#it is the time of year for violet ink and it arrived exactly on time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prncesselene · 4 years

Note

Prompt: Anthony being a great father to Hyacinth. Literally any scenario will do I just really want some daddy Anthony.

thank you for sending this in! i’m always eager to spread the anthony bridgerton DILF agenda ♥️

(ao3)

Anthony first heard a wail.

It was a shrill, tinny sound — not exactly one he’d never heard before, but certainly the kind that raised alarm in the middle of a bright, sunny day in the country. The sort of day that made painters rush out with their canvases and smattered the hands of poets with ink. It was such a beautiful day, in fact, that most of his siblings had all filtered out to enjoy it. He had chosen to sit back and watch them as they enjoyed the sun.

At the age of twenty five, Anthony had settled into as peaceful an existence as was possible for a man like him — as head of the family, its finances, and everyone’s general wellbeing, it wasn’t necessarily easy, but he was managing. Colin was set to start university soon, Benedict had recently finished, and Daphne wasn’t set to debut until the following season. The lull in activity gave Anthony enough momentary peace that it finally felt as though he could take one long, deep breath.

And in truth, he was enjoying the country and the time spent with his family. Atypical as it may have been, he would always be grateful for the special bond they all shared with each other. Things were certainly never dull when they were all together.

Case in point: the wailing coming from a six-year old Hyacinth Bridgerton.

Anthony sat up the moment he heard it, his eyes narrowing to locate the source of the sound. Gregory was only eight, and just as incorrigible as the rest of the boys had been at his age. Him and Hyacinth got on just as often as they fought — which meant, at any given moment, either of them might have been the one crying.

Violet let out a resigned sigh, looking up at the scenery ahead of them. “Anthony, would you…?”

Anthony grimaced, rising from his seat and stalking across the field. Hyacinth’s sobs had only grown louder in the few moments it took for him to walk over, Gregory’s eyes wide and filled with fear as he approached.

“I— I promise I didn’t—”

“He PUSHED me!” Hyacinth shouted through her tears as she held onto her knee, her face red and splotchy with the effort. “He MEANT to!”

“I didn’t!”

“He DID!”

“Both of you, settle. Down. Now,” Anthony said, putting on his most authoritative voice. This still came awkwardly to him — the discipline and strong words, especially when they were both so young. But it was just another part of the role he’d been given, the one he’d never quite asked for but had to bear all the same. He leaned down to meet her eyes. “Are you hurt, Hyacinth?”

She was still sobbing loudly — a sound that tugged viciously at his heart, even if his youngest sister did have a flair for the dramatic — as she opened up her palms to reveal a particularly bloody knee.

Anthony winced, hissing as he inspected it closely. Gregory began to cry at the sight of it. “I promise I didn’t mean to… I didn’t see the rocks, and—”

The wound was not disastrous, but bad enough that Anthony could confirm Hyacinth’s tears were not, in fact, exaggerated. Anthony sighed. Discipline would have to come later. “Go to mother, Gregory,” he said. “Now. I will deal with you later.”

Gregory did as told, walking back towards their mother with his head hung low as Anthony picked Hyacinth up. Her arms came around his neck while her legs swung around his chest. She wasn’t very tiny anymore, all long arms and pointy elbows — she was going to be tall, he could already tell — but he was able to lift her with ease. As they walked, her arms tightened around him as she continued to cry into his shoulder.

“Shhh,” he tried to console her, the walk from the field to the nursery inside feeling longer than it had ever been before. “You’re okay. It’ll be alright.”

Once they were inside, Anthony didn’t bother to locate the nursemaid — Hyacinth was clearly in distress, and that seemed like a waste of time when he was perfectly able. He sat her down on one of the dressers and grabbed a washcloth.

“Does it hurt badly?” he asked, his voice low as he tried to soothe her. This was a trick he’d learned with Eloise, who’d always gotten into more trouble than it seemed a young girl should have been able to. If he spoke softly enough, nearly in a whisper, it was often enough to get them to relax.

Hyacinth sniffed, using her hands to wipe at her face. She had stopped crying, but her cheeks — and Anthony’s shoulder — remained damp. “Mmmmhmm.”

Anthony dabbed at her knee with the washcloth, clearing away most of the blood while Hyacinth slowly caught her breath. The scrape was still fairly bad, but it would likely heal by the following day.

“Here we go,” Anthony said, taking the ointment from the nursery cabinet and dabbing it around the skin of Hyacinth’s knee. Once that was done, he took the bandage and wrapped it twice — enough to cover it fully without limiting her mobility. “Does that feel better?”

Hyacinth nodded, her frown deepening. “I hate Gregory. He’s mean and rude and I hate him.”

Anthony smiled, reaching up to wipe away some of the last errant tears on her cheeks. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No,” Anthony stood up, putting his hands on his waist. “You don’t. He made a mistake — for which he will apologize to you and see consequences — and then you will go back to loving each other and being the best of siblings. That is the way things are, and the way they will always be. That’s what family is. Alright?”

Hyacinth rolled her eyes, unconvinced, and Anthony was immediately provided with a glimpse into what the future held in store for him when it came to the youngest Bridgerton. He would have to really enjoy the relative calm while he had it.

He whisked her off of the table unexpectedly, careful not to hurt her knee, eliciting a girlish squeal. “Did you just roll your eyes at me? That is quite undignified, Miss Hyacinth. Even for a young lady of six.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Oh, I believe you did,” he tsked, smiling. Reaching under her chin, Anthony tickled her until she was giggling, her hands reaching out in a futile attempt to stop him between fits of laughter. “Aaaah! — Anthony — please!”

Anthony found himself laughing along as Hyacinth tried to retaliate, sticking her hands under his arms and neck. Despite her mighty attempts, the girl was still only six, and thus Anthony found himself the indisputable winner of the battle as their laughter slowly settled into small giggles, stopping only once it was clear that any unhappiness was well and truly behind her.

Once she’d caught her breath, Hyacinth leaned into Anthony, her head tucked into his shoulder the way she’d often done as a baby. Emotion clogged in Anthony’s throat at that realization — he could hardly believe she was already six. He supposed he would always see her as the cooing infant she’d once been.

Her arrival had been the first moment of happiness Anthony had felt after losing his father, overshadowed only by the realization that she would never know him. That, in turn, inspired a fervent desire to try and fill the gap, however clumsily.

“Are you feeling better now?” he murmured, smiling when she nodded and tightened her grip on him again, her eyes slowly closing. All the excitement seemed to have sapped her of her energy.

Anthony took a quick turn about the room, drifting towards the window and watching his family outside as he carried her. As difficult as it was — dealing with his siblings, worrying relentlessly over their wellbeing, lending an ear for listening or a shoulder for crying whenever they needed it — it was satisfying, too. Especially in moments like this.

He would have to find her nursemaid now, and then have a few choice words with Gregory about being careful with his younger sister, and then after that he would likely have to go and deal with some other issue that arose, whether it was with his mother, or his sisters, or his brothers.

It seemed to never end, the laundry list of problems with which he was presented — everyone looked to him for guidance, and Anthony didn’t have anywhere else to look to anymore. He would have to find the answers within himself, the way he’d been doing for seven years now.

He would never be their father — that much went without saying — but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to fill the hole he’d left behind for them.

When he turned back towards Hyacinth, she was asleep, her breaths even. Anthony smiled to himself, grateful to see her calm and peaceful for once, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before lowering her onto the bed and closing the curtains.

He could only hope he was doing a good enough job of it all.

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton family #anthony bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #:') got all in my feels with this one #especially after reading its in his kiss #i just love hyacinth #even though he's only really in the book for dowry related reasons i feel like they would have a special bond

118 notes · View notes

schleierkauz · 4 years

Text

The Color of Revenge: Chapter 2

Here we go again! Please tell me if you find any mistakes, share your thoughts and enjoy! <3

Chapter 2: Five good Years

The night sky was burning. Dustfinger loved to set fire to the darkness. His flames were red flowers, blooming between the stars like poppies in a field of bittercress.

Fenoglio stood at the window and enjoyed the view. He’d moved back under Minerva’s roof a few months ago. The simple chamber was still the best home and the view was so much more spectacular than that from the castle – especially during nights like these when Dustfinger was setting the stage for his beautiful wife. Whenever Roxane danced for her Ugliness, she did it under a fiery sky.

Dustfinger and Roxane… Fenoglio had given up on calling them his creation a long time ago. He no longer believed that it was possible to create people and the worlds they lived in with nothing but words. It was possible to trap them, yes. Catch their echo in the sounds of consonants and vowels. But create them? No. Life itself wasn’t born out of ink. The fingers of a giant had made Fenoglio humble, a forest track littered with the corpses of soldiers and, crucially, the daughter of the Adderhead, whose wise regency he hadn’t foreseen when he’d written about a lonely, ugly little girl.

But even if the fabric of this world wove itself (or had a weaver who preferred to stay hidden), Fenoglio still liked to hear people call him the Inkweaver, their voices full of awe (or a little afraid). The title stroked his ego and after all: From time to time he still managed to add some embroidery to the cloth of this world.

There! Dustfinger’s flowers spat fiery seeds into the dark velvet of the night. A swarm of swans flew across the sky, their wings emitting white sparks. The Fire-Dancer was very creative when it came to staging the performances of his wife. Violante asked Roxane to dance for her almost every month. The gates of Ombra’s castle were wide open during those nights and people came from far and wide to see the woman who danced with the fire.

A few times Fenoglio had been part of the crowd but these days he preferred the view from Minerva’s window. It was still cold even though March was almost over and Fenoglio’s aging bones resisted every word he wrote to keep the rheumatism out of his joints.

Roxane’s herbs were way more effective, which was more proof of the true roots and realities of this world. Ah, Inkweaver, you’re getting old. That’s not pleasant anywhere and Fenoglio longed for no place but Ombra. Sometimes he did miss his newspaper in the mornings or the strong coffee he used to enjoy three times a day. The fact that the coffee bean had yet to find its way to Ombra was outrageous. Wine and tea – that was all anyone could find at the markets. Ah well, one can’t have all. Unfortunately, Fenoglio had always struggled to accept that rule.

He frowned when there was a knock at his door. It sounded as if someone was striking the wood with the neck of a bottle and without much patience. Heavens, this glass man would splinter himself one day!

Fenoglio still maintained that the glass men were his creation, even though Meggie liked to tease him with the wild ones who lived in the woods surrounding Ombra. Admittedly, they were not interested in sharpening quills and disproved his claim that he had invented the species solely to assist poets. But no matter who had created them: It was a fact that their ridiculous high voices were so shrill it was almost impossible to understand them. Especially when they were excited. Which was a good reason to agree with the widely held opinion that glass men in general were a ridiculous concept and completely unnecessary.

“Slow down! How many times do I have to tell you?“ Fenoglio snapped at Rosenquartz while he closed the door behind him. “What is it this time? A cow pie on the street? A chicken that tried to peck you? One day you will shatter losing your mind over some inanity!”

Outside, Dustfinger was celebrating his wife’s talent and beauty by letting the fire paint Roxane’s dancing silhouette into the sky. Her hand reached for the moon as if it were a silver ball.

“That smoky gray louse…!“ Rosenquartz panted. “I was so sure I’d never have to see his ugly face again. Nothing but a pile of broken glass, that’s what he deserves to be! Glass shards in the excrement of a mangy dog!”

Who was he talking about? The glass man he was competing with over the favor of the glass woman Rosenquartz had been courting for weeks? Although, no, that one wasn’t gray but violet (an unfortunate color for a glass man).

“Well, I hope you’re not planning on starting any fights with your rival,“ Fenoglio said and stepped back to the window. “With broken arms you would be useless for me as well as for you pale yellow crush.”

The needle holder who had caught Rosenquartz eye was working for Beatrice Sommavilla, a seamstress who had turned the heads of almost all the human men in Ombra. Even Fenoglio had written her love poems… There was no fool like an old fool…

“You’re not listening! As usual!“ Rosenquartz hissed as he climbed onto the chest of drawers under the window with the agility of a spider. He hated having to look up at Fenoglio when they argued – which, of course, he still had to do from his new position. Ridiculous little creature. But his climbing skills were truly exceptional.

“Your kind never listens!“ he shrieked. “All that space in your plump heads – wasted! You want to know what it is? I saw Ironstone! I hope you still remember that name? He was Orpheus’ glass man! He was sitting on the shoulder of a man who looked even more devious than himself and he was staring at the Fire-Dancer like he was trying to burn holes into his skin!“

Outside, Dustfinger let his fire die and the night turned to ash.

“Nonsense, I’m sure you’re wrong.“ Fenoglio hated the tremor he could hear in his own voice. “One glass man looks like the next, that’s it. And god knows gray isn’t the rarest of colors.”

Rosenquartz gasped. “One glass man looks like the next?!“

The ensuing tirade about Fenoglio and the human race in general seemed endless. All that time Rosenquartz spent at the tavern by the market made him rebellious. The innkeeper kept a dozen tiny chairs on her counter, as well as thimbles filled with her cheapest wine. In return the glassy idiots wrote down all those titillating songs she wrote for the strolling players.

Rosenquartz was still throwing a fit over his human audacity. Oh, his shrill little voice! It cut right into Fenoglio’s old ears. But what if the glass man wasn’t wrong? The thought filled Fenoglio’s stomach with stones. He felt as if the seven little kids had come for him.

The last time he’d heard Orpheus’ name had been almost exactly five years ago, the day Meggie’s younger brother Dante had been born. Only then had Mortimer finally told them all the details of what had happened at the Castle in the Lake.

Five years…

They had celebrated Dante’s birthday three days ago. His mother had drawn all his favorite creatures for him (forest spirits, nymphs, glass men – and dogs) and his father had bound them into the most beautiful book ever owned by a five year old. His sister, who preferred needle and thread over words these days, had given him a tiny replica of the cloak the Black Prince wore. Meggie’s boyfriend Doria had whittled him a carriage that drove all by itself and Dustfinger… Yes, of course Dustfinger had made the boy forget all about those presents by sending him a dog made of fire.

Stones in his stomach…

Five years. Five gorgeous, magical years. No. Orpheus and his devious glass man were dead. That’s what Fenoglio had told himself during all those years whenever his thoughts had drifted towards the Cheeseface. He had to believe it.

Still, he spent a sleepless night. The sky above Ombra’s rooftops was alarmingly dark without Dustfinger’s fires and the morning was as pale and gray as the glass man who had stolen Fenoglio’s sleep.

Even Minerva’s children were still asleep when he saddled the horse the Black Prince had given him. The whole town was asleep and the hills he rode through were painted silver with dew. It clung to thousands of spiderwebs. Glimmering death traps…

Heavens, he tried his best to think a single positive thought but he just couldn’t come up with one!

Rosenquartz had already left last night to search for the man whose shoulder Ironstone had been sitting on. He would ask the other glass men to keep an eye out for the stranger and Fenoglio had sent messages to the Black Prince and Mortimer.

But he wanted to deliver the concerning news to Dustfinger in person. After all, there was no one Orpheus hated more than the Fire-Dancer. Not to mention the fact that Fenoglio never missed a chance to visit Roxane. Her beauty let him believe in the perfection of this world, if only for a few precious moments.

But Roxane wasn’t home when Fenoglio arrived at the plain house where she lived with Dustfinger. Of course. She liked to collect the herbs she traded with when the leaves were still damp with dew. Fenoglio had to admit that he missed the tasteless pills of his world whenever he drank Roxane’s bitter infusions – even though they often worked better. Roxane always sent knowing smiles his way that made his old cheeks blush.

Ah, her smile… Despite everything that had happened to him, Dustfinger could still count himself lucky. And not just because of the woman who loved him. Whoever had spun the thread of his destiny, the Fire-Dancer was absolutely magnificent since he had returned from the dead. A breathing flame, in peace with life and what came after.

He stood in front of the house with Jehan, Roxane’s son from her second marriage. Jehan was apprenticed to a blacksmith in Ombra. He already had a reputation of creating wonderful things out of iron. All the things his stepfather had taught him about fire probably helped.

Fenoglio was sure that they could see that he was bringing bad news. He still found himself searching Dustfinger’s face for the scars he had described so long ago - but the White Women had erased every trace of pain life had ever left in the Fire-Dancer’s features. In his face, Fenoglio found nothing but secrets he had no words for.

They listened silently as he told them about Rosenquartz’s discovery.

“We have to find the glass man,“ Jehan said “and find out if his master is still alive. And if he is, he has to tell us where he’s hiding.”

“How could you know if he’s telling the truth?“ Dustfingers gaze was even more mysterious since he’d returned from the White Women. It made Fenoglio self-conscious. I know everything about you, you old fool, it seemed to say.

“Oh, he will,“ Jehan said. “As soon as I hold him over my forge!” He must have inherited the hot temper from his biological father. Dustfinger just shook his head.

“Your mother wouldn’t like such methods one bit.“ A tiny flame grew in his hand.

“No. Should we find him, we have to pretend to let him go. That way, if Orpheus is still alive, he will lead us to him. All these years, I’ve searched for him in the fire. But it couldn’t find him – which means that if he’s really still alive, he fled to a land where my fire is blind.”

Stones in his stomach…

Fenoglio imagined wild places, foreign and dangerous. Lands that knew nothing of his words or Dustfinger’s fire. Automatically, he looked to the horizon. For the first time, the vastness waiting behind it made him feel afraid.

The flame in Dustfinger’s hand vanished. Ash painted the silhouette of a dancing woman onto his skin.

“I’ll talk to the Prince,“ he said. “Jehan is right. We have to find this glass man.”

Five years. They all felt it. A new story was stirring. A new one – yet the old one all the same.

(Next chapter)

#inkheart #inkworld #cornelia funke #the color of revenge #ly dont look #i tried to do this as quickly as possible #but every time i work on these i start doubting if i even speak english at all #(looks up how to spell 'or' just to make sure)#anyway...#WE'RE BACK IN OMBRA BABYYY #everyone hurry up and read this i got memes #my translation #GOD i'm so nervous to post this for some reason #ok im clicking post im doing it-

45 notes · View notes

fic-al · 3 years

Text

Oops hadn’t realized I didn’t post the final chapter on here previously.

Easter Bernie: Easter Sunday.

Here's someone who really loves you. Don't ever go away.That's what these walls would say. (If These Old Walls Could Speak, Jimmy Webb)

“Right over left, round and then through,” Fred repeated again, as he secured Reggie’s tie. “You will get the hang of it, son, easy when you knows how.”

“Thanks Uncle Fred,” Reggie was determined, he would master the tricky accessory by the end of the day. It couldn’t be more of a skill then changing a beer barrel, and he could do that.

“Oh, look at you two, all suited and booted, don’t you look smart,” Violet emerged from the Crown kitchen, wearing the dress and coat she had worn for Chummy’s wedding.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Violet,” beamed a perfectly groomed Val in a coral trouser suit and cream silken vest top.

“Who has one of those phone things, that takes a picture?” Evie asked, smoothing down a new floral dress she had treated herself to.

