#hoping to go to the riverbank and do a bunch of writing as well when i wake up later this afternoon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mikrowrites · 3 years

Text

andromeda

(vignettes cut from cottages of constellations; can be read as a one-shot)

c!wilbur x reader

summary: a series of memories from y/n’s perspective; the war, the death, the stars, the secret, and the meeting.

warnings: fluff, angst, violence, war themes, bad mental health situations, death, language, manipulation

a/n: this is basically a bunch of scrapped ideas from cottages of constellations that i shoved together bc i already had them written and have been hitting a writer’s block with pt 3. the only part of this you should regard as “canon” is the syndicate vignette, that will be in pt 3. enjoy!!

Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets.

That was not something unknown by any, not a surprise to some. The two seemed to have words unspoken, existing between the glance of an eye or a brush of a hand, a nod of a head and a ever so soft sigh. Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets to themselves and themselves only.

The cottage was one. A secret kept along a peaceful riverbank, until the price of TNT seemed higher than that forgotten paradise. There were some other secrets too. Some inconsequential, some almost burdening.

Y/n and Wilbur kept a secret they chose to not share with anyone. A secret that would be for the best if left unsaid.

But the price of freedom would prove higher and more demanding. The price for a tall brunette man to whisper the words into an enemy’s ear, for the enemy to relay it to someone who was once deemed an old friend.

The moment Schlatt spoke the secret out loud to Y/n with threatening intent, everything came crashing to the ground.

It was a secret Schlatt would die with.

—

The War…

Y/n arrived as the sun rose at dawn.

Wilbur was there to meet her, his uniform jacket unbuttoned messily and his cravat askew. As she approached him closer he smiled softly, but the smile was tired, aching, the light in his eyes dimmed by the bags beneath them.

What was the saying, “winning is easy, governing is harder”?

Y/n feared both feats were insurmountably difficult.

“Hello, love.” Wilbur sighed, striding the distance of Y/n’s approach and pulling her into his arms, holding her like a lifeline.

“Hey Wil, it’s okay, I’m here.” Y/n reassured.

He pulled away with a less tight smile, wrapping his fingers around her own, pulling her towards the majestic walls.

“Y/n L/n, welcome to L’manburg.”

And L’manburg was small, and undeveloped, and nothing quite impressive really. But it was her lover’s nation, and to Y/n it looked like a spectacle of heaven. “It’s wonderful.”

Wilbur led her into the camaravan, where battle plans and declarations had been hung and placed about, with an occasional empty bottle or a misplaced piece of weaponry.

Y/n had fought in wars before, in another life, far from this server. She had played the part of diplomat, of ally, of enemy. It was all a language familiar to her like breathing, and she suspected Wilbur was well aware, why else would he write begging her to join the front lines?

She hummed in thought, running her hands over a tabletop. “When’s the next battle, then?”

“Tomorrow.” Wilbur replied simply.

Y/n nodded. “Okay. Where do we start?”

Wilbur smiled once more.

—

The Death…

Y/n struggled against Quackity’s hold, screaming her throat raw. “YOU KILLED HIM!”

Smoke from the firework barrage still lingered on the execution box, Schlatt turning from his podium to Y/n. He smirked. “Y/n, my dear, he was a traitor. You know what happens to traitors.”

Y/n spat at his feet, the man laughing. “That’s cute. Remember Y/n, I hold all the cards in my hands. You don’t want to step out of line, remember? Who knows what secrets could get spilled.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Y/n glared, her eyes like fire as the two stood off against each other on the podium under Manberg’s watching eyes. “Because I am going to fucking kill you before you even think about it.”

Schlatt laughed loudly again, facing the crowd. “Do you hear that, folks? Miss Y/n is going to kill me!” He lowered his voice, leaning so he was face to face with her. “That’s treason, my friends.”

Y/n hardened her eyes, as Quackity let her arms go. She stepped forwards, her hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. Everything was quiet, not the crowd’s jabs or cries were heard by her, not even Niki’s protests to spare her best friend.

Schlatt smiled, unsheathing his own sword as Y/n stood her ground, preparing to produce her own in hopes of taking down the tyrannical man once and for all.

“These were not the ideals of L’manberg.” Y/n shouted so the audience could hear her. “And Manberg should be no different. And I’m getting really fucking tired of you hurting everyone and everything I love. So yeah, I’m a traitor, because I value people over a country.”

“People you’d be willing to lose a life for?” Schlatt jeered.

“Time and time again, yes.” She verified.

Schlatt shook his head in amusement. “Y/n, the patron saint of L’manberg. You’ll fall as easily as any man.”

Y/n smirked, drawing her own sword. “Good thing I’m not a man then, yes?”

“STOP! Stop!”

The two adversaries’ heads whipped over, catching the glimpse of a tall brunette in a brown trench coat walking down the aisle of seats, hands out in a preventative gesture. “Stop.”

“Wil…?” The man who left her behind. The man who promised safety. The man who most importantly, loves her. The former President, to protect his former First Lady.

Schlatt’s sword ran through Y/n’s body. Wilbur screamed.

The girl gasped, grasping Schlatt’s shoulder’s with tight fingers, looking at him in shock. He had gotten the upper hand. Y/n had never lost a duel, yet this one was over before it had even started because she did the one thing she had been trained to never do in battle.

Y/n found distraction in a lover.

Wilbur would always be her hubris.

Schlatt leaned over with booze-tainted breath to whisper in her ear. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He then ripped the sword out of her, and everything went black. The last thing Y/n heard before waking up laying in the soft grass of a forest was the sound of Wilbur shouting her name.

Y/n was killed by JSchlatt

—

The Stars…

Long ago, in a world different from where she was now, Y/n’s mother had taught her every constellation strewn across the night sky. The young girl would marvel at her mother, eyes shining with curiosity and awe as the soft-spoken woman would point to each cluster of stars.

Life was simple then, before war after war Y/n was forced to fight and win. Before aching loss and hurt.

Y/n laid on the angled roof of Philza’s house, her lips parted slightly as her eyes traced designs of warriors and beasts and lovers. Her breath fogged into the night sky, the girl indifferent to the cold surrounding her.

“Kid, what’re ya doin’?”

She flicked her eyes down to where Technoblade stood beneath her, staring up at her form with disinterest but yet a glint of confusion or curiosity.

Y/n smirked, her eyes traveling back up to the sky. “Chasing constellations.”

Technoblade definitely had the right idea to be a tint worried at the sight of Y/n on a roof, staring off into nothing. It had been a week and a half since they had both blown up New L’manberg, and her mind was undoubtedly conflicted. Techno supposed if he were in the same situation, he’d feel the same perhaps. But now (though he’d never show it) he was just concerned of the well-being of his old friend.

So Technoblade was immensely surprised when Y/n patted a spot on the roof next to her and said: “cmon”.

The blood god was silent and still for a moment before pulling out his trident, using it to launch himself up and land gracefully onto the roof next to her. The girl didn’t flinch a bit, just turned back to the night sky.

Y/n looked tired, Techno noticed, but yet relieved. He hadn’t seen her this relaxed since their last war fought together away from this server, where she had spoken of a kindhearted brunette she was running away with after the battle’s conclusion.

Technoblade sat next to her, the girl sighing. “No more wars, Techno. I’ve fought my last one. I’m tired of being a pawn in someone’s game, of breaking myself for others.” Y/n huffed out a laugh. “I think I might try that retirement plan.”

“Retirement is overrated.” Technoblade groaned. “So if I made you an offer, you’d refuse?”

Y/n shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her kneecaps. “Depends on the offer. I’m pretty done being taken advantage of.”

Techno turned to look at her. “All these years and you don’t trust the proof I wouldn’t.”

“Can’t blame a girl for having trust issues.” She grumbled. “What’s the offer?”

“I’m putting together a group of people with common ideals. Anarchy, we’d be there to abolish these kingdoms’ governments before they can cause more death and destruction, cause more Wilburs.” Techno explained, the girl turning to him at the sound of her ex-lover’s name. “We’re called the Syndicate.”

Y/n murmured the name to herself, furrowing her eyebrows. “Who’s we?”

“Philza and I. Zephyrus and Prostileus. And, potentially, you.” He stated. “Codenames.”

She turned back to the stars, silent for a few minutes. Technoblade patiently sat in the quiet, letting the girl mull over her thoughts. It had been about five minutes when he spoke up. “So? What’ll it be?”

Y/n pursed her lips, before parting them with a soft exhale. “Andromeda… call me Andromeda.”

Technoblade smiled at his old comrade in battle, now considered an ally and friend.

“Welcome to the Syndicate, Andromeda.”

—

The Secret…

Y/n wasn’t sure how long she had sat in the makeshift cell. Had it been days? Weeks? She didn’t know. All she knew was locked away to stand trial for “aiding fugitives in escaping”.

Her thoughts drifted to Wilbur, as they usually did in moments like these, where she fought desperately to remember the sound of his laughter or his loving assurances. Y/n hoped he and Tommy were safe, and she knew they were smart so they would be.

But she feared for Fundy as well. They had spoken on the night he announced his campaign for president, their hushed voices behind the podium as the rest of the server were asleep.

Y/n met the boy in the shadows of the podium, Fundy looking at her for some kind of reaction. Would she shout in anger? Cry in sadness? Running against his father was a betrayal, he should be reprimanded by the closest thing to a mother he had.

Instead, she smiled, and hugged him.

Fundy tensed in surprise before wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder as his hands clutched the back of her jacket.

“You know I have to support and stand by your father,” she started, softly rubbing small circles into Fundy’s back. “but it will never overshadow how proud I am of you.”

“Thank you, mama.” He sighed out, Y/n smiling kindly.

“You are my pride and you are my joy, Fundy. There’s nothing you could do that could make me love you less. Don’t forget that, okay?” Y/n asked.

Fundy nodded his head against his mother figure’s shoulder, still embracing her.

He missed the tears in her eyes as she bit her lip to keep her walls up. Indulging in this moment wasn’t something she was deserving of, and she knew that.

She had chosen to forego this path, it would be unfair of her to try and act as though she hadn’t changed everything.

The door to empty room creaked open, Y/n looking up to meet the eyes of a man she had once thought of as an old friend, but now some who repulsed her more than anything on this server. The man smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Y/n. Long time, no see.”

“Schlatt.” The name sounded like venom on her tongue, Y/n glaring at the man with dark eyes.

“How are you, hm?” Schlatt pulled a chair over for him to sit on, Y/n scoffing in disbelief.

“I don’t know Schlatt, you tell me. What the fuck is wrong with you, you were our friend!” She shouted.

Schlatt sat back in his hair. “I’m no one’s friend here. I’m a president here to run this country.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and leaned back against the wall, the man smirking.

“I want you to join me.”

That made the girl start to laugh, shaking her head. “You are something else, Schlatt.”

“I’m serious, I want you to join me and Manberg.” Schlatt deadpanned.

“Fuck off.” was Y/n’s reply.

Schlatt sighed, standing from where he sat, and paced to another side of the room. “Tell me, does your little lover boy have an infatuation with TNT?”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “Not that I’m aware, and if I was I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair enough.” Schlatt said, his footsteps clacking against stone as he further paced. “Well, he recently made some deals with the devil and came into possession of a lot of fucking TNT. You wanna know what he traded for that much power? Secrets.”

She stiffened, eyeing Schlatt warily, her voice barely above a whisper. “Secrets?”

Schlatt hummed, grinning. “Oh yeah. Loads of ‘em. I’m a chronic eavesdropper, so I had to get the scoop. And you’ll never guess what I heard.”

Y/n stood slowly, like an animal bracing for a fight, her fists shaking. She uttered the man’s name in warning, Schlatt stopping and turning to her with a wicked grin.

“You have a child.”

It felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, Y/n momentarily forgetting how to breathe. Her mouth felt dry, her body numb. Schlatt laughed, knowing he had her right where he wanted her.

“Fundy’s actually your son! Biologically and everything! And you never told him, you just left!” Schlatt exclaimed.

Y/n burst forwards, slamming Schlatt against the wall and lodging her forearm across his throat. She spoke with a low, dangerous voice. “I was young. I was stupid. And I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I couldn’t be the mother he needed.”

“So you left. And then you come back and you play the part of his mother, while the poor boy thinks your lover fucked a fish? That’s fucked up, Y/n.” He chuckled lowly.

Y/n pursed her lips, glaring into Schlatt’s eyes. “What do you want?”

Schlatt slowly removed Y/n’s forearm from his throat. “I want you to join me as one of my officials. I want you to betray Wilbur and Tommy. And if you don’t…”

“… I tell Fundy your big secret… and then I personally kill him until he’s dead.”

Y/n felt completely and absolutely defeated. She had never let someone have the upper hand on her. Not like this. She remained distraughtly silent, Schlatt nodding Ashe received his answer.

He reached into his pocket, throwing her comm device onto the floor. “Lover boy’s been trying to call you for weeks. You should call him back one last time and tell him to never call again. You know what’s at stake.” Schlatt then turned and walked towards the door. “I’ll have a fine pressed suit for you tomorrow morning and a more comfortable room, then the real work begins. Goodnight, Y/n.”

And he was gone.

Y/n fell to her knees, her body shaking with fear and guilt. Why did she have to be so stupid why did she have to create such deep-sewn weaknesses, why did she leave her son?

She reached for the comms device, her trembling fingers clicking a button as she spoke out in a terrified whisper. “Wilbur?”

—

The meeting…

Y/n hated parties with a passion she could not fathom. The celebration of another war won, a country saved. She was just a wandering soldier, moving from one battle to the next, finding celebration a little tone-deaf.

But nonetheless she stood in the banquet hall, her sash of medals and patches detailing her great accomplishments hung on her frame, with the world’s most uncomfortable dress covering her. Technoblade had told Y/n to liven up, drink and dance a little, though what a fucking hypocrite because he didn’t show up.

Y/n sipped her champagne, leaning against the bar top, a bored expression laid across her face as she traced circles into the wood with her finger. She didn’t register the boy standing next to her, eying her with curiosity before he spoke up. “One vodka neat, please.”

She finally indulged to meet his gaze, the tall brunette smiling and offering his hand. “Wilbur Soot.”

Y/n knocked back the rest of her champagne, before shaking his hand. “Y/n L/n.”

“You seem bored, Y/n L/n.” Wilbur observed.

She scoffed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“So I can tell.” He quipped, Y/n beginning to question the audacity of this kid. But he just smiled widely, pulling a stool and sitting next to her.

“Look, I don’t know what you want, but if it’s getting in my pants tonight it’s definitely not happening.” Y/n bluntly responded.

“Woah there! Take me out to dinner before we discuss that.” Wilbur defended, retrieving his drink from the bartender.

Y/n couldn’t even tell if the man was joking, but she rolled her eyes anyways. He was silent, she could tell he was trying to size her up. Figure out what made her brain tick, how to read her.

Must be frustrating for him to know he can’t.

She sighed, pulling away from the bar top, smoothing out her despised dress. “Well, thanks for the chat Wilbur, but I’d best be going.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Y/n.” Wilbur raised his drink and tipped it towards her in a kind of toasting or saluting gesture. She was a high ranked militia official anyways.

Y/n nodded and walked away, Wilbur watching her as she left. What she didn’t know, was he could read her like an open book. He saw her pain, her guilt, her stone disposition. But he saw her kindness, her generosity, her beauty. Wilbur was intoxicated by the mere presence of her, and her mystery.

Wilbur just had a gut feeling they’d cross paths again. And when they did, maybe in a space she was more comfortable than the loud and cheering party, maybe he’d offer her a drink, or even a dance. The boy slammed his drink on the table before standing, and rushing across the room.

Why wait when you know?

Y/n felt a gentle hand on her wrist, the girl turning to see Wilbur. She raised an eyebrow in question as he released his soft grip, and held his palm flat out in front of her. “May I have this dance.”

She had seen years of pretty boys offering her drinks and dances and the world. Each disappointed, each never following through. But Y/n looked up at Wilbur, and she could see the world in his brown eyes, she could see hope and chivalry and mirth. She pursed her lips, the boy seeming to deflate at her monotone and silent response.

