#like she could morph herself to look/feel completely human but maybe not the whole white rings and stuff

[stormhaven257]

So you know how people say that Danny is more powerful than Vlad because he died slowly to prolonged exposure while Danny died in an instant? Well you also know that most people say ghosts form when someone dies around ambient ectoplasm and usually the more ectoplasm the more powerful?

Well what if the reason Danny is more powerful is because he died instantly to the force of the entire ghost zone being forcibly shoved into his body. Unlike Vlad, Danny died to a fully functioning ghost portal that had a shit load of ectoplasm running through it at all times. Vlad had a small (but probably condensed) amount of ectoplasm shoved into every orifice of his body that they tried to remove.

Danny could be considered a perfect halfa- he was dead and alive at the same time, he was in the ghost zone and was in the human world at the same time too. Vlad was partly on both accounts.

But that's just my thoughts on the whole thing- I want to talk about Dani but she's... a bit harder to explain.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 9: Terrors and Delights of the Great Unknown

Chapter Summary: Claire gets her first taste of the human world.

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Chapter 9: Terrors and Delights of the Great Unknown

***

Claire clung tightly to his hand as he led her through the streets of Inverness. Her eyes were huge as watermelons, pupils blown wide as she tried to take in all the sensations assaulting her. 

Jamie thought the buildings were the first shock she was trying to come to terms with. Her neck craned up to look at them, glancing nervously at their looming presence all around them. She’d seen Jamie’s house, of course, but that was nothing like the crowded buildings of the city. Her eyes glanced upward toward the sky— likely grounding herself with the one familiar aspect. Much to Jamie’s delight, she then glanced toward him, and peace flashed across her face. 

If Jamie’s nearness offered comfort akin to the sky, he could die happy. 

The buildings were quickly overshadowed by the disconcerting nature of the people around them. She shied toward him— her body pressing to his side like it was her refuge— every time another person passed, even if they were meters away. Some of the passersby gave her strange looks, apparently seeing her odd behavior (not to mention her attire) which completely unnerved Claire. In addition to never having interacted with another human save Jamie, she was used to being invisible to them. The puir wee thing trembled at his side, but bravely continued on. 

“Dinna fash, they’ll no’ harm ye,” Jamie reassured quietly. 

She gave him a wordless nod, lips pressed tightly together, and continued to meld herself to his side. She no longer stared like a deer in headlights at every person close by, but he could tell she still snuck wary glances at those who wandered near. 

As they continued to walk on the cobblestone street, passing by shop windows with elaborate decorations and advertisements, Claire’s anxiety gradually subsided. She began to sneak peeks at the shops as they passed, and Jamie smiled to himself. As the trepidation was replaced more by curiosity, she melted inch by inch. Soon, her death grip on his hand became one of simple connection. She would pause every once in a while to study a shop window, tugging on Jamie’s hand to get him to stop. 

He catered to her every whim, even when she wanted to stop and run her hands reverently over the bricks of one building for several minutes while he struggled to explain the basics of construction. 

During their (very slow) progress down the street, a broad smile gradually formed on those bonny pink lips. Her eyes now wide with intrigue, Claire was coming alive. 

It lightened his heart immensely to see her beginning to enjoy herself and overcome her apprehension. At first, he’d worried to himself that it would all be too much for her— that maybe he’d scare her away from the human world with this single traumatic experience. But that wasn’t the case, and his own anxiety had eased along with hers. He delighted in watching her explore the world with endearing enthusiasm. 

He was pulled to a stop once again as Claire peered into the window of an ice cream shop. 

“What is this place?” she asked in wonder. 

“Och, ‘tis a place where they make food— a special kind called ice cream that humans particularly enjoy.” Jamie was starting to get better at his explanations, trying to boil them down to the simplest things she would understand. (That was more difficult than he would have imagined, mind, because a usual explanation for ice cream would have included descriptors such as “dessert” and “sweet”, but Claire of course lacked the background knowledge for that to make any sense.)

She nodded at his words but didn’t tear her eyes away from the displays of colorful ice cream inside. A smile spread across his face as he watched her take it in, his heart swelling with affection yet again for his strange lass. 

“God, I wish ye ate. If this were a movie ye ken there’d be a grand scene where I take ye inside and ye’d experience ice cream for the first time, yer world lightin’ up the instant ye taste it,” he said to himself. 

She did tear her eyes away then, to give him a furrowed-brow look of bewilderment. 

“What?” 

Jamie laughed and shook his head. “Dinna mind me, Sassenach,” he dismissed with a chuckle. 

They continued on at their snail’s pace, but before long, Jamie was nearly hauled off his feet by Claire abruptly stopping in front of a trash can. 

“What’s this?” she inquired as she reached a hand toward the nearly overflowing bin. 

“Dinna touch it,” he pulled her back rather forcefully by their joined hands, and he felt bad when she instantly latched onto his side again, thinking it harmful because of his forceful response. Her fingers were clutching his shirt in a white-knuckled grip.  

“It’s no’ dangerous,” he quickly amended, “that’s jes’ what humans do with waste. Things that arena good any more or they dinna need.” 

“Why don’t they need all these things?” Claire asked in confusion, squinting her eyes at the contents. 

Jamie wasn’t sure exactly how to answer that. “Weel, did ye no’ have things that once served a purpose but then no longer did?” 

She peered up at him and gave a shake of her head. 

“The Earth provides what we need, and when we’re done, it returns to the earth to be used again.” 

“Aye, that’s a good way to live,” Jamie murmured. 

Claire still seemed disturbed by the trash as they began walking again, but she soon forgot all about it as more things caught her attention. A passing bicycle brought up a whole new conversation, and Jamie had to chuckle to himself imagining his graceful faerie bumbling around the pedals and clinging to the handlebars. Maybe someday… 

Finally— after taking more than three times the amount of time it would have taken the average person to go this short distance— they arrived at the wee thrift shop, tucked on the corner. 

Jamie knew the owner, a Mrs. Fitz, who was a very distant relative of his. Although to be fair, everyone in the highlands was practically related. As Jamie pushed open the door and led Claire inside, the little bell rang in welcome and Mrs. Fitz instantly popped up from behind a rack of clothes, her face shining with enthusiasm. 

“Och, Jamie, lad!” she exclaimed, “it’s sae good t’ see ye!” 

She clasped both her hands over her chest in delight and gave him a wide smile. The shopkeeper quickly bustled over to him, arms outstretched for a hug. But as he tried to withdraw his hand from Claire’s, she stubbornly refused to release him, so he was left giving Mrs. Fitz an odd, one-armed side hug. 

Drawing back, she seemed to notice Claire for the first time, and blinked at her for a second. 

“Ah, and who is this ye have wi’ ye?” she asked Jamie. She looked pointedly down at their clasped hands, up at Jamie, and then back at Claire. 

He looked on in amusement as Mrs. Fitz truly took in Claire’s appearance— the wee lass standing there in his huge jacket, sagging sweatpants, and feet clad in socks and sandals. Mrs. Fitz’ eyes seemed to bulge as she looked at her, and Jamie realized he’d better give an excuse before the shopkeeper combusted. 

“This is my… friend, Claire. She’s visitin’ but lost her luggage, and we need tae get her all new stuff. Could ye maybe help us out?” 

Mrs. Fitz’ agog morphed quickly into a motherly look of sympathy. 

“Ye puir thing, of course we’ll get ye everythin’ ye need.” 

She made toward Claire as if she was about to hug her and then lead her toward the racks, but Claire hastily took a step away, bumping into Jamie in the process. 

“No’ a hugger I see, no problem,” Mrs. Fitz said accommodatingly with hands raised. 

Instead, she simply turned on her heel and headed over toward the first rack in sight— jeans. 

Claire was quiet, looking around the room abstractedly and not paying the slightest bit of attention as Mrs. Fitz prattled on about the pants, speculating about Claire’s size and which might best suit her. Jamie was trying to answer the questions on her behalf, but was distracted by the look on Claire’s face, which had suddenly lit up as something caught her eye. 

For the first time the entire trip, she let go of Jamie’s hand. (The moment felt absurdly monumental, and he found himself feeling empty without the sensation of her hand clasped in his). He resisted the impulse to gape at her with an open mouth as she wandered across the room with rather astounding boldness. Then, he spotted exactly what it was that had caught her attention. 

A gauzy white dress hung on a display hanger, it’s hem fluttering just in the slightest from the air vent above it. 

“I like this,” she announced, halting Mrs. Fitz from her perusal of the jeans. 

“Och, a dress lass, are ye? Well I think that’d suit ye jes’ fine. Why dinna ye try it on while I grab some others I think might work for ye?” 

Jamie quickly thanked her and took Claire’s elbow, steering her in the direction of the dressing room. 

“Ye can change into it back here to be sure it fits,” Jamie murmured into her ear. 

In one fluid motion, he opened the curtain of the dressing room, shoved the dress into her arms, herded her inside, and then closed the curtain again. Every second Mrs. Fitz wasn’t studying her made it more likely they’d get through this without arousing too many questions. 

It took Claire a rather long time to change, he thought. Although she did have a lot of layers to peel off. While she was still inside the changing room, Mrs. Fitz returned and deposited an armful of dresses into Jamie’ lap, all in the same size as the one Claire had picked. 

The shopkeeper was just about to open her mouth to ask him something when the bell over the door rang and she scurried away to greet the other customer. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. 

It was then that the curtain flew open and Claire emerged, clad in her white dress. 

Jamie nearly had a stroke on the spot. 

She was divine. The white dress fit her perfectly, clinging to her curves down to her waist where it flared out into the draping of the skirt, the hem falling to just below her knees. A hint of cleavage teased at the neckline, skin creamy-white and looking oh-so soft. She swayed gently back and forth with a faint smile, and the gauzy material of the skirt flowed around her with the movement. It was as if the dress had been made for her. 