“Everyone Evie,” Val laughed, “Except you and Paddy.”

“Must be a pub thing,” added Jack, coming through the door, to cries of dismay.

“Jack, you are in jeans,” cried Vi.

“Talk about letting the side down,” remarked Fred.

Jack looked abashed, but added, “Thought I would stay behind, make sure no-one breaks in and steals all the eggs.”

“Jack, you know Paddy want’s us all to attend Easter Service this morning. If we are having a joint Easter Festival this year, it starts at ten o’clock at St. Preservus,” admonished Vi.

Jack looked at his trainers. That were at least clean.

“Let’s say no more about it, you will have to do,” Evie concluded.

The last member of the party had arrived through the door marked Private, that led to the living quarters of the Crown. Paddy gave a harsh look at Jack, but said nothing.

“You always scrub up well Mr T, you should wear suits more often,” blushed Vi followed by Paddy.

Val brought him back down to earth, “Would you like me to do your hair?”

Paddy gave Val the look reserved just for her and her cheek, the one that kept her quiet for about five seconds.

“Right then, is everybody ready?” another glance at a fidgety Jack, Paddy continued, “Bernie and Tim are meeting us there.”

xxxx

The Crown seven shuffled into the pew at the back of Saint Preservus, led in by Vi and ushered in by Paddy bringing up the rear.

“Hello, I see the naughty pew has been taken this morning,” beamed Peter Noakes, “that is usually reserved for the Noakes family.”

“Have we stolen your seat?” laughed Paddy.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t the Crown, there won’t be a fight,” joked Peter as he and Camilla sat in front with Phyllis accompanying Lady Keville and aromatherapist Jane Sutton. “Looks like that’s the Crown pew this morning,” Phyllis winked at Paddy.

“Shove up!” the southern accent demanded, faintly attempting the local dialect.

“Trixie, that’s the pub pew this morning, come and join us,” Chummy suggested.

Paddy had already shifted for Trixie to sit down,

“I am representing Bernie,” Trixie grinned.

“Trixie is Team Crown,” Val added on the other side of Paddy.

“You ready for today, Trixie?” Paddy asked.

“I think so, I have some understanding of an egg hunt and even the hill rolling, but jarping remains a mystery to me,” Trixie informed him in all seriousness.

Paddy leaned in and kept his voice low, aware of his surroundings.

“Right then, the Crown and Church Easter Jarping Tournament, or as it was formerly known, the Crown Inn Easter Jarping Tournament. It's very easy to understand the rules.”

“I believe you,” Trixie smiled, but did not laugh.

Paddy leant forward in an attempt to not be overheard and Trixie followed him, “It is played in a knock-out format, like the FA Cup.” Trixie nodded she understood, Paddy continued his voice below his usual range. “Each contestant selects a hard boiled egg prepared by a neutral source.” Trixie nodded she was following. “Competitors divide into pairs. One is the holder or Jarpee and the other is the thruster or Jarper. You following Trix?”

“I think so?” she whispered back, her cheeks slightly flushed. Paddy swallowed and continued at the lower vibration.

“The holder grasps their egg with their dominant hand revealing just the tip. The Jarper holds their egg also in their dominant hand. The Jarper needs to know they can make a firm contact with the other egg, so gently rubs the end of their tool against the opponents to ensure the certainty of contact. So the Jarper has one attempt to make a clean strike. You following?” Paddy paused.

“Yes,” Trixie assured in a rather higher pitch than she intended, “It’s very warm in here, or is it just me?” she added removing her scarf. Paddy nodded still sat forwards whispering into Trixie’s ear.

“The pair then swap places and repeat this series of events. Everyone has a turn with everyone else. Once both tips of your egg are cracked, you are eliminated. The winner is the final competitor to have at least one end intact.”

The congregation hushed as Tom Hereward arrived in the pulpit, to start the service, just as Chummy who was sat directly in front of Paddy and Trixie exclaimed a little too loudly, “I’ve never been more aroused.”

Timothy Turner sitting at the organ, couldn’t help turn toward the back of the church to see where all the sniggering was coming from. To be honest, he knew exactly where the laughter was coming from, but he had to look. Lucille, in front of her choir, exchanged glances with him and they shrugged their shoulders. He looked at Bernie, who was shaking her head and glaring at the back of the church. Tom Hereward was looking a little flushed and said, “Shall we begin.”

xxxx

Back at the Crown it was all stations go. Violet gave a wicker basket to Fred.

“These are the onion peel dyed eggs, for egg rolling down Crown Bank. Take them to the back of the pub and remember it is one egg per child.”

“I wondered where that pong of onions was coming from. They do look pretty though, but don’t half pen and ink,” the brewer preferred a more hoppy odour.

“Jack, you take these plain eggs to the beer garden. There is a table set up with colouring pens and markers for the more artistic types. Remember one egg per child,” Jack nodded at Violet to reassure her he had got it.

“That leaves the jarpers for later. The Church are in charge of the Easter Egg Hunt around the village. I just hope they haven’t made it too difficult for the little ones,” Violet took a breath.

“I think it was Tim and Lucille who hid them, so should be all right Vi,” Val reassured with a wink.

xxxx

“So I just drop my egg down the bank?”

“Trixie, you must have rolled an Easter Egg before?” Bernie thought her friend was deliberately being dense.

“You mean one smelling of onions, can’t say I have,” Poplar's latest resident snapped back.

“No wonder we want to shot them away down the hill,” laughed Fred.

“What is the point?” Trixie wasn’t satisfied.

“It’s just a laugh, you race your pals and see how many times you can roll it, before it cracks,” Bernie was losing patience.

“Represents the stone rolling away from the tomb,” Paddy interjected, Bernie made a shocked face and Paddy grabbed her by the waist and said, “What? I am not a complete heathen,” threatening to roll her down the hill.

“So once I have rolled this, I have to go down the hill, retrieve it and if it hasn’t cracked, do it again, until it does?” Trixie said, keeping a wide berth from wrestling Paddy and Bernie, the latter now screaming.

Fred feeling a bit awkward himself with the tactileness of the moment, nodded at Trixie,

“Better get a move on love, don’t want to miss the start of the duck race.”

“Sorry?”

“The duck race down the Tweaven, first duck to Mount Busby wins.”

Paddy interrupted, suddenly letting go of Bernie, who actually did stagger a few feet down hill before achieving traction. “My favourite bit,” he grinned.

“You race real ducks, that is medieval,” protested Trixie.

“This from the Poplar sheep rustler,” corrected Paddy.

Bernie saved the situation and herself from joining the eggs at the bottom of the hill,

“They are not real ducks, Trixie, you know those ones you put in your bath, those rubber ones. You put your mark on one and the first one Reggie spots at the farm, wins.”

“Who has a bath these days? Haven't you all got showers yet?” Trixie was confused.

Paddy huffed. Bernie added, “You might be the one at the farm, waiting for a duck next year.”

“I don’t think that is in my job description,” Trixie added, but she didn’t look convinced.

Fred and Paddy were trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face, “Fancy a pint, Fred?”

“Not arf, Doc,” he replied, already heading for the pub.

“You are all as cracked as these eggs,” Trixie said, delicately tossing her egg southwards.

xxxx

Trixie walked back to the front of the Crown and wondering if she was doing the right thing moving to potty Poplar. She made her way to the beer garden and was surprised to see her new employers surrounded by sticky fingers and loud chatter. Turner Prize nominee Patience Mount, was decorating eggs with the village children. She was helping a few of the Sunday School class with their fragile Easter bonnets, some of which looked more like caps or helmets.

Delia, never far away, stood guard over a cardboard box, where a couple of fluffy yellow chicks were being coo’d over. Phyllis was still accompanying Lady Keville, who had brought a large selection of knitted egg warmers in all the colours of the rainbow. They were showing a group of children how to make the pom-pom version of the tweety little critters in Delia’s box. Lucille had been delighted with these knitted extras, and had Tim yarn-bomb Poplar, distributing them around the village, as part of the Easter Egg Trail.

Trixie was feeling a little bit lost. Bernie had returned from the egg rolling in one piece and was now interrogating Paddy, “What were you all laughing at in church, tell me?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he winked at Trixie.

Trixie grinned, “I feel like a vegan in the hen house. What can I do, to help at my first Poplar Easter Festival?”

“Well, you are good at sales, you can be in charge of the raffle,” Paddy said, as if he had given her the combination to his safe.

Val placed on the bar a huge cuddly grey and white rabbit, holding a large gold foil covered chocolate egg. Trixie forced a smile.

“There are a couple of envelopes there too; Second Prize is a Mount Busby Alpaca Day Out and third prize is a Meal for Two at the Crown.” Paddy announced proudly and Trixie suddenly connected with her new life.

Until Bernie spoilt it, “Fourth prize is an Alpaca Day Out and a meal at the Crown,” laughing hysterically at her own joke. While Trixie, Val and Paddy refused to. Even though Val’s lips were twitching.

Valerie passed Trixie a tupperware box full of coins “A float; to get you started, they always come with notes.” Trixie smiled a little bit.

xxxx

The sun was lowering behind the Cleveland Hills, cooling the Crown beer garden. The last of the tables had been cleared and the clutter added to the recycling bin. Val was taking orders for drinks. The children had all gone home. The Two Loves had taken Antonia back to Bagnall Hall. Trixie sat proudly admiring a brightly decorated toilet roll inner with a bright yellow toy chick with a wonky beak, stuck on the top with blu-tack.

“I can’t believe you won the Egg Jarping, Trixie,” Bernie shook her head.

“Beginner's luck,” shouted an envious Jack.

“Expert training,” suggested Paddy.

“What are you going to do with your trophy, Trixie?” laughed Val

“Put it on top of Bernie’s telly,” Trixie said emphatically.

“That monstrosity is not coming into my house,” Bernie cried in mock indignation.

“Oi, Tim made that,” Paddy yelled.

“About ten years ago, Dad!” Tim blushed in horror. Lucille and Jack’s laughter adding insult to injury.

Tom and Bobby and baby Hereward appeared. It was the first time they had been seen since church. They had been overseeing the egg hunt around the village and offering refreshments at the church, a role Bernie had envied.

“The church is locked up, and the village is litter free,” explained Bobby to Julia who was sipping on a Crabbies’ ginger beer, emphasis on the beer.

“Splendid, everyone has worked so hard today,” Julia commented. “That little one looks tired,” she added, observing a grouchy baby in Bobby’s arms.

“She actually needs changing,” Bobby explained.

Val, who was passing Evie a pint of Easter Egg Ale informed the young mother, “The toilets are just inside Mrs Hereward, the changing facilities are in there.”

“Oh thanks, Valerie,” said Bobby and moved toward the backdoor.

Tom held up a hand, “We should really be getting home, love.”

“Aren't you two stopping for a drink, we’ve all earned it,” asked Julia, taking another sip of her memory.

“No, we better get home and get this little madam seen to,” Tom laughed weakly.

“Be quicker, just to change her here if she's uncomfortable?” Phyllis, sipping on a double brandy, offered.

“I would rather we went home,” replied Tom curtly.

“The facilities here are excellent. I should know, I make sure they are spotless every morning,” Evie’s tone held authority.

“But it is 6pm,” Tom’s voice had a higher pitch now.

“Bernie or myself, check the loos every hour. If you look on the door, we have to sign to say everything is in order,” Val couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Look, you’re all very kind, but I don't want my daughter being changed in a pub toilet,” Tom’s voice was adamant.

Evie looked as if she was about to combust.

Julia intervened, “Tom, maybe you should get your family home, we have all had a long day.”

“And confusing. I am sorry, but I really haven’t seen the point of this. We welcomed everyone to church this morning, for the most important date in the Christian calendar, and then chased them all to the pub. Where is the message in that?”

The youth minister's words left the beer garden in a dense fog of discomfort. Julia looked lost for a moment. It was Phyllis who spoke up,

“Today was about community lad, bringing the village and the wider area together. These two buildings have been central to this village for over 300 years. It’s about time they came together.”

Phyllis had given Julia time to compose herself, “We will discuss the issues you have raised concerning a joint festival in a meeting tomorrow, Mr Hereward.”

Baby Hereward was becoming more grumpy, and Bobby was struggling to placate her. Paddy, who had been very quiet through this most recent exchange of views, offered quietly.

“Mrs Herward, your daughter seems very unhappy. Would you like to take her upstairs to the flat? Where you can have ample space and privacy.”

“Lets go Bobby, I will see you tomorrow, Reverend,” Tom nodded at Julia, Bobby didn’t have time to acknowledge Paddy’s offer, as she was pushed by her husband towards the door.

Someone with not the longest fuse in Poplar, had sweaty palms and a racing heart and a mouth she couldn’t keep shut.

“If yer have issues with the joint festival, then that is fine, Mr Hereward, as Reverend Lewis said that needs to be discussed between you tomorrow.” Everyone recognised the north of the border twang. That wasn’t done yet.

“But I have issue with your attitude right now concerning this house, it is so much more than an alehouse, it’s a place where people work, it is a home.” Tom stopped in his tracks, Bernie went on,

“Your place of work just happens to be the House of God. Now we were invited into that house this morning and everyone here, acted in a respectful manner.” Bernie took a breath. There was some awkward shuffling on the garden benches. She was on a roll though,

“You were invited into our home today and I feel you have not returned that respect. To say the Crown isn’t a fit place for a child, maybe you want to take a look at Timothy Turner, he was raised here. Would Mrs Turner have chosen this as a home, if she thought the Crown wasn't a fit place for a child? I think he has turned out pretty OK, don’t you?”

Tim wished at this point, that people would just remember who he was, and not feel the need to check by staring at him. Fortunately Bernie went on,

“Surely what matters is not whether it is a House of Prayer or a House of Refreshment, but a House of Love. And you can take my word for it, for what that may be worth. This house is just that. There is so much love in this house, I am only sorry yer canae feel it.”

Later Trixie said that she started the clapping, but everyone was sure it was Val, followed by Lucille. There was definitely a “Well said lass,” from Phyllis and somebody, maybe more than one, said her dad would be proud. Was there an Amen? The kids just said, “You don’t mess with our Bernie.” Did anyone notice Paddy said nothing, he just beamed with pride. If pride was a signal the Crown was 5G?

xxxxx

“I am barred from St Preservus.That’s the Mission I have offended and the church in one week,” Bernie complained.

There was only her and Paddy now. The sun had gone to its rest behind the hills. They sat on Frank and Peggy’s bench sharing a secret ciggie, Bernie perched on Paddy’s knee.

“Nonsense, Julia totally supported you. It’s Mr Hereward who should be worried and as for the Mission, does that really matter now, Bernie?”

“Mr Hereward is young and idealistic, everything is black and white to him, I used to know someone else like that,” she smiled stubbing out the butt of the fag, they hoped Tim would never know about.

“What happened to her?” Paddy said, turning her face gently towards his with both hands.

“She came home,” she smiled and kissed him tenderly, in a way that she was just beginning to understand.

“Bernie, you know this can be your home, whenever you want it to be, on whatever terms you want.” He looked at her intently. Bernie knew if she didn’t save herself, she would drown in those eyes.

“You know what I do want?” she kissed him on the forehead and pushed back his unruly hair. He just raised both eyebrows saying tell me?

“Are those pink wafers still behind the bar?”

“Go see,” he laughed, helping her off his knee.

Bernie almost ran to the bar. She found a package wrapped in gold foil with a red bow. She ripped open recklessly the carefully wrapped box. Only to find a large brightly coloured tin which read Huntley and Palmer Superior Biscuits. Bernie’s expression looked like it was Christmas, birthdays and Easter all at once.

“Paddy, I bloody love you.”

Paddy smiled, “Happy Easter, Bernie,”

#call the midwife fic #easter bernie #easter sunday #sorry i hadn't realized I hadn't posted on fic-al

3 notes · View notes

agustdomain · 4 years

Text

October Ink | #2

Sicheng was different, but you didn’t care. You were never supposed to know.

It’s been long since I’ve last visited. I know, Y/N, but please trust me. Meet me at the cemetery tonight. Our spot. 1 am.

Love,

D. Sicheng

Tearing the note off of your bedroom window, you already knew who it was and what it would probably entail. You read the note over and over. The bitterness filled your brain, as harsh as vodka. Sighing, you tucked it into your pocket.

Violet River. A small town of 3,057 inhabitants. Known for its Halloween spirit, it was a tourist hotspot from September to November.

You hadn’t had friends growing up- well, that’s what you got used to telling people these days. The truth was, you had exactly one.

There was no meaningful memory of your life, none in your mind that didn’t have Dong Sicheng. Growing up, you never considered how weird that was, how every single staple in your memory, he was there.

He first acknowledged you when you were both nine years old.

The road you both lived on stretched wide, the acres between your home and his felt like a country- at first. You yearned to be his friend, always smiling and waving when he and his father drove past your house. When he was with his father, he always gave you the same blank look.

One day, when you went out too far in the woods and got lost, he appeared. He was there to lead you home.

You were alone, and then you weren’t.

Your friendship was a secret for a long time. You’d meet in the woods, and whenever you tried to spook him he’d get mad. Not because you succeeded… it was because he told you not to mess with monsters.

You knew he was different when you were 14.

By that age, you’d taken to creepier settings, finding the perfect little getaway in an old cemetery. In the far back was a mausoleum, the creaky old gate too rusted to hold. There, the two of you read books and shared your dreams of leaving this dead town.

At that age, no one could convince you to not be his friend. Your mother, who pursed her lips whenever she saw you with him, tried but gave up when she knew you wouldn’t stop. The other kids who whispered about him, the occasional few bold enough to say something to his face.

Most people, though, were terrified of Sicheng’s father. You? You were proud your best friend was a legend.

That fateful day, had to be around October, you had decided to make the journey to your cemetery getaway early. You wanted to surprise him with a picnic, so you lugged a big basket and blanket with you as you trekked the usual shortcut through the forest.

About halfway there, you heard a woman’s cry. There was no other sound like it, hairs standing on end as your body went rigid. You held your breath, wondering where all that bravery you claimed to have disappeared.

Now, you wonder if you’d somehow sensed what you were about to stumble upon in the woods.

You let the sounds of her crying draw you closer, moving silent like Sicheng once taught you. Holding your breath, you peeked around a tree.

The basket thumped to the forest floor, birds somewhere nearby croaking as their wings shot them to the sky.

Sicheng’s head shot up from her neck, blood coating his mouth and chin. His fingernails were black and elongated, holding her in place. His pupils, the color of an endless well. The woman was fading in and out of consciousness, one of her hands shakily reaching out to you.

“Help,” She whimpered.

To this day, you wondered why you ran. Why? You knew in your heart you weren’t scared, so why did you run away?

He came to you the same night, eyes watery with tears as he begged you not to leave him. You were hurt at first, tugging him to sit next to you on the bed. Then, you were angry, offended he’d even think you’d run.

“You’re still you. This doesn’t change anything.”

“Oh, Y/N. But it changes everything.”