Y/n took his hand, to the boy’s surprise. “One dance. That’s all.”

They danced all night. And laughed all night, more than Y/n had in years.

Y/n had never felt more alive than the night she met Wilbur Soot.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot imagines #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #dream smp imagines #dream smp imagine #dream smp x reader #dsmp imagine #dsmp imagines #dsmp x reader #c!wilbur soot x reader

112 notes · View notes

dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

Text

Ash The Ironbelly ~ KNJ [Request]

↱↱↱Word Count: 5.1k

↱↱↱Genre: Magical!AU, fluffy, crack? Tiny angst, platonic

↱↱↱Pairing: OT7 With Reader

↱↱↱A/n: Hope this is okay for you love! This was my first time writing something like this and I actually really enjoyed being able to ‘’create my own world’’ I guess I didn’t because I used a lot of harry potter references but I really enjoyed writing this

You took in a deep breath as you walked through the forest, taking in as much of the forest air into your lungs as you could manage. It was early feeding time which meant you'd just gone to feed the trolls and were heading down through the forest towards the lake where Jimin would be but you were walking slowly since the trolls and you occasionally looked after Hades whenever Tae wanted some help with the little guy. The morning dew on the grass kept leaking inside of your shoe but you didn't care, it made your morning walk extra refreshing and helped you wakeup a little bit more- as if you would need that after the 10-minute walk into the forest.

"Bert!" You cried out of excitement when you felt the oldest, and tallest troll of your bunch bend down and scoop you into his hand. He was sixteen feet tall and his hand was the size of boulders so you sat perfectly in the middle of his palm. He was nothing but a huge softy to everyone he met but because of his size everyone was terrified of him, so he moved out into the forest with his wife to get away from people.

"Wet." He grunted loudly as he carried you over to the lake, you smiled up at him running your hand along his skin as a thank you while you plunged into your pocket for earplugs so that the mermaids couldn't put you into a trance.

"Morning Bert has she got you moving her around, so lazy." Jimin teased smiling as Bert gently put you down by the river bank before disappearing back into the large green trees so he could go back to his wife Gertrude. They'd been together for as long as you and the rest of the boys had been living in this part of the woods, you and Namjoon had come together after finding secrets about the place. You wanted to study the creatures and help any of the sick and injured ones that you came across, the rest of the boys all agreed to help as well.

"How are they doing this morning?" You questioned Jimin who pointed at the rock that was always sitting half in and half out of the water, you stared at the mermaid that was laying there. She was beautiful and you were sure that somehow their siren calls didn't just end with their voices, their beauty could intoxicate people too. She was laid on the rock with her grey and blue trail trailing down by her side, her hair was brown and done in plats so it was easier to swim with. She span around to see you standing close to Jimin and she leered at you, diving into the water and swimming over to the riverbank to inspect you.

"Behave," Jimin warned her as she continued to leer at you from inside of the water, a lot more of them all coming to join in and watch you closely.

Jimin was in charge of the mermaids because he was the only one exempt to their siren song which sounded so sweet and irresistible when you first heard it but once you saw the effects it quickly lost its appeal. Especially when the grey tailed one almost dragged Jungkook under the river to drown him, the attraction was over but for some reason, none of it seemed to affect Jimin. You later found out through countless bits of research that it was because of Jimin's natural flirty tones, you just assumed he must have been part siren.

"Hows Gertrude doing?" You looked over at the trees and then sat down with Jimin on the riverbank looking at the water, it was foggy over the water but it still looked peaceful and beautiful.

"She's good, almost ready to blow bless her." You laughed softly thinking back to when you first had to look up Troll pregnancies, the woman in the market thought you were insane for doing what you did out here.

"I heard Namjoon went into town this morning," Your ears picked up at the sound of Namjoon leaving the hut you all lived in,

"Really? Like just got up and left?!" You stood up from the floor and brushed off the trousers you were wearing, Jimin started at you while nodding. It progressed, Namjoon hadn't left the hut since his phoenix had combusted into flames and not come back after the week of rest it was supposed to have. You'd read up that after one week if they didn't come back it was over and Namjoon hadn't taken it very well, he began locking himself up in his room not wanting to talk to anyone.

"Yeah, Jin said he saw him leaving when he went down to feed Buckbeak this morning." You nodded and looked over at the hut, Taehyung was just getting back from a walk with Hades, Yoongi and Kat so you were going to have to go and start breakfast.

"Extra bacon?" You questioned Jimin knowing what he was thinking already, he smirked and nodded watching you sprint off in the direction of the stone hut you all lived in.

"Who's a good boy? That's right, you're such a good boy aren't you?" You giggled in a tone that had the rest of the boys staring at you from around the kitchen table. They'd all come back from looking after their morning animals and you were fussing Hades, the Cerberus that you and Taehyung co-owned. You fed all three of his heads a raw steak before standing up on your feet and stroking the body. Three-headed pitbull stood at 6 inches tall and was huge but when you first got him he was only a little baby, so small and fluffy that you slept with him every night, despite Jin's claims that it would be bad for him,

'He's supposed to be like his ancestors.' His ancestors being the ones depicted on ancient Egypt vases and walls, or ones told in the stories of Greek gods.

"You pamper him too much," Jin said as he watched Hade's walk into your room of the hut and jump onto your bed getting ready to sleep away his morning walk.

"I do not, he deserves it." Yoongi stared at you then over at Kat, the Kitsune he was in charge of looking after. A nine-tailed fox which he insisted on everyone calling a Kitsune because of what locals had been turning nine-tailed foxes into online.

"Yoongi spoils Kat." You shot back and it sparked a debate between you all over the kitchen table.

"Is Namjoon still not back?" Hoseok asked later that night when he walked up to the door with Jungkook close behind him, you'd been sat on the doorstep for hours. Looking up at the pitch-black sky for a while, while you waited for Namjoon to come home but it was getting late and there was still no sign of him. Jungkook was sweating and covered in glitter so you assumed the Unicorn he had been looking after in the forest had just given birth, you grabbed him a beer from the basket you had on the doorstep beside you.

"Congratulations Granddad." You teased smirking as you grumbled about going for a shower and left the bottle of beer on the kitchen side.

"How are the jackalopes doing?" You questioned Hoseok who sat down beside you on the step, he was about to go into depth with what he'd been doing with them when you heard Namjoon's voice.

"You're up late." He sounded shocked to see you awake, probably because you were the first out of you all to head to bed and the first to wakeup.

"Colour me stupid but I was worried about you, where did you go?" He looked in his bag and you frowned wondering what he was doing when he told you to get everyone into the living room.

"What's this about?" You questioned but he ignored your questions and pushed through into the house without another word.

"Go wake Yoongi up and I'll get the rest of them." There was no way you were going to be in charge of ever waking Yoongi up,

"Hades, here." You tapped your hip and Hades followed you into the hut and jumped onto Taehyung's bed waking him up in an instant,

"Family meeting."

"What is it Namjoon? Why did you wake us all up for a family meeting, could it not have waited until tomorrow?" Jimin grumbled laying his head on Hade's back as Hade's slept on the back of the sofa.

"No, this is important. Look, Y/n...What do you remember about that old guy from the tavern?" Everyone stared at you waiting for answers and you shook your head while shrugging your shoulders,

"Not much, he was an old drunk that used to tell me tales about this old place." Before you all moved into the hut you were working in a small tavern in the village hearing all of the crazy stories. You knew of magic, and mystical creatures but you had no idea that they were so close by you could walk to them.

"Do you remember he told you about dragons?" Namjoon was sweating as he sat by the fire, his sachel held as close to it as it could get without catching and going up in flames.

"Yes and I also remember him telling me that this place was haunted...Namjoon dragons went out years ago, along with old ghost stories-" You slowed down to a stop when you saw Namjoon reaching into his bag to pull out a teal coloured scaled egg.

"Namjoon what is that?" Jin questioned leaning forward, reaching out his hand to touch it but Namjoon put it back into the sachel.

"A dragon egg." He answered proudly looking over at the boys who were all now suddenly wide awake and filled with questions about the dragon egg while you were too busy trying to remember where you'd put all of the books on them.

"Where did you get it?" Their voices began to drown out as you walked towards your room in the hut, Hades following close behind to watch what you were doing.

"Hold this," You whispered to him handing him the latch to the attic, he placed it down on the floor and watched closely as you scaled the wall and got into the attic with ease.

"Dragon eggs, dragon eggs," You repeated as you ran your hands over the stacks of books in the attic. You and Namjoon had put them all up there when you finally took over the animals that lived with you and didn't need them anymore.

"Got it, Hades!" The dog was standing to attention at the bottom of the attic drop and you passed down five different books to him.

"Take them to the boys." All three heads took a book each and you picked up the last two flicking through them to see if you could find any information on eggs.

"Keep them warm, we have to keep them hot. Body temperature is good too." You mumbled aloud to the boys as they watched you and Namjoon began to flick through the books in front of you both.

~22 Months later~

You were bouncing the egg from side to side in a baby sling that Jin had picked up from a flea market a couple of months ago. According to the book the egg should have hatched around the nine-month mark but yet here you were still holding an egg 22 months later.

"Like a baby elephant," Jimin said that morning before leaving to go down to the lake, Taehyung had taken overseeing to Bert for you while you and Namjoon stayed home to take care of the egg and Hades.

"Here, you look exhausted." Namjoon went to take the egg from your hands but it slipped falling and hitting the floor by Hades face, he sniffed it before looking up at you both.

"Are you fucking stupid?! Namjoon that's a fucking baby dragon and you just dropped it!" You screamed looking down at the egg and then back to Namjoon who was turning a bright red colour and clenching his jaw.

"It's a rock hard egg! I'm sure it's fine!" The tension was high in the air and you could have cut through it with a butterknife at this point. Namjoon and you had both been on edge for the last couple of months since the egg wasn't showing any signs of changing since it changed from it's teal colour to a dark blue one with red sparkles on every other scale.

"It's a baby dragon!" You screamed bending down to pick up the egg but noticing it was starting to wiggle around and a crack was forming around the top half of the egg.

"Namjoon! Namjoon!" You screamed as he stormed off into the kitchen to get the hot water bottles ready,

"It's happening! It's time!" You screeched, he came running into the room almost slipping on the rug as he came in and you, Namjoon and Hades all gathered around the egg waiting for it to hatch.

The door to the hut opened and Jimin's loud opera singing sounded through the hut,

"SHUT UP!" You both screamed in unison making him stare at you acting offended until he noticed you all huddled around the egg which was almost completely cracked in a circle.

"You're going to be parents." He joked looking at you while stroking Hades main head while staring at the egg and waiting for something to happen but, he was impatient and walked away the second nothing happened while he waited there.

"Namjoon." You moaned pushing his shoulder away from you, you'd taken the egg to bed and laid it between you so that if it hatched you'd hear him or her coming out of the egg to greet you but Namjoon was laid right next to you and the egg was smashed into tiny pieces.

"Namjoon!" You panicked pushing him off the bed to wake him up and he looked up at you rubbing his eyes,

"Where is he?!" Your voice was masked in panic while you looked around the room only spotting the golden dragon on the bed, laid asleep on the pillow between you and Namjoon.

"Awh, look..." You both slowly drew closer to the bed and sat down watching the tiny dragon sleep, he was around the size of a bearded sleeping with his wings spread on the pillow.

"So tiny," Namjoon whispered running the side of his pinky down the back of the dragon's back and smiling as the dragon woke up and tried to fly up onto his hand.

"Here little guy," You whispered picking him up in your hands and shifting so you were sitting in front of Namjoon with your legs crossed,

"Namjoon will hold you okay," Namjoon held out his hands and the dragon took a couple of steps before falling back down onto his front and curling up to sleep in Namjoon's palm.

"It's weird huh?" You whispered to Namjoon while nodding at the dragon,

"What?"

"All the books said he would be about the size of an infant but he's tiny." Namjoon hummed and laid back against the headboard of your bed. You sat beside him watching the dragon sleeping, it was letting out small puffs of smoke through his snot.

"I should take Hades out for his morning walk," You yawned looking over at the window to see the sun rising through the gaps in your blinds.

"What? No. What if he wakes up!?" You stared at Namjoon as you got up from the bed and shook your head at him promising him that he would be fine. All of the books said that baby dragons will eat scraps of meat and you had plenty in the fridge from what you fed Hades with.

"Come on boy," You clapped your leg and Hades followed you out of the room and into the kitchen where Jin was getting ready to leave and Jimin was drinking his first mug of coffee.

"Any sign of him yet?" You nodded over at your door and they all rushed inside to get a good look at the baby dragon while you took Hades out to see Bert and Gertrude, along with their baby.

"Hey! Hades found this really weird looking- what did I do?" You asked when you came back that morning to find all of them staring at you,

"You left! For three hours! What time do you even call this?!" Namjoon asked looking at the dragon which was sitting on Jin's shoulder,

"I call it 9 am, what do you call it?" You asked going over to the fridge and getting meat for Hades who looked unimpressed that you were both being stared at by all of the boys.

"You didn't even stay to come up with a name!?" Taehyung asked, you walked over to Jin and took the dragon from his shoulder holding him close to your face and giggling as he licked your nose.

"I thought we agreed if it was a boy he would be called Norbert and if it was a girl Norberta like in Harry Potter?" Namjoon scoffed pointing at the dragon and questioning if you really thought he looked like a Norbert,

"Nah maybe more like a Draco." You teased knowing that they all hated Draco in the films so they weren't going to call him after their most hated character - who happened to be your favourite.

"Hagrid?" Jimin suggested but none of them looked like what your dragon should have been named.

"I've got it!" Yoongi said as he looked over at you, the dragon was now crawling its way on top of your head and it sat in your hair.

"Ash." You stared at Namjoon who was thinking about it for a couple of minutes before he started nodding,

"It's cute,"

"And a pun...Yoongi I'm proud!" Jin yelled causing Yoongi to let out a groan of annoyance about how he'd made a pun when he really hadn't intended to in the first place.

"Ukrainian ironbelly," You mumbled tiredly as you walked out into the garden, Namjoon with sitting with Ash on the grass waiting for him to try and fly for the first time while you had been reading up on all the different breeds trying to nail down what he was.

"Ash, go on...go on." You clutched the book close to your chest to see Namjoon encouraging Ash to jump form the gate post he was on, Ash was the size of an infant now and was supposed to have learnt how to fly months ago but you figured he was a slow developer or a different breed of dragon.

"You think that's why he's a little on the slower side?" Namjoon whispered as if Ash could hear you and would get upset about it, you nodded slowly showing Namjoon the pages of the book.

"Ironbelly's are supposed to develop a little slower but once they reach-"

"Whoa." You sighed in agreement as you realised what photograph he'd just seen.

"Yep," Namjoon picked up the phone, the dragon shown was bigger than Bert and Gertrude put together and was supposed to grow as big as skyscrapers.

"Where did you get him, he's really rare Namjoon." You started scratching underneath his chin and he began blowing more and more smoke out of his nose until he started flapping his wings from excitement. The book Namjoon was holding dropped onto the grass as you both watched Ash with his eyes closed picking up into the air, it was just a little but enough that it could be considered flying. You hand pulled away and as soon as it did he dropped onto the fence post again and it was as if he was pouting at you both which made you giggle.

"Do you want a treat? Fly onto the floor and I'll give you an extra-large steak." Ash stared at you, then to Namjoon before flapping his wings and launching himself from the fence post flying a couple of metres before dropping onto the floor.

"He's a lot like you," Namjoon said wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you walked into the hut together to get the steak.

"What do you mean?" You laughed, Ash made his way up the small step and stood in front of the fridge where he knew the meat was kept.

"Will do just about anything for food." You hit his chest with the fridge door and grabbed the steak, glancing out of your peripheral vision to see Hades slowly making his way over.

