they would just go to junior prom together but asked her formally and then brought her flowers, wore a tux, and told her how stunning she was in her dress. She liked that when she told him he made it herself, he asked if he could look at it letter to sketch a design. She liked that he presented that sketch to her in a box with a bow on a random Tuesday, but remembered it was the day they first started working at the restaurant together. She liked that he continued to give her his drawings and would still surprise her sometimes with dessert. She liked that when his mom got transferred back to King’s Landing their senior year, they mutually decided to break up, as she was headed off to college and he wanted to find work in a mechanic shop and take art classes. She liked that the last time they had sex, he told her how much she’d meant to him and how he’d always remember her fondly—that he valued what they had together. She liked that she could say the same. And when he left Winterfell, she liked that she cried, not because she loved him, but because she wished she had. She’d liked a lot of things about Edric Storm, but she was never sure that like had ever fully become love. She’d never known romantic love before, so she wasn’t quite sure. But she was nonetheless grateful that his leaving didn’t break her. That fact alone maybe was enough for love. When she thought of him, she only wished him well and found herself smiling at the remembrance of his lips. She finished her senior year by joining the debate team and learned she had a surprising knack for politics. She volunteered more at the wolf reservation. She took Arya, a sophomore, as her date to senior prom, and they took the best photos she had ever seen. Slowly, she let her hair transition from blonde to strawberry back to red. She had to ditch the red lipstick, but it was worth it to look in the mirror and see an older but familiar image of Sansa Stark again. The summer before leaving for college, she spent more time with Robb than she had in a couple of years. She found she missed him, and it was nice to benefit from his experience as she was about to leave home for the first time. Robb had stayed somewhat close, attending Winterfell University. Part of her was surprised that Robb didn’t come home more—perhaps to get their mom to do his laundry every other week. But the more time she spent with Robb, the more she realized how much more mature he’d gotten. He worked more, went out with girls less, helped their father. He was even growing a beard. She liked talking to Robb again. She missed him when she left for school. It’d been a very teary goodbye when her parents left after helping her get settled in the new dorms. Despite her poor skills in math, she’d been accepted to Citadel University, very old and very prestigious, as well as King’s Landing U, both of which she’d turned down. She also, after many pro/con lists, had turned down Winterfell University and opted to go to Twins College in Riverrun, where her mom had gone. It was far enough away that she felt that she was experiencing something new but close enough that she could still come home, even if just for the weekend. At least, that’s what she told Ghost when she visited him last. She was paired up to room with a girl named Meera Reed. Meera wanted to study engineering; she had incredible drive, fierce loyalty, and fantastic curly hair. She reminded Sansa of both Arya and Bran, whom she missed dearly. Meera was outdoorsy, and she loved to hear Sansa’s stories about Ghost, whose picture she had framed and on her dresser along with other family photos. Sansa, in turn, pestered Meera for tales of her adventures with her little brother Jojen, whose antics made her laugh and helped dull the ache of not being with her own siblings. Sansa also, though surprisingly, befriended her dorm’s RA Brienne Tarth. Brienne was a junior and played on the rugby team. She was quite unlike Sansa in many ways: physically tough where Sansa was soft, blunt where Sansa was politely euphemistic, and unapologetic where Sansa was people-pleasing. But they were both quite tall for women, and that was enough to bond them in the beginning. Sansa liked spending time with Brienne—and her friend Podrick, who always blushed when she was around. She had nice friends and chosen interesting first courses on civil wars, history, writing, and gender studies—so grateful to be done with math. The workload was more than she experienced before, but she bought a lot of flashcards and made it through her midterms—without even needing to really on coffee. She’d always preferred lemon tea. Coming home for Thanksgiving was a blessing and a curse, as she wanted nothing more than to spend time with her family and yet knew she couldn’t lose focus or she’d never finish her final papers on time. Somehow, she managed both, and was feeling quite proud in mid-December as she packed up to go home for the winter break. She’d done it—lived on her own for months—and she’d done well. She only had the one exam left—which she knew she’d pass with flying colors—and plans to have a celebratory dinner with Meera. She was putting on her earrings when her phone rang. “Arya!” she sang into the phone. “I’ve only got a few minutes before Meera and I are going to gorge on the last of our dining points for the semester. I hope they have those little cakes I like. I plan to eat forty of them. But I’m so glad you called! I miss you! I can’t wait to come home. Just three more days! How are you? Did Gendry finally take his head out of his—” “Sansa—“ Arya heaved a sigh. “Hey? What’s wrong?” “I’m not sure I should tell you.” “Is it about my Christmas present?” Sansa asked with a laugh as she grabbed a sweater from her closet and put it on. “Cause you never can keep that secret. Remember when—“ “No—it’s not—it’s—it’s about Jon.” “Oh.” Sansa sat down on her bed. “I know it’s against the rules—to bring him up—when you didn’t ask.” “Yes,” Sansa agreed; her eyes flirted to her picture of Ghost, but her eyes felt too out of focus to see him clearly. “Sansa—you there?” “Yes, sorry. I’m here.” “I wasn’t sure I should say anything—but I wasn’t sure—you still have exams—but I thought maybe you’d like to know—I—“ “Arya,” Sansa interrupted, doing her best to keep her voice calm. “What is it that I should know about Jon?” Arya didn’t answer right away, and Sansa repeated her name insistently. “Jon’s been wounded. I don’t know how bad, but his mom says he’s in intensive care and unresponsive, so...” Sansa didn’t need her to say the rest. She was clutching the phone so tightly that her fingers hurt. She switched hands. “Does his mom know anything else?” “No—not that I know of at least.” Sansa nodded. “Will you tell me—if—when she does?” She could hear Arya crying on the other line. “Of course. As soon as I hear something.” “That’s—that’s good. How—how long has he been in the hospital?” “Three days.” “Three—gods—wow—okay. Do—do you know what happened?” “He was stabbed.” “Stabbed?” “Multiple times.” “Where?” Sansa croaked. “In the chest—near the heart.” The news made Sansa feel as though she’d been dealt the same wounds. She felt tears fall down her cheeks as she listened to Arya’s hoarse explanation. When she finished, Sansa felt like she couldn’t breathe. Meera, back from the bathroom down the hall, came into the room then. “Hey, wolf girl, you ready?” Sansa wiped away her tears. “Arya, I have to go,” she stammered. “Will—will you call me? As soon as you hear more? I mean, the minute you hear—I want—I need to know.” “Of course.” “I love you.” “I love you, too.” Sansa didn’t eat anything with Meera; she barely spoke for the next three days. She didn’t study, didn’t pack, didn’t brush her hair. Meera tried to get her to go outside, but Sansa refused. She just stayed in her room and waited by her phone. Until finally, it rang. “Hello?” she answered raggedly. “Sansa.” “Arya?” “Sansa, he’s awake. He’s gonna be okay.”