You held him that night, the stir in your heart more intimate than you’d ever realized. When he turned to face you in bed, his fingertips brushed at your cheek, his eyes the brown you knew so well. Was what you saw in the woods also him? Yes, it was.

You were too weak to care.

Even now, you weren’t sure who leaned forward first. The kiss left you dizzy, his hands puzzle pieces sliding into place as he pulled you closer, his lips soft with their appraisal.

“I love you. I was made to protect you,” He whispered into the night.

He’d answer your questions, you knew he would. For now, you’d just needed to reassure him that you’d never leave.

You didn’t know that’d be the last time you’d see him for five years.

The town had tales of night guardians, beings created to protect the oasis that was Violet River. Crimes didn’t happen here. And if they did, they were taken care of with little explanation.

On the flip side, there were those who weren’t so keen on night guardians. They called them impure, unnatural, wanted them to disappear. The town’s sheriff? More like a certified Guardian hunter.

It didn’t take long for things to click, why Sicheng and his father were on the outs with everyone else.

You didn’t know why Sicheng up and left you, but he made sure to leave you with a wound so deep, you vowed he’d feel it himself if he ever returned.

He was there when you arrived that night at the cemetery, just like the note said.

Older now, face more refined and handsome than you were prepared for- was he an angel… or something much darker?

“Why now?”

His expression broke as he approached, hands cupping your face. You turned away, the bitterness prominent on your tongue. His forehead touched yours, and when he opened his eyes, they were the black that haunted your dreams.

“I had to protect you.”

“I guess the whole leaving thing was only for me, right?”

“My people. They kill whoever has proof of us. You saw me that day, saw me with that woman.”

You broke away, finger jabbing his chest. “I didn’t care. You are what matters to me. Sicheng, I-” You almost said it, but you didn’t know who this was. There were five years between the two of you. The boy you loved then wasn’t the guy before you now.

Stepping back, you shook your head. He followed your tracks, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“I don’t care what you are. I still don’t. But I’m not going to let you hurt me again.”

“I would never hurt-”

“You already did. You left me. Before this goes any further, I’m going to walk away.”

“Please. You need to hear me. It’s important that I-”

“Goodbye, Sicheng.”

You spun on your heels, booking it out of the cemetery. You came to the crossroads, either taking the shortcut from the woods or the long way home. You took the long way.

Your first deep breath found you at the sight of your house. The sting in your eyes... Was it relief or disappointment that he didn’t stop you?

Stepping into the foyer, your gut twisted and let you know something was very wrong. The lights were all off, silent save for the sound of slow dripping from the kitchen.

“Mom?”

The ceiling creaked overhead, the sound of someone moving around upstairs telling you weren’t alone. Your mom would’ve answered. Fumbling for the handle behind you, you heard a small splatter as you stepped backward. Eyes trailing down, you strained to see the puddle you were stepping in. It was too dark to make anything out, so you slowly pulled out your phone. With shaky fingers, you turned the flashlight on and directed it to the floor.

It was the color of candy apple red, the puddle almost as big as the entirety of the living room. Following the trail, nausea knocked you back into the door at the sight of your mom’s lifeless body, eyes dead as she stared right back at you.

You didn’t scream, didn’t move. Stared at the claw marks deep in her chest, the gashes likely the cause of her death.

“My son should’ve never come back.”

Your brain was muddled, heart numb as your gaze trailed to Sicheng’s father. His boots creaked with every step he took down the stairs. He was tall, rugged, as terrifying as people made him out to be in their horror stories.

His pupils were already black.

“Why now?” You asked him the same question that you’d asked Sicheng.

He tilted his head. “The answer’s simple, darling. He convinced me to leave, to spare you. On the promise that he’d never return. He went back on his word.”

Why? What had he been trying to tell you? Why did you walk away like an idiot? Why did he come back?

He moved inhumanly fast, hand closing around your neck and lifting you off your feet like you were a doll. Clawing at his hand, you gasped for air, eyes going to your mom.

At least you’d see her soon.

“Think of my son in these moments. I’ll make sure to tell him you begged for him.” As your vision faded, he brought your body closer, his mouth morphing as his teeth elongated like his nails.

There was a scream, a figure darting toward the two of you. Then, you were gone.

You awoke to excruciating pain, knives pricking every inch of your body. It hurt to breathe, to move. It was someone pulling the skin off of your body, sewing it back on, then peeling it off once more.

“Y/N! Hang on. I’m here. Focus on my voice! Focus on my…”

Violet River. 3,055 residents.

You and Sicheng come to visit during the tourist season. The sheriff purses his lips, but doesn’t argue. After all, only tourists are the issue when it comes to crime in this sacred town.

You lure them into the woods, promising them nights of their lives.

You take to blood like you took to Sicheng- naturally and loyally.

There’s only one thing you’d kill Sicheng for: if he ever stood in the way between you and a kill. After all, he made you what you are.

Every day, you hoped it would never come to that.

A/N: A second drabble back to back? Who am I? Haha. I truly couldn’t figure out who to use for this one. In the end, I think Sicheng fits the role well. If there’s a certain someone you’d like to see in these drabbles, drop an ask! If there’s a certain fall scenario you want to read, feel free to request it! These are fun. I promise they all won’t be spooky.

~Angelo

Check out my drabble list here. It’s still small, but it will get bigger with time! (:

7 notes · View notes

weshallc · 4 years

Text

Easter Bernie.

(call the Midwife AU/ Crown Jewels Easter Special/ also available on FF & A03)

HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE 🐰🐥🐣🐤🦆🕊🦙😘🤗

CHAPTER FOUR: EASTER SUNDAY.

Here's someone who really loves you. Don't ever go away.That's what these walls would say. (If These Old Walls Could Speak, Jimmy Webb)

“Right over left, round and then through,” Fred repeated again, as he secured Reggie’s tie. “You will get the hang of it son, easy when you knows how.”

“Thanks Uncle Fred,” Reggie was determined, he would master the tricky accessory by the end of the day. It couldn’t be more of a skill then changing a beer barrel and he could do that.

“Oh, look at you two, all suited and booted, don’t you look smart,” Violet emerged from the Crown kitchen, wearing the dress and coat she had worn for Chummy’s wedding.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Violet,” beamed a perfectly groomed Val in a coral trouser suit and cream silken vest top.

“Who has one of those phone things that takes a picture?” Evie asked, smoothing down a new floral dress she had treat herself to.

“Everyone Evie,” Val laughed, “Except you and Paddy.”

“Must be a pub thing,” added Jack, coming through the door, to cries of dismay.

“Jack, you are in jeans,” cried Vi.

“Talk about letting the side down,” remarked Fred.

Jack looked abashed, but added, “Thought I would stay behind, make sure no-one breaks in and steals all the eggs.”

“Jack, you know Paddy want’s us all to attend Easter Service this morning. If we are having a joint Easter Festival this year, it starts at ten o’clock at St. Preservus,” admonished Vi.

Jack looked at his trainers that were at least clean.

“Let’s say no more about it, you will have to do,” Evie concluded.

The last member of the party had arrived through the door marked Private, that led to the living quarters of the Crown. Paddy gave a harsh look at Jack, but said nothing.

“You always scrub up well Mr T, you should wear suits more often,” blushed Vi followed by Paddy.

Val brought him back down to earth, “Would you like me to do your hair?”

Paddy gave Val the look reserved just for her and her cheek, the one that kept her quiet for about five seconds.

“Right then, is everybody ready?” another glance at a fidgety Jack, Paddy continued, “Bernie and Tim are meeting us there.”

xxxx

The Crown seven shuffled into the the pew at the back of Saint Preservus, led in by Vi and ushered in by Paddy bringing up the rear.

“Hello, I see the naughty pew has been taken this morning,” beamed Peter Noakes, ”that is usually reserved for the Noakes family.”

“Have we stolen your seat?” laughed Paddy.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t the Crown, there won’t be a fight,” joked Peter as he and Camilla sat in front. Phyllis accompanying Lady Keville with aromatherapist Jane Sutton. “Looks like that’s the Crown pew this morning,” Phyllis winked at Paddy.

“Shove up!” the southern accent demanded, faintly attempting the local dialect.

“Trixie, that’s the pub pew this morning, come and join us,” Chummy suggested.

Paddy had already shifted for Trixie to sit down,

“I am representing Bernie,” Trixie grinned.

“Trixie is Team Crown,” Val added on the other side of Paddy.

“You ready for today, Trixie?” Paddy asked.

“I think so, I have some understanding of an egg hunt and even the hill rolling, but jarping remains a mystery to me,” Trixie informed him in all seriousness.

Paddy leaned in and kept his voice low, aware of his surroundings.

“Right then, the Crown and Church Easter Jarping Tournament, or as it was formerly known, the Crown Inn Easter Jarping Tournament, it's very easy to understand the rules.”

“I believe you,” Trixie smiled, but did not laugh.

“I think so?” she whispered back, her cheeks slightly flushed. Paddy swallowed and continued at the lower vibration.

“The pair then swap places and repeat this series of events. Everyone has a turn with everyone else. Once both tips of your egg are cracked you are eliminated. The winner is the final competitor to have at least one end in tact.”

Timothy Turner sat at the organ, couldn’t help turn toward the back of the church to see where all the sniggering was coming from. To be honest, he knew exactly where the laughter was coming from, but he had to look. Lucille, in front of her choir, exchanged glances with him and they shrugged their shoulders. He looked at Bernie who was shaking her head and glaring at the back of the church. Tom Hereward was looking a little flushed and said, “Shall we begin.”

xxxx

Back at the Crown it was all stations go. Violet gave a wicker basket to Fred.

“These are the onion peel dyed eggs, for egg rolling down Crown Bank. Take them to the back of the pub and remember it is one egg per child.”

“I wondered where that pong of onions was coming from, they do look pretty though, but don’t half pen and ink,” the brewer preferred a more hoppy odour.

“Jack, you take these plain eggs to the beer garden, there is a table set up with colouring pens and markers for the more artistic types. Remember one egg per child,” Jack nodded at Violet to reassure her he had got it.

“I think it was Tim and Lucille who hid them, so should be all right Vi,” Val reassured with a wink.

xxxx

“So I just drop my egg down the bank?”

“Trixie, you must have rolled an Easter Egg before?” Bernie thought her friend was deliberately being dense.

“You mean one smelling of onions, can’t say I have,” Poplar's latest resident snapped back.

“No wonder we want to shot them away down the hill,” laughed Fred.

“What is the point?” Trixie wasn’t satisfied.

“It’s just a laugh, you race your pals and see how many times you can roll it, before it cracks,” Bernie was losing patience.

Fred feeling a bit awkward himself with the tactileness of the moment, nodded at Trixie,

“Better get a move on love, don’t want to miss the start of the duck race.”

“Sorry?”

“The duck race down the Tweaven, first duck to Mount Busby wins.”

Paddy interrupted, suddenly letting go of Bernie, who actually did stagger a few feet down hill before achieving traction. “My favourite bit,” he grinned.

“You race real ducks, that is medieval,” protested Trixie.

“This from the Poplar sheep rustler,” corrected Paddy.

Bernie saved the situation and herself from joining the eggs at the bottom of the hill,

“They are not real ducks, Trixie, you know those ones you put in your bath, those rubber ones. You put your mark on one and the first one Reggie spots at the farm, wins.”

“Who has a bath these days? Haven't you all got showers yet?” Trixie was confused.

Paddy huffed. Bernie added, “You might be the one at the farm, waiting for a duck next year.”

“I don’t think that is in my job description,” Trixie added, but she didn’t look convinced.

Fred and Paddy were trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face, “Fancy a pint, Fred?”

“Not arf, Doc,” he replied already heading for the pub.

“You are all as cracked as these eggs,” Trixie said delicately tossing her egg southwards.

xxxx

Trixie walked back to the front of the Crown and wondered if she was doing the right thing moving to potty Poplar. She made her way to the beer garden and was surprised to see her new employers surrounded by sticky fingers and loud chatter. Turner Prize nominee Patience Mount, was decorating eggs with the village children. She was helping a few of the Sunday School class with their fragile Easter bonnets, some of which looked more like caps or helmets.

Trixie was feeling a little bit lost. Bernie had returned from the egg rolling in one piece and was now interrogating Paddy, “What were you all laughing at in church, tell me?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he winked at Trixie.

Trixie grinned, “I feel like a vegan in the hen house. What can I do, to help at my first Poplar Easter Festival?”

“Well you are good at sales, you can be in charge of the raffle,” Paddy said as if he had given her the combination to his safe.

Val placed on the bar a huge cuddly grey and white rabbit, holding a large gold foil covered chocolate egg. Trixie forced a smile.

Valerie passed Trixie a tupperware box full of coins “A float; to get you started, they always come with notes.” Trixie smiled a little bit.

xxxx

The sun was lowering behind the Cleveland Hills, cooling the Crown beer garden. The last of the tables had been cleared and the clutter added to the recycling bin. Val was taking orders for drinks, the children had all gone home. The Two Loves had taken Antonia back to Bagnall Hall. Trixie sat proudly admiring a brightly decorated toilet roll inner with a bright yellow toy chick with a wonky beak, stuck on the top with blu-tack.

“I can’t believe you won the Egg Jarping, Trixie,” Bernie shook her head.

“Beginners luck,” shouted an envious Jack.

“Expert training,” suggested Paddy.

“What are you going to do with your trophy, Trixie?” laughed Val

“Put it on top of Bernie’s telly,” Trixie said emphatically.

“That monstrosity is not coming into my house,” Bernie cried in mock indignation.

“Oi, Tim made that,” Paddy yelled.

“About ten years ago, Dad!” Tim blushed in horror. Lucille and Jack’s laughter adding insult to injury.

Tom and Bobby and baby Hereward appeared, it was the first time they had been seen since church. They had been overseeing the egg hunt around the village and offering refreshments at the church, a role Bernie had envied.

“The church is locked up and the village is litter free,” explained Bobby to Julia who was sipping on a Crabbies ginger beer, emphasis on the beer.

“Splendid, everyone has worked so hard today,” Julia commented. “That little one looks tired,” she added, observing a grouchy baby in Bobby’s arms.

“She actually needs changing,” Bobby explained.

Val who was passing Evie a pint of Easter Egg Ale informed the young mother, “The toilets are just inside Mrs Hereward, the changing facilities are in there.”

“Oh thanks,Valerie,” said Bobby and moved toward the backdoor.

Tom held up a hand, “We should really be getting home, love.”

“Aren't you two stopping for a drink, we’ve all earned it,” asked Julia taking another sip of her memory.

“No, we better get home and get this little madam seen to,” Tom laughed weakly.

“Be quicker, just to change her here if she's uncomfortable?” Phyllis sipping on a double brandy offered.

“I would rather we went home,” replied Tom curtly.

“The facilities here are excellent. I should know, I make sure they are spotless every morning,” Evie’s tone held authority.

“But it is 6pm,” Tom’s voice had a higher pitch now.

“Bernie or myself check the loos every hour, if you look on the door, we have to sign to say everything is in order,” Val couldn’t keep quite any longer.

“Look you’re all very kind, but I don't want my daughter being changed in a pub toilet,” Tom’s voice was adamant.

Evie looked as if she was about to combust.

Julia intervened, “Tom, maybe you should get your family home, we have all had a long day.”

“And confusing. I am sorry but I really haven’t seen the point of this. We welcomed everyone to church this morning, for the most important date in the Christian calendar, and then chased them all to the pub. Where is the message in that?”

The youth ministers words left the beer garden in a dense fog of discomfort. Julia looked lost for a moment, it was Phyllis who spoke up,

“Today was about community lad, bringing the village and the wider area together. These two buildings have been central to this village for over 300 years. It’s about time they came together.”

Phyllis had given Julia time to compose herself, “We will discuss the issues you have raised concerning a joint festival in a meeting tomorrow, Mr Hereward.”

Baby Hereward was becoming more grumpy and Bobby was struggling to placate her. Paddy who had been very quiet through this most recent exchange of views, offered quietly,

“Mrs Herward, your daughter seems very unhappy. Would you like to take her upstairs to the flat? Where you can have ample space and privacy.”

”Lets go Bobby, I will see you tomorrow, Reverend,” Tom nodded at Julia, Bobby didn’t have time to acknowledge Paddy’s offer, as she was pushed by her husband towards the door.

Someone with not the longest fuse in Poplar, had sweaty palms and a racing heart and a mouth she couldn’t keep shut,

“If yer have issues with the joint festival then that is fine Mr Hereward, as Reverend Lewis said that needs to be discussed between you tomorrow.” Everyone recognised the north of the border twang, that wasn’t done yet.

“But I have issue with your attitude right now concerning this house, it is so much more than an ale house, it’s a place where people work, it is a home.” Tom stopped in his tracks, Bernie went on,

“Your place of work just happens to be the House of God, now we were invited into that house this morning and everyone here, acted in a respectful manner.” Bernie took a breath, there was some awkward shuffling on the garden benches. She was on a roll though,

Tim wished at this point, that people would just remember who he was, and not feel the need to check by staring at him. Fortunately Bernie went on,

“Surely what matters is not whether it is a House of Prayer or a House of Refreshment, but a House of Love. And you can take my word for it, for what that may be worth, this house is just that. There is so much love in this house, I am only sorry yer canae feel it.”

xxxxx

“I am barred from St Preservus.That’s the Mission I have offended and the church in one week,” Bernie complained.

There was only her and Paddy now. The sun had gone to its rest behind the hills. They sat on Frank and Peggy’s bench sharing a secret ciggie, Bernie perched on Paddy’s knee.

“Nonsense, Julia totally supported you. It’s Mr Hereward who should be worried and as for the Mission, does that really matter now, Bernie?”

“Mr. Hereward is young and idealistic, everything is black and white to him, I used to know someone else like that,” she smiled stubbing out the butt of the fag, they hoped Tim would never know about.

“What happened to her?” Paddy said turning her face gently towards his with both hands.

“She came home,” she smiled and kissed him tenderly, in a way that she was just beginning to understand.

“You know what I do want?” she kissed him on the forehead and pushed back his unruly hair. He just raised both eyebrows saying tell me?

“Are those pink wafers still behind the bar?”

“Go see,” he laughed, helping her off his knee.

Bernie almost ran to the bar, she found a package wrapped in gold foil with a red bow. She ripped open recklessly the carefully wrapped box. Only to find a large brightly coloured tin which read Huntley and Palmer Superior Biscuits. Bernie’s expression looked like it was Christmas, birthdays and Easter all at once.

“Paddy, I bloody love you.”