Under the bright lighting of the shop, Claire’s glow seemed muted to him, although certainly still there. It seemed to accentuate the perfection of the white dress and her dark hair that flowed down her shoulders in sharp contrast— giving her the air of an angel. 

Jamie was astounded. 

Unaware of how speechless she’d left him, Claire asked shyly, “do you like it?” 

He had to swallow three times before his dry throat was capable of answering her. 

“Ye look beautiful,” he forced out. 

She beamed, twirling around in excitement— which made the skirt billow up around her— and then suddenly she was launching herself at Jamie. Claire hugged him tightly, bare feet on tip-toes as she tried to reach up to be closer to him. 

“Thank you, Jamie,” she breathed warmly. 

He was ecstatic that something as simple as a new dress could make her this happy. 

Mrs. Fitz chose that exact moment to return, her footsteps pattering over and barging in on what Jamie considered a rather private moment. 

“Oh, my dear!” she exclaimed as Claire and Jamie parted, “ye look breathtakin.” 

Jamie couldn’t have agreed with her more. 

Claire flushed, eyelashes lowering demurely, and quietly thanked her. She had barely gotten the words out when Mrs. Fitz began shoving a couple pairs of shoes into her hands. Then, just like the whirlwind she was, Mrs. Fitz breezed off again. 

Jamie handed Claire another dress to try on and took all but one pair of the shoes from her. Then, he sat back down to wait. 

When Claire next emerged, she was wearing a black sundress with a floral design. Although the hem was above the knee, it wasn’t quite as form-fitting or astonishingly perfect for her (although he thought everything suited her, of course), so Jamie managed to better keep his composure this time. 

But the moment she turned around to show him the back, Jamie’s heart stopped beating and his blood ran cold in shock. 

He all but tackled her inside the dressing room, falling in after her and then frantically slamming the curtain closed. Once Claire was safely behind him in the privacy of the fitting room, Jamie peeked out a little to ensure no other customer had seen. 

Then, he very slowly turned back toward Claire, whose big honey eyes were staring up at him in question. 

He didn’t address her. Instead, very gently, he placed his hands on Claire’s shoulders and turned her so he could look at her back again. 

The sundress had a low back— a very low back— which exposed the two delicate appendages there.  

Wings. 

Transparent, beautifully fragile— wings. That laid perfectly flat against her back and shoulders. 

Jamie reached a finger out, mesmerized, to gently trace the outline of them. 

But the second he made contact with the edge of one, she let out a little squeal and jerked away. 

Jamie withdrew his hand as if he was burned, clutching it to his chest in shame. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldna have—” 

“It’s alright,” she said as she turned to face him, “I just wasn’t expecting… Is that why you shoved me in here? My wings?” 

Jamie blinked several times, trying to get his brain to catch up to the situation. 

Of course she had wings. She was a faerie after all. 

The sound of his name jerked him back to reality, and he realized he’d never answered her. 

“You have wings!” he exclaimed daftly, still failing to answer her question and merely staring at her, open-mouthed with astonishment. 

“Oh,” she said, glancing behind her at her back casually, as if checking to see they were still there, “of course I have wings. Purely decorative though, I’m afraid.” 

Jamie was still struck dumb, but he longed to look at them again. The dressing room was too small for him to be able to walk around her, so he simply reached out and turned her a second time. 

They were beautiful. Heartbreakingly delicate looking. He could see through them everywhere except where the veins laced through, like a butterfly’s wing. The edges curved gracefully up toward her shoulders, ending in a point. It took all his willpower to resist the urge to touch them again without permission. They laid flat against her back, and he wondered distantly if she could move them. 

As if sensing his curiosity, they suddenly fluttered back toward him— nearly hitting him in the face— and Jamie jolted backward with a surprised laugh. 

Claire shot him an amused look from over her shoulder, and fluttered them again in demonstration. 

“They’re… beautiful,” he breathed reverently. 

“Thanks,” she replied bashfully, “I always thought them dull, really. Some fae have much grander wings, mine are rather small.” 

Jamie couldn’t bear to hear any disparaging remarks aimed at the perfection that was Claire, and he made a Scottish sound of derision deep in his throat. 

“Everythin’ about ye is perfect,” he stated firmly. 

Her wings had settled back flat on her back by this point, and Claire turned around to face him, cheeks adorned with a becoming blush as she adjusted the straps of her sundress over her shoulders again. 

“Well…” Jamie said, eying her up and down, “as bonny as ye look in this dress, I’m afraid we canna buy it for fear of exposin’ ye to the world. Ye’re no’ exactly verra inconspicuous...” 

Claire bit her lip, perhaps embarrassed about forgetting that minor detail when she’d showed him outside. But he was quick to reassure her. 

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. No one saw ye earlier. Yer secret’s safe wi’ me.” 

He tried to give her a wink, which he was aware was a skill at which he was woefully inept, and she burst out laughing at his attempt. 

In that moment, he wanted more than anything to lean down and press his smile to hers. 

Before he could do anything foolish like act on the impulse, he quickly ducked out of the dressing room, eyes still fixed on Claire. 

He slipped backward through the slit at the edge of the curtain… and right into Mrs. Fitz. 

Stumbling away from her, he whirled around to find the shopkeeper with her hands on her hips, face red with admonishment. 

“James Fraser,” she uttered in a menacing voice that indicated he was in big trouble, “I understand that ye’re infatuated with yon lassie, but I canna believe that ye’d engage in— in— such depravity. In my shop!” 

Jamie fell back a step, hands raised defensively. 

“I wasna…” 

But Mrs. Fitz wasn’t having any of it. “I wilna condone such behavior, especially not in public when other customers are around. I’m appalled by your behavior, Jamie Fraser—” 

When she paused for breath in her tirade, face growing redder by the second, Jamie took the opportunity of the minute gap to jump in, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fitz, but I promise we werena doin’ anythin’ untoward. Listen, we’ll take the lot and be out of yer hair.” 

Jamie gestured frantically toward the pile of dresses and shoes, then reached into his pocket for his wallet. He produced a wad of cash and held it out toward Mrs. Fitz like a peace offering. 

She looked him up and down for a long moment, eying him and the money with narrowed eyes. Jamie thought for a second that he’d be taking Claire home empty handed, but then Mrs. Fitz reached out and snatched the cash from his hands. 

“I want you out,” she said curtly. 

Jamie nodded frantically and instinctively backed away a step. Without breaking wary eye contact with Mrs. Fitz, he called into Claire, “get dressed, a nighean, we’re leaving.” 

With that, Mrs. Fitz turned on her heel and stalked away, as if she couldn’t stand to be in the presence of such a depraved lecher for one more second. Jamie sighed to himself. All of Inverness would be hearing about this within the day… no way he could hide Claire from Jenny for long. 

A minute later, Claire emerged from the dressing room, clutching the jacket to her chest. 

“Jamie, what—?” She started to ask. 

But Jamie cut her off by simply taking her hand and tugging her toward the door, his other arm juggling their purchases (which of course he had no bag for since there was no way he’d push his luck asking for one). 

Once they were safely outside in the Scottish gloom, Jamie slowed down— realizing he had been dragging the puir lass nearly off her feet in his haste to be gone. 

“What—?” She tried to ask again. 

“Nothin’ tae fash about, a nighean,” Jamie assured her, “it was only a wee misunderstandin’ wi’ Mrs. Fitz. But hopefully these dresses will do.” 

Claire, bless her, tended to take Jamie at his word, and so she didn’t press him for any more details. Quite honestly, her trust in his dismissals of things was a breath of fresh air in contrast to his sister Jenny’s stifling desire to wring every last bit of information from him. He wondered distantly just how long Claire’s innocence on this front would last. But for now she was content to let him take the lead with all things human, and he was happy to take it. 

Jamie’s strides were still long and hurried as he brought Claire back toward the car. Thankfully, she was unresisting— she’d probably had enough exploring for one day. Although Jamie knew he hadn’t actually done anything wrong (save going in the dressing room with a fully clothed lass— because she had wings for pete’s sake!), he still felt like a young lad caught with his pants down around his ankles. He wanted to be away from the shop and the talk that surely would be following in their wake. 

The stream of thoughts that occupied Jamie’s brain was interrupted by Claire tripping and nearly toppling over onto the cobbles stones. 

“Woah, lass,” tumbled from Jamie’s mouth at the same time as the pile of clothes on his arm started to fall to the ground. 

With an impressive feat of juggling, he managed to pull Claire upright with one hand and only lose a couple dresses and one pair of shoes with the other. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, letting go of Jamie’s hand so she could stoop down and pick up the fallen items. When she straightened, she pulled at the legs of her sweatpants in frustrated illustration as she said, “I keep tripping over these.” 

“Weel, ye needna suffer them any longer, a nighean,” he laughed, and he lifted the shoulder holding the new clothes, “let’s find ye somewhere tae change.” 

The “somewhere” Jamie settled on was an old bookshop. It was right across the street, so Jamie simply herded his wee faerie inside, trying to make his armful of items look as discrete and nonchalant as possible. 

The bookstore was old and musty. Something about it had a feeling of another time, as if the world stopped the moment you stepped in. The bookshelves were crowded, with only narrow aisles between, and every one was stuffed to the brim with books. The lighting was rather dim, and Jamie had to squint his eyes a bit as he took it all in. Spotting the front desk, he brought Claire over to it. 

Attending the shop was a woman nearly the same age as Jamie, with long red hair that cascaded down her narrow shoulders and over a name tag that read “Geillis”. When she looked up at them, he saw that she had the most startling shade of green eyes. Almost like a cat’s, he thought distantly. Something about her prickled the tiny hairs on the back of Jamie’s neck. 

But she greeted them quite warmly. 

“Good day, how can I be assistin’ ye?” she asked with a bright smile. 