"Yes baby, you get one too." Namjoon got three more steaks out and you bent down to feed Ash who grabbed the meat and began trying to fly up onto the table so he could eat in peace away from the three-headed dog that demolished his within a matter of seconds.

Jin came in from looking after Buckbeak - the hippogriff- that you all kept and he was sweating and panting,

"You went past the lake again didn't you?"

"He did! Angel nearly had my eye out trying to jump up in the air for him!" Jimin screamed coming into the house covered in water, you giggled at the sight and pointed over at the table.

"Jungkook went into town and brought back food," Jimin grumbled something under his breath and walked away while Jin got himself a plate of food and sat between Yoongi and Tae who were discussing something about Kat.

"She's starting to pine for someone, she needs breeding but I don't know anyone with male foxes...do I just let her go to find one? She keeps trying to go for the mountains," You glanced over at Kat who was chained down to the floor, it seemed harsh at first but letting her out into the wild at night offered too many problems and he didn't want her to be hunted or lost.

"Maybe take her out in the morning and keep up with her." You suggested before shoving a bunch of noodles into your mouth and looking back down at the articles you'd found online about Ironbellies.

"What are you two going to do?" You swallowed the food and looked at Jungkook who had said it,

"Do about what?" Namjoon questioned putting down his book and looking at the youngest boy, Jungkook shrugged his shoulders and pointed at Ash who was curled up between you and Namjoon.

"We've all seen the photos, he's going to get too big to stay around here and then what are you going to do?"

"Keep him..." You said slowly as if there was any other option. He was like a son to you and Namjoon you weren't about to give him up.

"Pretty soon he won't be small enough to lay in the space between you at night." You looked down at Ash who began stretching and yawning, you knew they were right but you'd grown so accustomed to him sleeping between you and Namjoon it was going to be weird going back to just sleeping alone. Namjoon would go back to his room and you would just lay there alone all night.

"We can still keep him here though, we have a huge forest he can go to-"

"He won't be happy there, he needs to be with his own kind." Jin offered but you'd heard enough and got up from the sofa making a fast exit and locked yourself in your bedroom.

That night when Namjoon came into the room you laid awake while he and Ash slept soundly beside you, what the boys had said was sticking in your mind and it was making you want to cry. The thought alone of giving Ash up was breaking your heart, you didn't want to have to do that but you knew he was going to want to be with his own kind. Shifting over you looked at Namjoon as he snored silently, he was just as attached to Ash as you were since his phoniex was gone but you knew this was going to hurt him more when Ash went.

"Fuck." You whispered as you let tears roll down your cheeks and onto the bed, you sniffled before turning over and stared at the wall not wanting to think about it but it was all that clouded your mind. A fog over every thought about Ash and Namjoon, a fog so thick it was hard to see a future for you guys anymore.

Namjoon knew what you'd been doing all week and for the last six months. You'd done nothing but stay awake until unholy hours researching dragon trainers, dragon inn's and ringing up different places to discuss their treatments of the animals but nothing seemed as good as what you and Namjoon were able to offer but you knew you weren't going to find something like that.

"You got a place?" You nodded sliding the photographs of the sanctuary over to him and looking at Ash who was outside the front of the house asleep. He was huge now, about the size of a double-decker bus and it was scaring you how fast he was growing, it meant you only had little time left and all you wanted to do was spend time with him but you couldn't.

"It looks lovely and it's out in the desert, they have free range...He'll love it." Namjoon's voice croaked and you knew he was getting just as upset about this as you were, no one wanted to see Ash leave but it was one of those things that had to happen.

"They have a lot of Ironbellies there, they opened the place up to breed them so they could bring more back and study them because as you know...there isn't a lot on him or dragons in general." You both stared out of the window at Ash and you got up to go out and feed him while Namjoon flicked through the pages that you'd given him,

"Hey buddy," You whispered walking over to Ash who waited for you to get closer before bowing his head down and letting you hug him. He was so tame and used to you guys that it was like having a dog rather than a dragon. Namjoon cleared his throat trying not to cry and when he looked up he saw you hugging Ash, he smiled softly at the sight knowing that you'd all grown close to him and it was going to kill you all to give him up. Even Hades had grown to love him sleeping outside with him most nights or sharing meat with him, Namjoon sighed looking back at the photos and deciding it was the better option for everyone if Ash went away but he was going to check something first.

The dreaded day had come around far too soon for your liking, you'd laid outside with Namjoon and Ash all night to spend a final night together before he left with the trainers today, you looked at Ash who was snoring just like Namjoon only small flames were shooting out into the firepit beside you both. It had kept you warm all night but was starting to die out since the morning dew was hitting again.

"Coffee?" You glanced over to see Yoongi who was holding a mug and you got up from the floor and laid your blanket over Namjoon.

"Thanks." You whispered taking the cup and sipping from it, he watched you closely as you sat in the kitchen but in view of the window.

"They won't escape, you have to let go y/n." You knew he was right, he'd done the same with Kat and she came back. With 10 different little Kitsunes along with her but she came back.

"It just sucks," You whimpered rubbing your tears on your sleeve and then looking at Yoongi who was sighing, he'd never been good at the comforting thing so he just tried to reassure you by hugging you.

"He'll do better there," Again, you knew he was right but it didn't make the situation any easier to deal with, Namjoon started stirring in his sleep and you looked out of the window to see why. Dragons were incoming which meant the time was coming for Ash to leave.

"You just have a couple of forms to sign but once they're all done you're good to go Mr and Mrs Kim." You stared at the man in front of you and Namjoon informed him that you weren't together,

"Odd, usually people who raise dragons together are usually couples. My sincere apologies." Namjoon noticed you gazing out of the window and nudged for you to go,

"I've got this, go say goodbye." You sniffled and walked out of the hut going over to Ash who was being pampered by the other dragon keepers,

"Can I be alone with him for a minute?" They left without a word and you looked at Ash who stared back down at you with his jet black eyes.

"Hey buddy, you're erm...You're going to go away for a while okay," You reached your hand up to his face and he nestled into your touch making you let the tears fall from your eyes.

"They're really nice though, and you'll find a girlfriend or you know, a boyfriend in no time." You sighed leaning your forehead onto his and he nudged you so you would fall onto the floor at his feet and cuddle him. The way you had fallen asleep the night before.

"Y/n it's time." You got up from the floor and Namjoon held you close to his waist as you watched the trainers unhook Ash from his chain and add ropes so that they could ride him home, his new home.

"I meant what we discussed Namjoon, any time." Namjoon nodded and you both watched closely as Ash began to take off into the air flying further and further away until he was a dot in the sky. You sniffled and Namjoon rubbed your waist comfortingly.

"What did you discuss?" You whispered trying to get your mind off never seeing Ash again when Namjoon turned you to face him, he wiped the tears from your eyes.

"Ash can come and see us every three months and we're more than welcome to fly out and see him whenever we want." Your heart picked up at the thought and you threw your arms around Namjoon as you thought about going to see Ash when he was settled.

"We could go and see him when he's finally settled down and maybe has someone to mate with." You giggled excitedly and Namjoon watched you as you ran into the house to tell the rest of the boys the good news about Ash.

Tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies @yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @jooniesdarlingdimples @lyoongx @fan-ati--c @mitzwinchester @callingmyangel @rjsmochii @btsiguess-kpop @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie

69 notes · View notes

cadenreigns · 4 years

Photo

My Monster(s)

(This was an AU short story I wrote for a reddit 1-day writing contest for the star vs subreddit a long while back and later decided to add a twist ending to. While I went back and edited it a little bit, it was still something I wrote in like 2 hours so don’t expect a masterpiece. And since it’s longer than I remembered so it’s after the break)

“And that should be everything,” Dr. Backintosh said as she ticked off a few notes on her clipboard. “We’ll call you to set up a follow-up appointment once the results come in, but based on what we’ve gathered so far, I don’t foresee anything keeping us from moving on to the next phase.”

Meteora shifted in her hospital gown before feeling Mariposa squeeze her hand. The two exchanged a hopeful look before she returned her attention to the doctor. “So, you don’t think there will be any problem because of…what I am?”

The doctor looked up and gave a reassuring smile. “Ms. Butterfly, while your body may be more unique than others, you still have all the same organs and working parts we’re used to dealing with. I won’t say it’s impossible something won’t come up, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

Meteora let out a sigh she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “Good.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I guess all that’s left is to figure out a donor,” Mariposa mused aloud as they exited the doctor’s office and made their way to her car. Meteora immediately knew that she already had an idea, otherwise she wouldn’t have brought it up. It was, after all, the part of this situation that made her the most uncomfortable. More about it probably should have made her uncomfortable, like the very basic fact that 19 was a bit young to be doing what she was. But unlike Mari, quintessential college student that she was, who had every opportunity still ahead of her, Meteora only had one major decision of her own to make. And she had decided to make it before her weird half-breed biology could mess something up about it. Everything else, like where she could live and what job she’d have, had already been decided by the government or negotiated by her parents. And while being the monster representative would be a cushy job, she wasn’t sure that’s what she would have chosen for herself.

“I’m not going to like what you’re going to say next, am I,” Meteora said, knowing the answer.

Mari put on her most innocent smile, the smile that had convinced Meteora to do so many things over the years. So many things that often ended with them in trouble. “Well, there is one obvious way that would let me be a real aunt.”

Meteora stopped in place. “Please don’t tell me you’re insinuating what I think you are.”

Mari continued to smile. “And wouldn’t you know it, today’s the day I’m supposed to go check in on him. But my evening class starts soon, hmmm.” She cupped her chin in her hand and started to tap her upper lip, something she often did when presenting an idea as just thought up instead of meticulously planned. “Maybe you could go check on him for me, see how he’s doing, have a chat about life, the universe, and medical procedures. You know, stuff like that.”

Meteora’s tail had started to swing tersely back and forth at some point, and she made no attempt to stop it. “You know I don’t like him, Mari.”

“But you’ve got no real reason not to. Besides, he’s basically just me as a guy.”

“Does it even matter to you that I don’t want to go?”

“Your future matters more.”

Meteora crossed her arms and huffed. “Fine, I’ll do it. But you should know that sometimes I really hate you.”

“Which,” she began as her smile spread mischievously, “is of course why you end up doing everything I put in your head.”

It took Meteora almost an hour to make her way to his ramshackle home at the edge of Echo Creek. Not because it was any significant distance away, if that was the case then he probably would have been outside the area her and her father’s kind were allowed to travel in, but because he had picked the most out-of-the-way spot imaginable to live. The roads that led there were little more than curvy dirt paths that were hell on her moped, each looking ready to collapse into one of the many riverbanks or ditches that lined the way, and took the most roundabout routes to get anywhere. Of course, this spot was chosen when “he” had been “them,” but he had stayed after everything…stayed for years, so she wasn’t going to give him any slack about it.

And then the trees parted and she was in the clearing, where the mountains were far enough away to be majestic instead of looming overhead. It was truly a beautiful sight…until you looked down and saw the home sitting in the center of the clearing, right at the end of the dirt road that had brought her there. Everyone called it his “house” to be polite, but it was little more than a gussied-up trailer as far as Meteora was concerned. The chicken coops off to one end while a messy garden and old minivan took up space on the other didn’t exactly improve the image it gave off. If you didn’t know he owned all the land around them you’d think it was a squatter’s camp.

The closer she got the more Meteora didn’t want to deal with this. And that feeling only grew stronger when she propped the moped on its kickstand and took her helmet off. She knew she could drive away now and just tell Mari that she had done it, that would satisfy the periodic visits she insisted on, but not the donor angle. That she couldn’t drive away from without getting an earful about later. So, after a long and drawn out sigh, Meteora stepped up to the front door and knocked.

At first there was no reply, so she knocked again. Second time was the charm evidently, as almost immediately she heard a call from inside, “I’m coming.”

A moment passed, with some rustling barely making its way through the door before she heard the lock slide in and the handle started to turn. “You know you don’t have to keep checking in on me, Mari. I can take care of myself…”

Marco Diaz trailed off when the door was fully open and he saw that it wasn’t Mari at his door, but her best friend. This man, who Meteora had known all her life and who was in surprising good shape considering that, by all accounts, he rarely actually left his so-called “house,” was the man who she despised more than anyone else in world. But Mari had made her promise not to let that come across as too obvious.

“Hey jerk-face.” Some promises were hard to keep.

“Meteora,” he replied, his brow raised in confusion.

She stepped past him and inside before he could get the chance collect his thoughts. “Mari’s got class tonight, so she sent me. You’re not doing anything stupid that would worry her, are you?”

Marco closed the door behind her and followed as she made her way down the length of the small home. Based on what Mari had told her about previous visits, she had expected more of a mess as she made her way through the small sitting area and kitchen, but the place was clean and tidy, almost sterile. The only thing even close to messy about it was a dish rag on the kitchen counter. She stopped when she came to the bedroom on the far side of the kitchen, it featured some un-fluffed pillows, not that Meteora ever bothered with that either.

“I don’t think so,” he finally replied. “You want a drink, or something?”

She shrugged. “Got any diet Pitt?”

“I see Mari’s taste for that junk finally wore off on you,” he said as he opened the fridge and reached inside. A second later he emerged with a pink can, though instead of handing it to her when she put out her hand he placed it on the kitchen table and then took a seat. “I’m surprised you bothered to come, even with Mari asking.”

“Yeah well, people don’t pick their families,” Meteora said, picking up the can without taking a seat of her own, then pulling the on the tab. It opened with the expected swoosh of bubbling liquid that was practically reassuring, even if it was generally the sign of something that wasn’t actually good for her. “I like it when she’s happy, she likes it when she knows you’re not dead because you live in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of chickens, so I guess I like knowing that too.”

Marco made what Meteora could only assume was an amused sound with his nose. “Even though you’d probably enjoy figuring out a way to set the chickens on me?”

It was Meteora’s turn to make an amused sound, which she followed by taking a huge gulp of her diet Pitt. “At this point I’m more likely to just not help when the chickens attack than actually sick them on you.”

“Well I appreciate you not hastening my demise yourself,” Marco answered back. “Anyway, I know you don’t like being here, so you can go and let Mari know that I’m in the same state I always am. Nothing to be worried or relieved about.”

“Right…” she said slowly, turning in place to survey the home again instead of looking at him. She couldn’t bring herself to really look at him and ask this question. It was bad enough she had to ask it at all, let alone of him. “Well there was one other thing I…Mari suggested I ask you…”

Meteora paused as her slow look around came back to the bedroom and something caught her eye that she hadn’t noticed before. A picture on the nightstand, one of a young woman taken over twelve years prior. Meteora had been around seven the last time she’d seen Star, and hadn’t really understood when she couldn’t anymore. No one had been able to explain it in a way she’d understood. Some had said she’d gotten sick, like so many had at the time, but everyone had cried, and then yelled. Marco had yelled most of all, and at practically everyone. And then, well then he stopped leaving this supposed “vacation home” they’d shared altogether. In fact, Meteora didn’t think anyone aside from Mariposa had seen him in person more than three of four times in the dozen years that had followed.

Trying to pull her attention back to the task at hand, she saw the home in a new light. The photo of Star was the only color in the whole place. Everything else was white or some shade of grey. And the place wasn’t just sterile, it was practically lifeless. That’s why Mari came here when no one else did, not because she was worried about him living so far out alone, but because she knew he wasn’t really living at all.

“Ask what?”

Meteora almost jumped when Marco prompted her to continue. And looking at him in that moment, with something besides the irrational anger that had plagued her thoughts of him all her life, she couldn’t bring herself to ask what she’d been sent here to. So she asked the question that had been asked of her so many times.

“Why…why do you think I’ve never liked you?”

Marco took a deep breath and looked out the window for a moment, as if considering something very carefully. But then the moment ended and she got her answer.

Meteora pushed her third can of diet Pitt to the side to sit with the others as she ran though everything Marco had told her. It all seemed crazy when he’d said it, even crazier as she thought about each part, but none of it seemed wrong either.

“Because of an old king I was raised by an abusive robot…and then ran a boarding school?”