#jonsa #jonsa fic #jon snow #sansa stark #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fan fiction #jonsa fan fic #mollyraesly

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houseofvans · 7 years

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ART SCHOOL | Q&A with Martin Ontiveros (PDX)

The art wizardry of Portland based Martin Ontiveros has appeared in various galleries, albums, posters and has even been transformed into diabolical toys and figurines. Ontiveros’s graphic ink and brush style is meticulous and bold, transforming his horned and demonic creations into fun and bad-ass pop occultism. We’re excited to chat with this ink sorcerer in our latest Art School where we talk about technique, studio days, and what is coming up for him the rest of this year.

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself? Hello, I’m Martin Ontiveros, also known as Martinheadrocks, illustrator and wizard. “Marty” to my closest friends and family. I live in Portland Oregon, I’m left-handed/ambidexterous and I have a large ginger cat/familiar named Zeus. Nice to meet you.

How do you describe your art to folks who have never seen it before? Pop-occultism? Creature Chic? What you might find inside an ancient tomb or temple from a previously unknown civilization.

Who were some of your early artistic influences that really inspired you to draw? It started with Star Wars in 1977, and Mad Magazine, especially the work of Jack Davis. Childrens book art by Jim Flora. Books and movies about UFOs, cryptids, phenomena, ghosts and black magic when I was a kid. Later it was Heavy Metal Magazine and the underground artists of the 60s and 70s, S. Clay Wilson, Greg Irons, Spain, etc. 80’s punk and metal pioneer artists like Mad Mark Rude and Pushead. Derek Riggs and his Iron Maiden covers.

Lots of rock album art. Fantasy/conceptual artists like Mike Ploog, Boris Vallejo, Frazetta, Richard Corben. That was all the stuff that built up the desire, but what really got me drawing were the indie comics of the 80s with people like Marc Hansen, Matt Wagner, the Pander Bros, David Boswell, Dori Seda, Mary Fleener. I really really wanted to make comics by the time I was 17-18. I’ve since discovered it’s not for me. Art of the Ancient World, Mesopotamian and Mesoamerican in particular. There’s more to this list, I’m an old man now and have seen a lot, but we don’t have all day.

What’s a day like in the studio for you? And take us through your artist process –from start to finish on a piece. I used to start work when it was already well into the evening and would go until after the dawn, but in the last couple years I’ve reversed that schedule. Now I usually get up around 4am. I still get the benefits of nocturnal studio time that way, at least until the sun is up—no one bothers me and it’s quiet. I’ve become a Daywalker—I have all of the vamipre’s strengths and none of the weaknesses.

A typical day is trying to stay focused while fending off my own distractions (I’m ADD) and steering around having to leave the house for anything, ha. I always start with a bit of doodling to warm up a little, then jot down a thumbnail sketch of whatever’s on the agenda that day—usually very small and rough, just to set the composition and borders.

Sometimes I’ll spend extra time fleshing out details on certain aspects of the drawing, say a helmet or insignia. Then I’ll figure out my dimensions and either draw to size or use my trusty proportion wheel to do it smaller if need be. Next is the hard pencil stage. I like using 2H or 3H lead which is rough on the paper but much less messy than a soft lead. I don’t work with a loose outline, I need a solid and tight map to work from and when I have it on lock, I’ll transfer it to my final surface.