“We’re jes’ needin’ a place tae change, do ye have a loo?” 

The lass, Geillis, eyed him up and down for a long moment before her gaze flicked to Claire. To his astonishment, the lasses made steady eye contact for a long stretch of time, green meeting whisky, and then she suddenly broke it to smile politely at Jamie. 

“Of course,” she said, “we canna have yer hen paradin’ around Inverness in that outfit, can we? It’s on the far side.” She pointed helpfully in the direction. 

“Thank ye,” Jamie said, and quickly dragged Claire off. 

After seeing her inside the bathroom to change into her white dress and new shoes, Jamie took to perusing the shelves. All the books were old, likely this was a secondhand shop, and mostly titles he didn’t recognize. He became absorbed in the looking, though, so much so that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a figure appeared beside him. 

“Find anythin’ interesting?” Geillis asked. 

Jamie quickly composed himself after the fright, and answered, “eh… jes’ lookin’. Quite an assortment of titles ye have here.” 

He ran a finger over the spine of one of the books. 

“Quite,” she agreed, “I take pride in procuring the selection.” 

“Ye own the shop then?” Jamie asked. 

A nod in confirmation. “My name’s Geillis Duncan, nice tae meet ye,” she said, extending her hand. 

Jamie took it, shaking amicably, and replied, “James Fraser.” 

“It appears ye and yer lass have had quite the… adventure…?” She said with raised brows and a glint in her eye. 

“Oh, she’s not my—“ but Jamie cut himself off, finding that he didn’t have it in him to deny the thing he so desperately wanted. Instead, he finished lamely, “aye, we have.”

He wasn’t exactly sure what compelled him to admit it, but he suddenly added, “honestly, I’m at a bit of a loss.”  

At that moment, the door to the washroom opened, and Claire emerged, clad in her white dress. As she made her way toward them, a book was suddenly shoved into his hand. 

He looked down in surprise, and then up at Geillis. 

“This one is on me,” she whispered, drawing close to his ear, “read it carefully, fox.” 

Bewildered, he didn’t have any reply. And apparently he didn’t need one. Because he had glanced over at Claire, and when he looked back toward Geillis, she was gone. 

“Ready?” Claire asked as she reached him. 

Jamie shook himself out of his startlement at the shopkeeper's abrupt disappearance and gave Claire a smile. 

“Aye, lass.” 

Hand in hand again, they walked out of the shop, the book Geillis had given him still tucked under his arm. 

*

Next

[devil-baker]

Ladies event: Beelzebub

(Everyone say thank you to @boxbusiness for such awesome lady designs!)

It arrived unexpectedly. Crept up on Elaine in the middle of the day, weeding its way into the back of her mind.

‘Why am I here?’ The thought came out of seemingly nowhere. Of course, it had a logical enough answer, but the question persisted in her head until it morphed into ‘Why me?’

Then it was like a downpour. A few drops at first before the buckets began to splash down. Thoroughly soaking everything, beginning to flood, even.

At the end of the school day, Elaine stared down as she made her way back to the House of Lamentation. Her thoughts were becoming a maelstrom, a dark, tar-like maelstrom that was beginning to suffocate her.

‘I’m pathetic. Why am I still alive? What is my worth? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I’ll live, then I’ll die, and everyone I knew, even the immortal ones, will forget about me. Everything shall be forgotten eventually, not just me. So why do I try? Why am I that eager to please? Why do I do this? I know it will just be a matter of time before I screw up something. I really am selfish, aren’t I. Thinking I’m actually special, when there are folks who are actually making impacts and meanwhile I’m here with nothing but my damn genetics to vouch for me, and even then, that’s just riding along on someone else’s reputation.’

Elaine put on a plastic smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she was greeted by Beel, munching away on her after-school snack mountain composed of 17 servings of scrambled platypus eggs, 28 grilled harpy breasts, 20 bowls of pasta salad, 21 Devil cheese sandwiches, and rice.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine, thanks,” Elaine chuckled. “Just tired. And I’ve got a ton of homework to do tonight. I’m off to take a nap, ‘kay?”

As soon as she was out of Beel’s line of sight, Elaine’s smile dropped and she felt as though she may fall over. Upon reaching her room and closing the door, she let out a tremulous sigh and rubbed at her face. She didn’t have the energy to take a shower, but then again, Elaine wasn’t all that terribly in need of one. So she opted instead to give her face a quick wash, peel off her uniform and swap it for her fleece pajamas, and crawl into bed.

It seemed to take hours before Elaine fell asleep. In fact, she didn’t realize that she had fallen asleep until a knock at her door awoke her with a start. She sat up.

“Uh, come in,” she called.

The door swung open and Beel poked her head in.

“Elaine? How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m… I’m fine.”

“I woke you, didn’t I? Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, really. What’s up?”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Beel slipped into the room and closed the door softly behind her. “... Is something the matter?”

Beel didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she shuffled over to Elaine’s bed and sat herself down at the foot.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about. You keep saying you’re fine, but I can tell you’re not. You look… unbelievably tired. Spent? Actually, both of those terms seem too mild for what I’m sensing from you.” Beel seemed to gnaw momentarily at the inside of her cheek. “Sorry if this is kinda personal, but have you been taking those human world pills of yours?”

“You mean the prozac? The little white capsules?”

“Yeah, the ones that look like mints.”

“Yes, I’ve been takin’ ‘em every day as prescribed, but…” Elaine laid back and rubbed at her face. “I dunno… I just get days where I… it’s hard to describe, but I don’t… I can’t shake this sense that I don’t deserve a life like this, if at all. I’m no prodigy, I’m not exceedingly intelligent nor pretty. In the human world, I just went along with whatever people thought best for me because I myself had no clue what I wanted. Even…” she gave a humorless bark of a laugh.

“Even when I was with Leon, the things he did to try to ‘help’ me, he… I genuinely thought at times that his methods were supportive. Lookin’ back, it’s just even more proof that I was more naive than I could’ve ever imagined. I probably still am in some ways. And now… now all I have goin’ for me is my heritage. That’s likely the whole reason I can do magic at all. Of the 8 or somethin’ billion people in the world, why did I end up with this… this role or whatever y’all call it. Genetics is a flip of the coin, I’m well aware, but… how did I pull this straw when I never even had a say in the matter? And I keep wonderin’ all this and more because I hardly think I’ll ever be able to live up to everyone’s expectations… I doubt I was ever fit to even attempt to fulfill this… this image that everyone seems to expect and want from me, but I know it would just be a further disappointment if I were to completely reject it. Because really, I’m… I’m nothing. I’m not special and… and in all honesty, I didn’t… I didn’t think I’d live to this age, so planning for the future isn’t… it’s not… I can’t...” At this point, Elaine could no longer formulate more words. She opened her eyes.

Beel’s lips were pursed as she stared at Elaine, her brow scrunched and her eyes glassy. Her nose and her cheeks were flushing rosy pink. She leaned forward and enveloped Elaine in an all-consuming hug. Not a word spoken, only silent understanding as she held Elaine close.

“Never…”

“What?”

Beel drew away and wiped at her eyes. “I… I never want you to hide it if you feel like this. All these thoughts you have about your purpose, these perceptions of others and anxieties... I can barely imagine what it must be like.” She was quiet, then got off the bed and beckoned. “I don’t have any permanent solutions, but I have something in mind.”

The something that Beel had in mind turned out to be hot chocolate. Well, Vicious Vanilla Hot Hellfire Chocolate, as Beel called it. As Beel heated the milk and stirred counter-clockwise, the kitchen began to smell wonderfully comforting. Beel leaned over the pot and Elaine saw her lips moving. Was she doing an incantation?

“What were you whispering just now?”

“Oh, uh…” Beel’s cheeks tinged pink in embarrassment. “I was talking to myself. It smells sooo good and I wanted to drink it... but I was telling myself not to.”

“Aw,” Elaine chuckled softly. “You don’t have to hold back if you want it that bad.”

“No. It’s for you, so I will control myself.” Her stomach was clearly not in agreement, for it growled loudly just then.

“I’ll just have one mug and you can have the remainder in the pot.”

Relief flashed across Beel’s expression. “Thank you.”

The hot cocoa in the pot was a creamy beige now, with flecks of red here and there. Some sort of spice, Elaine deduced. Cinnamon. Or maybe cayenne.

Elaine absently wrapped her arms around Beel’s midriff. She, in turn, placed a comforting hand on Elaine’s back.

“You’re so sweet, Beel,” Elaine mused. “What would we do without you?”

“The grocery bill would be a tiny fraction of what it is now… and all of you would have a lot more to eat.”

Elaine wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feign disagreement. She chose to remain silent.

But what would they do without Beel? she wondered. Such a sweet presence in the house would undoubtedly be missed. Because Beel was the one who listened without judgement. The one who thought of her family before herself. It seemed as though the only thing that went on in her head was imagining her next meal. Though Elaine knew now, from several months of residence, that this was not the case, that there was more transpiring in Beel’s head than immediately noticeable.

[pandastern]

Gravity (Bakugou x OC)

Part 3: A Step too far? (past)

Bakugou x Vigilante!OC

Warnings: angst, explicit language, violence

Word count: 2200

Genre: enemies to lovers ; angst ; romance

When a new student makes an entrance, Bakugou has a real bad feeling. There is something about this girl that just doesnt feel right. From the flaming hair to the calculating glint in her green eyes, everything about her just pisses him off.

Little does he know that his fate is intertwined with the person he despises so much, defining his future path in a way he would have never expected.

Maybe it was because class 1A knew Bakugou better than Artemis did, or maybe it was because the little scene she’d caused in the cafeteria hadn’t gone unnoticed, but as she slowly made her way into the ring, all her classmates seemed to hold their breath.

All except for the ash blonde pissy pomeranian with anger issues. Bakugou looked ecstatic.