“From what I understand, yeah.”

“And then I had to live in a car because you, while crossdressing, riled my…students into kicking me out.”

“It wasn’t my idea to cross-dress, but basically.”

“Which led me to remember that I was half monster…which led me to try and take over Mewni…”

“Which led to all the soul draining and eventually the combination of magics that turned you back into a baby,” Marco said nonchalantly before taking a sip from the water bottle he had eventually pulled out for himself. “And you just never liked me after that. I guess some emotions just get too ingrained to fade.”

“But,” Meteora started as she put the pieces together. “If you hadn’t gotten me kicked out, which let me remember what I was, which led to the magic battle…then I wouldn’t have my family, or Mari, or any part of the life I have now.”

He shrugged. “Probably not.”

“So, I’ve been angry at you all my life, because you gave me my life.”

His mouth twisted a bit before replying with, “Well it’s not like I turned you back into a baby myself, but if that’s how you see it then just know that I don’t take it personally. In fact, it’s actually kind of nice having someone not like me for a different reason than the rest.”

Meteora’s chair squeaked across the linoleum floor as she pushed herself up. The empty cans shook as she walked around the table. And Marco just looked confused when she grabbed and pulled him up by the collar. He was still a few inches taller than her, so it was an awkward position once he was up, but no less awkward than when she wrapped both her arms around him in the next instant.

Silence permeated the next few moments. Shocked silence from Marco if she had to guess, while her own was confused. Part of her still felt the urge to knock his block off, but at the same time…well another part was seeing him in a whole new way.

“Thank you,” she finally said before pulling away from him.

“No problem?” he replied.

Now the silence between them was just awkward. Though that wasn’t surprising when Meteora remembered that the only physical contact the two had ever had before that hug had usually entailed her trying to hurt him in some way.

“I gotta get going. I’ll tell Mari you’re doing fine.”

“Sure, thanks,” he said slowly before glancing out the window. “It’s starting to get dark, be careful on the way back.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meteora’s tail twitched back and forth as she sat on the couch flipping through channels. She hadn’t slept well the night before and was going to be alone all day thanks to Mari’s new class schedule. Angie and Raphael usually would have been there to bother her in their good-natured way, but they were out of town. Which left her alone with nothing to do on a day that had a storm approaching and nothing worth watching on tv. So, when the phone rang, she didn’t even care that it was probably a telemarketer, at least it gave her something to do.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Ms. Butterfly, it’s Dr. Backintosh. Is this a good time?”

Meteora sat up straighter, ready to receive the news they’d been waiting for. “Well I’m on my own today, so I guess-”

“Actually,” the doctor interrupted, “it’s probably better we talk about this on our own first.”

In the distance Meteora heard the first boom of thunder.

Meteora knocked on the door, though she could barely hear her knocks over the rain and thunder that plummeted from the sky above. She knocked again a few seconds later, barely any harder though. She didn’t have the energy for it. Finally, after she forced herself to knock a third time, the door opened.

“Meteora?” Marco practically bellowed.

She didn’t reply.

“Come on, get out of the rain,” he said before taking her by the arm and pulling her inside. “Are you ok? Did something happen?”

She thought about it as she watched drops of water roll off her and start to puddle on his floor. Something had happened, though what actually mattered was what wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t say that though, just like she hadn’t said anything since hanging up the phone.

“I’ll get you a towel,” he said after a moment had passed without any reply. “I’ll be right back, okay.”

Meteora remained silent as he ran off towards the bedroom, continuing to watch the droplets join the puddle while listening to Marco frantically open and close drawers. A few seconds, maybe a minute, later he returned and the towel came down over her head. He hadn’t bothered to offer it to her, and wasn’t bothering to let her get around to actually drying herself either.

“I can’t believe you rode here in this weather,” he said while gently dabbing the towel across her face and long lilac hair. “And without even a jacket, you know it’ll be me Mariposa explodes at if you get sick.”

She still didn’t reply, just watched the droplets while he moved on to wiping off her arms.

“Ok, well whatever brought you here, you need to finish drying off first. And since I don’t think I can dry anymore myself without feeling like a creep, I’m going to push you into the bathroom. There’s some spare clothes in there, so will you please finish drying off and change?”

Meteora nodded meekly and let him lead her towards the back.

Sometime later Meteora found herself huddled at one end of his couch wearing an oversized ninja t-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts that were loose even with the strings drawn all the way. Marco sat at the other end. They had been that way for a while, silent except for right when they’d sat down and he’d said to just ask and he’d do whatever she needed him to. She didn’t have any conscious plan to ask him for anything. She didn’t even have a conscious reason for being there, it had simply been where’d she decided to go. But suddenly, even surprising herself a bit, it started to come out.

“My life was planned out for me since Mewni became part of Earth,” she started. “Except for when I get to have a baby.”

“Ok…”

“So I was going to do it,” she continued. “Invitro and all that, because it’s my choice and it’s what I want.”

“Well I guess that’s ni–”

“But because I’m half-monster they say they can’t.” Her eyes started to well. “That something about the way I am makes it too dangerous. That the only way I could ever be a mother would be…the natural way.” The tears were rolling now. “But I’ve never felt…that way about anyone. So what am I supposed to do? I’m too much of a freak to get what I wanted and I just…I just–”

Marco stood without warning. He made his way towards the kitchen, where Meteora could hear the fridge and some drawers open and then close in succession. He returned with a six-pack of bottles and pile of old-timey VHS tapes.

“Look Meteora,” he said as he put the bottles down on the small coffee table and started shuffling through the tapes, “the last time anything bad happened to me I pushed everyone that cared about me away. And well, that’s probably not going to help you right now. So instead of trying to make you feel better, we’re going to play a little game that used to help me forget about stuff.”

He slipped one of the tapes into the VHS below the tv and hit play. The tv roared to life with an off-color title screen that loudly stated, “Fist of the Fist!”

“This,” Marco said as he sat back down and started divvying up the bottles between them, “is an early Mackie Hand movie, before he even learned English. The rules of the game are simple, take a sip anytime someone acts like they were hit but obviously weren’t, anytime the dubbing is obviously off, and anytime someone shouts an attack name.”

Meteora looked at the bottle he handed her, and then at him. “And this is supposed to help me?”

“It’s supposed to make you feel less bad,” he replied. “Actual help can start tomorrow.”

The title screen faded and a man sitting at a bar came into focus. Another man approached him and put a hand on the first’s shoulder. Their eyes met and an American voice yelled, “Time to die, Mackie Hand!” while the man’s actual mouth calmly said something completely different.

Meteora almost laughed, then joined Marco in taking her first sip.

#star vs the forces of evil #marco diaz #mariposa diaz #Meteora #star butterfly #star vs #svtfoe #my monster(s)#Cadenreigns #art #my art #artist #artist on tumblr #hekapoo

56 notes · View notes

theimpossiblescheme · 4 years

Text

A Very Palpable Hit

That long thread with @nonchalantdanger about Roxanne’s skill with a sword and where it could possibly come from finally made me decide to dip my pen (or my keyboard, rather) back into the tiny, but dedicated fandom of Cyrano de Bergerac. Writing these characters is still quite a challenge, but quite a fun challenge, I think, and this was a fun kinda-sorta prompt to do. I hope I did them justice, and I hope everyone enjoys this little piece!

Roxanne was pacing frantically to and fro in front of the fireplace in her villa, casting a long pink shadow across the red flames as she turned across the carpet so vigorously she might strikes flames behind her own feet and wear a hole in it. Cyrano had grown restless just looking at her and was now standing behind the chair he’d been previously sitting in, arms folded over the back and chin propped pensively on his hands as he watched. All of the Robin family maids, including her Duenna, had been sent away for the evening—it was only the two of them. And the anxiety in the air could have been cut with a knife.

“I mean, I know it’s considered some sort of—of romantic custom for a man to fight for the honor of his lady love, but we are hardly living in the dark ages anymore, are we?” Roxanne was saying on her fourth lap back and forth, wringing her twisted hands demonstratively as she spoke. “And besides, I would hardly call it romantic. No, I would call it barbaric—I mean, at what point does it become less about the lady in question and more about some—some pompous popinjay proving his ego is larger than his opponent’s? It seems ridiculous that the other preciuses allow themselves as prizes to be one in such a monstrous game, and I refuse to be the reason some poor feckless idiot gets skewered like a prize goose or a bunch of innocent bystanders are slashed to ribbons… I know it’s hardly ladylike, but I say it’s hardly manly to act so childishly on a lady’s behalf…”

“What exactly are you proposing?” Cyrano cut in as gently as he could. The poor girl was working herself into a sweat, and she hadn’t even come to her point yet.

Stopping in her tracks, Roxanne turned to face him, fully silhouetted in front of the fire… beautiful and terrible, like a vision of Beatrice in the Inferno. “I propose… no, I demand that you teach me everything you know about swordplay. I do not wish to debut into society a defenseless woman.”

Cyrano was taken aback… and it occurred to him in the same moment that maybe he shouldn’t be. The girl who had been Roxanne—Madeleine, actually, once upon a time—had always been spirited, proud, and independent. But she was also fearful, hiding behind him at the first sight of bullies. Timid and shy at the idea of anything beyond those wide, empty Gascony fields. Now here she was in the city. Now here she was… unafraid. Bold. Determined to make her way with grace and, dare he say it, panache.

Now she was a woman. He’d known that before, he supposed, and not been nearly so surprised. But not until now had his heart fluttered so in his chest at the thought.

But he quickly hid it under a smile—not a mocking one, but an understanding one—as he straightened. “So this is your solution. Not content with the role of Guinevere, you instead intend to fashion yourself as Joan of Arc, a one-woman divine army against these… boastful infidels.” Painting the image in the air before him with his hands, he wandered forward closer to Roxanne. “Does that not seem a bit extreme, though?”

“Well, you’ve said so yourself, there are things one does well to carry to extremes! Besides… you…” She rushed forward and seemed less divine, but more human as she squeezed his hands pleadingly. “You have made yourself a hero. The finest swordsman in your regiment, everyone says so. And even before then… you were the hero of my childhood. My knight of the riverbanks. If I were to ask anyone, it would be you and only you.” She gave his hands another tight squeeze. “Will you?”

The words dried in his mouth for a moment, but he managed to find them again. “How could I possibly refuse?” Cyrano gave her hands a gentle squeeze in return and was relieved to find his own still dry. “My princess turned page of the corn-silk hair.” He said it with a joking air, but there was a tender sincerity lingering underneath.

And Roxanne’s face lit up with a smile of her own. “Oh, thank you!” She leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You won’t regret it I promise… oh, I shall need a sword.”

“Here, take mine.” Cyrano unsheathed his rapier and handed it to her before laying his scabbard on a nearby table and reaching for one of the Duenna’s walking sticks from a small rack beside the front door. “This is a bit heavier, but it shall suffice. But let us take this outside—no use in skewering any innocent inanimate bystanders.” The maids might collectively pin him to the wall like a butterfly if they damaged any of the family’s valuables. Opening the door, he bowed her outside before following into the front yard. Fortunately for them, there was a gorgeous full moon out tonight, and there was still enough light from the nearby streetlamps to see in case of sudden clouds. He hung his cloak on the rose trellis and tested the walking stick a bit, weighing it in his hand as he tried a few lunges and basic maneuvers. Not exactly the finest Italian steel, but it would work just fine. This wasn’t exactly going to be the sort of rigorous training the cadets went through—with any luck, the worst Roxanne would have to do was smack away an errant hand.

A little ways behind him, Roxanne was doing the same thing, twirling the rapier over in her hand and swishing the blade back and forth like a machete in the jungle. “It’s much lighter than I thought it would be.”

“It needs to be—it’s a weapon of grace and agility, not necessarily of brute force. Keep that in mind as you wield it. And now…” Cyrano lowered into a crouch, makeshift blade at the ready in front of him.

Roxanne’s eyebrows shot up. “You intend to throw me into the deep end so quickly?”

“A fish learns to swim by the same principle. Advance, mermaid of Orleans, and let us see how much you already know.” Swinging the stick up in a salute then down to his side, he waited for Roxanne to copy his movements before waiting… waiting for her to strike first.

Eventually she did, dramatically lunging forward toward his shoulder, but Cyrano deftly blocked her. Roxanne backed away to try again with the other shoulder, but met the same result. “You’ve learned to thrust, to disengage, and to re-engage well enough, I see… let us see how you deal with this.” Swinging his stick around again, he feinted toward her free arm, then raised up to land a hit on her opposite shoulder. The whole time, Roxanne followed his hand with her eyes, her sword bobbing vaguely in that general direction, but not raising it quick enough to fend him off. As she stumbled back, startled, Cyrano lowered his stick again. “That was called a feint—a maneuver designed to mislead. You anticipated the feint so much that you missed the hit.”

“But how am I to keep up?” she asked, holding her shoulder even though Cyrano had barely tapped her. “You move so fast, I can hardly see.”

“For a start, try not to watch my hand. The hand can deceive, as you’ve just seen… look here instead.” He tapped his chest. “Then let your eyes unfocus a bit—it will allow you to see your opponent as a whole, not just the nearest moving parts. Now… shall we begin again?”

Roxanne nodded, sinking into her best crouch to mirror Cyrano, her body leaned forward instead of back. “Do not try to go easy on me.”

“Oh, perish the thought, my dear.” And this time he moved first, moving toward her shoulder and then to her arm in a reverse of his last maneuver. This time she caught on, catching his stick on her blade and trying to push him back, but he was quick with a riposte, pulling back just far enough to tap the side of her hand. Unfazed, she pressed forward again—a breach of the rules of engagement, but he’d allow it for now—trying in vain to land just the slightest touch on him each time he parried. At one point, Cyrano dropped his stance the slightest bit lower and thrust toward her shoulder. When Roxanne lifted her guard up to parry in turn, he dropped his posture even lower to level his stick just at her collarbone.

Falling back a step, the sword almost dropped from Roxanne’s hand as she stared tremulously down at the hit he’d scored. “Well, I… I did tell you not to go easy on me,” she said with an uneasily flickering smile.

It was all he could do to keep firm, not to dissolve instantly in the face of her fear. He’d regretted the hit as soon as it landed, and yet… “That may be a worse case scenario. God willing, you will never meet a man with such cruel intentions. But make it a lesson as well.” Taking her hand and tightening it around the pommel of her sword, he raised it up again at the level of her chest. “Keep your guard level for as long as you can. Too high or too low, and you may end up with a terrible cut to show for it.” Straightening to his full height again, Cyrano gave what he hoped was an encouraging look. “Shall we try again?”

Nodding resolutely—more to reassure herself than him, he suspected—Roxanne took her stance once more. Cyrano struck first again in a quick lunge, but she caught it flat and spun it away in a bit of a flourish. A grin flashed across her face before she was back to business once more and they fell into their slow, but steady routine of thrust-parry-riposte, thrust-parry-riposte, with an occasional respite of some new maneuver that he would patiently guide her through. Roxanne was sent retreating more often than not, but every so often she would gain some ground. If she got too cocky, however, and started bouncing back and forth like an excited puppy, Cyrano quickly put a stop to that, flicking his stick down to her waist in a light hit. “Your footwork is merely a steady tempo, not meant to ornament the passage. Keep yourself even and upright—small steps, but never so many in a row.” His own form didn’t stick so strictly to those guidelines, heaven knew, but it was very good advice for a beginner. Instantly chastened, Roxanne nodded, and they started again.

This time, Cyrano squared his chest toward her, hoping she would take the bait. As she went for the attack, he stepped to the side and almost caught her square on the inside of one shoulder… but to his amazement, she saw the feint and dropped her arm in that spare split second, blocking his blade within inches of her sleeve. Pushing him back a few steps, their routine continued—thrust-parry-riposte, thrust-parry-riposte, thrust-parry-disengage this time-parry-riposte. Thrust-parry-disengage… Roxanne swung her sword forward in a broad cut, Cyrano waited for the right moment to press his attack… and she stepped to the side and fairly jabbed at his shoulder in a triumphant shove.