Paddy smiled, “Happy Easter, Bernie,”

#call the midwife #easter bernie #happy easter #she has come along way our lass #egg jarping anyone

11 notes · View notes

lovelyparkers · 4 years

Text

hard as nails (1)

hi hi 50k special!! this is gonna be either two or three parts and it's a lot different from what i've written before but i think y'all are gonna like this anyways so... i hope y'all do enjoy this

summary: being a teenage vigilante can be fun, especially when you're on the bad side and spider-man is your nemesis. 2k words

warnings: swearing, reader is a saucy and spicy little villain, peter is a blushing mess sometimes, angst, fight scenes!! violence!

you never expected to get in the way of queens well renowned hero—spider-man. that is until you had to relocate to queens from the bronx. it was...definitely a change from all aspects. your dad moved out with you, wanting a better place to go to school for you, since you had been leaving home very often for...you know, villainous duties. yet you were an extraordinary student, which led to you being enrolled in midtown school of science and technology. as well as having to scope out queens at night and having several run ins with the spider-man.

the worst part, you know you went to school with the masked hero because you frequently saw him entering the roof of the school in his suit. now you, you were way more careful and you worked alone, besides for a woman in her 30's who had taken you under her wing, trained you, and demanded you commit crimes for her and for yourself. she was the base operation and you did everything she asked, even when you moved, she moved. you were like her little goon. you excelled in combat and had unusually incredible strength due to being caught up between some dangerous radioactive weaponry in your sophomore year back in the bronx. you began junior year at midtown in queens, you made some friends, but knew to keep your distance. spider-man had become your main and pretty much only focus since you arrived. you know what they say, keep your friends close but your enemies closer.

you didn't want to hurt or kill spider-man, you just wanted to make his life absolutely miserable. that's how you worked, manipulate and mess with, not murder. you stole pretty much anything you could get your hands on because well, you were broke. you beat people up, robbed stores, manipulated civilians, and threatened people. yeah. your dad could barely afford meals for you both and lived in a very rusty apartment. but hey that's life and you were making it through. well, illegally. you told your dad you got a job at night in queens when you began showing up with money and clothes and food and god knows what else. it was a perfect alibi for a father who really didn't even give a shit.

and this spider-man, oh this lovely beautiful boy, was getting in your way. you were just trying to survive right? that and doing things for this mystery woman. and gosh did you want to find out who was behind the mask. it was obviously a boy your age. every night you tried to find him, meet up with him, talk and find out about him and of course, fight each other. he never hurt you though and you knew he had a soft spot for you. maybe it was your flirty nature.

and now you were on a rooftop at midnight, sitting with your nemesis.

"violet," spider-man called out, "nice to see you again."

your 'villain' name was violet because of the violet mask you bought from party city awhile ago. it was...fitting. and a pretty name that sounded so good coming from his mouth. you may have had a little tiny teeny crush on him. he looked fantastic in that suit and imagined what was underneath. little did you know he did the same about you. black leather pants and a black and violet zip up top matching your mask.

"hey spidey! catch any criminals tonight?" you asked.

"mmm none yet because you're out here."

"awe baby am i distracting you?" you walked over to him, close enough for him to rip off your mask.

"kinda," he replied, masked eyes slanting down.

"well tell me about yourself before you get in my pants. who is spider-man."

"wouldn't you like to know. is violet your real name?"

you scoffed, "do you think i'm dumb?"

"no i just- no."

you took your hand bringing it up to lay on his shoulder and slowly and teasingly dragged it over his abs.

"you're really ripped babe."

"don't babe me, you know i can take you."

"oh so you think you can take me? what about that one time i had you pinned down outside your school."

"how do you know i go to midtown," he asked in a panic.

"i knew it! so you do go there! i've seen you entering through the roof. watch yourself."

he grabbed your hand, locking it with his own. he stared at your signature red nail polish which made his head run wild.

"i've got you now. you watch yourself."

you twisted your wrist and swept a leg under his causing him to fall, but he caught you and brought you down with him. you fell on top of him with a groan.

"damn spidey. getting right into it are we?"

"shut up," he said and rolled over so he now had you pinned down on the roof.

he twisted his head at you, eyes focused on your face and you neatly done hair in two dutch braids. you noticed his distracted state and smirked pushing him over so now you straddled his waist and pinned his arms to the roof. just like before.

"still distracted i see?"

"well i cant help it sometimes. even though i'm supposed to hate you."

"awe spidey. you're so sweet. but you know i'm not gonna let you go."

you leaned down into him to whisper in his ear, "you're too pretty underneath me."

he strained his neck back, melting because of you, "stop," he demanded.

"no," you said jokingly then pressed a kiss on the cheek of his mask. you didn't know it but the boy was blushing underneath. you got up and let him get up to follow you. you walked to the other side of the roof, showing off your hips.

"don't get into any trouble tonight, whatever your name really is."

"sure thing babe."

he jumped off the roof backwards, watching you then swinging away.

—————————

you arrived to school the next day with a little more intuition about the masked hero. his voice was distinct. it was higher than most boys, and you doubted he used a voice changer because it would have that staticky feedback. and you swore you had heard that voice somewhere, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

"hey y/n," peter parker, you chem lab partner said smiling and sitting down next to you.

you hesitated, "hi...peter."

you gave you a confused smile and opened his books.

you think you have your guy. huh. easy as that. you tapped your red nails on the desk.

you scribbled up a note to spider-man and well, peter. after lab and working closer with peter, you realized his demeanour and actions were very similar to spidey, further proving your hypothesis. you followed him to his locker, close behind him, and waited by a water fountain till he left his locker, then slipped the note in.

at the end of the day peter headed to his locker, opening it when a note fell out. he picked it up and looked around the hall. the note read:

hi spidey. i know it's you. and gosh it's about time. meet me on top of the tall apartment complex on grand central parkway tonight at 9. thanks petey xoxo, violet

it was written in purple ink and adorned with a red heart next to your name. oh shit. he was fucked.

when peter got home he was panicking. this villain went to school with him. a literal manipulative villain. and you were his age! he wondered if he knew you. you obviously knew him.

————————

peter showed up to the spot at exactly 9 pm to find you in your suit. upon his impact, you jumped up, running to greet him.

"oh peter! you made it. i'm so glad because i—"

he grabbed both of your wrists tightly and put his face in yours, "how? how did you find out."

you gulped, "you're not a very careful person peter."

he ripped off his mask, there was no point.

"look at me," he demanded and you gladly did. you bit your lip at the sight of his messy brown locks and stern brown eyes. was he always this hot when he was angry?

"you can't tell anyone. and i know that won't stop you, but guess what? every time we hang out and fight and you flirt or whatever, i could easily rip off that mask, what, is it from the dollar store? or—"

"party city," you cut him off.

"stop! listen to me! i could've easily ripped off your mask at any time. but i don't. i never do. you know why? because you're different. your funny and you don't actually hurt me but i have to stop you because you hurt others. and-and you're so cool but you're a villain. and you're really pretty even though i can barely see your face and...yeah. now that i know you go to my school, i know you're someone like me. you're just a troubled kid who got caught up in the wrong crowd. but you're the bad one. and i'm sorry and i like spending time with you but you can't do this to me."

you gulped again, looking down at your feet. you could tell he meant what he said. and like you had always promised, you never wanted to deliberately hurt spider-man. or peter.

"i-i'm so sorry. i shouldn't have—i'm sorry."

"it's okay, just promise me you won't tell."

you reached your hand up to touch his cheek, red nails stroking his skin, "i promise."

"thank you."

"i should go. i'm sorry peter."

you hopped off the roof and he watched you leave. you had to go meet up with your head lady who was named daria. she told you to expose spider-man and get him off your radar, but you made a promise and now you were kinda scared.

"so, did you find him?" daria asked.

you hesitated, "no, not exactly."

she walked over to you and slapped you across the face.

"i'm disappointed in you. you find him or else i cant deal with you anymore."

you just stood there.

"say something!"

"i cant find him," you lied, "it's impossible."

"you're lying. i know you are boyfriend girlfriend with him. it's all over the news. you get him tomorrow night. nothing more."

"yes daria."

you left her shady apartment and headed straight home, done for the night. she genuinely scared you and you were worried she was going to kill you if you didn't turn peter in. but you couldn't do that to him? could you?

the next morning during chem lab you were late. you joined peter at your table. you had a wicked purple and yellow bruise on your face, which peter took notice of. it was from daria.

"y/n oh my god, are you okay?" he asked pointing to your face.

"'m fine," you replied covering the bruise with your hand. peter watched your fingers cover the bruise. your painted, red, fingernails.

#peter parker imagine

3 notes · View notes

treatian · 4 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 136: No Answers to Wrong Questions

It was time to get on with it. He couldn't bear to wait anymore. He'd followed through with his plan, waited a good long time to see if the Blue Fairy went back to his tower, but he never received any warnings that someone was in his territory, and he never felt anything from the spells attached to the Dark Curse. The only thing he was questioning at the moment was the location of his caretaker. And, of course, the questions he had for his mother. He had them all lined out in his mind and he's spent the last few minutes going over them in his head, one after another. Why did she create the curse? What was her anticipated result? Did he have to worry about anything? Would his plan work? Was there anything he should know but didn't?

He was ready. The sooner this was done, the sooner he could return the baby and find Belle. With a deep breath, he moved the child to the middle of the clearing. He could have pulled the paper Belle had written the translation on out of his pocket, but it was only two lines, lines he'd read so many times since he'd take it that he'd memorized it. Dagger already in hand, he looked up at the sky he could see through the patch in the trees.

"Let the night sky tremble, as the Dark Star shall fall. Awake, Black Fairy, and heed my call!"

Now that was the reaction he'd sought out the night he'd attempted to summon the Red Fairy. A stir of the wind but a rush of magic. His voice had echoed from it. And as he saw a violet light appear in the sky and buzz about like a firefly growing above him, his heart started to hammer so that he felt it everywhere in his body. He felt it beat in his neck, slam against his ribs, jump into his throat, and pulse in his fingers. Suddenly a thought dawned on him that he hadn't ever considered until now. This was the first time that he was about to meet his mother. This was the first time he'd be able to talk to her, the first memory he'd ever have with her!

All at once, as the light drew closer and bigger and flashed before him, the entire clearing suddenly felt smaller than it had ever felt before.

She was sparkling, that was significant. So long as she was sparkling she could disappear, see him, spook and leave. That was why she'd brought little Gideon to begin with. She was used to collecting unwanted children, probably alone and in the middle of nowhere or from their scared mothers. He didn't want to be the first thing she saw, not until she stopped sparkling. He raced quickly off to the side of the clearing, leaving a clear view of the baby in the basket.

And then she was there. The sparkling stopped and crouched on the ground in a black uniform that was perhaps a bit too risqué for the Blue Fairy, but still fairy-like all the same, was the Black Fairy. Fiona. His mother. Attracted to the sounds of Gideon's squeals, she looked right at him, smiled, and took a step forward.

And suddenly, he felt an unexpected tug on his heart, a pain as he realized that it was that easy without any idea why or how, without any rhyme or reason she would pick this child up and take it away with her. But she couldn't have been bothered to do the same for him? All those years with his father, years of wishing for something more, yearning for a mother, wanting someone to take him away…she'd shown up for hundreds of children, but never once for her own?

When he stepped forward, he felt like he could hardly breathe. "I'm afraid I can't let you get ahold of that baby!" he growled. "Not yet, anyway."

"Who dares summon me?" she demanded, but he was the one in control, he was the one who had questions, he was the one who deserved answers! He'd deserved them since his birth! For heaven's sake, he'd always been told that his father had named him…did she even know her son's name? Did she know anything about him?!

In a second, he withdrew from his pocket a small vial of something rare that would keep her here in this world, at least for a time, at least so he could finally get his questions answered. Immediately the magic within the vial moved over her in a cloud of black and purple. A small but visible shimmer around her made it obvious that it was working.

"Squid ink!" he announced, letting the vial drop to the ground. "Nasty stuff."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them as his mind struggled to grasp at the questions about the Curse he'd come armed with. But then she smiled at him, a sickening nasty smile that made him want to sneer until he realized…

He'd seen her face before! Not just in the drawing his father had done, he'd seen this face before! Pale skin, high cheekbones, black eyes, and that smile, that exact sneer! He'd seen it in the first vision he'd ever gotten from the Seer! This wasn't the exact moment he'd seen though. That smile had been in the day time, this was night time. He was going to meet her again. One day, beyond now, he was going to see her again. How? Why? And what was it the Seer had told him when he'd seen her face? Something about a final battle?

"Rumpelstiltskin…"

Her voice snapped him out of his memory. She knew his name. His father named him, but his mother knew his name.

"So, you know who I am."

"Oh, who hasn't heard of the Dark One?"

He felt his eyes swell, felt them water like they hadn't for decades. Was he truly tearful? Over her? Because she knew him by reputation but had no idea that at the moment she was staring into the eyes of her son? She didn't deserve tears. So why was he so willing to give them.

"And if you've heard of me, you know that squid ink won't hold me long."

No, not long at all. He had to ask his questions. What were his questions? What had he wanted to talk to her about?!

"Oh, I know," he muttered. He was stalling, searching his brain, circling her and finally walking away all in an attempt to clear his brain of that face. "That's why…I have this," he stated, flourishing his dagger.

"And how exactly do you plan on using that?" she questioned with interest. Interest...she'd never shown any interest in him.

"Well, that all depends on how you answer one simple question. You steal babies, steal them from their mothers' arms, so why, of all the babies, in all of the realms, why did you abandon the one child who was actually yours?"

That wasn't the right question. It wasn't anything like he'd come here to ask! Why had he asked it? Why didn't he correct it? And why did the sudden look of fear in Fiona's eyes make him feel like his heart was going to stop?

"No. No, it can't be."

"Oh, I'm afraid it can be…Mother."

Her facial expression hardly changed, but in her eyes, he could see shock and horror. Truly, she hadn't known? Hadn't even stayed around for long enough to learn her child's name? Instead, she'd rushed off, become a fairy, created a curse, and left him to become…this!

She should be ashamed. She should be horrified! He hoped her heart was splitting in two.

"That's right. Rumpelstiltskin is your son. Of course, you would know that…had you bothered to even give me a name. And now you are gonna answer my question," he growled, wondering how his legs had somehow dragged him right back to where she was so that she was looking deep into the bottomless pit of her eyes. "Why did you abandon me?"

He could feel everything. His heart beating. His lungs holding the air in his chest. The crawl on his skin, the dagger in his hand, the wetness moving into his eyes.

And then she laughed. High and breathy, it reminded him of his father when he'd been playing mind games with him. And that smile...he wanted to take his dagger and cut it right out of her face!

"Funny that the Dark One should ask such a thing. Sometimes you have to choose power over love."

He could feel everything, and he could hear everything too. Behind him, now there was another heartbeat, one that he hadn't accounted for. The baby cried, and when he looked over his shoulder, he half hoped to see the Apprentice come to help as he'd planned. But the person holding the baby wasn't a man in a red cloak, it was a woman in a cloak that he'd made for her.

Belle.

The sight of her was sobering.

She was in danger. She had no power to protect her against the Black Fairy.

The Curse, he'd meant to ask her about the Curse!

But Belle couldn't stay! And soon enough the ink would-

"Time's up!"

When he turned back to his mother, he was struck by a hand around his neck. Magic pulsed into him through that hand, Dark Magic, magic that made him feel like his own magic was on overload. Normally that kind of power made him stronger. Now, he just felt entirely overwhelmed. It was enough to keep him still, but as long as her focus was on him and not Belle…he prayed she'd take the baby and run.

"No more answers for you today," his mother taunted. "Guess you'll just have to keep on wondering…son!"

With a vile laugh, she tossed him across the clearing with so much force he landed back several feet. The pulse of magic gone, he was quick to try and get to his feet and chase after her. But she was gone. He managed to run a few steps, but stopped as the violet light he'd seen upon her arrival grew smaller and then disappeared altogether. Through a portal back to another land.

She was gone.

Gone…

And he was here, left alone in this world just like he had been since he was a baby. One parent had gone before he'd had a name, the other before he could begin school and read her name off a single drawing of her, and all of the sudden he had an urge to break into tears in a way he hadn't since he was a child! To sit by a window and stare at the sky and beg her to come back, apologize for anything he'd done, for whatever way he'd hurt her, if she'd just come back and take him away. How was it possible to love and hate someone all at once?

"I understand now."

Belle's voice across the clearing was crisp. It was clear and close. But it wasn't right. He didn't know what she thought she understood, but he knew she didn't. When he thought of all the times he'd observed her over the years and her father had been at her side, he knew that she couldn't possibly understand at all. Not a single bit.

"I mean…you didn't deserve what she did, but sacrificing the life of an innocent child is not the answer. No matter how much pain you're in."

He would have laughed if it didn't remind him so much of his parents. Foolish woman…he agreed with her, and that was why he'd never intended to give the child to her. He'd intended to get his answers and whisk the child away before anything bad could happen.

His answers…he'd never get his answers. He should never have brought up that he was her son, she might have actually given him answers to the things he needed to know if he hadn't let his emotions, his weakness get the better of him. Belle may have been foolish, but what did that make him?

"No one knows anything about my pain," he hissed over his shoulder at her. And then he left her there in the clearing as he went back to the castle. If she'd managed to get there and find him all on her own, then she could bring the baby back on her own as well.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Belle #Black Fairy #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

2 notes · View notes

fictionadventurer · 3 years

Note

Ooh what's Violet Ink?

Violet Ink is my dearly beloved problem child. It’s a “Wild Swans” retelling set in a fantasy version of Victorian Oxford. Exactly what kind of fantasy it is has shifted multiple times over the years, but the core of the story is the four main characters.

Sarah is a fantasy version of Dorothy L. Sayers--a bold and brash proto-feminist who has fought for years to get admitted to the university. Now she’s finally able to attend at the same time as her younger brother, and she takes education very seriously. She is extremely devoted to her brother’s well-being and success, and doesn’t realize that she can be rather smothering in her attempts to arrange his life. She lives in an upstairs apartment in a building where Leo lives on the lower floor.

Leo is Sarah’s younger brother, a phlegmatic musical genius who’s brilliant at the piano and doesn’t know how to handle much else in life.

Jack is a Psmith-like cocky genius who invited himself to be Leo’s roommate and who coasts his way through life, much to Sarah’s annoyance. He also likes to help Leo arrange his life, and his ideas often go contrary to Sarah’s--much to Sarah’s extreme annoyance. (Of course the two of them get a romance subplot).

Eliza has the role of the fairy tale heroine. She shows up at the house in need of a place to stay and gets a place as Sarah’s roommate. Leo’s falling in love with her, Jack’s striking up a friendship, and Sarah doesn’t trust her. The girl is constantly occupied with some mysterious task, and the evidence is pointing to the fact that it might be something that puts all four of them in danger.

The latest version of the story gives the fairy tale a time-travel twist--Eliza’s brothers are time-travel researchers who have been trapped in the past, and the house is in a timey-wimey place that could give Eliza the key to figure out how to rescue them. However, my interest in the story always skews more toward the characters than the timey-wimey, so I often consider dropping that angle. Ideally, I’d want most of the story to be from Sarah’s POV, because she has the most complicated relationships with the other three (and her life is most upended by Eliza’s arrival), and I think it would be interesting to see this fairy tale from the POV of the mother-in-law character. But I’ve never exactly been able to figure out how the fairy tale fits in with the other elements of this story.