“Oh, I'm gonna kick your ass so bad you won’t be able to walk for a week!” he hissed.

Judging by his murderous eyes, she figured she was heading straight to a situation any normal person with a normal sense of self-care would want to avoid. Tough luck, though. She wasn’t a normal person. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure if she was a person to begin with.

“Now, now. That almost sounds like a proposition,” she chuckled.

Bakugou’s expression changed. Now he just looked like he wanted to tear her throat out. Lovely.

“Artemis.” Aizawa’s voice interrupted her little moment with Mr Anger Issues. “Neither you nor Bakugou know the other’s quirk. Why is this a perfect example for what you can expect as a Pro Hero, and why is it a good lesson?”

Tearing her eyes away from her opponent, Artemis focused on her teacher again. 

She scoffed. “We need to be ready for any type of quirk because we often go into the field blind. You cannot choose who to face on the battlefield.”

Her nonchalant tone made a brow rise on Aizawa’s usually bored face. A few hairs on the back of her head started to rise. So, her first impression of this man had been correct. He was a dangerous one.

“Correct,” Aizawa replied, pulling out a tablet. “Let's see how you pull your weight, newbie. Begin!”

Artemis took a deep breath and turned her attention back to her opponent. A devilish smirk had spread across Bakugou’s face. He was ready to throw down.

“Come at me!” he roared, his voice booming with confidence. “I'll show you what a real hero can do.”

She narrowed her eyes. The air around her was rather dry, so not much water could be drawn out of it. There were no fountains or bodies of water she could use, nor had she brought any herself. There were, however, trees and grass close to the ring. So, how best to start this?

Judging by what she’d seen of Bakugou, he was so full of himself that he probably didn’t expect much of her. She could draw out the water from the vegetation, but that would turn them into dust. Artemis shook her head. No, Aizawa probably wouldn’t appreciate her destroying school property, even if it was to defend herself.

Her best bet was to move fast and punch Bakugou as hard as she could. Preferably somewhere it really hurt.

Artemis moved. Keeping herself low to avoid exposing an opening, she rushed forward, swinging for his ribs on his right side. Bakugou was quick to read her movements and dodged, trying and failing to grab her by the scruff of her neck. She brought her foot forward and spun out of the way, plunging her elbow into his abdomen. At least, that’s what she thought she was hitting.

Something exploded in her side, sending her flying several feet. White pain exploded in her head as she hit the ground like a sack of flour, too shocked to roll her own body to avoid a harsh landing. The blast had knocked the wind out of her.

What the hell had just happened?

Bakugou’s laugh rang in her ears as she forced herself back onto her feet. Then it dawned on her. The weird scent of nitroglycerin in the cafe finally made sense.

“How’d you like that, fucking loser? Is that all you got?” Bakugou spat at her.

“So, an explosion quirk, huh?” she growled.

“Yeah so what? What do you think you're doing by not using your quirk against me? Do you think you can win like that? I’ll grind you into the dust, just watch!”

The familiar feeling of anger bubbled up in the pit of her stomach. This guy was really starting to piss her off. But he was right. Going against a power that could literally blow her up wasn’t really something she should take lightly. 

Grinding her teeth, Artemis shrugged off her singed jacket and rolled her shoulders. It looked like protecting school property was out the window, then.

“You want my quirk?” she growled. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

Bakugou charged at her, his speed boosted by another blast of his power, but this time Artemis was prepared. Reaching out with her powers, she spun to the side, evading his fist before grabbing hold of the water molecules in the air, a couple of trees and the grass surrounding her. She concentrated the liquid into a powerful blast and sent it racing towards her opponent.

Bakugou was caught of guard, the powerful blast pulling him off his feet, encasing him in a whirlpool and swirling him around like a shirt in a washing machine before smashing him back on the ground on the other side of the ring.

Watching him sputter and shake himself like a doused poodle, Artemis couldn't help but smirk.

“What's wrong, blasty boy?” she cooed, pulling the water back to herself, swirling it around her body like snakes. “Can’t swim?”

Bakugou glared at her, eyes blazing. Artemis could see that she had struck a nerve right there. Perhaps he wasn’t into her nickname. The swirling wisps of water separated from her body and morphed into needles of ice that surrounded her, their sharp spines pointed at Bakugou.

The palms of his hands started to smoke.

“I'm gonna kill you,” he hissed.

Artemis charged. Water and heat clashed as they exchanged blows, explosions scattering her ice needles before she hit him with another blast of water. They couldn’t have been more opposite in character and fighting style. Bakugou moved with the aggression of a hellflame while Artemis danced away, spinning, dodging his swings and landing her own blows in between blasts.

That was when she noticed something: the angrier this guy got, the hotter and faster his blasts came. The downside to her quirk was that she never had an infinite amount of water to draw upon, unless of course it was raining or she was fighting in a body of water. With every blast of Bakugou’s explosion more and more water evaporated. Damnit. If she didn’t get him on his knees soon, she’d run out of a means to protect herself, let alone attack. She had to admit, Katsuki Bakugou was an outstanding fighter.

“Where the hell do you think you’re looking?” A booming voice behind her ripped her out of her thoughts. How the hell had he gotten behind her in just a split second?

White light and heat exploded right in her face, hurling her through the air for a second time. Her body hit the ground with a nasty smack and she wheezed. The impact of her fall had squeezed the air out of her lungs and for a moment the world went blurry.

Bakugou breathed heavily as he watched the flame-haired girl writhe on the ground,struggling to take a breath. He had to give it to her, she was tough. Her quirk was something he’d never seen before. Where had she got all that water from in the first place? Then he noticed the dried up trees close by, along with big patches of dried up grass. Even the ground was cracked as if it hadn’t rained in years. Had she pulled it out of her surroundings like that? 

He heard Artemis curse as she struggled to her feet, and he narrowed his eyes. That last blast should have been enough to give her a proper concussion, and yet here she was back up on her knees, trying to steady herself. The water around her sprung alive again, swirling around her body protectively.

Her red hair had sprung free of its hair tie, falling wild and messy around her face. Then he noticed a good patch of the right side of her hair had been burned off by the heat of the blast.

He watched as Artemis slowly pushed a hand into her wild locks and pulled a good chunk of melted hair out of her bird’s nest.

Laughter bubbled up in his chest. “Well, seems like you finally got a nice haircut! Keep this up and you won’t have to worry about that crazy colour of yours.”

Artemis didn’t move. She just stared at the chunk of hair in her hand as if she were struggling to process what had just happened.

“What’s wrong, carrot head?” Bakugou taunted. “Have you had enough? Are you gonna cry about it like a little bitch?”

For a moment, the whole world seemed to stand still. Slowly, the girl rose to her feet. Then her eyes met his.

A chill ran down Bakugou’s spine, and he took a step back. There was a look in her freaky green eyes that made his stomach churn, as if a switch had been flipped and in front of him was no longer a 15 year old girl but something different, something wrong. Artemis’ eyes held no emotion. No humanity. Just a cold and endless void. There was death in her eyes.

His death.

A strange sensation bubbled up in his gut, making him shiver. Run… He had to run. Everything in him screamed to turn away and forfeit the fight, yet he couldn't move. He was like a deer in headlights waiting to be charged.

Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet started rumbling. The concrete cracked, then broke wide open as water tendrils shot through the stone, grabbing at him.

“Fuck!” he gasped. 

He propelled himself into the air, trying to evade whatever hell this girl had summoned. The water followed him up, encircling him like a snake, wrapping around his body, choking him, crushing him, extinguishing his explosions and rendering him helpless. Was she gonna drown him?

Then his eyes met hers again. Artemis was standing calmly where he’d last seen her. Her eyes were completely focused on him with a determination that made his blood freeze. In her hands was a bow made of swirling water, and she was aiming an arrow right between his eyes.

Bakugou tried to struggle against his restraints, tried to break free. He knew Artemis would shoot him without hesitation. This girl wanted him dead. Fear made his head spin. There was no way out, no way out!

The sound of a bowstring being released and an arrow slicing through air made his stomach drop. As if in slow motion, he saw the deadly projectile race towards him, ready to split his head like an overripe apple. All he could do was close his eyes and wait for the impact.

“Enough!” 

Aizawa’s voice echoed through the training ground.

The feeling of a sudden vaccum of power made Artemis’ stomach turn. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, shaking.

The red mist of rage that had made her feel so incredibly hazy started to clear, and slowly feeling returned to her. The sound of human voices, the echo of hearts shaken up by fear, pounded in her ears.

What had happened? The last thing she remembered was Bakugou’s blast sending her flying, the pain of having the wind knocked out of her, a handful of burned hair… and rage. Cold, deadly rage.

“F-fuck,” she rasped and curled up, trying not to vomit.

When she finally managed to look up, her eyes met the red ones of her teacher.

“This is a training session. A non-lethal training session!” he snarled.

She didn’t know what to say to that. Disgust bubbled up inside of her as she looked around and saw the carnage she’d created. Somehow in her rage, her quirk had taken control of the water that was running underground through pipes and had burst them, forcing the water upwards to attack bakugou.

The ash blond boy was on his hands and knees, sputtering and gasping for air.

Artemis realised that she’d gone too far.

She needed to get out. She needed to get away.

“I-im sorry… I… I’m sorry,” was all she managed to stutter.

Bakugou was being helped back onto his feet by a boy with spiked up red hair. His eyes met hers. The look in his crimson eyes told her everything she needed to know.

Artemis’ heart almost stopped. If Aizawa hadn’t stepped in, then she’d have… No… No.

“The class is dismissed,” the teacher growled. “Everyone go home. Bakugou, go get yourself checked out. As for you…”

But Artemis was gone. Aizawa’s eyes scanned around, catching a glimpse of red hair just before it disappeared behind a building. A groan rumbled in his chest. He’d have to go after her later. For how, he had to explain to the principal why the training grounds were in shambles. Fun. Why did he always end up with the most troublesome kids?