“Ha!” She lifted her sword over her head like a gladiator expecting cheers from the Coliseum. “Victory at last! I hope that was… oh—oh, no…”

Cyrano tried to smile even as he muffled the newly bleeding cut under his hand. “Yes… true blades tend to elicit this sort of reaction. It’s very shallow, you needn’t worry—”

“But I am worried! Oh, Cyrano…” Dropping the sword in the grass, Roxanne rushed forward and urged him to sit down next to her. “I ask you to teach me to fight, and I thank you by stabbing you… let me see it, please…”

“It’s barely a scratch, Roxanne, not worth so much fuss… call it well-deserved revenge for my earlier hit, I suppose.” But Cyrano obliged, loosening his doublet just enough to lower the shoulder of the shirt underneath. It was indeed a relatively shallow cut, but long and already deep red, like the nick of a shaving blade. Roxanne immediately pulled out her handkerchief to try and staunch the blood, and Cyrano could only hope and pray she couldn’t feel how warm his skin had suddenly grown there under her touch. He almost made a comment to lighten the mood about her old fits of motherly sternness, where she would scold him for earning cuts and scrapes like these in fights against the big boys… but the words dried in his mouth again. They didn’t feel right. Not now. This… felt different.

“I am so sorry,” Roxanne was saying, alternating between keeping pressure on the cut and wiping away the blood. “You told me to be so careful, and I’ve been such a reckless oaf, and you’ve been so patient… can you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Catching her hand, he lowered the handkerchief away before quickly letting go. “This… unforgivable sin in your mind is merely an accident in mine. And this accident may be taken as a sign of improvement. It was, after all, the first hit you landed upon me.” No, not the first… but he didn’t dare say that out loud.

Her response was a very strained, guilty smile. “I suppose so… I only wish I hadn’t been so rough.” She raised her eyes to meet his, and her smile became a little more genuine. “Thank you… if for nothing else, for being so patient with me. I know I shall never be as good as you.”

“In a single evening? Impossible. But good enough to defend yourself against the common ruffians of Paris and prevent a glorified cockfight on your behalf?” He offered a new smile of his own, something finally approaching those lightning flashes of audacity that often struck him. “Undoubtedly.” Offering Roxanne a hand, he climbed back to his feet and picked his makeshift blade back up. “And while we still have moonlight to spend, we might as well make the most of it… shall we continue?”

“Are you sure?” she inquired, picking up her sword again. “With your shoulder?”

“My shoulder has withstood much crueler and more purposeful assaults—I shall survive.” Sweeping the stick up in a new salute, Cyrano angled his body toward Roxanne’s once more as he sank into his stance. “Lay on, good saint, and show me God’s wrath within your woman’s fury.”

With a salute of her own, erect and self-assured, Roxanne pressed on.

#I spent a cumulative hour and a half looking at Wikipedia pages and YouTube videos to make it sound like I know anything about fencing. XD #I only hope it even halfway paid off...#cyrano de bergerac #my fanfic #Roxane madeleine robin #I also rewatched the Kevin Kline production for the third time... I remain Very Much Not Okay.#And you know as much as Jennifer Garner is the weakest link in the cast (I agree that she plays Roxanne far too broad)#I *adore* the chemistry she and Kline have together.#I can absolutely buy them as childhood friends--there's a sweet and easy affection between them every time they're onstage together.#She's always *touching him*--holding his hand and hugging him and putting her hands on his face all the while blissfully ignorant...#And he always looks so *proud* of her especially when she's explaining how she snuck into the Cadets' camp at Arras to see Christian.#It's both adorable and maddening because it would take *so little* to shove them together and say NOW KISS *and yet...*#Okay I'm done--I'm standing back now. XD

10 notes · View notes

galadrieljones · 5 years

Text

The Lily Farm - Chapter 32

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 32: Faith, Hope and Love, Pt. 1

(11) When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. (12) For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

(13) And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

-1 Corinthians 13:11-13

“Dutch,” said Hosea.

They had gone out to fish, as an avenue to talk. They were in a canoe on the Lanahechee. Hosea had got the letter while they were in the saloon, but it was too crowded there, and Dutch was losing his mind. Neither of them was fishing at the moment. Hosea had Arthur’s letter folded in his pocket. Dutch was sitting with his head in his hands, his rod discarded to his side.

“Perhaps Shady Belle,” said Dutch. “Why does that boy make everything so goddam difficult, Hosea.”

“I don’t think that’s his intention.”

“I offered him Shady Belle.”

“Please.”

Dutch placed his hands on either side of the canoe, holding on, and with it, you could see the full brunt of his wingspan. He was shaking his head. “I wanted Shady Belle.”

“It is what it is,” said Hosea. “And unfortunately, with recent developments, Dutch—the O’Driscolls, the Pinkertons. I really think you should…consider staying behind.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re too damn hot right now,” said Hosea. “Arthur doesn’t know about Hanging Dog. He wants you there, but I don’t want us bringing a massacre down on his wedding, Dutch. That would be…far too fitting, given everything we’ve been going through lately. I can’t imagine anything worse.”

“You think I’d bring down a massacre?”

“Maybe,” said Hosea. “Not intentionally, of course. But if somebody were to spot you, follow you. These are innocent people, and it’s just too important. You being there is a big risk.”

Dutch sighed. He looked off into the murky haze of the river. It was morning, still early. “Remind me,” he said. “Who exactly are these innocent people, Hosea?”

“You mean the owners of the B&B?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Winterson is a doctor, that's all I know. Other than that, Arthur doesn’t really say.”

“He’s so goddam trusting.”

“You ought to give him some credit,” said Hosea. “After all these years. He might be good at playing the angry idiot, but he’s smart, Dutch. He’s made far fewer mistakes than you or I, and you know it.”

Dutch gave him a look, cracked his knuckles, placed his hands back onto the canoe, as if he were bracing himself for something—an earthquake. “If I don’t go with you, I don’t want you riding alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Take Charles.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Then take the damn train.”

“What do you think is gonna happen?”

“You may not have been on that ferry with me, Hosea,” said Dutch, “but there’s men out there—enemies—who know what you look like. Besides, you’re not well.”

“I’m alive,” said Hosea. “I’ll ride fast and quiet. I know how to keep a low profile.”

“If you can keep a low profile, why do you assume that I cannot.”

Hosea said nothing. He picked up his rod, stood and cast his line. “We’ll have a party back at camp,” he said. “Have Pearson and Susan do it up right. It’ll be fun.”

Dutch took a long, deep breath. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

Hosea glanced at him, glad for the change of subject. “You’re telling me.”

“You talk to Trelawny any more about that poker game.”

“I did,” said Hosea, scrubbing his neck. “This morning, before you were awake.”

“And?”

“And he managed to get Arthur a buy-in, but under curious circumstances.”

“Which are.”

“The invitation is for Tacitus Kilgore, and his wife.”

Dutch shook out his head. “His wife? Whatever for?"

“Because that’s who interests Bronte, and Bronte is the one who secured the invitation.”

“Bronte.”

“Mary Beth made quite a splash. I’m not sure that was intended.”

“Not exactly. She was meant to be a distraction, not the main event.”

“You still think he won’t take her?” said Hosea. “This really complicates matters. I’d be concerned it was a set-up, but I can’t see the m.o. for that. It’s poker, and Bronte knows that Arthur is an outlaw. Nobody expects an outlaw who can cheat convincingly at cards. They expect robbing and killing and that’s it. And plus, Trelawny said that Bronte just seemed to genuinely like Mary Beth. I can get to work on the backstory, if that’s what’s at stake. I still know a couple of Texas Rangers who owe us, back in Galveston. They can come up with something, put a good name on it. It would be easy. It’s just a matter of convincing Arthur.”

Dutch leaned back and studied him, full of scheming. “What do you mean Bronte liked Mary Beth.”

“He was taken with her. He thought she was interesting. That’s what these people do, Dutch. They collect interesting people and stick them in a room with other interesting people. It’s a game. They’re like—like museum curators or something.”

Dutch sighed. “She’s definitely pregnant?”

“That’s what the letter says.”

“We’ll have to talk to him,” he said. “And by we, I mean you. He won’t listen to a goddam word I say anymore.”

“If he cheats the cards, he’ll take the table,” said Hosea. “It’d be like the old days. We’re talking upwards of ten thousand in the pot, Dutch. Maybe more.”

“Talk to him,” said Dutch. He got up too now and cast his line. A whole bunch of pretty little egrets were on the other side of the riverbank, all sunning and standing in a row. “Can I see that letter again?”

“Sure.” Hosea reached into his pocket, handed it over with no question. The atmosphere on that canoe relaxed a little. It was all composed, real quiet. “I know you’re happy for him,” said Hosea, turning the reel. “I know you are, Dutch. We’ll have a party back at Shady Belle. We’ll get the wedding behind us, and then we’ll move forward. Mary Beth is having a baby. It’s a blessing, all of it.”

Dutch was only half-listening, reading the letter again. He held the rod in one hand. The fish were quiet that morning and the air seemed dusty and somehow brown. The sky was full of pollution from St. Denis.

“Did you hear me?” said Hosea.

“Which part.”

“The part about all this being a blessing.”

Dutch folded the letter up and kept it. He focused on his line again, the fish nipping at the surface of the water. “Yes, I heard you,” he said.

“And?”

“And it’s a blessing indeed, Hosea. A blessing indeed.”

Neither of them caught anything that day. When they got off the canoe, they separated. Hosea rode back to Shady Belle to prepare for the trip to Emerald Ranch, and Dutch stayed behind. He sat down on a fallen Tupelo that looked prehistoric, and he rested his elbows on his knees. It was hot, so Dutch knotted his hair off his face and rolled his sleeves up. He took off his vest, and he tossed it into the river.

Dutch sometimes felt as if he were shedding pieces of himself one by one. His money, his gang, his control. He saw in the corner of his eye a beautiful flower then, growing on the side of a nearby tree. It was big and robust, looking like some sort of internal organ growing out in the open. It was an orchid. He had never touched an orchid before, not like this. He walked over to pick it, and then he held it in his hand and admired its mystery. It winked back at him but it was already dying. It had red petals and reminded him of all the women he’d ever loved. It was only three of them and two of them buried, and one of them he didn’t love anymore.

When Dutch had found Mary Beth four years back, her pockets full of rich men’s jewelry in Kansas City, he saw in her traces of Annabelle. Kind of mean and feral when put upon but in her nature, just full of kindness and stories. He knew that it was bullshit. He knew that men were idiot dogs, and any pretty girl between him and his salvation, he would just imprint with the face of the last pretty girl who made him smile. He forgot about her. She became friends with Arthur, and years went by. Molly came along, somewhere back in Colorado, and Dutch fell in love with her, because he fell in love easy, and she made him feel special, and because she liked poetry, and she could write it and then read it in her voice and old country accent that made him soft. She was better than he was. She was what he deserved if he had not lost his daddy and left his mother decades before, entering the life of some rabid, outlaw king. Things had gotten so far away. Dutch’s mother was buried in Blackwater, and all their money from that horrible ferry job was buried in the cemetery right beside her. Molly was lost to him, and Mary Beth was now marrying Arthur, and time had become circular.

Dutch had lost too much and it was making him possessive of all that remained—in violent, ugly ways. Hosea was dying. When Dutch went on and on about getting money and getting free, mostly what that meant to him was proving himself and his ideas, but it also meant getting Hosea somewhere safe, some place where he would not die so soon. He loved Hosea more than he could ever have admitted to himself. He gazed into the heart of the orchid in his hand. He thought about his own mortality. He thought about Arthur. Dutch was envious of Arthur. Not for having Mary Beth where he could not, but for finding peace in a woman, like he once did, and getting to start over right where Dutch had left off. It wasn’t fair. Was it? Why did Arthur get to have the woman he loved, safe as houses, pregnant with his child, not swinging from a tree but marrying him on a stranger’s ranch near Emerald Station? And yet, Dutch would have done anything to preserve them. He was terribly confused. It made him want to hurt somebody.

He could not miss Arthur’s wedding. That would be bad, he thought, as he stood there at the edge of the swamps, holding a pretty flower in his hand. No matter what Hosea said. That would hurt Arthur, and it would push him away even further than he already was. But every time he disobeyed Hosea, it all kept going rotten. What was he gonna do? He was so full of his ugly pride. He thought about how Arthur—he didn’t have a lot of pride inside him, and this was another thing. There was so little left. It had all gone away long ago with a pretty girl and a little boy who’d got murdered by animals. For a long time, it made Dutch and him the same. But now, Arthur was moving on.

He got on his horse that day, and he tucked the orchid delicately into his saddlebag. He then rode back to St. Denis and tied him up in the stable, paid the hand an extra 50% to keep him watered and in good condition while he was away. He then bought a decent but shoddier horse, a sturdy old Kentucky Saddler and named her Jean. Mean Jean, he said as he patted her on the flank. How I love you, my Mean Jean. He went to the tailor. He bought new clothes. He changed, and then he had a fine, silver suit jacket tailored to his size with a little give in the chest and shoulders. The lapels were embroidered with a delicate fleur-de-lis, which Dutch knew was symbolic of purity and the holy trinity. He told the tailor he was getting married. The tailor was very happy for him. Dutch was a hair taller than Arthur, but Arthur was bigger than him across the back, and this was about as good as he could remember. It would do. Arthur would look good in the silver, Dutch decided, as his coloring was very gold. Dutch folded up the jacket with his bedroll and rode away from St. Denis wearing a new hat. He hated traveling in costume, but this was his life now. This was what it had come to. He was torn between getting away from it all and getting revenge on those who had pushed him to the edge and it was all terrible.

He was looking at the pattern now, as what had happened with Colm and Mary Beth had loosened something up inside him and made him see. Dutch may have been frayed around the edges, but he was no idiot. If Molly stuck with him, she would only end up dead. He was going to give that orchid to her—a peace offering—and he was going to give her a bunch of money, and he was going to tell her it was over and hope she went away to live a better life, far from him. Then he was going to ride to Emerald Ranch and try to find something hopeful there, if something hopeful existed, or if it was all just disappearing into the belly of the whale. He had to go. He had to find Arthur, remind him of what mattered. He knew Hosea would be angry, but he decided that Hosea was wrong, and that regardless, he did not care.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to wear,” said Arthur. He was leaning against a tree, eating cherries out of his hand, spitting the pits into the weeds. They had stopped in a little grove about twenty miles north of Emerald Station to have some dinner and water the horses. There was a creek nearby with a beaver building a dam. It seemed territorial so they didn’t get too close. “What does a man wear to his wedding?”

"Didn’t you see Hosea get married to Bessie?” said Mary Beth. She was nearby, drawing shapes in the dirt with a long stick. “What did he wear.”

“I don’t remember,” he said. “I was fifteen.”

“That’s so young,” said Mary Beth. “I can’t imagine you being so young.”

Arthur smiled, took off his hat and tossed it to the blanket where they had eaten their lunch. The day was warm. “Be glad you didn’t know me then. You would have hated me, for I was a fool.”

“No way,” she said. She drew a steeple, a sun. “I would have known right away that we was soul mates.”

This warmed his heart. He finished the cherries and went over to her, crouched by her side to see what she was doing. “What are you makin?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just shapes.”

“That looks like a church.”

“It is a church.”

Overhead, a huge raven pushed off a tree branch and took off into the sky. It made a huge, cawing sound, and it was loud enough they both looked up to see. “It’s nearly dark,” said Arthur. “We should get going.”

“I’m nervous,” said Mary Beth. “When we get there, it’s gonna be all this attention.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Arthur. He was watching her. She looked up at him with her pretty eyes. “Just focus on me.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

Her hair was curly from the heat. She had taken off her sweater, and her sleeveless blouse was sticking a little to her skin. He put some the hair behind her ear, then some more, and he studied the freckles on her neck, and he leaned forward to kiss them.