This story started life as a Pinterest board, so it has a very strong aesthetic. Here’s the tag dedicated to this story.

Here’s a link for a snippet that shows a bit of the dynamic between Sarah and the boys.

Here’s a link to a little scene showing Eliza with her brothers. (Though this specifically applies to a version of the story that definitely involves time travel, when Eliza came from their future--the latest version makes her a contemporary of the rest of the characters.)

At this point, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to wrangle a coherent story out of this mess of possibilities, but it’ll will always have a special place in my heart.

#thanks for asking about this one #i haven't thought about this story in far too long #adventures in writing #ask games #answered asks #violet ink #fairy tale retellings #the wild swans #imissthembutitwasntadisaster

8 notes · View notes

sleepyfan-blog · 5 years

Note

aa,,, yes, im a sucker for isward ngl and uh- could I request some isward angst-? (but if you wanna do fluff then thats cool too) im just,, hh ily writing so much,, :>>

Fandom: IBVS by @onebizarrekai

Characters and pairing: Isaac Beamer, Edward Quinton, Drew Jovel, Nevin Jovel, Barry Price, Xavier Jackson, Christopher Jackson, Charlie Jackson, Isward

Warnings: major character death, Blood, angst

Word count: 2,566

Summary: Can the Supernatural Investigation Club figure out what’s been making people disappear?

“Ten people have gone missing in three days. Why has no one but the five of us noticed this?” Isaac muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he stares at the cafeteria, his arms folded over his chest “And that’s just this week. Another twenty have gone missing in the past month.”

“I-I don’t know.” Drew stuttered, pressing a little bit closer to his twin brother and shivering a little, his golden-brown eyes flickering over the rest of the student body “I… A new student transferred to our homeroom a week before the disappearances started.” He’d been pulled into the supernatural club - despite Nevin’s initial protest - due to the other’s healing ability… And the fact that the four of them were kind of terrible at keeping secrets. Well, Edward and Isaac were. Nevin and Barry were better at keeping secrets, though practice.

“But they’re never called on in class. Like - their name is called on for roll call and that’s it.” Nevin rumbled, scooting a bit closer to his brother, trying to shove the clawing paranoia down. “Neither of us can remember their name, even moments after it’s spoken.”

“Hmm… That’s… Really weird. Barry, have you heard any chatter from your contacts who like trying to summon eldritch bullshit that they’ve been up to their shenanigans again?” Edward asked, glancing at his childhood friend, shifting a little and wishing that they were meeting in his secret hideout - but the cafeteria was centrally located and all of them had separate classes after this.

Barry shook his head a little “If they have, no one’s told me about it… I’ll ask a couple of them but… Three of them have gone missing, and their friends don’t seem to remember the people who vanish. It’s like… It’s like when they disappear, they’re erased completely.” Just then, all five of their cellphones went off at the same time.

The five teens blinked and pulled out their phone. The number was 6̥͈͕͓͍͘1̵3͚͍̺͕̼͕̱-̙̞̘͖̦6̡̮̳̥̳4̹̱̘͉9̢̹-̡6͙͍̭̯́4̛̖̱̰̤̦̭4̵̳̹3 to all of them, and it read [Qrngu vf bayl gur ortvaavat. Rira gubhtu guvf vf whfg bar tnzr bs znal. Znlor lbh pna fgbc zr, yvggyr urebrf orsber v jva? Be jvyy lbh snygre naq or qribherq? Abj gur tnzr unf gehyl ortha.]

“Hoookay, so who just sent us a bunch of random bullshit? My phone’s glitching out a little.” Edward grumbled “Did you guys get the same string of nonsense?”

“It’s not nonsense.” Drew murmured quickly, glancing around the room, biting his lower lip and quickly wrote something quickly and shoved it at his brother, before pulling out another sheet and starting to write something down on it, pausing after he was done, shaking a little. The others leaned over and…

Nevin swore quietly under his breath and muttered “We need someplace private to talk. Right now.” It was written in cursive… And Spanish, which none of them could read that well. “Delete the message from your phones. At best someone’s fucking with us.”

Edward nodded “I’ll take you to one of the hidden rooms in the school.” He frowned a little, but quickly took the others into his main lair. He turned and demanded to both of the sophmores “Alright, spill.”

“The message was sent to us in ROT-13. I decoded the message and wrote it in Spanish, to decrease the chances of… Whoever sent it to us reading it over my shoulder.” Drew explained, shifting uncomfortably. “It says: Death is only the beginning. Even though this is just one game of many. Maybe you can stop me, little heroes before i win? Or will you falter and be devoured? Now the game has truly begun. … Also only the first letters of each sentence are capitalized - none of the rest of the letters are - including the single I with i win… Which spell out DEMON when put it together.”

“That’s… Kind of fucked up and weird? But that’s not exactly a reason to get all riled out. It could just be someone trying to fuck with us… Although our phones all glitching out at the same time is weird.” Edward responded, shaking his head a little. They needed to focus on the missing people problem - this possibly prank text was something that could be dealt with later.

“Nevin… We forgot someone.” Drew murmured, voice suddenly full of fear, his eyes widening in shock.

“I.. Oh fuck. Chris! I haven’t seen him at all today… Have you?” Nevin hissed, his eyes widening. How could they have possibly forgotten him?

“No, I haven’t… He lives two houses down from us… We should go check up on him while we’re on our way home from school.”

“You’re right - hang on. I’ll text Barry and tell him where we’re going. we’re supposed to meet with him, Isaac and the King of Morons to figure out what sort of creature we might be dealing with. I just wish that they’d take your warning about the text more seriously.” Nevin sighed, shaking his head a little.

They arrived at C̷̯̤͖͈͍̮r̼̖̣̮͓̗͢ó̬̬̖͔̲̮̝s͈̯̮͠ͅṣ̫͝ͅͅ'̳̬s̳̝̳̯͝ home, knocking on the door. A tall stranger answered it, his eyes glowing violet. “We’ve been expecting you.” His voice echoed strangely, and both of the g͞u̴̯͓̣̖a̶r̖̯͓͕̻d͈͈̀i̷͙a̦̘͍n̙͈̩̣͙̹͖ twins immediately fell unconscious.

Edward and Isaac were trying to look up what sort of supernatural creatures who could make you forget their name when it was spoken by someone else. More people had gone missing. Edward stared at a picture of himself and someone who Isaac didn’t recognize, frowning a little “Hey… Ed, what’s wrong?” He leaned against his boyfriend, pressing a light kiss to the other’s cheeks.

“I… I don’t know. I have pictures of this guy - like I’ve known him since I was Geno’s age, at least. But I don’t… I don’t remember him. But he’s important to me… Does that make sense?” Edward answered, confused.

Isaac was about to respond when their phones chimed at the same time, the number was one they didn’t recognize and couldn’t see, their phones glitching so badly. [I HAVE THE LOREKEEPER, THE LIGHT, THE SWORDSMAN, AND THE SHADOW. CAN YOU FIGURE OUT WHAT’S WRONG, PROTAGONISTS? THE OTHER HEROES ARE SUPPLEMENTAL, BUT PERHAPS THE MAIN TWO WILL BE ABLE TO SAVE THEIR PARTY, AND WIN THE DAY.]

“That’s… Fucked up and weird. It’s always just been the two of u-” Edward started, blinking twice as he clutched his head, cursing under his breath as memories suddenly burst forth into his head with the fury of a sledgehammer. Not all of these memories were pleasant.

Isaac stilled, groaning quietly “I… Oh no. They can make us forget our own friends… The… They’ve got…”

“Shit. They’ve got the others. At least I was able to convince my folks to send Geno over to Reuben’s place… Both of the kiddos have powers, and I really fucking hope that Reuben lives far enough away to be out of this bullshit. No matter what the type of demon - which D̯̮̲̘̰̀r͖͙͇̼͕̼e͔̹̙̮a̹̫̖͎ͅm is probably right salt, a religious icon of your choice, and holy water will work to subdue it from everything I’ve read.” Edward growled, a determined expression appearing on his face.

“Which is all well and fine… Except that I don’t believe in any sort of organized religion - the only one of us who might have is Drew, who’s been captured. I’m pretty sure that sort of iconography requires some sort of genuine belief that it will work in order to work.” Isaac murmured, a concerned frown appearing on his face as he crossed his arms. What did he think could stop a demon?

“… Well, fuck. You’re right about that. Salt and holy water it is… Along with my strings to bind the demon in place so we can tell it to fuck off this mortal plane.” Error responded, a determined expression appearing on his face “… And yes, I’m looking up on my phone how to get holy water.”

One quick trip to the local church supply store - which apparently existed, not that they had known that until a quick look up on their phone - they had as much holy water and Purified Salt as they could carry - having managed to somehow sweet talk the store owner into giving them most of it for about ten bucks, the rest was given freely. Not wanting to question their bit of good luck, the pair of them sat down on one of the benches in the park. “Okay… So, we’ve got the stuff… How do we find and fight the demon?” Isaac reflected, a small frown appearing on his face - the sun was just beginning to set, and a sense of urgency was pushing at him. Something awful had happened - and worse was going to continue if they didn’t stop this as soon as possible.

“I… I don’t know. Do you know where C̷̯̤͖͈͍̮r̼̖̣̮͓̗͢ó̬̬̖͔̲̮̝s͈̯̮͠ͅṣ̫͝ͅͅ'̳̬s̳̝̳̯͝ or D͍̞r̘͇̖̭͍͖e̘͓͢a̮̳̮̪̕ͅm̨̖͓͚̩̲ ̴̝͙̘̹̙̣a̱̠n̯͓̘̯̮ͅd̴ ̫̞̰̜̞̕ͅǸ̮i̫̮͘g̮͈̱̫̕h̖̼ṭ̱͍̩̻͟m̲̤a̤̣͙͍̹̣r̯̬̞͓̪̀e̵̲̗̻̞̺̘ͅ live? That might be a good place to start. We already checked Bl͕͇̘̪͕u̹̭͎̯͎e̶̫̦͉̜'͓̭͍͖͘s home and no one lives there right now. It’s like it’s been completely abandoned for years.” Edward asked, shifting a little and trying to keep calm. He was feeling distinctly restless. Were they missing something?

“I… I think I’ve been to Chris’s place before…” Isaac answered with a frown, leaning into his boyfriend, grateful for the other’s steadying warmth. Both of the teens stood up, with Edward following close behind his boyfriend as the other led him to a nondescript looking house.

Edward hesitated for a moment before opening the front door open a crack and taking a peek inside. He cursed quietly and shut it. “So, there are strange, purple symbols glowing everywhere in the inside of that house. It’s really fucked up and spooky looking. Also I’m pretty sure I saw blood splatter and long gouges in some of the walls. But we’ve got friends to save. You ready for this, Isaac?”

Ink nodded, a determined expression appearing on his face “Yes. Let’s kick demon ass. It’s not like we haven’t done that before.” With that the two of them entered the house. Isaac stopped dead as he stared at the symbols - which weren’t in Latin or Greek - or any other ancient, unspeakable tongue. “Great. We’re dealing with some sort of New Demon - or one with a fucked up sense of humor.” he muttered quietly to his boyfriend, rolling his eyes a little. If it weren’t for the weird forgetting his friends thing, he’d have thought this was an elaborate - if kind of shitty - prank.

“Why?” Edward asked, staring nervously at the symbols before keeping his eyes firmly fixed ahead - he didn’t want to lose his sanity by having eldritch symbols burned into his brain or something equally awful “We gotta keep moving, Isaac.”

“Because, the.. The symbols. It’s wingdings. Like the crazy font?” Ink mumbled, frowning a little. Something pressed at the back of his mind. Something very important about the font - why it was much more ominous than it should be, as a joke font.

“Okay, I agree. That’s weird. Maybe the demon we’re dealing with is trying to confuse us to death.” Edward started. He looked like he was about to say more, but was cut off when a blood-curdling scream shattered the tense silence. Both teens sprinted to the door - Edward using a couple of strings to yank the door off of it’s hinges. The stairs leading down to the basement (of course it was a fucking basement) were bathed in more ominous purple light as they ran as quickly as they dared down the tight, rickety steps.

Barry, Drew, and Nevin were tied to the wall, with Chris in the middle of the basement, his hands and feet pinned to the floor with silver daggers, blood still dripping from the wounds. There was some sort of symbol painted beneath him - but neither Isaac nor Edward were focusing enough on that to really tell what it was. Nevin was the only one of the four of them conscious, and a strange, black substance was dripping down his face as he continued to struggle against his bonds, his eyes glowing a furious cyan “LET US GO, YOU MISERABLE OLD FUCK! I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK YOU HAVE TO GAIN, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO FUCKING TORTURE US LIKE THIS!”

“On the contrary, I have every right to do so, Ǹ̮i̫̮͘g̮͈̱̫̕h̖̼ṭ̱͍̩̻͟m̲̤a̤̣͙͍̹̣r̯̬̞͓̪̀e̵̲̗̻̞̺̘ͅ. Besides, it’s not as if you have any room to talk, considering…” A tall, stern looking man called out, a dark smirk on his face as he stalked towards the both of them “And you two have arrived, right on schedule. I was wondering if the two of you were going to be late - or try to flee. But I see that allowing you all to form positive social bonds has made catching you so much easier. Come forth and help me, C͏̪̫̫͙h̻̜̪̻̗͙͠a̷̠r̡̻̠̤a̵̼͙̳̤.”

A small, pale spirit rises up from C̛̖̳r̞̙͙͔͍͍o͈̮̳̼̪̠͉s̪̟͓̦͉̻̯s'̮̟̜͔̱́ś̪͍̠ body. It turns to face them, their eyes a bright, glowing red, a strange black substance - not unlike what currently is pouring from Nevin’s back and face - and it hisses “I̪̬̰͎͚̯̼ h̷̯̣͔̼̣ͅͅa̜̥̞̳̣͝t̘̼̥͖̗̬͓e̴͚̰ ̗͍̤͚͟y̳o̦̗̫̣͘ͅu̻̥̹͘ ̺̹̗̝̮ś̜͓̯ó̬̝̻̠͈ m͈͙̙̟͡u͔͚͈̱c̥͍͙͚h̟̣̠͖͍̦,̸̲̘ ͉͇̺̥̘̀G̪͇͔̦̟͔a͍s̷̖̱t̙̦̞̺͖ͅe̼͇̱͇̟͖r̪͓͘!ͅ ̝́I̤̜͇͡ w̙͟i̙l͟l̨͔̝̦̳ ͍̠̱̭͍̟k͖̦̗̺̼̪i̳̻l͓͎͇̫̺̳l̻̜͉ ͍̬̞̯͖̣y͖̜̯͘ou̜!̦͉͍̟"̯̟̩͠ screeching angrily at the man who had called it forth from their friend.

“I don’t care that you hate me, Demon. You are bound to my will, and I command you to kill E̥̞̖̥͔̟̙r̸̹̪͇̫r̬̟̗o͏̼̼̲̣̗̝ŕ̹̮̙̹ ̯̥͢a̮͙͓̙n̳͝d̰͔̱ ͙̺̬I͔̟̗͉n̻̠̜̭̞̩̮k̨̦̞, bringing me their souls. After that take Blue’s soul and then the emotive guardians’ together, as can only be done for them. Cross will be last to be harvested, and then we can begin this experiment anew.” The man ordered, smirking a little as the demon howled in rage, but threw itself at the both of them nonetheless.

Exactly none of the holy water or salt did jack shit to the demon - and as Ink desperately used what little paint he had brought with him to fend off the attacks from the angry spirit that kept throwing itself at him with a relentless determination. He dodged, swiped at them, rolled to avoid another swipe of their knife. “Ed! Do you have Nevin down yet?”

“I’m trying. These cuffs are resisting my strings! I-” Error choked and collapsed, clutching at his chest, his eyes returning to their normal color, before starting to dull. The strange man was standing directly behind him, another glittering, silver knife in his hands, this one stained with bright, fresh blood.

“Edward!” Ink screamed as he raced over to his boyfriend, kneeling down as he desperately tried to shake the other “No… No no no. You… You have to stay with me… P-please you can’t… Y-You can’t die on me now…”

Error coughed wetly, a weak smile on his face “Hey… ‘s okay… We fought him hard… Jus… Just go… I think he has to kill us all or it won’t work… R-Run… Love… F-For me?”

“No! I won’t leave you…Leave our friends to die! I… I’ll-” Ink’s eyes had a manic gleam as he used his paint as a barrier to block both the man and the tiny DEMON’s attacks “I’ll kill them both, and find a way to save everyone. I-I will!”

The man chuckled as he raised something in his hands “So predictable.” something clicked in the man’s hands, and Isaac’s world went dark, Edward’s weak “Noo!” and Nevin’s loud cursing the last thing he heard as the shadows stole his sight, his body limp and numb.

#my writing #angst #major character death tw #blood tw #cursing tw #isward #Isaac Beamer #Edward quinton #nevin jovel #Drew Jovel #Christopher jackson #Charlie jackson #Xavier Jackson #Barry Price #bad end

35 notes · View notes

nomattertheoceans · 6 years

Text

I made you a promise

I suck at writing summaries so here’s a fluffy Feysand fanfic in a modern setting, I hope you like it!! Header by my wonderful sister @artbloggouinetteparletrop

Masterlist || On mobile

Next chapter

She was an hour early. Again.

Her and the girls were supposed to meet at 7, like they did every Wednesday night, but Feyre had gotten out of work early, and she didn't want to have to go to her tiny apartment, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to muster the energy to get out again if she did. It had been that way since she moved into the place two months ago, after a rather stormy break up with her ex-boyfriend (and would be fiance if he had had a say in the matter, the very reason of their heated break-up), Tamlin. She was happy about her new found independence, although her small salary as a freelance illustrator for a publishing company didn't allow her to live in anything bigger than this tiny studio above an Indian restaurant. she couldn’t afford anything too grand. But even though she was enjoying her freedom after a year of a rather toxic relationship, she sometimes found it hard to get out of the house, and she didn't want to risk missing what precious time she had with her friends.

Anyways, now she was at the pub an hour early and would have to wait for her friends to arrive. Sighing, Feyre took in the pub and decided to sit at the bar and maybe order a drink while waiting for them. She took a seat at the very far corner, so that she could have a good view of the entrance and not miss her friends arrival. There was a man already sitting beside her, but he seemed too absorbed in his book to notice her. Sitting, she ordered a beer and called Alis quickly, but got her voicemail directly.