Something stirred in his gut as he remembered the look in Artemis’ eyes before she’d snapped. There was no denying it. Something wasn’t quite right with that girl.

[petri808]

Awaken the Sleeping Dragon Within

Nalu Canon divergent, would take place after ft 100.  Here you go, I hope you like it!  :)  Lol it ended up longer than I’d expected.

Natsu moves with an extra spring in his step that morning.  The job was a mission complete with no damages and full payment given.  He’d found the perfect gift for Lucy that he’d been searching for and was now on his way back home to Magnolia.  The perfect weather was like a bonus treat that made his travel by foot a pleasant one.

Things had been progressing in their change of relationship status.  Through the whole 100-year quest, the shining revelation was not only that their bond could never be broken, but one that transcends the lines of simple friendship.  When he’d said ‘together forever’ it was a phrase uttered from the heart towards a person he knew he’d always want to be around.  But now he fully understood what it had meant, and it was time to solidify that phrase.  To take it from mere words to action and the gift he held in his pocket would do just that.

It would be another half-day’s journey to Magnolia, which meant he’d have to sleep under the stars one more evening.  Natsu didn’t mind so much.  As long as he could see them, they reminded him of Lucy, and that made him feel less lonely without her at his side.  The roads were quiet considering the holidays were so close in time.  Natsu remembers passing very few travelers, and in the last several hours, none at all.  Yet it was strange that he’d felt eyes watching him on a few occasions.

Just before nightfall, Natsu makes camp just off the side of the road in the first clear area he could find.  He sets up his bedroll, a small campfire, and eats dinner before lying down to get some rest.  The sooner he falls asleep, the faster the morning will come, and it doesn’t take long for mister sandman to come a calling.

There was little warning than a downward draft of air from above bringing with it…

‘What the hell?!’

Natsu jumps to his feet, awoken from a sound sleep by the scent of his brother blasting his senses.  He barely has a chance to dive away and block as a stream of fire burns his belongings to a charred pile and blackens the ground where he had just been occupying.

“Ignia!!!” He screams at the dragon hovering above. “What the fuck is your problem?!”  He was tired of these surprise attacks.  Four times now, but he was glad this time Lucy wasn’t around to be caught in the middle.  The last one… she’d almost been burned.

But Ignia simply bellows a guttural laugh and sends another blast of fire at Natsu in response.

The slayer dodges stream after stream of fire sent his way, lobbing blasts of his own the few chances he gets.  Ignia keeps up the volley at breakneck speed causing Natsu to endure a few near misses and a couple of singes.  Oh, this is ridiculous!  What kind of game was Ignia playing with him?!

As soon as Ignia pauses to change his flight pattern, Natsu takes advantage and lights up his feet.  He rockets himself toward his brother, sending his own crackling of flames to overwhelm Ignia long enough to compromise the dragon’s vision.  Then he uses a flame whip to lasso its neck.  Ignia thrashes at the binding, but it’s too late.  It gave Natsu just enough time to pull himself up and grab on to his brothers back, gripping tightly to the scales.  “Dad… and.. uncle Atlas… would be… so.. pissed… at you!”  He scoots up slowly, inching his way to the base of the dragon’s neck.

His brother bucks harder to get him off, free diving and suddenly banking one way or the other, doing anything and everything to throw Natsu off him.  “Fuck them, as if I care!”  He growls. “They did nothing for me and now they’re all dead!”

That pisses Natsu off!  How dare Ignia speak ill of their family!  “And you tarnish all they fought for by fighting me!  Spare me your sob story, I will not let you talk badly about Igneel like that, you selfish asshole!”  He lobs a ball of fire at Ignia’s head.  “Or Atlas!”  Another ball.  “Even he recognized me as Igneel’s son!”

Several more blasts are levied at Ignia’s head.  From this close proximity, the dragon can’t strain his neck far enough to retaliate or get a good hit on his brother, instead taking each one.  His skin may be immune to fire, but it’s effectively irritating.  There’s only one way he can think of to attack back.

He flames up his entire body.

At first Natsu’s screams pierce the dragon’s ears and he grins wide, assuming his brother still couldn’t handle his flames.  Several seconds tick on, but something changes.  Natsu’s screams die out.  Did he kill his brother?  That brings a wider-brimmed smile to his snout.  He grins and cranes his neck as far as it could go, but the sight that greets him quickly sullies his demeanor.

“It won’t work on me anymore… brother.”  Natsu’s own grin brings a great roar from Ignia.  The dragon bucks, but this time Natsu stands firm, holding tight to his flame whip now blue in color.  The slayer was covered in his brothers flames from head to toe!  The initial flame on had surprised him, hence the scream, but Natsu was able to slurp it up and take it in.

“You’ve learned to control it?!”  Ignia screams.  “I am a dragon god!  How can a mere human handle my flame?!”

Their last fight had hardened Natsu’s resolve to beat his brother once and for all.  It wasn’t a matter of choice, he needed to gain control over the flames to protect his loved ones.  Ignia didn’t need to know all the pain he’d endured to master this ability, but he will see the results.    

The longer he continues to soak up his brother’s flames, the more changes morph along his body.  Scales over his extremities and around his face.  Sharper claw-like nails and elongated canines.  Leathery wings with horn spiked joints and finally, serpentine pupils.  He was still humanoid, a hybrid of both worlds.  “Because I am no mere human.”  Natsu’s voice is low and full of pride.  “I’m a demon and the son of the Fire Dragon King!  For the sake of our father’s honor, I do not wish to fight you, but I will if you continue to threaten me or those I love!”

Ignia wanted to defeat his brother, but he wasn’t a fool either.  He could sense the gathering strength flowing through Natsu and the threat was not baseless.  This slayer or whatever he was, was not only on par with him power for power, but possibly even more so.  There was a strange feeling to Natsu’s energy…  ‘Tch, it’s that stupid love shit again!’  Ignia vaguely remembers his brother spouting nonsense about strength from family, friends, or something like that.  

“Well, brother?” Natsu narrows his eyes and concentrates his flames towards his hands, pooling, and growing balls of fire around them.  “Fight or live?”

“You’re bluff!”

Before Ignia finishes his retort, Natsu sends one ball, hitting his brother in the eye.  His fire, combined with his brothers explodes like white-hot shrapnel, burning through scale.  If Ignia hadn’t closed his eye soon enough, he would have been blinded.  

The dragon shrieks in pain, tossing his head from side to side to shake off the burning sensation.  It was unbelievable to Ignia that any fire could burn a fire dragon!  And one from this damn slayer!    

“I’ve come a long way,” Natsu reiterates, “there is nothing I won’t endure to protect.”

“Get off of me!” Ignia screams.  “Alright!  I’ll leave and go back to Guiltina!”

Natsu takes flight, hovering above and to the side of his brother.  “Don’t come back to Fiore, Ignia or I will not hold back!  I will slay you as we were originally conscripted to do!”  

The dragon blows out a puff of steam and without another word takes off towards the clouds.  Whether Ignia keeps his word or not will remain unseen, but for now, it was over.  Natsu looks down at the area he was sleeping in and remembers that his bedroll and backpack were destroyed, leaving him nothing to rest on.  He groans.  It was still a few hours till dawn, but with the wings, he could make it back to his cottage by morning.  He didn’t like staying in this form for so long because it drained his energy, but it might be better than sleeping on the hard ground.  ‘I’ll just sleep when I get home…’

It was a loud banging on his front door that rouses Natsu from another dead sleep.  “Come… coming…” He stumbles off the couch, wiping at the crusted drool on his cheek and chin.  His body ached all over, not painful, just sore, like every muscle was on strike and his vision was foggy.  His side bumps into the counter while trying to steady his wobbling gait.  “Oww!” Natsu grabs his side.  He looks down at where the pain was coming from and sees a large healing burn.  It was only then that his mind snaps together enough to focus and starts to inspect the rest of his body.  The burn was the worst injury he could see, but his top and vest were ripped or torn and barely hanging on his body, pants singed and tattered in a couple areas.    

Another loud bang on the door followed by a woman’s voice.  “Natsu?!  Are you in there?!!”  “He was supposed to be back by now,” the woman speaks in a lower tone as if turned away to another person.

Natsu shakes his head, even his hearing was fogged up, and his sense of smell.  That fight, nay, the transformation and holding it for hours is what zapped his reserves.  He could barely remember making it home.  The voice sure sounded like Lucy’s.  

Now a male voice.  “Are you sure?  Maybe the job ran late.”  

“But tomorrow is Christmas,” the woman replies, “he promised to be home by then.”

Wait a minute!  Natsu whips his head towards the door.  “Christmas?” he mumbles.  That means he’s been asleep for 3 days!  “Christmas?!”  He pushes away from the counter, trips over his own feet, but manages to grab hold of the doorknob, yanking it open.  “Lucy?!”

“Natsu?!”  She rushes up, throwing herself into his body, wrapping her arms tightly around him.  “Where the hell have you been?!  I’ve been so worried!”

“I…”

She pushes off to take a better look.  Immediately, Lucy’s joy at seeing her partner turns to a new range of emotions, going from happiness to sadness to anger in the span of nanoseconds.  “Oh, my Mavis!  What the hell happened to you?!!”

“Aannd, this is where I take my leave,” Gray takes a few steps back.  Natsu was confirmed alive, but now was in another level of trouble.  “See ya guys later.”  He makes a swift exit, leaving the rest to Lucy to deal with.  A lover’s quarrel was not something he was going to get in the middle of.

“Was it the mission?  Did something go wrong?  Who did this to you?!”  Lucy fires question after question in rapid succession, matching the speed at which her mind was flying in that moment.  Natsu was a total mess.  His singed and torn clothing was one thing but the large wound on his side was of a bigger concern.  She should run to get Wendy, but first, demanded answers!  Just as Lucy was about to lay into him with more questions, Natsu swoons on his feet.  His legs were buckling from exhaustion.  Lucy swings his arm over her shoulder to steady him and drags him back to his couch.  She brings him a glass of water, then when he finishes the drink, kneels in front of him.