When he wanted her, it sometimes took him a moment to remember that he could have her. But he was getting better at that, his confidence returning to him little by little, every day. He kissed her. She kissed him back and things got needful so fast. She moved fast. He laid her down on the blanket, and she asked him to touch her. She said just that. Touch me. So he did. He reached into her skirt and pulled away her underthings, and he touched her, pressing right up against her until she came, making her soft moans that excited him. Then he took off his own belt as she floated back down. He watched her face, ruffled up her skirt around her waist, and then he got inside her, deep.

She sort of squeaked, clutching him. He felt stupid with how good it was. She was incredibly wet, and both of their bodies were sweating in the heat from the day, and it was all so wet, like they couldn’t get close enough. He opened the buttons of her blouse with one hand so he could see and feel everything, and she tugged his shirt back off his shoulders, and everything came away, all as they kissed and fucked in the warmth of the forest. He had not felt this free in so many years, and he knew she’d never had it like this. It went on for a long time, and then at some point, she stopped him, because she wanted to try something different. She was curious. She pushed him back a little, and he guided her onto her hands and knees, and it made him feel very thankful and awed. He pushed all of her hair away and kissed the back of her neck as he glided back into her that way, and she arched with him and said his name. He kissed her shoulder, her ear, pressed his mouth to her skin, holding her tightly to himself with one arm, and she reached up to hold him around the back of his neck as he began again.

It was a slow build to a long end. He near on shuddered as he finished, like he was suddenly freezing cold and emptied of something bad. But then he was warm again. He held onto her. She turned her head and grabbed his face to kiss him. They didn’t talk. They just lowered to the blanket, him wrapped around and still inside, and they stayed puzzled together like that for a long time.

As the sun went down, they got up to dip in the river, and then they got dressed. Mary Beth didn’t know how it was going to work, with being pregnant—she already felt bloated somehow, like she was starting to show but Arthur said that to him, she looked exactly the same. She still got tired toward the middle of every day, like her body was badly in need of fueling. She ate bread to keep away the feeling of nausea, but in truth, it wasn’t so bad. She had some heightened anxieties. She was worried about being the center of attention. For as playful and free as she was with Arthur, she only showed this part of herself to him and a select few people in the entirety of all time and the world. She was worried about losing him. It was just a big, generic fear. She’d had a couple of dreams that he had died, or that he had never existed at all. She had one dream that she was holding his tiny baby, and she was standing over a huge, deep hole that went so far down it was only blackness. The baby was much smaller than she thought it should be. She was afraid she would drop the baby in the hole. In the dream, Arthur existed, but he was not there. She didn’t know where he was. She couldn’t remember. She had lost him somewhere and became panicked that she would never find him again.

When they rode past Emerald Ranch and were on their way to the Wintersons,' it was half past nine. The sky was long and dark, and the stars were very bright. You could see the whole galaxy, and pillars of smoke from chimneys and little camping sights off in the hills that stacked up toward the horizon. At some point, they were stopped on the road by a man riding up behind them who called out in a strange, deep voice. Arthur stopped them both right away, and he turned around with his hands on the reins. He was squinting into the darkness as the stranger approached on his horse, wearing a hat with a very low brim. Mary Beth idled some ways back.

“Who is that?” she said to Arthur.

“You lost?” said Arthur to the man. He didn’t seem concerned.

“No, son,” said the man. He took off his hat. He rode closer. It was Dutch.

This was a huge surprise. Mary Beth trotted up beside Arthur and became very happy and relieved. “Dutch?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Arthur laughed, once. Big and deep, amused by his costume. “You old fool. What are you doing out here on a horse like that? Where’s the Count?”

Dutch trotted up, smiling. He was dressed in a modest brown scout jacket, still somehow shiny as can be. “The Count is back in St. Denis, being pampered by an overenthusiastic ranch hand with a bald head and leather chaps. And I am coming to your wedding, you goddam idiot. What the hell else would I be doing in this backwater territory?”

“You’re dressed like a damn messenger boy.”

“This here is called keeping a low profile,” said Dutch. “Or so I’m told. I’ll have to show Hosea what I mean. He thinks he left me behind in Lemoyne.”

“What?”

“We need to talk,” said Dutch, steadying his horse. "Not now, later."

“What are we talking about.”

“About some…mistakes I’ve made over the past two weeks. But you should not let that worry you now.” He looked at Mary Beth then, seeming to fill with pride, and he pressed his hat to his heart. “Miss Gaskill. You look lovely as always.”

She blushed. “Thank you.”

“Where is Hosea?” said Arthur.

“About twenty-four hours ahead of me,” said Dutch. “Congratulations, by the way. I hear you’re adding one more to our brood. It is truly a blessing.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur. “It is.”

Dutch nodded and looked around in a suspicious manner. He put the hat back on his head. “I think I rode past the place by accident—this bed and breakfast from your letter. Are we close?”

“Yes,” said Mary Beth. “It’s just a few miles up.”

“You didn’t miss it by much,” said Arthur.

“Very good,” said Dutch, smiling. “I need to stop at the fence. I hate to arrive empty-handed.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur. “For coming.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” said Dutch.

They went along, the pretty nighttime country unfolding all around them, as a postcard.

Back at the Wintersons' Abigail was hard at work. She and Lizette were putting together a dress for Mary Beth. Lizette had all the fabric and had got a decent start, and Abigail was there, making the lace fringe at the sleeves and the collar, and also to estimate Mary Beth’s measurements. She’d known her long enough and mended her dresses in the past—it wasn’t so difficult.

Reverend Swanson still had not arrived, but there was time to spare, and nobody was worried yet. John and Hosea were out on the porch that night, smoking, and John was drinking whiskey out of a tin cup. Lawrence had been out there with them earlier but had work to attend to inside, and now it was just the two of them. They were expecting Arthur and Mary Beth now that the sun had gone down. They were watching the tree line.

“I know Arthur talked to you about the business of going north, with him and Mary Beth,” said Hosea. “Have you made any decisions?”

John nodded, blowing out all the smoke from his lungs and feeling cooled considerably by the evening call. It had been a warm day, and he’d spent a lot of it with Jack, running around the property, chasing the hounds and playing some other such games. It had been kind of cleansing, but he probably could have done with a bath. “Yeah,” he said. “Me and Abigail are with them. All the way.”

“Good,” said Hosea, seeming relieved. “It’s about time, John.”

“But Arthur and Mary Beth, they’re worried,” John said, looking down at his whiskey. “About the gang. I think reality is—it’s setting in a little bit. They don’t wanna leave people in a bind.”

“I know,” said Hosea. He tossed his cigarette to the porch and stamped it out with the heel of his boot. “I’m not surprised. I think it’ll be okay. Dutch and I are working on something new. I think we might be able to get back what we lost in Blackwater.”

“No shit,” said John. “What about the bank.”

“I’m still working on that,” said Hosea, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief from his pocket. “If we’re gonna pull a big city bank job, I’m not taking any chances.”

“I’ve never robbed a city bank before,” said John. He finished his whiskey. “Seems dangerous.”

“You’re telling me.”

They stood for a while, listening to the crickets.

“Where’s Dutch, Hosea.”

Hosea sighed.

“He ain’t here,” said John. He tossed the cigarette, then the tin cup, turned to him. “It ain’t right. I was trying to keep cool, but Arthur’s gonna be—how could he do this?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it? What the hell is going on?”

“Please, John. Relax.”

“No.”

They heard horses then, coming over the hill up ahead. John looked up, instantly distracted and left the porch. He went down the steps and saw them—Arthur and Mary Beth, coming up side-by-side.

“It’s about time!” said John, walking out on the lawn to greet them. They hitched up, and John dusted his hands together and helped Mary Beth off her horse. Arthur hopped down, too, and they met with an earnest embrace. “Good to see you.”

“You, too,” said Arthur. “Thanks for being here.”

“Well we was surprised to hear, you know, about the wedding. But it’s good. We’re real happy.” He looked at Mary Beth then. “About the wedding, the baby, all of it.”

Mary Beth was very pleased. “Thank you, John.”

Hosea was there now, too. He hugged Mary Beth to his chest with a surprising strength, and he shook Arthur’s hand and congratulated him. “This is the right choice,” he said. “For both of you. Mary Beth, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she said, straightening her skirt pleats. “A little tired, but nothing too bad. I’m afraid my hair looks like a rat’s nest at the moment.”

“You look radiant,” said Hosea.

She blushed.

“We was surprised to see Dutch out on the road,” said Arthur. “What the hell is going on?”

Hosea stopped on a dime. “Come again?"

“He’s here?” said John.

Arthur looked at them both like they were batshit. “Apparently. We found him on his way to getting lost. I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for the two of you to be traveling apart from one another, old man. Perhaps it’s time you get sewn together at the hip.”

Hosea looked away, like he was conflicted. “Yes well. That would be eccentric.”

“Where is he?” said John.

“Ran to the fence. Said he didn’t wanna show up empty-handed.”

“Sounds like Dutch.”

From inside now, you could hear Abigail, just sweeping with excitement. She must have heard the commotion. “Oh my god,” she said, and she appeared at the door, and then she threw open the screen and picked up her skirt and ran down the stairs. She hugged Arthur and then Mary Beth, and she grabbed Mary Beth by the hand. “You two!” she said. “Surprising us like that.”

“It was last minute,” said Mary Beth. “I wish we could have warned you.”

“Oh please,” said Abigail. “Don’t you worry. Now come on. I got something to show you.” She began to drag her up the stairs, back to the house.

“Where we going?” said Mary Beth. “I could really use a bath before I do much else.”

“Oh you smell like a peach,” said Abigail. “Later.” She glanced back at Arthur then as she tugged Mary Beth inside. “Don’t worry, Mr. Morgan,” she said. “I’ll bring her back to you.”

“No doubt,” said Arthur. Mary Beth looked back and Arthur sent her off with a two-finger salute. He lit a cigarette. “Abigail is one emphatic woman,” he said to John.

“She’s sewing Mary Beth a dress,” said John. “With Mrs. Winterson. She’s just excited.”

Arthur was taken by this, smiled, real proud. “She’s making her a dress?”

“She is.”

“It’s a real beauty,” said Hosea.

Just then, they heard another horse, rustling through the trees up ahead, making its big horse noises. There was a lull, and then they saw Dutch coming through, as expected. He was riding up, looking casual, holding a bottle of champagne by the neck. “Gentlemen!” he said.

Hosea said nothing.

“Dutch, what the hell?” said John. “What the hell you riding?”

Dutch got off his horse, hitched her up next to Sarah. He ignored John’s question altogether. “I brought libations. Arthur, my boy. And young John.” He tipped his hat. “Hosea.”

John shook his hand. He seemed earnestly surprised. “You’re goddam here. I thought you wasn’t coming.”

“Of course I came.” Dutch clapped him on the shoulder and went right past. “Have a little bit of faith, son.” He gave Hosea a look, and then he just went on and entered the house. "Come along, Mr. Matthews."

"Dutch, hang on."

But he wasn't listening. He was already inside, calling out through the foyer: “Mr. and Mrs. Winterson? Your final guest has arrived, and I come bearing gifts.” He was like some sort of natural disaster, knocking over everything in its way.

They all stood there, feeling flattened in his wake. Hosea shook out his head, pinched his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose like he had a headache.

“What the hell is going on?” said Arthur. “Did I miss something?”

“Later,” said Hosea. “We can talk later. For now, enjoy the evening. It's your evening, after all, Arthur. I need to get inside to broker Dutch’s introduction to Lawrence Winterson. That man is canny, and Dutch has a way of…well let’s just say he can be overbearing at times.”

“I’ll be right there,” said Arthur, smoking.

“Sounds good.” He smiled, looking weary. “You look well, son.”

“So do you.”

Hosea seemed amused by this. He took off his hat and went inside.

Now, it was just Arthur and John. Arthur gave John a cigarette. John lit it with a match from his pocket off the sole of his boot. “How you feelin?” he said. He stood, smoking and surveying the evening lawn. It looked almost blue in the moonlight. “With Mary Beth being pregnant and everything.”

“I’m good,” said Arthur. “Though I ain’t sure it’s quite sunk in yet.”

“I hear that,” said John. He took a deep breath, blowing the smoke. “The reverend ain’t shown.”

“That’s okay,” said Arthur. He seemed unshaken. Very sturdy as he stood there. He was a little taller than John, and bigger and meaner but also somehow just…shiny. He had always seemed like that. Even when he was outright dirty as hell.

“You know, you smell like the goddam river,” said John.

“Shut up.”

They knew they had to get inside but it was just a moment longer then, and they stayed to look at the fireflies, thinking about the future. At some point, as the heat was easing off for good into the nighttime call, Lawrence came out. He was holding a flute of champagne and looked happy in the lines of his face. “Arthur,” he said. “It is good to see you.”

Arthur flicked the cigarette and straightened up right away. John watched how he changed, how he removed his hat and shook Lawrence’s hand firmly, with intent. “Thank you so much again, for letting us do this.”

“It is our pleasure.”

“I hope Dutch ain’t already overstayed his welcome. He’s a bit of a showman, I must admit.”

Lawrence smiled. “That, he is. But he did bring very good French champagne. Lizette is pleased.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Will you two be joining us inside?” said Lawrence. “There’s food.”

“Yes, sir.”

They all went in, John following Arthur’s lead. He put his cigarette out and entered the golden glow of the warm house. There was something going on, he thought, with Dutch and Hosea. Jack was upstairs, asleep. He watched Abigail talking with Mary Beth as they sipped their champagne, both of them so excited. Sweet and pretty girls. He tried to let it soak into his insides, but he couldn’t shake this bad feeling. Or, it wasn’t bad. Just...weird. Off. He didn’t know what to think—about Dutch, about what the hell he was doing there, about Hosea being all cagey. But at least, for once, he was thinking. This seemed like a good start. Dutch brought him and Arthur some champagne where they stood over by the piano, and then he raised his glass and toasted to the happy couple.

“Love does not delight in evil," he said, "but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." That is how he closed his speech.

“Hear, hear,” said Abigail.

They drank.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #john marston #abigail roberts #oooof #this one #lol #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic

26 notes · View notes

starsscribble · 4 years

Text

Thoughts

((What does late night inspiration lead to? Me writing the sequel a day later. Enjoy!))

Alucard wasn’t sure what was worse at this point, the moment he lost Pup, or the long process of looking for them.

He had forgotten about the full moon that was going to occur that night, though looking out the window and seeing it in the sky quickly reminded him and made him aware of the lack of Pup’s presence in the castle. Perhaps if he hadn’t had to deal with Taka and Sumi, he would have left with them when the sun had begun to set. But he had been so exhausted mentally from what had happened, he decided to rest and simply meet up with them in the morning, and apologize for not listening to their concerns about the two people he had brought into their lives.

He set out into the forest once the sun rose, after he stuck Taka and Sumi’s bodies onto poles right outside the castle, hoping to ward off those who were either too curious for their own good or were looking for trouble. He just had to keep in mind to explain that to Pup before they saw them…

Their screaming had been what had broken his chain of thoughts, their cries for help. He had already begun running towards them when he heard the screams, but hearing Pup call out for not only him, but Trevor and Sypha as well had caused Alucard to move even faster. As he drew closer, he could hear the rattling of metal chains and what sounded like hundreds of speaking at once.

The entire forest had gone silent the moment he reached the riverbank. The screams had stopped, the voices were gone, but so was Pup. The only sign of them was a scrap of their torn clothing hanging off a branch. The ground was covered in splotches of an ink like sludge that clung to the ground and stones and reeked like rotting flesh.

And that was all Alucard had to go on when looking for Pup. A disgusting sludge and a piece of cloth, but it was all he had. One of those things had to help him figure out what happened, right?

Neither of them helped. He had looked through every single inch of that forest for any other signs of where Pup had been taken and found nothing. He tried looking through the library in the castle to find out what that sludge was and found nothing. He even went to the closest village to the castle and still there was nothing. No one had seen Pup, or anyone that looked like Pup, or even knew what that substance was. There was absolutely nothing for him to get an idea of where to start looking for the young werewolf who had cried out for his help before vanishing. So, he did the only thing he could do. He wandered as he searched for any sign of his Pup.