“Hey Alis ! I just wanted to let you know that I got to the pub early, but don't worry, I’m just waiting for you at the bar. See you at seven.” She hung up, knowing very well that there was a chance that Alis would get here later, since she had to deal with her nephews’ babysitter first. Her beer arrived, and she took a look at the clientele of the pub while enjoying her first sip. Her eyes fell on the man beside her, and she blinked. He was extremely handsome, even if she only saw his profile. He appeared to be very tall, and with short blue-black hair - the color of raven feathers, thought Feyre - that matched perfectly his tanned skin. Hints of a tattoo were visible from the rolled sleeves of his black shirt, a shirt doing very little to hide his muscular arms and chest. Feyre was still watching the little glimpse of tattoo when he talked :

“Hi.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his face, and she felt heat creep up her cheeks. He was smiling slightly at her, and even though his smile was attractive, it was his eyes that made Feyre hold her breath for a second longer. Based on his hair and skin, she had imagined his eyes to be some shade of brown. But they were a deep shade of blue, so deep they seemed to be violet, with flecks of silver that made her think of starlight. His grin intensified, and she realized that she had been staring at him and not answering for about 10 seconds. She blushed a bit more and finally talked :

“Oh, hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Oh that’s quite alright, I don’t mind being bothered by such a beautiful woman.”

She smiled slightly, trying to control her blush - gods, she must look like a freaking teenager with all her blushing and staring.

“That's very kind of you.”

“It’s very true. Plus, my book was becoming a little boring, so i don’t mind the distraction.” His smile was more gentle, and he seemed to be watching her as if he indeed find her to be beautiful. Feyre ruffled her hair, not really knowing what to say. Fortunately for her, he spoke again.

“I’m Rhys, by the way. Well, Rhysand, but all my friends call me Rhys.”

“Feyre.”

“Well, Feyre Darling, it’s very nice to meet you. Might I offer you a drink?”

Feyre, that had been half lost in his violet eyes, straightened her thoughts. He was handsome, yes, but she couldn’t let him buy her a drink when she very well knew it would lead them nowhere. She was far from ready to start dating again, more so after the harsh way her last relationship ended.

“Thank you but, I’m waiting for some friends and they should arrive soon.”

“I thought I heard you say 7, and it’s only 6:05. I think that gives you plenty of time to finish that beer, don’t you think ?”

“Well… to be honest Rhysand, I don’t want you to buy me a drink because buying me a drink implies that you expect to gain something out of it, and I already know I won’t give you my phone number.”

“Oh. Well how about that : I guarantee you that I only want to pay for your beer because you seem like a nice woman to be talking to for the next hour. And to express my good faith, I’m going to make you a promise. I promise that I will not ask for your phone number when you’ll go join your friends, however well the next hour might go.”

She looked at him, and… damn her, he seemed so sincere that she heard herself answering :

“Alright then.”

He smiled broadly, and they stayed silenced for a few moments. Feyre realised now that she didn’t exactly know what to say to him, and the silence stretched on until :

“So anyways, what are you doing sitting alone in a pub, reading a book, at 6 o'clock in the afternoon ?”

He smiled, and answered : “I’m waiting for my cousin to get off work. Her office is right down the street and we’re going to dinner afterwards so I’m meeting her here. The book is just a way to keep the ladies away,” he added, grinning and raising his eyebrows suggestively “although it doesn’t seem to work as well as I thought.”

She chuckled at that.

“And what are you doing here, Feyre ? Girls night out, is it ?”

Not really a question, considering he heard her make plans not ten minutes ago. But she answered anyway.

“Indeed. So enjoy what little time you have with me, because the second they enter this pub, I’m out of your sight!”

He barked out a laugh and looked her in the eyes : “I’ll try to enjoy it to the fullest then.”

“So Rhys, what book are you reading anyways ?”

***

They talked with ease for a long time, laughing and drinking as they shared their opinions, first about books, and then music, movies, series. Rhys had launched on a lively tirade about a series he’d just started watching when the front door of the pub opened.

“I mean, I can’t believe you haven’t heard of it, it’s great ! It has cowboys, and robots, and conspiracies,....”

“Oh Rhys, my friends just got here.”

He stopped talking and looked over his shoulder to discover three young women indeed standing near the entrance and looking for a free booth.

“Right.”

The hour spent talking easily was suddenly gone and a more awkward kind of silence settled between them, as Feyre got up and grabbed her coat to move to the booth and her friends. He was watching with a sort of longing in his eyes, as if he was missing her already. She spoke quietly :

“Thank you for the drink, I had a lovely time.”

“Me too, thank you for the company” he answered in an equally quiet voice. She stood there for a few more seconds, not yet ready to let him go. His eyes on her were so intense, she couldn’t quite figure out what it meant.

“What are you thinking ?”

“I’m thinking that I’m very much regretting my promise to you about not asking your phone number.”

her throat bobbed as she looked into his violet eyes one last time.

“Have a good evening Rhys.”

“Likewise, Feyre Darling.”

She turned around to her awaiting friends and forced herself not to look behind, even though she could feel his eyes following her as she crossed the pub.

“Hey Feyre, there you are !” Alis smiled at her from the booth, and Feyre smiled back, happy to see them.

***

Rhys was trying to keep reading his book while waiting for Mor - gods she was late, but it shouldn’t really surprise him, she was probably changing to be “presentable” at the restaurant, even though he was sure she was just fine in her current clothes. He couldn’t concentrate on his book though, not when his seat offered him a direct view of the booth were Feyre was seated, talking and laughing with her friends.

Feyre. When he had felt her eyes on him earlier, he’d started smiling to himself, ready to act all confident and smart to impress the woman ogling him. But when he turned to face her and ask if she saw anything she liked upon his bare forearms, he’d been stunned into silence for a few seconds. She was beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, with her golden brown hair falling over her shoulders in light curls, her pale face covered in freckles, and exquisite blue-grey eyes that seemed to pierce through him easily. And instead of his flirty, cocky opening line, all he’d found himself saying was “Hi.”

But the hour that followed had flown by as they talked about many different subjects. She was passionate about the things she liked, and it was such a delight debating with her, that he’d forgotten about her friends coming to join her until she had stopped him mid-sentence and had gotten up to join them.

It had been half an hour since then and he was still debating throwing his promise down the drain and go ask her for her phone number, when his own phone rang :

“Rhys I have a cab in front of the pub, are you coming ?”

“Hey Mor, yeah I’ll be right there.”

He went to the bathroom first, then grabbed his jacket to head outside, not without throwing one last disappointed looking to the woman seated with her friends, her back to him. He got out and embraced the chilly wind of the October weather, and greated Mor. As he reached into his pocket to find change for the cab, he felt a piece of paper tucked in there.

It wasn’t a piece of paper, but a napkin from the pub. And on the napkin, was written in black ink :

I was also regretting your promise

091-585-340

#acotar #acotar fanfic #feysand #feyre #feyre archeron #rhys x feyre #rhysand #fanfic #feysand fanfiction #so nervous about this

181 notes · View notes

littlecactiguy · 6 years

Text

Because of a Cat

Lapidot AU Week Day 2: Flower Shop/Tattoo artist AU

Day 1 Post. AO3.

@lapidot-week

On Barn Street, there were two business that absolutely all the Beachtown (a small neighborhood in the larger Crystalopolis) locals knew, Painted Wings Tattoo Shop and Pumpkin’s Premium Flowers. Most outsiders to the neighborhood would wonder why these two small businesses, of all the unique, little shops clustered in that area, garnered the most attention. Some locals would spin a story about a decades-old feud. Others would just shrug and say they liked each of the shops’ services respectively. Most would roll their eyes. The owner of the small bakery/cafe a street over, Pearl, would sigh, share an exhausted look with her wife, the local jeweler who specialized in rare metals, Bismuth, and say it was because of a cat.

Some years back, an ex-Diamond Authority Officer, Peridot, arrived with her fat, orange-striped cat, Pumpkin, and started a flower shop selling whatever she could grow in the small backyard behind her shop. Most eyed her warily, as the Diamond Authority wasn’t exactly favored in this part of town, but she was friends with the youngest child of the DeMayo family, Steven. Since the DeMayos had been a part of the neighborhood as long as anyone could remember, it was communally decided that Peridot could stay. And then, it was found out that, if you spent just five minutes with Peridot, you’d learn she was just as weird as everyone else, so she quickly fit right in. Plus, everyone loved Pumpkin, who won a couple awards for Sweetest Cat Ever, which Peridot proudly hung behind the counter of her flower shop.

More recently, one Lapis Lazuli, also a friend of young Steven and someone who didn’t share much about herself, moved in to start Painted Wings Tattoos. Unlike Peridot, who’d quickly involved herself in every aspect of Beachtown life, Lapis kept to herself. She only really travelled out of her apartment above her shop to buy groceries and the occasional drink/donut combo from the Big Donut on the street corner.

That is, until Pumpkin decided to intervene in her life. And Peridot’s.

“For the last time, I do NOT have a crush!” Peridot slammed her hands down on the counter, causing her to lose her balance. The stool she used to be able to see over the counter wobbled, but, by now, Peridot was an expert in not letting it tip over.

From where she browsed that day’s selection of flowers, Bismuth laughed. “Sure you don’t, shorty.” She gestured to the flowers. “This all you got today? It’s our anniversary in a week but—”

“Your bouquet will be ready at the agreed upon pickup time of 9 am.” Peridot interrupted, relieved to jump back to the familiarity of work orders.

“I know, I know, but Pearl’s being having such a hard time getting her latest tart recipe juuust right. She won’t stop until it’s absolutely perfect.” Bismuth looked back to Peridot. “You know how she can get.”

Peridot nodded. There were Reasons she dreaded when Pearl came into the shop looking for flowers for Bismuth. She, Peridot, was the only perfectionist allowed to reign in Pumpkin’s Premium Flowers. Absolutely no one else ever was. Including Pearl. Who always, always tested that rule.

“Anyway, I was thinking I’d get her something small and special now, you know as a pick me up.” Bismuth approached the counter. “So, you got anything good for me? And remember, absolutely no roses.”

“I am aware of the ban on roses you two have,” Peridot answered. She prided herself in remembering all her regulars’ preferences, yet these two never failed in reminding her of their “no roses” rule. It was irritating to constantly be reminded, but she could say she understood it. She herself, wasn’t fond of being reminded of the past.

Peridot glanced all around at her stock, but there was nothing particularly extraordinary in the showcased bunch. “I’ll check the back.” She told Bismuth.

In her backroom, Peridot checked over her more unusual flowers. Most of what she grew were the normal fair; tulips, roses, daffodils, the general flowers customers wanted. But she also did a bit of experimenting where she could and her results were one-of-a-kind. She had flowers with petals each a different color. Flowers that chimed little melodies when they bloomed. Flowers that were so saturated in color that they made you want to stare at them all day long.

While she determined that a small, potted violet with crystal-like petals that refracted light beautifully would do nicely for Bismuth, Peridot heard the merry ding-ling of her shop bell. She returned to the main room.

And her entire world ended.

Lapis Lazuli was in her shop. Lapis Lazuli, who ran the tattoo shop across the street, was in her shop. Also she was holding Pumpkin in her arms. But the main thing here was that she was In Peridot’s Shop.

Instead of her usual welcome that she gave customers, a garbled mess of sounds spilled from Peridot’s mouth.

“Right. Absolutely no crush here.” Bismuth rolled her eyes.

“I—errr—I—um—I—” Peridot clamped her mouth shut before my syllables escaped.

Lapis approached the counter. “This is your cat, right?” She held up Pumpkin, who mewed. “Cause he wandered into my shop.”

Peridot was still in ‘Most Beautiful Person Ever Is In My Shop And Holding My Cat’ world, so Bismuth replied for her, “Yeah, that’s Pumpkin. Everyone knows her so Peri here lets her wander around to say hi.”

“Oh, um, ok. She’s really cute.” Lapis placed Pumpkin down on the counter. Pumpkin padded over to Peridot, rubbed against her arm, and purred. “But I don’t really want her in my shop.”

Lapis looked once between Bismuth and Peridot, who still hadn’t managed to remember how to do words. “So, yeah, um, I’m gonna go now. See ya later.” She left.

After the door closed behind her, Peridot inhaled a breath that could have set a world record. Then, “BISMUTH DID YOU SEE THAT SHE WAS IN MY SHOP AND SHE TALKED TO ME AND SHE LIKED PUMPKIN AND SHE SHE SHE—” Peridot fell backward off her stool. She landed on the floor and just lay there. “That’s it. My life is officially complete.”

“So…you’re not going to ask her out?” Bismuth leaned on the counter. She gave Peridot a knowing look.

“I—how can I? I can’t even speak around her. I wouldn’t know where to even begin.”

This time it was Pearl who was in Peridot’s shop when Lapis came in. Things, for once, were actually not going horribly. Ok, Pearl had only been inside three minutes so there was still time since she usually spent an estimated 30-40 minutes being wishy-washy over what she would purchase, but still. Those first minutes were usually an indicator of how things would go and, today, they were good.

“Um, hey.” Lapis offered a noncommittal wave of her hand as she walked in. “Your cat wandered into my shop again.” She held up Pumpkin, who mewed accordingly.

“Oh, hello. You’re Ms. Lazuli, right? From across the street?” Pearl spoke before Peridot could muster herself to do the same. “Bismuth just loves her new tattoo. You’re a very talented artist.”

“Thanks.” Lapis shrugged. She put Pumpkin down on the counter. The cat sat down, and then looked up at all three of them expectantly.

“So, how did you get into art, if you don’t mind me asking?” Pearl apparently wanted to make smalltalk.

Peridot scratched Pumpkin behind the ears, unsure of whether to be thankful or not that she didn’t necessarily have to navigate taking part of the conversation.

Lapis answered, “I’ve always liked drawing and ink is a nice medium to work with. It seemed like a natural path to take.” She turned to Peridot. “Hey, Peridot right? I’ve been thinking, you’ve got some cool plants in here. Would it be ok if I came in and drew them sometime? I don’t have many floral designs and they’d make for some wicked inspiration.”

“Yes!” Peridot winced. That sounded waaaay too excited. She gulped and tried again. “Yes, yes of course. Come over any time!”

Lapis smiled at her. “Thanks.”

“Yup.” Peridot tried to lean on the counter, but her elbow missed and she fell.

“Nice.” Lapis laughed before helping her up. “So I’ll come over tomorrow then? Around 8?”

Peridot pretended that she wasn’t blushing. “Yes, yes that is compatible with my schedule.”

Pearl looked between the two, noted the looks they were giving each other, and smiled to herself. “I’ll just let myself out.”

The next day, Peridot took all her unique flowers (even the ones she wasn’t really prepared to part with—look, when you spend hours of your life tenderly caring for a plant, naming it, and talking to it… yeah there were some emotional investments in being a gardener that Peridot had not foreseen) and set them up in the shop. She stared at them. Did some mental calculations. Reset where each and every plant was. Stared at them again. Was about to move them a second time, but Lapis walked in then.

“Hello! I’m glad you’re here! I was just getting them all set up! But I can move them if you need me to!” Was she yelling? Why was she yelling? Peridot grabbed Pumpkin and hugged the cat to her chest as if that would soothe her nerves. Which it did. A little.

“Sweet. These look great.” Lapis offered Peridot a small smile and it melted her heart. “I’ll just be here.” She sat down on the spare stool Peridot had set out for her. “I won’t be in your way at all.” Pumpkin jumped up on her lap and Lapis stroked the cat.

“Oh, and Peridot? Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

#steven universe #lapidot AU week #lapidot week #lapidot #lapis su #peridot su #su pearl #su bismuth #a little late but im still proud of myself for keeping to this #whirlpools writing

70 notes · View notes

spirify · 6 years

Text

Merry-Go-Round CH 2

“a neverending story” ― written by. Rielin

Her breaths came out heavy, her heart aching with sudden surprise. As a gland of sweat rolled down the temples of her cheeks, she glanced around, panicking. The mysterious male's footprints were still imprinted onto the muddy ground before her, tiny droplets of rain slowly collecting from the corners, creating puddles. With panting breaths, she chased after him, her feet stomping onto each of his footprints that were slowly fading away.

Soon enough, those footprints came to an end in front of a wooden house. In between the tiny cracks of woods, the reeking smell of harsh chemicals drifted out. She couldn't help but squinch her eyebrows together and pinch her nose to minimize the harsh odor that stinged the tip of her nostrils. She walked up to the front door, which was also created with wood. Grass and bushes have overtaken the corners and cracks, the house somewhat resembling a mythical house in an abandoned forest. She carefully knocked three times, the sound of tapping echoing loudly. From the inside, the sound of objects falling down to the ground was heard, as if someone was rushing to reach the front door. Surprised, Aisha took a step back. Then all of a sudden, the door busted open, revealing the same mysterious man with the same silver hair. His dull eyes quickly transitioned into a revealing purple one as it widened, from seeing the sight of Aisha.

"Ai― Aisha?" he stammered in surprise, yet it only left Aisha to be further confused.

"...Yes," she hesitated, puzzled.

"You― you're alive?" he asked once again, his voice shaking.

She nodded, hesitating once again, feeling even more puzzled. She did not question his question, in fact, she would've acted in a similar way. The man saw the tombstone and even left flowers on top. To anyone's eyes, even with her own eyes, she would be considered dead. It's shocking to see her, breathing again, moving again, and talking again.

"Are you a… ghost…?" he asked in disbelief. How shocked he must be, to even ask such a question.

"No… I don't think so," she replied. Even though she couldn't exactly define her current being, she knew for sure, that she was not a ghost.

The male peaked his out the front door, droplets dropping on top of his hair. He glanced around, making sure no one was near the house.

"Let's talk inside," he said as he watched her dampened hair and her clothings soaked with rain. Aisha followed the man inside, the feeling of warmth and coziness drifting toward and surrounding her. The house was somewhat small, filled with various objects. There was multiple beakers filled with colorful chemicals, which was the source of the reeking smell. There was also multiple papers, ripped out from journal books with written words and magic circles that couldn't be comprehended. The entire wall and flooring was made with wood, as if the man himself built the house. Every corner, there was an object. It may seem as if it was messy, yet it was rather welcoming. The male turned the corner of the hallway, which led to the main living room of the house. Aisha followed, until her eyes were automatically fixed onto one of the object. A picture, tiny picture, framed and placed on top of a table.

On the left was the silver haired male, smiling ever so brightly that it didn't even resemble his current self.

On the right was a violet haired female― which resembled Aisha, herself.

"...Is this me?" she asked as she grabbed the corner of the frame.

The male turned around, somewhat regretting the fact that he didn't hide the picture.

"Yeah," he replied hesitantly with a raspy voice almost like a whisper. "It's you, Aisha," he spoke softly, voice filled with despair.

She glanced up, puzzled at his saddened voice. Yet, he has already turned his back away from her vision. Trying to cheer the male up, Aisha gaped her lips and asked carefully,

"Would you mind telling me… about me and… you?" she stammered as she was hesitant. Their relationship seemed somewhat of a careful topic, yet she had to know who she was, and who he was— and he's the only person that can tell her that.

"You… were a magician," he started talking, his husky voice coming out raspier than usual.

"And I wa— am a scientist," he continued, fixing his words mid sentence.

"As you can see from the tombstone earlier… you died," his words drifted away, as if he was whispering.

"So… that's why I'm so confused as why you're… alive?" Aisha could see his pupils shaking as if he too, was confused about her being.