Lucy takes a deep breath.  She was furious over being worried half to death but knew a fight wouldn’t accomplish anything.  Instead she places her hand upon his knee, looks up, and in a softened tone, “Spill it Natsu.  Tell me what happened.”

So, he does, starting from when Ignia attacked to flying all the way home after the fight, leaving out no details.  “I barely remember getting home or even passing out on the couch three days ago.  The dragon mode took a toll on my body.  I’m so sorry Luce, I never meant to worry you!  All I had wanted to do was…”  Natsu’s eyes widen, the gift!  He’d forgotten all about it!  Did it survive the flames?!  He reaches into his pocket and pulls the small box out.  Its packaging seemed okay, but as he opens it, Natsu’s heart sinks.  The metal ring of the band was melted and warped.  “Fuck!” He closes the cover and lifts his arm to throw it.

“Wait!” Lucy stops him, grabbing his arm and reaching for the box.  “Don’t!  What is that?”

“It was your Christmas gift,” Natsu’s head sinks, and his eyes fall to the floor.  “But it’s ruined.”

She was still trying to process the fight with Ignia and now this gift added another element to the mix.  Lucy wasn’t sure if she should be upset, or just happy that he’d become so powerful, because that growth had saved his life.  How about both?  “Next time Natsu, when there’s something important like this, you should talk to me about it.  I shouldn’t have to find out by surprise that you had trained to wield his fire or that you can control your dragon form.”

“I know…” he sighs.

Lucy sighs too, squeezing his knee.  “I’m annoyed… but I’m also excited that you’re home now and safe.”  She smiles, “I’ll help you get cleaned up, and go get Wendy to heal your wound, okay?”

“Gah!  I feel so bad, I don’t even have a Christmas gift for you now.”

She chuckles and waves her hand, “I don’t need a gift.  It’s the thought that counts, and besides, maybe it’s still repairable.”

Natsu grabs her hand, “it’s not… just a ring.  Lucy, I…. I was planning on proposing to you tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?”  Lucy pauses in shock, but quickly regains her thought process.  She starts to laugh, bringing a look of confusion to Natsu’s face, like his girlfriend has just lost her mind.  “I’m sorry for laughing,” she chuckles again, “Natsu a ring isn’t important.”  Her eyes crinkle in a smile.  “If you want to ask me, then just ask me.  You can fix the ring later if you still want to.”

“Really?!” That brings a wide-brimmed smile back to Natsu’s face.  “Wait,” he tilts his head, “is this a trick question?”  

That sends Lucy into another round of hysterics.  “No!” she laughs, “I’m serious!”

He pouts, “but I wanted to do the whole show, get down on one knee and stuff like they do in your books.”

Lucy smiles from his cute gesture and caresses his cheek, “then I shall wait as well to say yes…”

[ralfmaximus]

Living with a Smart Gun

Marta decided she needed a gun after the boost had gone wrong.

Oh, technically, it’d gone flawlessly – 1.2B New Yen siphoned away from Bank Shanghai and into six different offshore accounts, undetected – but when she’d gone to get paid… that’s when things went sour.

She wasn’t a people person. Normally the human relations aspect of her work were handled by Konroy, but he’d fled the country temporarily and hadn’t returned her calls in weeks. She needed to eat. So she’d dug through his list of contacts, found a likely client, and reached out. The job specs they’d sent her seemed easy enough, and it was.

But upon meeting with the lovely folks behind the mail address she realized her mistake: upon delivery she had no leverage over them. The money was boosted, and they had the account numbers and passwords. To her dismay they even had the keys to her secret, 7th account, the one she’d nabbed for herself. Apparently they’d had a tech of their own shadowing her the whole time and she’d been careless.

Hunger will do that to you, she mused, as they broke her left arm, laughing. They beat her ass out into the alley behind the gaming parlor and walked away without looking back. She’d wanted to kill them all at that moment, and if only she’d had a gun…

Broken arm, at least one broken rib, and both eyes swollen shut. Missing tooth.

Konroy wouldn’t have let this happen. But he was gone. She needed to protect herself now. Laying on damp concrete among cardboard boxes and dumpsters, her left arm a shrieking, grinding agony, Marta pulled up a list of clinics from Konroy’s little black book. She selected one certified to install Personal Protection systems and left a message before passing out.

--

The black clinic was clean and bright, the black part referring only to its off-the-grid status. They never asked questions.

Marta lay in an antique dentist chair, her left arm gripped in padded waldos. It had already been peeled open, radius and ulna exposed, a soft green laser rotating as it mapped the break. She was numb from the shoulder down; a spinal block.

The nameless tech hummed as she worked, watching her arm rotate in 3D on a monitor.

“A simple break, easily repaired,” the tech nodded in satisfaction. “We’ll have you out of here in thirty minutes.”

“Question,” Marta held up her right hand. The tech swiveled to peer at her with calm eyes.

“You install PP systems here, right?”

Without reacting, the tech nodded. “Certified in all forms of PPS. Do you wish to review a catalog?”

“No. I know what I want.” Marta reeled off a make and model number from memory. She’d been researching.

The tech paused, not exhibiting surprise so much as a delay while she accessed databases. Eventually she shook her head slowly. “That model is—“

“Yes, I know. Proscribed.” Marta used her good right hand to indicate the duffel she’d brought with her into the exam room. It was stuffed with New Yen scrip, but they both knew that.

The tech accessed databases again and nodded after a moment. “Yes, that unit is in stock.”

“Well, I want one. Make it happen.”

“Your left arm?”

“Since it’s already open, sure.”

Another pause, the tech’s expression gone blank. “There is a difficulty. Your augmentations are rated at level 5. The smart gun you have requested requires level 6 or higher.” She stopped there, watching silently.

Marta nodded, closed her eyes, entered the crystal wind. Found the public certification boards where her profile lived and… adjusted them. So far as the government now knew she was level 6, certified to work on ESA/ROSCOSMOS space probes and (she noted ironically) smart surgical systems.

Her black rating, if that were something that could be calculated, she imagined as double digits. She opened her eyes and told the tech to check again.

Without discernible surprise the clinician nodded after reviewing the files. “We will need to replace your left ulna, something custom-milled.”

“I know. I’ve read the installation guide.”

The tech switched gears. “Left-handed use is not unheard of, but recommended installation is in the right arm.”

“Don’t wanna mess these up,” Marta waved her tattoos at the tech. Another nod.

“Finally, there will be a bulge. Your skeletal structure is small; the weapon, while compact is—“

“I’m fine with that. Just do it.”

--

Marta waited three days before peeling the bandages off. Her left arm was discolored from bruising but otherwise pain-free. The extra weight took her by surprise, but she quickly adjusted.

The gun’s embedded manual suggested a week of convalescence before test-firing, since the thing was still knitting itself into her arm, nano-filaments working themselves up to her shoulder for bracing. Using the weapon too soon, despite its recoilless nature, would tear things apart.

That suited her fine. She also had to figure out how to work the damned thing. And so far, its interface was… confusing.

The Crimson Storm Flower 2 (firmware revision 14c) was a typically Chinese name for something so deadly. Its gatling array could fire 1200 rounds per minute of tiny hyper-velocity pellets, or select from a wide array of flechette-slivers: everything from explosives to non-lethals. Marta wondered what use the EMP rounds would be; if her own systems were shielded well enough to even try those. She decided she didn’t know enough to risk it.

Consumables were surgically replaced whenever they ran low. Hopefully, never. She didn’t intend to switch careers or even use the thing except in emergencies.

But the gun’s UI pissed her off. In fact, she couldn’t find one. The armory stores and configuration stuff presented themselves immediately, but she couldn’t find how to actually, you know, pull the trigger.

Also, her dreams had been weird.

She’d grown used to strange dreams over the years as her meat-net whispered to the metal-net in her brain. That was something all IT workers dealt with nowadays. There were OTC medications to help with that.

But lately she’d felt like something – an animal, a presence – had been stalking her. Circling her defenses looking for a way in. There’d even been a few violent nightmares, replays of that night in the alley, where she’d aimed her left arm at the bastards who’d hurt her and instead of doing anything her left arm had fallen off. A cheap plastic doll arm, laying in a puddle. The beating had continued longer than it had in reality, until she awoke screaming on twisted sheets.

None of the Storm Flower manuals suggested how to fire it. She’d reviewed every file, even snuck out into the Chinese mil.net to search for more. The weapon simply didn’t exist except as catalog entries in various black clinics.

One anonymous forum post suggested that Flower was a military experiment. Something tried and discarded, its specs plundered by pirates and sold now on the streets. Or maybe it was a controlled experiment: let the criminals work out the kinks while the military observed from a distance.

Marta’s wounds healed, and the day came when she wanted to test-fire her new toy. She rented time at a gun range and stood, alone, in the tiny, dank bunker, left arm pointed helplessly at a paper target.

Fire. Launch. Activate. 

She thought every command she could think of into the weapon’s control matrix but… nothing. She’d even looked up the Chinese equivalents and tried those. Then Spanish, Russian, and even Norwegian. Maybe the weapon’s makers had intended Flower for a specific foreign market.

But no. Nothing happened. Everything felt right – her internal net insisted everything was linked, fiber running a complete path from ulna to spine to brain.

Maybe it was defective.

With a sigh she lowered her arm and dialed the clinic’s number, leaving a message requesting a follow-up visit. These things happened, but dammit she’d paid so much and the disappointment was quickly morphing into rage. Those fuckers. They’d taken her money, smiling as they sawed her arm to pieces. She envisioned the smug clinician’s reaction when she—

Snick.