That was what had led him to where he was now, sitting in an old inn that looked like it was going to fall apart if someone so much as looked at it the wrong way, staring at the scrap of cloth that had been torn from the scarf Sypha had given Pup as he wondered what he could have done to prevent this. What if he had run outside as soon as he realized what phase of the moon it was and stayed with Pup the entire time? What if he simply had not forgotten about it at all and just had another ‘Wolves Night Out’ with Pup, leaving Taka and Sumi in the castle as he spent time with one of the people he trusted and loved completely? What if he-

“You lost one too, huh?”

Alucard let out a surprised hum and stared up at the barkeep, a senior man who looked like he had seen too much of the world and just wanted a break from it. “Lost what?”

“Lost someone. Lot’s of people been losing others around here. All of them vanishing into thin air.” The old man said as he sat down across the table from Alucard. “So, who was it? An old friend? A spouse? Who’d you lose?”

Alucard stayed silent for a moment, wondering how best to describe his relation to Pup, before finally a specific word finally came to mind. “A child.”

The barkeep’s eyes went wide as he stared at Alucard, clearly not expecting that answer. “Shite I’m… I’m sorry. That’s got to be the worst one I’ve heard. I think you’re the only one who’s lost a kid to whatever’s been going on.”

“What exactly has been going on here?”

“People are just disappearing. Sometimes people nearby where it happens will hear them screaming for help and a bunch of people spouting nonsense, and by the time they get there they’re gone. Sometimes some pieces of clothing get left behind, sometimes it’s this foul-smelling black stuff, and other times it’s both. Though I think everyone who’s been vanishing so far has been adults…Didn’t think whatever this was would be nasty enough to go after children.”

Pieces of clothing, vanishing into thin air, black sludge, a large amount of voices…

“Just like with Pup.”

It was then he felt a tight grip on his left shoulder, tight enough that it would have caused immense pain if he had been a human. He turned around, expecting a drunkard at first, only to feel a strange mixture of dread, relief, and joy when he came face to face with an enraged Sypha.

“What happened to Pup?”

#yeeeeeeeeeeees #you writing is great!!!!!!#i need more!!!!!!!!!#submission

1 note · View note

dewygrassy · 6 years

Text

Dark Necessities

Armin dreams of the outside world. Mapping the path with his own footprints but “it’s illegal to go outside of the wall, Armin!” Eren says.

Armin flipped through the thick book; each of the pages was overflowing with innumerable artistic posters and egotistical axioms with different fonts and size. He pursed his lips as his small, bony fingers traced every single of printed lines and curves on the pages. He was mesmerized by the book the moment he found it inside the wooden box covered in dust at the abandoned attic in his house. His grandfather was taking a long nap on the old, ugly couch after a few sips of bitter low-quality tea that was given by a lovely middle-aged woman two mornings ago. Armin had no intention to ask for her name so he just simply nodded and muttered "thank you" in the most polite way with a soft, genuine smile plastered on his face.

It was one of the steamiest days in this year and his baby blue cotton T-shirt was drenched with his own sweats as he walked down toward the alley. He brought the book closer to his chest and he could not hide the erratic beatings of his heart. The anxiety clouded his mind, visualizing the possible scenarios of the town bullies appeared at the corner of the street, smirked in amusement as they kicked his body over and over again. Armin clutched the book tightly as he paced up a little bit faster before he turned to the right corner of the street. Only twenty-three footsteps more before he found Eren sat at the end of the riverbank alone and his fingers were fumbling around to find stray pebbles before lazily tossing them into the river ahead of him.

"Eren!"

He beamed when Eren turned his head around and found his friend gave him the most beautiful smile for him. Armin took a sit next to him and placed the book on the cracked concrete pavement carefully.

"Where did you find this book?" Eren asked in a hushed voice. His big green eyes wandered the hardcover of the book curiously. "It doesn't look like one of the books that you could find at José book stall."

"I found it at the attic! And there are masses of illustrations too!" Armin flipped through each of the pages eagerly; he couldn't rip off his enthusiasm when he enlightened Eren with his explanation on every artworks and diagrams in the book. There were photographs of icy lands, infinite peaks of nothing but far and wide land of sands, flaming mountains, and enormous cerulean lake spread out the entire page. "And look at this picture, Eren!" he pointed at the page of a half-naked young lady, wearing only in a pair of black short pants and shielded her big breasts with her small hands. At the bottom of the image, "the government on earth there is some trace of human weakness, some germ of corruption and degeneracy"[¹] was written in standard font size.

"Armin... This book is illegal! You can't keep this book with you; those gruffly dudes will capture you and you'll get chastised by them!"

"But, Eren..." he leaned closer and stared into his friend's eyes intently. "The outside world... It exists! This book is a fragment of what the outside world looks like. Would you like to waste your youth by sitting around inside this wall, Eren? Are you willing to be led blindly by this unanimity string of fucked up social structure for the rest of your life? We have been living like stupid cattle inside this wall for almost twenty three years! The future... Our future is waiting for us outside of this gigantic barrier..."

"Armin..." he sighed exasperatedly. This wasn't the first time that Armin had ever told him about his astonishing ideas of walking out from this walled city without getting a bullet hole on his forehead, flicking his middle finger to a bunch of over-enthusiastic government's "clowns" during the annual congregation in previous year, and succeeded in getting both of their earlobes pierced by Mikasa even though she was very hesitant to do so in the first place. Armin always had his ways to get what he wanted but Eren was uncertain if he agreed with his friend at this time. "Look, nobody likes to sit around and doing nothing inside this fucking wall. I know that. And I do appreciate your enthusiasm but we're both unemployed and broke right now. We don't even have any fucking great working skills if we are manage to get the hell out from here. We don't even know what's awaiting us out there. But, the thing is, they will kill us, Armin!" said Eren. "Just... Just like what they did with your parents... I-I don't think we can-"

"If you don't want to do it, it's fine," Armin closed the book and brushed off the dirt on the hardcover of the book before he stood up. "I won't let this injudicious social system taking over my unabridged way of life. The world war is over almost three years ago, Eren. But the King and the government still do not let us to make our way out from this wall. They are trying to throttle us with utopian socialism beliefs. It's so stupid!"

Eren frowned at the sight of gigantic clouds of dreary smokes risen from the factory's chimneys, sputtering the overcrowded town with grey ashes all over the place. The air was stagnant and overflowing with the smell of fresh baked breads and chemicals. He always thought that Armin was so fragile like a delicate, breakable porcelain doll but then again, he had such an unbreakable willpower of self independence and Eren was always always fascinated by his miraculous philosophies and his way of thinking. Armin never gave up, even when he had to fight those bullies at the back streets single-handedly before he and Mikasa came along to rescue him. He cried, he always cried each time the bullies took out on him because of his unconventional thoughts but he never backed down. He always had been the fearless one.

And Eren was always always put all his faith and hope on Armin.

Perhaps this could be an opportunity for both of them to see the sights of the unexplored borders of the outside world, mapping the paths with their own footprints and writing down their untold stories in the jotter every night. They probably could get killed on their way of escaping this suffocating wall but Armin was a smart young man. Armin never failed him.

"Okay, genius," Eren sat up, slung his toned arm around his best friend's shoulders. "What's your plan?"

[¹]Quoted by Thomas Jefferson

The fanart is credited to Bev-Nap on Devianart

This is an unexpected idea that I caught when I was writing a report about business ethical issues last year. It was supposed to be a very subjective, personal thought of my experience but I was thinking about writing a short story of Armin and Eren instead. I posted this short story on my Attack on Titan Amino page a couple of months ago and I have decided to post on my Tumblr account as well.

As a teenager, I used to be so rebellious with my inner thoughts and dogmas. As a young adult, I am getting so curious about the outside world, the cultures, the people and the tickling sensation of snowflakes on my skin. So, the wall represents the constraints that I am currently encountered on my way to discover my own dreams, Armin is the depiction of my inner struggles and Eren signifies my anxiety.

Disclaimer: All the characters are rightfully belong to Isayama Hajime

#eremin #friendship #eren jaeger #armin arlert #attack on titan #fiction #fanfic #alternate universe

10 notes · View notes

spicynbachili1 · 6 years

Text

The app that makes writing less lonely

Picture copyright Inkvite

In case you see a author in a film, most probably she (or he) can be tapping on a laptop computer. However many younger writers are doing it on cell phones, and typically in groups.

Daniel, who makes use of the pen title LisVender, begins the story, which his writing crew decides to name A Small Case of Author’s Block.

The tapping of Sara’s pen in opposition to her glasses grew to become so rhythmic that it seemed like a metronome set to allegretto. She spun in her swivel chair, watching the bookcases in her research swing by. She needed to admit it: her story was caught, her characters have been caught, and so was she.

Ella, pen title Elle, who has 313 tales below her belt, then picks up the story.

Sighing, she slumped ahead, brow hitting the desk with a thump. How was she going to maintain the plot rolling ahead, give her characters the event they wanted? Her eyes swivelled to the window, the glass frosted over with skinny ice. Possibly a stroll exterior within the chilly

At 276 characters, Elle has practically reached her 280 restrict, so she stops mid-sentence and passes the story to the subsequent author. (You’ll be able to learn the remainder of the story on the backside of this web page.)

Picture copyright Inkvite

Welcome to the world of Inkvite, considered one of a variety of creative-writing platforms fashionable with youngsters and younger adults within the US. It permits customers to share tales, touch upon them, and in addition collaborate.

Right here, 5 Inkvite authors clarify its attraction.

Gabriela – pen title, Athalia

I am a scholar in Houston, Texas. I’ve dreamed of being a broadcast author since I used to be little.

I’ve posted greater than 390 tales on the Inkvite app up to now two years, specialising in fantasy and science fiction.

We categorical quite a lot of our interior turmoil and feelings on the app. It is one of many issues that brings us collectively.

Some writers do that by their fiction, others deal with the platform extra like an open diary.

I bear in mind one time I noticed what my pal Phoenix had written and I knew she was in hassle.

Picture copyright Phoenix

I might inform Phoenix was going by turmoil and severe stress, venting her feelings within the story.

However I might additionally see that she was reaching out for assist. In order that’s why I devoted a narrative to her, for encouragement, which I posted on Inkvite that very same evening.

Picture copyright Athalia

Phoenix messaged me privately on the app to say she appreciated it. We are able to additionally go away public suggestions on tales.

Inkvite offers you assist, each inventive and emotional. It is tight-knit.

I believe it is cool as a result of we’re all these strangers writing on an app, however now we have this mutual respect and we deal with one another as household.

Yi Ting – pen title, Clara

Picture copyright Yi Ting

I bear in mind I cried once I learn Athalia’s writing on Inkvite. She writes updates about her household life and poetry. I wrote messages to assist her.

If I learn one thing miserable, I would message her to say, “if something occurs to you sooner or later you’ll be able to all the time discover me and speak to me”. I hope she feels higher.

Picture copyright Athalia

I joined Inkvite once I was 12 in 2016. At first I used to be nonetheless discovering my very own writing type. I am Malaysian and it is a approach to enhance English. Now I do primarily fantasy and romance. It is good to have folks to assist you of their feedback – writing is mostly a lonely path.

I write in pairs, however by no means a 4. It is too crowded. Once I collaborate I like writing with Elle. Fortunately, due to the time distinction, she begins early and I write late at evening. I used to be a fan of Elle’s tales and he or she had been a motivation for me to maintain on writing, so I messaged her and I requested for a collaboration.

Ella – pen title, Elle

I began writing once I was 10. I by no means shared any of my work with anybody, simply saved it on a file on a pc. My mates finally inspired me to interrupt out of my bubble. From across the age of 14 I began writing on Inkvite.

I moved round quite a bit in my childhood: Connecticut, New York, New Jersey. I used to be altering colleges on a regular basis. I am typically shy, making mates was troublesome.

Inkvite and its writing group was a continuing for me, when the whole lot was altering.

Social writing platforms

Inkvite is just one of a variety of apps that allow folks to write down on their cell phone, touch upon one another’s work, and chat publicly and privately. Others embody:

Wattpad – Began in 2006 and based mostly in Canada, it has greater than 70 million customers and 400 million uploaded tales, making it a lot larger than Inkvite

Movellas – A platform based in Denmark in 2009 – it is fashionable with youngsters and has been utilized in colleges as a option to educate English

Penana – Like Inkvite, it permits for collaborative writing – it additionally has charts for “most appreciated” and “most commented” customers

FanFiction.internet – Created in 1998, it has hundreds of thousands of customers, who write tales impressed by TV reveals, comics or movies

I used to write down each evening on my cell after I would completed my homework.

I admit once I began out, it was a stress launch. I like the actual fact it is nameless – no one is aware of your actual title, however they get to know you thru simply your writing.

Picture copyright Inkvite

I needed on-line relationships to assist my writing and I additionally needed to assist different folks on their writing journeys. However I’ve by no means met any of my Inkvite mates in actual life.

Now I am in my first yr of school in Georgia. My time is extra scattered however I nonetheless to favor to write down at evening, in my dorm.

I was extra idealistic, I needed to be a broadcast author. It is type of intangible, however I do know I can self-publish.

Daniel – pen title, LisVender

I dwell in Riverbank, California.

I work for a trucking firm, within the again workplace. I do the billing.

I like fantasy and horror, so naturally I am a Stephen King fan.

I am 38, most likely one of many oldest folks on the app.

How Inkvite started

Launched by London-based entrepreneur Chris Helm in 2015

Impressed by writers’ camps run by hip-hop artists, the place a bunch of writers works on lyrics, and the artist curates the outcomes

The app has been downloaded greater than 85,000 occasions, producing 110,000 tales

4 out of 5 customers are feminine and the biggest age group is 14-18

Younger writers are used to contributing to threads on their telephones, Helm says, so this fashion of writing comes naturally to them

Inkvite works rather well as a result of it appears like you’re getting out a fast textual content, or a tweet or one thing. You get an thought in your head, you might be standing on a bus, or on a break at work, when an thought hits you. You do not have that interval the place you’re staring on the keyboard or clean web page.

It appeals to that smartphone psychology, there are notifications in your cellphone, the app tells you when it is your activate a narrative – once you see that little crimson dot with the quantity on it, you go, “Oh I want to do this.”

Picture copyright Inkvite

If you find yourself writing by yourself, linear fiction, concepts go up like tent poles. However once you write in a crew, issues can go in a totally surprising path.

It is a fantastic factor to relinquish management of writing.

Generally you get a brand new perspective on the story that makes it thrilling. Somebody would possibly present an perception into a personality that you just had not thought of. There’s quite a lot of alternatives to shock one another.

Melanie – pen title, DriftingSilently

Picture copyright Melanie

I used to be drawn to Inkvite as a result of I needed to write down issues that I did not essentially wish to have my shut mates learn.

I used to be an adolescent when the app began, and beloved with the ability to immediately join with individuals who have been completely different ages and from different components of the world than me. I might share my work with folks with out questions like, “Is that this character me?” or “Why is that this so darkish/bizarre/and many others?” that I’d have gotten from sharing fiction over a private weblog.

The app is an effective approach for me to observe how I’ve grown as a author and individual. I’ve since deleted a few of my extra juvenile works, but it surely’s a option to humble myself. I am unable to act like I am higher than children on the app, as a result of they will scroll again on my profile and browse some angsty factor I wrote in 2012.

Picture copyright Inkvite

Once I was posting frequently, it was good to have the ability to see a child’s one-paragraph story about their day at college subsequent to my sonnets, and my tales subsequent to these of somebody twice my age.

I began writing as a result of I’ve quite a lot of creativity that I needed to share, and since it was good to have my ideas validated as “written work”.

I stayed with writing, and the app, for the deeper relationships that may kind from sharing concepts.

This is the ending of A Small Case of Author’s Block, with contributions from Clara and Melanie.