"I don't have any memories, I don't even remember how I died… I only know about myself," she whispered, saddened that she couldn't find the answer she wanted from the male. She glanced up, only to see a hint of devastation within the male's amethyst eyes.

His expression seemed to hold onto so many emotions that she could read, yet she could not read his thoughts— his thoughts of wanting to say that they were once lovers.

Embracing her shivering body with a towel, she gladly accepted a cup of a hot tea the male handed over to her. The soothing scent of herbs gave off a refreshing yet cozy feeling as her cupped hands were immediately warmed. She took a quiet sip, slightly feeling a burning sensation on the tip of her tongue. The male slumped down on the other side of the table, on a worn-down sofa that shed couple of its leather-like material.

"So… what were we doing here? As a scientist and as a magician?" Aisha carefully spoke, wondering about herself and the scientist.

"We investigated about this town," he started, somewhat hesitant. "This town isn't necessarily a normal town as it seems. We spent about a year figuring out how this town works, but we only concluded that time and space is in distortion," he finished off, his words slowly drifting away.

"So I died in the process of investigating the town…," Aisha whispered, gaining hints that could possibly finish the puzzle.

"Yeah… there was a miscalculation from a magic you were wielding…," he said as he suddenly stood up from his seat. Aisha glanced up, her eyes following his movement. He walked over to one of the wooden bookshelves, shifting his finger from paper to paper, finding a worn-out brown book that read 'journal'. He strolled over to Aisha and handed her the unknown book.

"It's your journal," he said sternly. "You wrote all of your findings in there, even right before the moment you died,"

Aisha carefully opened the cover, the scent of old paper drifting up to her nose. She flipped a page, leading to the first day of her investigation. The paper felt rough in texture, it was surprising the journal was still in shape, preciously holding onto each of her past days.

— Day 1 —

We arrived in the mysterious, unnamed town. Every villagers are welcoming and kind, yet there is something off. Couldn't figure out the secret of this town and why there are no travelers here. Was fortunate enough to buy a wooden house for a cheap price, a little worn-down, probably will start cleaning tomorrow.

Aisha read in silence, focusing on her handwritten words, interpreting its meaning. Before she realized, she heard a clicking sound of the door closing, and the male has already left her to be by herself in middle of the living room. She took another sip of the tea, which have gotten lukewarm, yet she did not mind. Her mind was fully focused on the journal in front of her.

She flipped the page.

— Day 2 —

The house is almost finished, which was built using my magic along with Add's engineering skills. It seems my magic works regularly and Add's chemicals are stable and unreactive with the environment, fortunately. Need to buy household items tomorrow, especially a clock— highly needed in this town that is apparently lost in time and space… haven't experienced any strange thing yet.

She flipped another.

— Day 3 —

The house is completely finished. Not the best material but wood is sturdy enough. Went to a nearby store and they had only one clock in stock. Luckily, we were able to buy it… but the owner gave off a strange look… I will go back to the store tomorrow and ask him. Bad news is… we don't know what time it is to even change the time in our clock. Thank god the day is sunny, we were somewhat able to estimate the time based on the location of the sun and the shadows.

Another page.

— Day 4 —

Today is weird… It was sunny yesterday, blazingly sunny. The cicadas were crying all throughout the day yet… it's snowing today. There's about an inch of snow piled upon the ground. It's chilly. I also "tried" to go to the store today. Another weird thing is that I forgot that my destination was the store while going there. It suddenly felt like my memory about the store was erased. Luckily, I bought this journal with me so I read the previous day and I was able to find out where I was going and why I was going. But when I arrived, there was nothing but grass, as if no building was placed there in the first place. Strange, perhaps this is a hint about the town. Weather and missing buildings. I wonder what's next?

It seemed as if the pen drifted off, the ink smearing at the edge. Then as Aisha moved onto the next word, the ink suddenly darkened. It seemed as if the "past" Aisha closed the journal after wondering about what the future could tell, but quickly reopened the book and wrote down once again, not caring about the pen that is holding onto too much ink.

The clock handles are gone.

author's note:

hi everyoneeee! so sorry for the late update :c i've been so busy with school and i probably won't get back to my "update-once-every-month" kind of schedule soon, or until the semester is over D:

i also deleted and rewrote many parts of this chapter which took me forever to actually finish the chapter.

but hope you guys enjoyed! please look forward to chapter three that will probably be updated next year...! sorry!

Rielin’s Fanfiction Site

#merry-go-round #add #aisha #elsword #elsword fanfiction #add x aisha #mad paradox #metamorphy #merry go round #fanfiction

4 notes · View notes

butterflynotes-a · 7 years

Text

For you, I would write.

A writing request for someone. Saeran is such an idiot in this- Also, Saeran is a poet. Literally. The plot does not belong to me.

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Relationships: Saeran Choi x Yoosung Kim Characters: Saeran Choi, Saeyoung Choi, Yoosung Kim, Rika (Mentioned), V | Jihyun Kim (Mentioned) Originally Posted: October 7th 2017

TW: Implied/Mentioned Character Death, Implied/Mentioned Kidnapping, Mention of Blood (Poetry Metaphor)

”-so go.”

Saeran had never expected to hear those words come from the blond, never thought he’d see such a sad smile in this final goodbye. His heart ached, though he should have known this would happen. Yoosung… Yoosung didn’t want him, the redhead was so sure of that. It was obvious, wasn’t it? The distance between them as Saeran had finished the school year, the way Yoosung’s smile was never as bright as before. Those words, the ones coming from the blond, only confirmed his suspicion.

Yoosung Kim didn’t love him anymore.

Saeran had faked a polite smile and nodded, the gesture accompanied by a soft-spoken “alright” before he’d left, not letting the tears fall from his golden orbs until he was sure Yoosung was no where near him, until he was sobbing as he headed home. When he arrived home, his brother embraced him with open arms and words of comfort. Despite the way he shook, the choked out words and strangled cries leaving him, Saeyoung did not let go - and Saeran had never appreciated his brother more than he did now. For his twin did not question what was wrong, only helped him through the aftermath of the events that would never stop hurting.

He missed Yoosung already.

Goodbye, my dear. You were the star I needed most - but the only one I could never have.

Dear Saeran, How are you? I miss you…. You don’t talk to me anymore, not since I last saw you.. You left, no words, no notes… Why was that? Do you miss me..? I think of you so often, I… I’m so sorry! What did I do to make you hate me? How.. How can I fix this, Saeran? Please, tell me! I’d do anything for you, just… Come back to me! Please! Love from, Yoosung Kim.

The page is covered in tears and he cannot send this, he knows it. It’s too raw, too emotional and Saeran wouldn’t ever come back if he was.. Like this. He cries for a while longer, though there is no comfort for the young adult. It has been a year since Saeran left, yet he cannot seem to think of anything but his lost love, the one who made him feel happy above all else. He had told the other to go, told him to pursue his dreams, but he hadn’t thought that would mean Saeran would leave completely. He didn’t realise the one he had loved more than anything would withdraw from contact with everyone but Saeyoung, who refused to tell Yoosung a single thing about Saeran’s whereabouts or how he was.

Yoosung wonders just when it was that he began pushing Saeran away to the point he broke the other’s heart so badly.

I’m sorry for the times I loved you too much - and I’m sorry for the times I loved you too little.

Purple Like a violet Feigned love that is said to be true A simple lie you told me How could I ever trust you?

Yellow Like the sun in the sky Your hair the same colour Soft to the touch Yet, you were not soft For one who broke a heart could never be

Blue Like a forget-me-not Memorable, haunting my every thought I cannot forget each memory I cannot stop thinking of you

Red My blood as I bleed on the page As each word written in ink comes from my heart During this lonely time When we are apart

- Every Colour We Are, Saeran Choi

Saeran did not smile as he was congratulated on top marks for the poetry assignment. Of course, he knew why he got such good marks - it was simple, really. The emotion within the piece, so beautiful yet so tragic. Each word was refined in choice, yet it seemed so casual, as if little thought was put into it. The structure was his own, free form, for it was not conventional. The lack of rhymes showing the true emotions of despair and anguish of the writer, of himself, for one could not write something with perfect form while drowning in emotions, unable to see the surface.

A laugh is forced as his head is patted by one of the other students and the other gushes about how wonderful his poetry was. He smiled politely at Myeong-Eun, not denying her words despite their falseness. She asks him if she wants to grab some coffee before their next class, and his heart clenches. He declines, stating he isn’t well, and heads back to his dorm. This occurrence is common and no one questions it - he’s always sick, whether mentally or physically.

I love you, I need you. I wish I could be with you, but I could never bother you with my presence, for I know it is not wanted within your life - you deserve better than me, you deserve so much better… I cannot love you how you wish - for I cannot leave you behind, no matter how hard I try.

And you did want me to forget, after all, I’m sure.

Dear Saeran, Where are you now? How are you? Thoughts of you plague my mind each day and night. Saeyoung still says nothing about you to me, it worries me - what did I do? How did I mess up? Will you ever come back? Or.. Are you dead? Is that why he refuses to tell me about you? I miss you. Return to me. Please. Love, Yoosung

A year and a half. He is weak. Soon enough, Yoosung knows he will finish school - yet, his future is undecided. He has no guidance, no passion that could lead him through this empty life. Saeran is gone, Rika is dead. Saeyoung is nowhere to be seen and Jihyun - V - had not spoken to him since Yoosung had yelled at him the night his cousin-in-law had come to him, telling him Rika had committed suicide. Yoosung couldn’t believe that reality. As far as he knew, Rika was perfect, nothing plagued her - he knew of no motive for her to commit suicide.

V’s eyes had been puffy and swollen when he had visited that night.

Yoosung hadn’t cared.

Will you return if I call for you? If I walk, will I find you? Will you hear me shout for you as I search? … Or did you never love me at all?

I fall at the touch of your hands Bound by the emotions inside me I wonder Is to be victim to your love my destiny? Your words twist mine Our fingers entwined “Go” You say, smiling I leave and you grow cold Your anger as solid as a stone You hate me You loathe me I wonder if it’s true Is there anything that up I didn’t screw? I am nothing but your love slave A person you force to love you Someone who can no longer be saved

- Love Slave, Saeran Choi

She comes to me one day Her words weaved in such a beautiful way “I can save you” “I can help you” Saviour, Saviour, I address her so “Write for me” She says And I do that as if it is all I know Saviour, Saviour, here you go As if you care as much as you show Lies come from you Every word to manipulate me To.. Destroy me I followed with faith I gave those I loved space Saviour, Saviour You tell me these lies Yet, I could not blame you if I tried You speak of mint eyes Of magenta and paradise Of safety and love Of the population, we’d be above Saviour, Saviour I trust you so You destroy me in intimate ways With dragged down knives Looking into broken eyes Amber, flashing like the warnings of your lies You say no one loves me That no one cares And the worst thing is… I believed every word, every swear

- Saviour, Saeran Choi

That poem… Beautiful, that’s what people had said. “How do you write with such emotion?” They ask him, in swarms. He offers fake smiles, forces a cheerful laugh and answers with “I don’t know, I just do.” No one suspects the horrors he has lived through - no one suspects his childhood, nor that it was about the woman who had kidnapped him. Saeran had gone missing for 3 months after the end of his first year, found a few weeks before the beginning of his second year.

He did not speak of the occurrences that had happened at Rika’s organisation, not of it’s purpose nor the horrors he had seen in his time there - he had been found with drugs in his system, but his mind unbroken for the most part. They’d flushed out the drugs and therapy had been helping him to deal with the trauma, at the least - even if he couldn’t bring himself to speak of it, to think of it-

Mr. Saeran Choi, It is my pleasure to inform you that your essay - titled “The reasons love cannot be easy” - has been awarded a prize. We would like to ask you to come to our event in Seoul and read out a poem related to the topic. Having seen many of your works, we would like to sponsor you as an author as soon as you graduate from university. Please think about our offer, Mr. Choi. We look forward to your response. Yours sincerely, Miss. Mi Jin Park.

This letter is confidential material of 김영사 (Gimm-Young Publishers Inc.) and should not be shown to anyone but the recipient. If you are not the recipient, please send the letter back using the return address. Thank you.

His essay had been awarded something…?

Saeran wouldn’t ever have guessed. This offer…. It was too good to pass up, he knew it. However, the thought of going back to Seoul… Could he really do that? Yoosung lived in Seoul still, Saeran knew that. It wasn’t exactly as if he could avoid the blond forever - no matter how much he wished he could, because it still hurt. His heart was still broken, still aching because Yoosung had wanted him to leave - Yoosung hadn’t loved him enough to ask him to stay, and Saeran couldn’t seem to forget such things

I love you… I love you, I miss you…

He has made up his mind. He would go to this event - go to Seoul - as the offer… He wanted to be an author. He wanted his books, his stories, his poems, to be published, to be seen as something wonderful in the eyes of the world. He wanted to be known, as someone other than the broken boy who couldn’t see the world with a smile and had the bleakest eyes - for his golden orbs hadn’t ever been vibrant.

Not like Saeyoung’s.

Brother.. Are you gone? Where are you, brother? Why have you left me all alone? Flowers lay by your body Untouched, untainted You lay there with eyes blank Where is the life they used to hold..? Goodbye, my brother, I wish you well I can only hope you’ll go to Heaven rather than Hell I should’ve saved you I should have been there For knowing I couldn’t keep you here… My soul edges into despair I love you, my brother I truly do.. And I know you love me Even when you, I cannot see And the engraving on the stone How truthful it is “Here lies Saeyoung Choi “A brother who will always be missed”

- The Love of a Brother, Saeran Choi

Hurt Broken You see it through my eyes Lonely Aching Yet you never really tried Hurt me Broke me Left me all alone My heart aching To return to my home I love you I miss you But do you really care? Every second away from you Has become a true nightmare

Death Destruction Pain Grief It came to me the second you caused me to leave Those I love have left me Those closest, I have lost So please, won’t you tell me… Why, by you, our love was tossed?

- Missing You, Saeran Choi

“Mr Choi!” Saeran glanced at the person who was shouting for him, sighing softly. It must’ve been time for him to go on stage. A curt nod came from the red head as he stepped onto the stage, looking at the crowd as he held his notebook in hand, open to a page filled with curly writing in disorganised lines - yet they made sense so perfectly to him. Among the crowd, he spotted someone, those purple eyes, piercing his soul as they looked at him.

Yoosung was there. Shit.

He thought nothing more, allowing his lips to upturn into a fake, charming grin before he began to read. Yes, he could do this - he wouldn’t let the presence of Yoosung deter him, no matter what!

“Love is simply a lonely thing Where our emotions are lost within Our eyes search for half a soul For the person whose arms we could call home Love is broken Every gift, every word, a simple token Of faked emotions and faked embrace Before all feelings disappear without trace Love is painful Love is abandonment Love is feeling like you’re nothing Love is feeling like you’ll drown Love is… Pleasant Love is having someone by your side To hold you, to kiss you, to hold your hand Love makes you feel like everything Love makes our world go around. If loving you is my last mistake I’ll do it with my head held high For everything I’ve said and done If it’s for you… It’s all worthwhile.”

It is later on, when he is mingling in the crowds, that Yoosung Kim finds Saeran Choi. Saeran’s hand is taken in a gentle grip, and those eyes look so calm that he could cry - how was Yoosung so calm? Had the younger never loved him..? Had he been right-? Yoosung, seeming to notice such emotions, leaned closer - and Saeran’s breathing hitched. He is shaking slightly, but the younger makes no move to leave him be.

”I never wanted you to leave, Saeran. I just wanted you to be happy.”

Lips are suddenly on his, and Saeran kisses back. His movements are feverish, as if his life depends on it - and he falls for Yoosung Kim all over again. The kiss is too short, Yoosung pulls away far too quickly. However, Saeran cannot help the stupid grin that spreads across his face and the joyful laughter spilling from his lips.

“I love you, Saeran.”

”Saranghae, Yoosung.”

#writing;ℓσνє мє ℓιкє α ℓєттєя fℓσαтιиg ιи тнє ωιи∂#old works;ѕєαѕσиѕ ¢нαиgє вυт ρєσρℓє ∂σи'т #Mystic Messenger #Saeran Choi #Yoosung Kim #Saeran x Yoosung

3 notes · View notes

skybrushus · 7 years

Photo

A scene from last night's foray into my Equestria dreamscape. I wanted to get down on paper right away today. This is not part of the current dream arc which will be resuming soon.

The clock in the hallway chimed midnight as Count Snowmane entered his study to retrieve a book from his library. The light from his horn and the pale blue glow of Luna's moon seeping in through the partially drawn curtains were the only illumination in the room. Everything else was swallowed in shadows.

His attention was so focused on locating a particular tome that he didn't immediately notice the increasing breeze from the open windows until a voice from the shadows spoke.

"Count Snowmane, could I have minute or two of yer time?"

Spinning around the Count flared the light orb he'd created although much of the room remained swathed in varying degrees of darkness and shadow.

"Who's there? Who dares enter my abode without first obtaining my permission?!" Hissed the middle age stallion.

"Forgive me fer not using the front door. I didn't want ta wake yer staff, and besides my Princess thought it might be a bit prudent ta have me a use more discreet methods ta arrive here."

A stronger gust of wind caused the curtains in the study to furl and flap like pennants in breeze. This allowed more of Luna's pale light pour into the room. Lying on her belly in furthest window bay was a filly in full plate armor. Even in the darkness the Count recognized her as Luna's student, Blade Mare, and close confidant Applebloom. The strange earth pony filly with so many unusual and ominous stories connected to her.

"What business do you have me with at this hour foal?" Asked the Count. "Besides why did Luna not summon me back to Night Court?" As he said this his horn flared again and several oil lamps came to life.

"My Princess felt it might be wise that this information be given ta ya in a more private setting. Then in court." Said the filly.

The light from the lamps shimmered and danced over the filly's armor, making it appear to be made of black obsidian. The Count finished lighting the final lamp and looked back at her.

"I don't believe I've seen you wear that set of plate before in court." He gave her gear a critical looking over. "In fact as former member of the Guard I've never seen a suit of plate like that before. Who was the smith that made it for you and how did you afford it? I know your clan has recently prospered under their newfound influence and access to the court, but a set of plate like that would have a heavy price and take time."

The filly smiled slightly at the stallion. "I didn't buy it, nor did any of my kin."

"So Luna raided the palace coffers for it? A rather blatant display of frivolous spending money if true."

Applebloom shook her head. "Nah! Neither her or her sister dropped a bit fer this here gear. A former enemy of mine paid fer it. All of it

Then stallion smirked. "Won a duel did you? Well my dear filly I'll give you credit. You know how to pick rich enemies to loot for pretty trinkets like that!"

It was Applebloom's turn to smirk. "Oh they paid for it in something far important precious than bits!"

In one smooth motion she rolled out of the window bay and on to her hoofs. Snowmane had not been kidding when he'd said he'd been in the Guard. For years he'd worn and seen others wear armor. He was familiar with the numerous clinks, click, clacks, and clunks that plate and chainmail made. This filly's armor made none of those sounds. It hissed, sighed, and moaned as little filly slowly strolled toward him. Stopping a few feet away from the Count she looked down at glistening plate. After a few seconds she spoke.