Her left arm thrummed gently like a motor applying torque to her body. The odd feeling spread up into her shoulder where—

She looked down. A tiny black multi-port muzzle protruded from her arm, completely surrounded by flesh. As if somebody had jammed a gun part directly into her skin and left it there. Marta lifted her arm carefully. It felt pinned by gyros, locked on rails, moving precisely if randomly, wherever she pointed it.

In quiet astonishment, rage gone, she watched as the sliver of black metal slid back under the surface of her arm and vanished.

Snick.

Something locked home inside the bone. The thrumming stopped.

Huh. Flower liked strong emotion, it seemed. Maybe it detected adrenaline and other stress hormones. But that seemed stupid, imprecise. There had to be a way to actually, you know, control it.

--

The Midtown clinic didn’t return her messages. She walked by the place and it was empty, a realtor’s barcode in the window. Marta quelled the impulse to stop and peer into the dim storefront but the white van parked across the street dissuaded her. The vehicle looked entirely too clean, too government for her tastes. They might as well have painted Homeland Security on its side, so she walked on by.

To keep up the appearance of normalcy she stopped at a sidewalk café two doors down and sat at a table with an umbrella, van within her field of view. She ordered unsweet tea from a waiter wearing a black apron.

When her tea came she took a sip and involuntarily grimaced. Atlanta iced tea came in two varieties: sweet and unsweet. Proper ‘sweet’ tea was made with equal parts sugar and tea; it was undrinkable, something to supercharge kids with before turning them loose in a bouncy castle.

“Excuse me,” she stood, holding the disgustingly sweet beverage out to the server. “I ordered—“

Snick.

Her arm thrummed. Without looking she knew what the server saw, why he dropped his tray and ran.  It didn’t matter: she saw his leg explode in a haze of bloody shreds the microsecond Flower coughed.

One target tracked, targeted, explosive flechette selected, fired, target disabled the after-report appeared in her mind. Wow. The manuals were right: virtually no recoil. The glass of tea in her left hand hadn’t even wobbled.

Behind her she heard van doors slamming, and she turned.

Two armored Homeland troopers thundered toward her, SMGs held low. Before she processed this completely they were both down.

Two targets tracked, targeted, armor piercing selected, fired, targets disabled.

Next, the van exploded, one white door sailing over her head to clang against the restaurant’s brick facade.

Vehicle disabled, the after-log finished. She barely had time to scan the whole thing before her arm went snick and Flower shut down.  She hadn’t spilled a drop of tea; she drank it all down in one long gulp.

--

Konroy’s face was a ghost swirling in pixels. His connection was so dreadful it must’ve been bounced through a dozen proxies. From the lag Marta suspected there was at least one satellite involved.

“You did what?”

His voice was razorblades slicing chipmunks. She repeated herself.

“Read me the model number again?”

He’d reacted with amusement about her buying a gun. Her, the tree-hugging hippie cybercriminal who’d once made him take a spider outside rather than kill it. After she transmitted him Flower’s specs he’d sobered up quickly.

“Honey, that’s the blackest of black tech.”

“Do we deal in any other kind?”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Look, I can’t find a clinic that’ll talk to me about it. Can you—“

“Sorry, you’re breaking up.”

“I need a clinic that does PPS. Like, immediately.”

“Honey—“

The connection washed away in a burst of static then miraculously cleared.

“Konroy? I need—“

“I’ll send you a list of the ones I know. But you already have that, I reckon.”

She nodded, wondering if he could see her. “Surely there’s more?”

“Not exactly a growth industry, especially since the crackdown. If I knew you were gonna—“

The connection broke then, went totally blue. Returned full-screen with Homeland Security’s eagle-clutching-wires logo, which she glimpsed only for a second before slapping the call closed.

Seconds later the phone was in pieces, its battery tossed down a sewer grate, the rest of it in various bushes and dumpsters as she walked.  In annoyance she realized Flower had popped open and closed without her noticing… that told her how upset she was more than anything else.

--

Her dreams became violent. She was a gun, and the world was a rich tapestry of target reticules. Most were green (friendly) but some were not (red) and every time a red one was targeted and destroyed she orgasmed.

After these dreams she woke up exhausted, panties askew, the mattress damp.

While she and Konroy had had plenty of sex, they’d never had orgasms together.

--

One sleepless night Marta got drunk on tequila and walked up to the first white van she saw, stood outside it with arms outstretched.  After a few moments the doors slid open and she was surrounded by Homeland troopers. She tried to warn them about Flower but they were all dead before she opened her mouth.

Then of course, the van exploded.

--

Marta boosted enough capital to hire an ex-military surgeon from mainland China. She met with him in a hotel room near the airport, where he examined her arm, scanning Flower with instruments he assembled from a pair of aluminum briefcases.

“I do not recognize this weapon,” he announced finally. “But that does not mean we did not make it. Much goes on, in the, you know…”

“I know,” she sighed. “Can you get it out of me?”

He sat back, pondering. “Eventually it will run out of consumables.”

“So I gathered. But I don’t want to wait that long, it’ll take months. Until then I’m afraid to go outside.”

“You do not understand,” he blew out his cheeks. “The weapon, it has bonded with your endocrine system. You and it are one. When it runs out of ammunition it will want more. A gun without bullets is useless, and it wants to be useful.”

“Yeah, so? I’ll just ignore it. If it pops out no big deal. I’ll wear long sleeves forever.”

“I have not explained well. The gun, it will… need more ammunition. Consider it a form of addiction.”

Her stomach dropped. “Addiction? Like heroin?”

The Chinese doctor beamed at her. “Yes! Precisely so. In fact glutamate and dopamine are the—“

She found herself standing, head pounding, shouting. “Get this thing out of me, now! I don’t want—“

Snick

--

Marta eventually found a clinic in Taiwan that could service the gun. She didn’t miss Atlanta, and everyone around her spoke English anyway. Homeland Security never bother her anymore, not over here.

A network of Flower owners had sprung up around the planet about the time she’d gotten her implant. She discovered her experience was not uncommon, and within this new, strange family she found a place: boosting cash for the collective, so ammunition was never a problem.

Meditation and medication helped control incidents. The collective cheerfully displayed an old-style “44 Days Since Last Accident” cardboard sign in the main dining room with detachable numbers that incremented – or zeroed – over time.

Soon she and the others like her boosted enough capital to purchase a small island off the coast of Taiwan, and moved the clinic there. They began manufacturing Flowers and even improving the design. Children were born and fitted with their own guns as soon as their bones stopped growing, usually in their late teens.

The Chinese project responsible for the creation of the weapon had contacted them a few times, threatened a few times, finally backed off when they were invited to come get their guns back if they could. They tried once, and the score was 27 dead Chinese commandos to zero collective members.

It was just prior to that engagement that Marta had her second, right-arm Flower installed, damn the tattoos.

Fifteen years after that, Marta returned to Atlanta.

--

Amazingly, the gaming bar where she’d received her beat-down still existed. She entered the place through the alley door they’d dragged her through, walked past uncaring workers in the kitchen and into the smoke-filled main room.

She recognized none of the faces, did not expect to. Wasn’t even sure if this place still hosted the gang who’d hired her forty years ago, or if they even existed. She hadn’t bothered to check.

Marta stood in the center of swirling chaos, of pinging slot machines, of laughing gamers, of pounding late 20th century dubstep, commandeered the PA system via the crystal wind and pitched her voice to be heard over all. Everything crashed to a halt.

“Somebody piss me off. I dare you.”

Many eyes were on her when Marta raised her arms, letting loose black sleeves fall. She stood like that, arms upheld as goal posts, eyes closed.

It took a few moments, but eventually she got her wish.

[miraculouslysam]

The Woes of a Teen Underwear Model

Hi all! Today’s prompt for @adrinetteapril was “Just Friends,” and I couldn’t resist. Have some post-reveal, pre-relationship antics.

“You know, ya probably would have more success with the dudette if you actually went and talked to her instead of just staring like a creep, bro.”

Adrien couldn’t figure out how he had gotten here. It wasn’t too long before that their roles had been reversed, with Nino freaking out about being a “moronosaurus rex” while Adrien had just laughed along and teased him for overthinking it all. And yet, there he was, hiding in the corner and watching Marinette- not just Marinette, but Ladybug- laughing with Alya as they flipped through a magazine.

And it wasn’t just any old magazine. Oh no, Adrien couldn’t be that lucky. No, it just had to be Gabriel’s special swimsuits and undergarments edition. The edition in which Adrien had been the cover model.

It was taking every bit of his self-control not to run over and rip the magazine to shreds. Or to go to the nearest newspaper stand and set fire to it. Either option would be satisfactory.

The knowledge that Marinette was Ladybug still astounded him. When they had revealed themselves a few weeks before, he instantly found himself in shock. Mostly at his own stupidity. He still couldn’t grasp how he was so blind; her looks and tendency to help others stayed the same with and without the mask! Marinette, on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber. She’d taken one glance at him and said, “I should’ve seen this coming.”

They had spent more time together since then, growing closer with each passing day. All the guys teased him in the locker rooms, asking when he was finally going to get the balls to ask her out. He always smiled. “We’re just friends.” It hurt, but he knew where she stood on the matter and was not going to step over the line. He’d already learned that lesson.

But even if they were “just friends,” Adrien absolutely did not want the woman he was in love with laughing at pictures of him one-garment-short of naked. Years of modelling had taught him to be secure with himself… but not that secure.

He was pulled from his musings by a hand waving in front of his face. “Yo, earth to Loverboy. What’s your deal, bro? Just ask her out already so we can all be past this drooling. Alya’s really been pushing for us all to double-date,” Nino said. He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “And believe me, a happier Alya is better for everyone. Especially me.”