[maybe a walk in the cold…] would spark one thing. Certainly, the chilly air untangled a few of her messy ideas. The timber swayed within the wind, and the sky was gray. Her story was set within the chilly climate, too – which she might relate now as her fingertips froze. She wandered within the streets, dreaming of a

sensible end to the chapter she’d been engaged on for thus lengthy. As Sara watched the primary snowflakes of the season start to float down, her ideas fell into place as nicely. She marched again inside. Generally all it took was a breath of crisp air to freshen her thoughts.

Dougal Shaw is on Twitter: @dougalshawBBC

Be a part of the dialog – discover us on Fb, Instagram, YouTube and Twitter.

from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/the-app-that-makes-writing-less-lonely/

0 notes

elesianne · 7 years

Text

Fëanorian week: Fëanor & Nerdanel

A Silmarillion fanfic

Summary: Fëanor runs into someone on a solitary journey and finds he doesn't mind the company.

Length: ~3,200 words, Rating: General audiences

Some keywords: romance, first meeting, meet cute

Fëanorian week prompts: travelling, (future) marriage

A/N: I’ve wanted to write about Nerdanel and Fëanor's first meeting for a while so I did that for today. Tolkien says of Nerdanel that '[i]n her youth she loved to wander far from the dwellings of the Noldor, either beside the long shores of the Sea or in the hills; and thus she and Fëanor had met and were companions in many journeys' (HoME 10).

Fëanor and Nerdanel are barely more than teenagers here. (AO3 link)

Once upon a journey

The first time they meet they startle each other, for neither was expecting to meet anyone. Both of them have travelled for days with no other company than the song of summer birds and the furtive movements of small animals in the undergrowth.

Fëanáro sees her first, a rather long time before she sees him. From very far away he can only tell, from disturbances in the water and the glittering of waterdrops in the air, that there is something moving in the river ahead of him. He wants to see what kind of an animal it is and he doesn't want to make it bolt so he walks closer along the riverbank with quiet steps, careful not to shift the earth or cause small rockslides into the river.

He doesn't think for a second that it could be another person since to his knowledge no one else comes to this part of the land, this rocky patch of near-barren wasteland between the mountains and the sea. It is far north of Alqualondë and other settlements of the Falmari. He hasn't seen another person for days, and when he realises the figure in the river is one of his kind, he stands frozen in place in amazement.

Not least because it's unmistakably a woman and, as could be expected from someone wading into a stream, she is naked. No, not naked, he realises after a second. Nearly naked, clothed but only in a undyed linen shift that clings to her form, wet from the splashing of water. She seems to be splashing about more than is strictly necessary, making Fëanáro think of his own joy at finding a river or lake to swim and bathe in after a long day, or indeed many days, of travelling.

Half of him is saying that he needs to do something other than just stare – to leave, or to call out to her in greeting, probably while covering his eyes – but the other half, the ever-curious half that alternately gets him into trouble and into new discoveries, is busy studying the woman in the wide but shallow river.

He can see little of her face for she is not facing him, and the long curtain of her unbound, curling hair swirls around her while she splashes. It is an unusual colour, he notes with interest, brown shot through with redder strands. He knows few Noldor with hair that colour, though the hair of the famed smith Mahtan who he soon hopes to apprentice for is even redder –

Suddenly the woman is reaching down to pull off her shift, and before Fëanáro can do more than think oh no, she has turned around just enough that she will likely see him.

Desperately he looks around for a place to hide, but there is neither time to hide nor much cover on the rock-strewn bank.

Feeling unusually sheepish and hating it, Fëanáro raises a hand in greeting to the very startled-looking woman.

Neither of them says nothing for a while, both studying the other. Fëanáro fears he is blushing though he is the one fully clothed and she the one standing in a river in nothing but sodden undergarments. And she is as young as he is, just a girl. Nevertheless, once the first moment of startlement has passed, she stands there calmly, has turned to fully face him now, her hands bunched in the hem of her shift slowly letting go.

The calm gaze, the small tilt of the head crowned by russet curls… Fëanáro finds himself the first to utter words.

'Forgive me', he says, raising his voice to cover the distance. 'I didn't think I'd find anyone here. I did not mean to spy on you.'

'I didn't expect to encounter anyone either', the girl replies, and Fëanáro almost flinches at hearing the words of another after so many days of no elven language but his own travelling songs.

His merciless eyes that are always assessing the worth and beauty of things tell him now, after a few more moments' study, that she is not beautiful. Her face lacks the absolute symmetry that marks a perfect beauty, her mouth is too wide as are her brows, and though her ruddy, freckled complexion goes well with her hair, it is hardly fashionable.

Still he has a hard time keeping reluctance out of his voice when he turns away from her and says, 'I'll leave you to bathe in peace.'

'I don't mind you staying', the girl says. Fëanáro turns back with wide eyes and stares at her again.

Now she is blushing, her composure shaken. 'I did not mean – for you to stay while I bathe. But I wouldn't mind company for the evening. We could share a campsite if you want.'

He had meant to keep going for a couple of hours longer, but the idea of staying in the girl's company is appealing. He must be missing civilisation more than he thought.

'I would like that', he replies.

'Very good', she says, and smiles. Her smile is an interesting thing, a little crooked and very gentle. 'Would you get a fire started while I wash my hair? It gets cold this far north, and it would be lovely to dry off by an already roaring fire.'

Fëanáro doesn't like people telling him what to do, but the girl's reasons are sound enough. And he still has some vegetables and mushrooms, gathered before the country became barren, in his pack. They would make good dinner for two as a soup, and to make soup he needs a fire anyway.

'I will build a fire', he promises.

She points to the direction where she has chosen a campsite and left her things and Fëanáro heads that way.

He finds her campsite, gathers firewood – he finds mostly dried branches of the low bushes that are the only thing that grows here in abundance – and has a fire going and the soup bubbling over it by the time the girl returns, dressed in her damp shift again. Fëanáro realises that her clothes are here in a pile by her pack and bedroll, and that he doesn't know her name.

He can ask her for it later. Now he suggests that he should go to the river to wash the worst dirt of the journey off himself while she dresses. He almost succeeds in not blushing while making the offer.

'Take your time', the girl says. 'The water is lovely. I can watch your… is that soup?'

'Yes. There should be enough for both of us.'

The girl smiles her thanks; Fëanáro finds his towel and goes to the river.

He does take his time bathing. The water is lovely, it is true, but he is also determined to make himself fit for company since he is to have more than fireflies as companions for the night, and it has been days since he last found either the patience or a suitable body of water to wash properly.

'I'm Fëanáro', he tells her when he gets back to camp.

'Prince Fëanáro.' She inclines her head in a small gesture of respect.

Of course she would know who he is. It is something of a disappointment anyway.

'Not here in the wild.' He squeezes water out of his hair. 'Just Fëanáro.' He finds it pleases him.

'Very well then, Fëanáro.' The girl stirs the soup, takes a taste. 'I am Nerdanel, and I think the soup needs a moment longer.'

They sit there around the fire, on their bedrolls since the ground is cold and stony, and she asks him why he has come this far north.

'I am tracking the change in stone type. And looking for new minerals – few of our people have come this far so it is likely I might find some. I already found a few, but so far nothing that seems useful. I'll have to do experiments with them, though. Of course.'

'Of course', she echoes.

'And why are you here, what is the purpose of your travelling?' For she must have one. It's a very long journey to this far north, close to the wastes of Araman; no one comes here on an idle stroll. Fëanáro is impressed with her courage and determination that she has come all this way alone. And with her hair that in the firelight glows with red and gold…

'I am looking for new shapes.'

'New shapes?' Fëanáro repeats, bemused, and nervous that he might discover that she is in spite of all appearances a silly girl pursuing empty fancies.

'For my sculpture.' Nerdanel has been combing her hair with her fingers and now tames it into an over-the-shoulder braid, restraining its red-tinged glory. 'I want to be a sculptor, you see, and I am always looking for new shapes to include in my works. Unfamiliar landscape works well as inspiration.'

'Do you work with clay, or with stone?'

'Both, and I can cast metal as well. I use all three materials for statues.'

Fëanáro is ever more impressed with her.

'You seem surprised', Nerdanel says in the manner of one who has often had to see the same surprise on people's faces when she tells them her chosen profession.

'I am, for as you must know, few women work with metal and stone. Yet I am delighted to discover one such woman in this northern wildness.'

Nerdanel's smile tells him that his astonishment has been forgiven, not that he had been seeking forgiveness. He simply said what was true, what he felt. 'You may have heard that I am also interested in learning smithwork. Well, to learn more of it. I have some skill already.'

'So I have heard. I myself have much to learn, as well, though my father has been teaching me all my life. He never treated me any differently from my brother.'

Fëanáro would ask her who her father is, in case he has heard of him, but at that moment they discover that their soup is ready and they need to busy themselves with the preparations required for eating a meal in the wildness.

They have no trouble finding things to talk about while they eat. It turns out that they took very different routes to end up here in the same place, so they share with each other all discoveries they made. Fëanáro takes the samples he has gathered out of his pack and shows them to her, and her every comment and the way she turns the pieces of mineral in her hands shows how much she already knows and that she wants to learn more; Fëanáro delights in her curiosity.

After they finish eating and Nerdanel heartily thanks Fëanáro for the meal they go down to the river together to wash the few dishes they used. When Fëanáro passes the cups to Nerdanel he notices that her hands are as calloused as his.

Few would want to write songs about the loveliness of her face, but there is much in her to admire, Fëanáro thinks, based on their short acquaintance. She seems independent and capable, smart and inquisitive, and there is a certain kind of beauty, one he appreciates, in her hands that are as strong and sure as a smith's, and in the way she holds herself with confidence but no arrogance.

And she has come alone far into the unknown regions of Aman. Though she seems glad to found unexpected company, Fëanáro is certain she would have been just fine on her own.

They return to the campsite in companionable silence, gathering a little more firewood along the way. Still thinking of long journeys taken alone, Fëanáro asks Nerdanel if she often comes this far.

'Not often, no', she replies. 'I have journeyed this far only once before, up into the mountains that time. Mostly I have explored the land around Aulë's halls where my family lives, but lately that land has begun to feel small and familiar. So I am taking advantage of finally being old enough to be trusted to wander long distances alone.'

'My father used to be reluctant to let me go this far as well', Fëanáro says, adding the new wood to the low-burning fire. 'But now he is so preoccupied with my stepmother and the new children that I doubt he even notices how long I'm gone.'

He doesn't bother to explain his unusual, complicated family to Nerdanel. Though she doesn't live in Tirion, she is a Noldo and must know at least some things about the royal family.

Nerdanel says nothing, and after a moment Fëanáro raises his gaze from the fire and looks at her. There is in her eyes something soft but just far enough from pity that it doesn't enrage him; he will not tolerate pity even from clever girls he finds in rivers.

They just gaze at each other for a while through the flames, sitting on opposite sides of their shared campfire. After a longer moment Nerdanel says that her father worries about her still and tried to entice her to stay at home by setting her an interesting challenge with copper casting.

'Copper?' Fëanáro asks sharply, reminded again that he still hasn't asked her about her family. He thinks he might know her father's identity now: the best-known coppersmith among the Noldor is Mahtan who Fëanáro has already been reminded of today, for in addition to his work with the red metal he is famous for his hair, red like Nerdanel's.

'Yes, I am Mahtan's daughter', Nerdanel confirms.

'Then my father has written to yours, asking if I can be apprenticed to him.' Fëanáro finds that his mouth is a little dry. 'Did you not know that?'

'No.' Nerdanel draws her russet brows together. 'But then my father is a man of few words and doesn't like to talk about unfinished business. And I have been travelling for four weeks now. The matter must have not been settled when I left home.'

'My father's letter was sent just before I set out three weeks ago.' Fëanáro leans back, inexplicably relieved. Nerdanel hadn't known, hadn't been pretending anything.

'I really hope your father will accept me as an apprentice', he says. 'I believe he isn't the best only with copper but with stone as well, and supremely skilled with many other metals as well.'

'And you wish to learn to work them all?'

'Yes, I want to learn everything. I've been studying language lately, but that – that isn't enough. I want to learn to create something concrete, something shining and beautiful.' He tries not to blush, a little embarrassed about the passion in his voice but unwilling to apologise for it.

'My father is happy to teach those who truly want to learn', Nerdanel says. 'The only reason he might not take you on is that he already has several apprentices.'

'I would work the hardest of all. I may be a prince but I'm no stranger to hard work.'

'I believe that, and I can tell that from our conversations tonight that you certainly burn to learn. I will speak with him on your behalf when I get home if he hasn't already decided to accept you.'

'Thank you', says Fëanáro from his heart.

They keep talking about metal and stone and the things of beauty and usefulness that one can create out of them. The distant treelight is all silver now and the air is cool, but their merrily crackling little fire keeps the worst of the cold at bay. When the fire begins to burn low again, both Fëanáro and Nerdanel dig cloaks from their packs and bundle up in them.

'The stars are so bright here', Fëanáro notes and lets himself fall slowly back to lie on the ground. The ground is covered in short, coarse grass, but he can't feel it through his thick cloak, and he enjoys looking up at the sky and letting starlight fill his universe.

It seems that Nerdanel feels the same way, for she walks around the fire and joins him on the grass. 'It is one of the best things in being so far away from all other lights', she sighs. 'One can begin to imagine, in a poor way at least, how it must have been for our people in Endórë before they followed Oromë to this land. How it was to live in starlight.'

'I have heard songs about that time but you are right, being here is a better inspiration for imagining it than any song.'

'I am glad that you happened to find me, even if it was in the middle of a river', Nerdanel says, a smile in her voice. 'I have been happy to travel alone and discover that I can make my way this far from home on my own, but I have enjoyed our conversation so. And now, sharing the stars with you…'

Fëanáro has come to think of himself as a master of language but he finds it difficult to think of the right words to answer her. In the end he says simply, 'I am glad I found you as well.'

They gaze at the stars in silence for a while. Fëanáro enumerates the constellations in his head and thinks Nerdanel might be doing the same.

When he has gone through all the stars he tells her of a childhood project.

'I once made it my mission to learn the names of every star and constellation within a week without anyone teaching me, so I took a star chart and climbed up on the palace roof and taught myself. It wasn't easy to see the stars with all the treelight and the city lights around, though.'

'Did you still succeed in your mission?'

'Yes.' Fëanáro raises his hand and draws constellations in the air above him. 'It felt like such a big achievement.'

'Doesn't it anymore?'

'There are bigger things, I know now.' He rolls over to his front, ending up closer to Nerdanel, and turns to look at her, as intent on learning every freckle on her face as he once was to learn the stars.

'Like finding someone to gaze at the stars with?' she suggests in a quiet but steady voice.

'Yes.'

She turns to face him too, and their breaths mingle, and Fëanáro finds it far from unpleasant.

But he is displeased to find his heart beating fast and his fingers flexing restlessly, as if looking for something to touch, to mould. He believes in being brave, though, so he speaks again. It is not so hard when she looks like she is looking forward to listening to whatever he says.

'Nerdanel, will you travel together with me when we set out again in the morning?'

A small smile, like one hiding a secret, curves her lips. For once Fëanáro isn't in a hurry to learn a secret; he thinks he will discover it eventually, and that slowly searching will be a delight even greater than exploring new places.

'I will travel with you wherever you wish to go', she promises, and in that softly spoken promise Fëanáro feels like he already found the secret.

A/N: Today is the last day of Fëanorian week, and this is the last of the stories I wrote for this week. It was a big project writing these eight stories, but also one I enjoyed immensely.

Warm thanks to everyone who's been reading, and especially warm thanks for all the kudos, likes and comments! They have brightened my week. I'd still love to hear what you thought about this story :)

#feanorianweek #fëanor and nerdanel get the longest story i wrote for this week #which i think is fitting since they are responsible for creating everyone else we've been celebrating this week #fëanor #nerdanel #romance #silmarillion fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #silmarillion #tolkien #my fics #once upon a journey #elesianne's fics

22 notes · View notes