That method goes for both a black and white ink piece or a painting. I’ll warm the brush up by laying our some strokes on scrap paper and when I feel like I got a grip on it, off I go. If it’s a painting, I lay all the color and shading out first, then put down the linework. And even if my pencils were tight, there’s always room for improvisation, a tweak or two, especially when I’m inking—some happy accidents come up now and then. I should mention that I sometimes have to chuck a drawing and start the process all over again, even if it’s close to completion because if it isn’t working, screw it. It seems wasteful and time consuming and I could probably avoid it by going digital, but I choose to do it old school.

What’s your tool of the trade medium-wise? And is there a new medium you’re looking to try in 2018? I swear by my brush and ink. Nothing gives me more satisfaction. The artists I’ve always admired most are handy with a brush line. Not to say I don’t like pens, it’s just that I’m not as steady using one and leave them for doodling. I love papier mache, it’s not a new medium to me, but I’ve yet to know how to make the time to do it more so let’s say that that is my goal for 2018. If there was any other medium that I’d choose to do over drawing, it would be that.

You’ve worked on many collaborations with bands and created some awesome cover art and posters. What has been your favorite collaboration and what would be a dream collaboration be? Oooh. That’s a toughy. I did a tour shirt for Mastodon this past year and I have to say that was likely the pinnacle so far. When I caught their show later, it was thrilling to see people buying it at the merch table and to know there’s maybe hundreds more out there wearing it. Dream collaboration…probably the Melvins. Or Alice Cooper? But with the Melvins I know I could just probably do me and not worry about whether or not I’m a good fit. I’m not what you would call “conventional”.

What are you listening to when you’re painting your various creatures and demons? Give us five bands you’re checking out at the moment. I listen to music when I sketch/conceptualize and switch to podcasts or play a favorite movie or show when I’m really into the process, it’s comforting to hear people talk during the heavy work for some reason. It’s another long list but some of my go-to bands are High On Fire, Sleep, Windhand, Black Cobra and Slayer. That’s if I want it crushing. If I’m doing something trippier, it’ll be Om, Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, Dead Meadow, that kind of thing. Podcasts are generally true crime or comedy.

What’s been the hardest challenge being an artist? What do you tell folks who want to travel down a similar path? I don’t recall the artist’s name who said it, but to paraphrase, the quote was that art can often be a dark and lonely pursuit for us. I believe he was referring more to the fact that we spend a lot of our time working in solitude which is inherent, yet it can also weigh you down emotionally. That really speaks to me, even more so because I’ve also wrestled with depression for most of my life.

Your work can be so entwined with your sense of self-worth, so I suppose the hardest challenge for me is to not let my heart sink when something I make doesn’t receive the attention I hope to get for it. People can be fickle though. I try to remember that, and move on to the next thing. With that in mind I guess I tell folks to make sure they get out of their lairs when possible and share their frustrations with other artist friends, foster a support group of sorts because it helps to know you aren’t alone out there with all these feelings. That and maintain a regular paying job when they start out, because man…it can be tough making a living at it.

In another dimension, what would you be if you weren’t an artist? I’d be that weird old sorcerer living somewhere in the woods that the villagers speak of in whispers. Benevolent, but not to be trifled with. So, not too much different from what I am in this dimension, just with blue skin, maybe.

What are your favorite Vans? Chukka Low? Old Skool? Era? (I had to look up the actual names). Basically low padded ankle with laces, and always dark colors with a black toe because I don’t like my vision being drawn down to my feet moving under me. I honestly don’t wear any other brand of kicks. I keep a pair of Slip-Ons for doing things around the house. Vans makes good jeans too.

What’s the art scene like in your part of the woods? What do you like the most about where you’re living these days? The scene that I know here is primarily illustration, at least that’s what I keep my eyes out for. Lots of sweet, supportive people without attitude and many that are good friends. There aren’t as many galleries as there used to be but there are other venues to get your work out there. I’m now in a part of SE that I’ve never lived in before, at the edge of being outside of Portland proper but only just so. It’s mellow and quiet here and most things I need are within walking distance. I got a couple stores, a good Mexican food place, a bar, you get my drift. I do wish some of my besties lived closer by though. And a decent art supply store.

Since this feature is called Art School, can you give us your most helpful art tip? This probably won’t make me popular by saying it, but learn the difference between homage and theft. Yes, it’s fun to pay tribute to an artist’s style or someone else’s pop culture/intellectual property now and then, I’ve done it, we’ve all done it, not shaming that…but the difference is, if ALL you’re doing is copying, it comes off as creatively lazy. I don’t care how many followers you may gain from it. Come on. If you’re skilled enough to copy someone else’s shit, you’re skilled enough to make up your own content. Raise the bar, people. Don’t lower it.

What’s on the horizon for 2018? New merch in my shop, a group show in Mexico City, more band stuff, my first trip to NY ever, toy releases, designs and customs, a collaboration or two, hopefully a couple of conventions later in the warm months. I’d like get back into painting on a larger scale and figure out how to take it slower in general, make my work really level up, you know? There’s always room for improvement!

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