"They paid fer this with their freedom and their identity. They serve and protect me now. They live ta do my bidding Count. They are part of me now!"

Suddenly something that Count had been unable to put a hoof on became clear. There were no buckles, hinges, or straps on this suit of plate. It was as if it had been grown around the filly. Also even with the light from the lamps it was hard to exactly tell where the her hoofs ended and where the inky black pool of shadows around her began.

"So you've turned your enemy into your suit of armor?" He stared her slightly horrified. "Well I hope you quite comfortable in there." Chuckled the Count nervously. "Because without a can opener I don't see how you're get out of that suit! Anyone I know?

The filly cocked her head and smiled. "Oh not problem Count! Like said they do my bidding. They appear when I need them or fade away until I call upon them all. To whether you knew them, the answer is yes and no, but that is for another discussion some day. Besides they can take on several different forms!"

As Applebloom spoke her suit plate seemed to melt and flow around her, revealing the white laced collar of sleeveless white shirt she'd been wearing in court earlier that evening and the embroidered deep violet vest. However some of the material morphed into a black choker around her neck. Black, shiny boots about elbow length on her front legs. And what can only be described as a one piece pants/boots that glistened like pools of black ink. Once again Snowmane noticed it was difficult to tell where her hoofs ended and her shadow began.

He had to admit that this outfit definitely flattered her figure. It was what had caused him to notice her in court. She was apparently only 13 but the rigorous training she'd undergone had banished any of chubby roundness fillies often still had at her age, and in its place had left her with a very taut, and toned body. Perhaps this visit wasn't such a bother. After all her family hadn't made any arrangements for her marriage yet.

"Forgive my lack of manners Blade Mare. I have been a terrible host this evening! I have you offered you no refreshments." The stallion strolled over to a small wet bar in the study. "May I offer you a drink and then we discuss whatever it is that caused your Princess to send you out this late in the evening. Also I don't think I've gotten a chance to learn much about you besides the usual scuttlebutt one hears in the palace. Perhaps we can you use this time to help me get to know you and better understand what..."

The Count's voice tapered off as the shadow at Applebloom's hoofs rose like an angry serpent and snapped into the form of a scythe blade of shadow. Looking back at him the filly gave him a disapproving stare.

"Count my time is short, and besides I noticed in court how ya were looking at me. I don't think ya need ta know me any better than ya already do at the moment."

The stallion quickly nodded his head. "Um, yes. So what did Princess Luna want to discuss with me?"

#Baron-Engel #MLP #mlpfim #Dreamscape #dream warrior #apple bloom #equestria

15 notes · View notes

hannahberrie · 7 years

Text

Something That Finds You: Chapter 10

Fandom: Zootopia Pairing: Nick Wilde, Judy Hopps Rating: T WC: 3261 Summary: "Love isn't something you find. Love is something that finds you."

In a time of tension in the land of Zootopia, Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps are arranged to be married as a symbol of peace and unity. The only problem? They can't stand each other (the 8 year age gap doesn't help either). A story following Nick and Judy growing up together, through all the good and bad.

Chapter Selection: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9]-10-[11][12] [AO3]

Something had changed. Nick could sense it. Ever since their time at the waterfall, Judy was less hostile towards him, which was a relief. He’d never gotten that ink stain out of his pants, which was definitely difficult to explain to his mother, not to mention just annoying.

When her siblings asked him to share stories of his travels, he noticed that Judy, rather than throw him a dirty glare, would turn her ears in his direction, though her physical demeanor still feigned disinterest. When he cracked a joke under his breath during lessons, she was more likely to snort into her paws, instead of kicking him in the shins. This was probably the best development so far, because if there was one thing Judy could do well, it was kick. Hard.

He was happy that they were getting along better. The more time that passed, the more he started to see her not as a pipsqueak kit, but a fully-grown, confident young bunny. A bunny that was far more tolerable than he remembered, a bunny that he could actually sit down with and have a coherent conversation with. A bunny that he liked.

Not liked liked. No, no, no. The idea of marrying her, no matter how hard he willed himself to feel otherwise, was still unsavory. While an amiable relationship was beginning to bud between the two (at least, that’s what he hoped was happening), he still felt no romantic affections towards the bunny. All his life, he’d only found himself romantically attracted to vixens, and as far as he knew, that hadn’t changed yet. Which was fine. Their situation could be worse. Inky and kicky worse.

As Nick saw it, if they were going to be forced to marry, at least they could be friends. Hopefully.

He was stewing all of this over one afternoon, debating whether or not he should express any of this to her. The two were in the study, waiting for Miss Hufflethump to arrive for their lessons. Judy was seated beside him, fidgeting with the piece of parchment paper in front of her, attempting to fold it in several directions.

Nick cocked an eyebrow as he eyed her. “Whatcha up to, Fluff?”

Judy glanced at him before smiling sheepishly. “I…uh…it’s nothing,” she answered quickly, smoothing out the parchment in front of her.

“Didn’t look like nothing.”

“Well, that’s what it was!” Judy claimed defensively, voice rising several octaves. “I’m just…bored! Yes! I’m bored from waiting for Miss Hufflethump to get here.”

Nick gave a long, heavy sigh as if he’d been arguing with Judy for two hours instead of two seconds. “You’re such a bad liar, Fluff. It’s adorable.”

“I am not!”

“You so are.”

“I’m not adorable! …Or a bad liar.”

“Just remind me to never commit any crimes with ya’, Carrots,” Nick said dryly, giving her a wry grin. “At your rate, the constables would be on us within minutes.”

For a moment, he saw a flash of some unknown emotion flicker across her face, and she looked away from him, ears slumping against her back. She was upset about something. But what? Why? Had he touched a nerve? He was just kidding around…

“So…uh…,” Nick continued, clearing his throat, “What were you doing with that paper? For real, this time.”

Judy glanced at him before reluctantly speaking. “I was trying to…mukkappercne.”

Nick frowned and leaned closer. “You’re gonna have to speak up, Fluff — my ears aren’t as big as yours.”

“I was trying to make a paper crane!” Judy repeated loudly, voice sounding torn between laughter and annoyance.

“Ah hah,” Nick smirked, leaning back in his chair. “So my skills do impress you.”

“No!” Judy insisted, voice rising again. He noticed that her nose twitched when she was lying, a useful bit of information he would have to store away for if he was ever to play cards with her.

“C’mere,” Nick motioned, beckoning her to lean closer, pay attention. He took the piece of parchment from her and walked her through the assembly of a crane, step-by-step. Once, mid-teach, he stopped to look up at her and caught sight of her wide, violet eyes, saw them move with every turn and press of his paws. She was completely focused, totally engrossed in learning every step.

It was cute.

“And there ya’ have it!” Nick finished, turning his attention back to his now finished paper crane. “One parchment bird, courtesy of Nick Wilde.”

Judy rolled her eyes but smiled. “Show-off.”

“You asked, Fluff!”

“I never asked you to show me!”

“Not verbally,” Nick admitted, “but your eyes!”

Judy blinked at him coyly, teasingly. “What about my eyes?”

Nick suddenly felt a wave of…something brush over him. His fur bristled and he felt his stomach flip. Nausea, probably, he reminded himself. That carrot omelet he’d had this morning was all kinds of weird. “Well, they give everything away. They’re your tell.”

“My tell?”

“A way for someone to tell when you’re lying,” He explained.

Judy snorted. “So I should just close my eyes every time I lie?”

“Yup.”

Judy burst out laughing, no doubt picturing how ridiculous that would look. “You’re so dumb!” She giggled, paws fiddling with the paper crane he’d made her.

Nick felt that weird sensation again, listening to her laugh. Stupid omelet. “Says the bunny.”

Judy nudged him just as Miss Hufflethump entered the room, causing both the bunny and fox to straighten in their seats. As she prepared her lesson materials at the front of the room, Nick’s mind returned to where it’d been earlier today, about marrying as friends. He wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but maybe this was something that they should discuss. Not that he was one to talk about his feelings, ever. But if they were going to spend the rest of their lives together…

“Hey, Fluff?” Nick muttered, causing her to turn to him.

“Yes?” She whispered back.

“Can we…uh…I wanted to ask you if—”

“Let’s begin!” Miss Hufflethump said loudly, cutting off the fox mid-sentence.

Judy gave him an apologetic look and turned her attention to the front of the room.

“We’ve spent the past months talking about social matters,” the elder bunny said, pushing her glasses up with a lace-gloved paw. “But now, I think it’s time we moved onto more interpersonal, intimate matters.”

Nick felt himself freeze. Wait a minute.

“Now, one of the most important components to running a successful household is to produce many heirs!” Miss Hufflethump began.

Nick heard Judy’s breath catch in her throat, felt her fidget in her seat.

No. Nope. Nick wasn’t here right now. This wasn’t happening. Not with Judy seated literal INCHES away from him.

If Nick wasn’t blushing enough already, his cheeks nearly lit on fire once the elder bunny started drawing diagrams on the blackboard.

Yes. Diagrams.

As if that wasn’t enough, their instructor went on to describe exactly how the betrothed couple would go about following these diagrams, so that they could produce as many heirs as possible, all in far more graphic, scientific detail than Nick ever wanted to hear in his life.

“Now there’s never been a fox and bunny couple in recorded history, at least not that we know of,” Miss Hufflethump concluded, turning took look back at their slack-jawed faces, “So your coupling will be quite experimental!”

“Experimental?” Judy croaked, voice sounding hoarse.

“Yes, my dear! Since the odds aren’t necessarily in your favor, you two will have to try to procreate vigorously!”

Nick and Judy didn’t make eye contact for the rest of the day.

By far, late-summer was Judy’s favorite time of year for one, slightly predictable reason: it was carrot season. Nick could tease her all he wanted, but carrot season was exciting. The brown fields of Bunnyburrow, still faded from the summer heat, had begun to sprout little sprigs of green carrot tops. The blueberries patches were bright arrays of indigo and leafy greens, and the apple trees glistened with their ruby fruits in the warm summer sun.

To celebrate the upcoming plentiful Bunnyburrow harvest, the newly annual Carrot Days festival was to be held. It was the biggest thing to happen in Bunnyburrow since the Unity Proclamation (which wasn’t saying much, since those two events were the only big things to happen in Bunnyburrow). Mammals from all over the land of Zootopia would travel to Bunnyburrow for lively games, delicious foods, and jovial entertainment. Last year, Judy had met mammals from all walks of life, and from all parts of Zootopia. Some had even traveled all the way from Tundra Town and Sahara Square, just for the festival. It was almost as exciting as Christmas. Maybe even a little more so.

That was why when August rolled around, Judy completely devoted herself to planning for Carrot Days. She helped the artists design the banners, she organized the layout of the food stands, she made a schedule of all the entertainers’ performances, she did the calculations for how many blueberry pies would be needed for the pie-eating contest…

Needless to say, she was one busy bunny. If she wasn’t in lessons with Hufflethump and Nick, she was doing something for the festival. Anything, no matter how big or small. She wanted it all to be perfect.

“You’re overworking yourself, Jude,” her father lamented one evening over dinner. “Why don’t cha leave it to the help to do that kind of running around?”

“It is a little strange for a lady to do those kinds of things,” her mother agreed, “You should be planning what you’ll wear! The tailor is designing such lovely dresses for all your sisters…”

“That stuff is boring!” Judy huffed, poking at her carrots with a fork, “I like being active in the celebration! I want to actually make a difference!”

“Judith—”

“I happen to think Carro—Judy is doing a great job,” Nick said suddenly, causing her parents to look over at him in surprise. Throughout the whole dinner, he’d been rather quiet, observing the conversation with a passive indifference, choosing to let his mother chat up the rest of the Hopps family. But now that he was speaking, he had everyone’s undivided attention. “I mean, did you see the banners she designed? They’re amazing. We’re talking real high-quality banners here — the best I’ve ever seen, honestly.”

Some of Judy’s siblings snorted into their paws, trying to stifle their giggles. Even Lady Hopps couldn’t help but crack a smile at Nick’s wry quips. Judy’s father mumbled surly comments under his breath, but relented, evidently deciding it wasn’t worth an argument.

Judy beamed happily, thankful that she wasn’t going to receive yet another lecture on how she wasn’t the perfect lady-in-training. All thanks to…Nick?

The bunny took a tentative glance upwards and across the table, making eye contact with Nick for a single moment, and exchanging a smile for even less time than that. And in that single second of mutual solidarity, Judy couldn’t deny that it felt…nice.

Really nice.

After dinner, Judy retreated to the orchards. The sun was still on the cusp of setting, leaving the sky a bright orange and pink hue. She’d been hard at work picking blueberries earlier that day when dinner time had interrupted her. Now, she was free to finish without any interruptions. At least she was, until…

“Hiya, Carrots!”

Judy didn’t even have to look to know who had followed her. “What do you want, Nick?” She asked, not turning to face him. She was too busy counting how many baskets of blueberries she had filled.

“I don’t have to want something to talk to you, Judith,” Nick smirked, letting every last syllable of her full name fall off his tongue. “I just thought I might help you out with…what exactly is it that you’re doing?”

Judy turned to eye him over her shoulder. “Carrot Days is only 3 days away! These blueberries need to be delivered to the bakers in town. I was helping the staff pick some earlier, and now they just left them out here! They need to be loaded onto the carriages so they’re ready to be delivered tomorrow morning!”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “And this is your responsibility because…?”

“Because if I don’t help it won’t get done!” Judy insisted, pointing to the baskets of blueberries around her feet, so as to further emphasize her point. “This festival has to go perfectly!”

“Right…” Nick replied, sounding unconvinced. He walked over to the nearest bush and plucked a pawful of blueberries off, tossing them one by one into his mouth. ‘So what exactly is this Carrot Days thing?” He asked, mouth full of fruit.

“It’s a festival!” Judy replied. She had to stop herself from chastising him for eating potential pie ingredients. “To celebrate Bunnyburrow’s harvests!”

“I don’t remember it.”

“That’s because it’s new, my family came up with the idea 3 years ago. Now it’s an annual tradition.”

“And your latest obsession.”

“I’m not obsessed!” Judy exclaimed, voice getting all high-pitched again. She hated when that happened. “I’m not,” she repeated, voice more controlled this time.

“Well, it’s all you’ve been talking about for the past couple days.”

“No!”

“Oh, you’re right, sorry. I meant to say weeks.”

Judy rolled her eyes. “I just want it to go well, alright? It’s such an amazing festival…and it’s one of the only ‘unladylike’ things my parents will let me do.”

“Ah hah! There it is!” Nick smiled, pointing a finger at her. “While most teenagers act out by sneaking rum or egging buildings, you rebel by carting buckets of blueberries around. It all makes sense now.”

Judy felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. “Shut up!” She huffed, unable to stop herself from smiling. “You’re so dumb.”

The two exchanged a light laugh that quickly died down into an awkward silence. Judy found herself staring at her feet, wondering what to say next. This was certainly different, as in the past, every moment between them had been charged with bickering and resentment.

Thankfully, the awkwardness didn’t last long, as Nick chose to break the silence. “Actually, there is something specific I came out here to talk about,” he said slowly, not quite looking at her.

“Oh?” Judy questioned, “And what is that?”

Nick shuffled his feet in place for a moment. Judy could practically hear him turning over his words in his head, carefully picking out and arranging his sentences. “Listen, Fluff,” the fox said slowly, carefully. “I know you’re not thrilled about the whole being-forced-to-marry-me thing. I know I’m not. But we don’t have to make it harder on ourselves.”

Judy eyed him cautiously. “What are you suggesting?”

Nick paused again. Judy couldn’t help but notice that his already orange fur looked especially fiery in the glow of the sunset. “I wanna be friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah, ya’ know, that kind of relationship where people mutually like each other?” A smirk grew on his face as his voice settled into his usual confident, couldn’t-care-less tone. “I guess I can’t really expect you to understand what a friend is, considering you don’t— ”

“Shut up!” Judy leaned forward and gave him a light punch in the arm before he could finish his jab. “I have friends, dumb fox.”

“The point is,” Nick smiled, rubbing at his arm slightly, “Even though we’re not in love, I think we could still try to view this whole wedding title as just that: a title. It doesn’t mean we should try to force ourselves to feel things that we don’t.”

Judy mulled over his words, not quite sure how to feel. It was true that she didn’t have any romantic feelings towards Nick, at least, not that she thought. She’d always thought that she’d just have to force the feelings out of her, just like she was forced to do everything else asked of her. It never occurred to her that there was another option.

“So…you’re suggesting…what are you suggesting, exactly?” Judy frowned. Her head was starting to hurt.

“That we can be pleasant to each other! If we’re going to be stuck together for the rest of our lives, at least we can be stuck together as friends.”

Judy’s eyes widened.

“Not like that!” Nick insisted, raising his paws and flushing even redder. “This has nothing to do with…heirs, or anything like that. I don’t know what we’re going to do about that. But I just want us to be friends! If I can’t marry someone I love, at least I could marry someone that I can at least hang out with, and talk with. Someone to have fun with.”

Judy hesitated. The idea held up so many complications — what were they going to do about heirs? And would this mean they would see other people in secret? Judy didn’t think she wanted to do that. The idea of Nick doing that bugged her on a deeper level. And what about their parents? They would still expect her and Nick to be a perfectly in love couple. That love would find them and they’d live happily ever after. But if it never did, then what? Wouldn’t they find out? Would it even matter, at this point?

All the questions and worries made Judy’s head hurt, and yet, when she took a moment to take a deep breath, it wasn’t that complicated at all. Nick was simply extending an olive branch, trying to call a truce and make the best of a difficult situation.

And if the choice was marrying a friend or marrying someone she refused to have any feelings for, Judy definitely would choose the former.

“So whaddya say?” Nick asked, holding out his paw to her. “Friends?”

Judy nodded and smiled, grasping his paw and shaking it. “Friends.”

Nick gave her a smile, one of the few (but increasingly frequent), genuine smiles. Judy returned the affection, pulling away only when she felt her gut flip in her stomach, for some reason. “So, uh, can you help me carry these baskets to the carriages?” Judy asked, turning her focus back to the blueberries. “I don’t think they should be left out here all night.”

“Nah, I think you’ve got it pretty much covered,” Nick replied casually, slipping his paws into his pockets. “Besides, you’re so good at carrying things all on your own. I wouldn’t want to come between you and your natural, God-given talent, now would I?”

Judy gave him a look.

“Alright, alright, if you insist,” Nick sighed, bending down to pick up a basket. He winced under the weight, eyeing Judy incredulously as she lifted hers with ease. “Anything for my bunny wifey.”

“I’m not your wifey.”

“Future wifey.”

Judy flicked a blueberry at his head.

#wildehopps #zootopia #berrie fics #zootopia fanfiction #wildehopps fanfiction #disney fanfiction #arranged marriage au #wilde hopps #nick x judy #judy x nick #zoo 3 fic

31 notes · View notes