Adrien quickly composed himself, then quirked an eyebrow to complete the confident façade. “Oh, is that so? Well, I hate to break it to you, Nino, but Marinette and I are just friends. Maybe you could talk to Rose and Juleka.”

Nino began to speak, but the bell rang, cutting him off. The duo began walking toward their classroom. “I’m just sayin’, dude, Marinette is a catch. I’ve been hearing some stuff about some people wanting to ask her out if you’re not making a move.”

Oh man, did Adrien know. He distinctly remembered pummeling Kagami while they sparred the previous week, when she’d said something to the effect of “if you don’t make a move, I will.” The satisfied smirk she gave him, like the cat that got the cream, had plagued his mind ever since. It didn’t help that she kept texting him taunts at least three times a day either.

“Seriously, I probably still would be chasing her if Ladybug hadn’t thrown me and Alya in that cage that day at the zoo. The girl is smart, nice, and fine. She’s the whole package.” Nino paused, considering. “Oh, but don’t tell Alya I said that. My girl is the best and only one for me.”

The pair fist-bumped, then walked through the door of Ms. Bustier’s class. Alya and Marinette already had taken their seats. The girls looked up for a moment, greeting the boys, then returned to their discussion. He heard laughter from behind him and tensed up. Should he eavesdrop? He knew it was wrong, but they were looking at-

“Hey, Adrien,” Alya’s voice drawled. He heard Marinette groan, then turned to see her thunking her head into her desk. Alya held up the offending magazine and Adrien felt himself cringe. “Marinette has a question for you.”

Marinette groaned again. “Please don’t, Alya. It’s just going to be embarrassing for everyone.”

Adrien swore he saw Alya’s eyes flash, not unlike Kyoya’s in Ouran. And, well, Kyoya had nothing on Alya in terms of being terrifying. “Really? Embarrassing for everyone, you say? I don’t think I’ll be embarrassed, so I’ll just say it for you.” She leaned forward, elbow on the table as she rested her chin on her fist. “Marinette wants to know what the hell was going through your mind when you posed for this photo.”

He glanced at the two-page spread, what the photographer called the star of the photoset. He thought he looked pretty good in it, but judging by that smirk on Alya’s face... He smiled weakly. “I was told to do a smolder. They wanted me to look sexy.”

The smirk grew wider and Alya’s eyes glinted again. Adrien swallowed thickly. “Is that so? Did you find it sexy, Marinette?”

Alya’s head whipped toward her best friend, who appeared to be practicing a new shrinking act. Marinette’s eyes darted around at every other member of their quartet. “Well, no, that isn’t exactly what I said.”

“And what exactly did you say?”

Marinette clearly knew there was no getting out of it. She sighed and sat up straight, shoulders back. She met Adrien’s questioning glance. “Sorry, Adrien, but… you look like you’re trying to pass something. Like bad gas.”

Alya and Nino dissolved into laughter instantly. Adrien’s jaw dropped, face morphing into disbelief. “I’m- you- huh?” Did she really think that? It was like glass shattered in his mind. Though he hadn’t told anyone, he secretly had been envisioning something like an anime scene:

Dramatic music plays in the background. Marinette, clad in a white, flowing dress with her hair free, runs while looking around frantically, magazine in hand. She finally sees him. “Oh, Adrien! I can’t resist any longer. You’re the man of my dreams. You’re handsome and strong and incredible!” She flings herself into his arms. “Please, kiss me!” They passionately embrace while rose petals fall around them and-

His friends’ uproarious laughter snapped him from his reverie. Right. That wouldn’t happen now, apparently.

Marinette looked apologetic for a moment, but then sat up even straighter, emboldened like she suddenly was her spotted alter-ego. Adrien supposed she was picturing cat ears flat against his head. He could practically feel them himself.

“And now you look like you’ve passed it.”

The challenge in her eyes taunted him, the smirk dancing on her lips a silent invitation. The message was clear. Step up or just take it.

Well that simply wouldn’t do.

A cheshire grin overtook his face. Marinette’s eyes grew wide for a split-second before she settled into her game face. “I don’t know that you’re one to talk, Princess. Didn’t you have me go buy constipation tablets for you in London?” He began mocking her voice. “’Oh, Adrien, please do this for me. You’re the only one who can!’”

If looks could kill, Adrien surely would have been pronounced dead on the scene.

He knew it had been a mistake. It was the first thing she cleared up after they revealed themselves, but Alya and Nino didn’t know that. It was a low blow, but fair was fair.

But once again, he had failed to account for Alya’s quick wit. The wicked smile on her face made him gulp and regret saying anything. “Wow, it sounds like you two really are made for each other.”

Was his face on fire? It felt like it. Could a human face physically catch flame? Maybe he could ask Ms. Mendeliev for resources to be studied.

He vaguely heard Marinette sputtering, but class began before he could hear what she had to say.

~~~~~

Class took an eternity to end. Nino had teased him via note through the entire thing, but Adrien was too removed to care. His leg couldn’t seem to stop jiggling the whole time, and his notebook showed that he had learned absolutely nothing.

Unless discovering that Adrien Dupain-Cheng looked better than Marinette Agreste counted. Because the whole page was full of it, written in various fonts and surrounded by hearts.

Oh well. The girl of his dreams had just been laughing at the centerfold photo of him wearing Gabriel briefs. He had no shame left.

He waited until Marinette and Alya got up to leave, then quietly followed them so he could hear what they were saying.

“Alya, you really didn’t have to say that. Adrien didn’t need to know.”

“Oh, come on, girl. You know I didn’t want to hurt him. We were going to find out his feelings either way. Either you were going to acknowledge that you think he’s drop-dead gorgeous, or we were going to see him get pouty because you didn’t think so. You chose not to own up, so we saw Model Boy get upset.”

Adrien felt himself blushing again.

“Alya, he knows he’s drop-dead gorgeous. He’s a model. He probably just got upset because his job is to match the expressions they tell him to.”

Alya laughed. “Girl, if you think he’s just upset over that, you’re more blind than he is. He’s more whipped than topping on an ice cream sundae.”

“You know that isn’t true.”

“If you’re so sure, then why don’t you ask him? Call him up, ask him out on a date. Not just video games. A real date,” Alya countered.

Marinette scoffed. “Come on, Alya. I can’t do that, no matter how much I want to. He only sees me as a friend.”

Adrien tripped, falling headfirst into a trashcan.

“She likes me back?!”

[hes-writer]

The Hate You Give

Hi hun! If you’re not too busy, could u write one where they’re are dating and she’s a latina? Like she feels insecure about her brown skin, slightly bigger chest and ass, her thick dominican accent bc the girls who were linked with him before were all white and blonde and like she tries to break up with him bc of all the hate and differences. Thanks honeyy!!💖💖 @champagnehaarry

disclaimer; I'm not latinx and I've done research as to not offend or stereotype this character to the best of my ability.

Summary: Y/N is latina and receives hate messages

Warnings: angst, fluff

——

Y/N was different. She knew that, well, she had an idea ever since she hit puberty way back when. Her chest had grown bigger than the rest of the girls and her bottom would get her catcalls when she walked down the street. She could handle it, she prided herself in being strong. She didn't mind her accent, not one bit. Sure, it was thick and her pronunciation on certain words had others asking for her to repeat what she just said maybe once or twice, but she tried to understand where they were coming from; ‘everyone has their differences,’ she thought. Her skin never really bothered her–in fact, she hadn't spared much thought about its pigment until now.

When she met Harry, all her insecurities washed away as if she was just a regular girl meeting the love of her life. The way she looked didn't matter to her because she could see in his eyes that he loved her—nobody could tell her any differently.

——-

Y/N was strong. So strong that even when the media caught the first sight of Harry and her hanging out together on their third date, she blew off the fact that one of the cameramen shouted at them, "Harry! Who's this beautiful brown lady with you?" One might say that it was a compliment, at least he called her beautiful, but she couldn't shake off the measures that person took to describe her. Couldn't have he just called her 'lady'? Y/N decides that she's making a bigger deal out of it than it actually meant.

The second time something remarkable happened—it was when Harry stopped their romantic walk to take pictures with his fans. Y/N didn't mind, she loved that Harry was so dedicated to the people that support him that he would basically give all that he can to them. He didn't have to, but he did and that made Y/N fall harder for him. One of the girls asked Y/N to take a picture, handed her their phone and posed with Harry. Y/N was surprised at the straightforward action and she knew that she could not mess this up. Not when the girl has probably been dreaming of this moment her entire life, Y/N will not be responsible for a blurry, half-assed picture. Instead, she asks the girl,

"Do you have any requests on how to take it? Portrait or landscape? Nothing below the waist or..?"

Harry admired her for being so caring, he only smiles at her for asking, being so patient that he feels giddy on the inside and he cannot wait to ask her to be his. The fan, however, furrows her brows and her face morphs into one of confusion.

"Can you repeat what you said?" Y/N repeats her statement but was only met with the same expression-–maybe with a hint of annoyance.

"I'm sorry, can you just take the picture? I don't want to be rude but your accent is so...thick, are you even from here,"

"Obviously not," the girl's friend answers for Y/N. The most obvious answer, if any. The girl beside Harry nudges her friend, eyes shifting from her and then hardening towards Harry as if warning her that she was being a bit rude.

Regardless, the friend eyes Y/N up and down with a glimmer in her eye that spoke hatred.

Y/N takes the picture anyway.

——-

As Harry and Y/N reach the door to her apartment, she couldn't help but think of the past events. It wasn't only that, it was a built up of temperament where she had been treated indifferently by people around Harry. Some fans commented under her selfie on Instagram ranging from "at least you have boobs and ass girl" to "how much fake tan does she use" —none, by the way, she was all natural. And Y/N can't help but feel a tad insecure.

Then came the news articles with the headlines, "Harry Styles Spotted With A Spicy Latina" or "Harry Snags A Girl From Down Under" which confuses her not only because they're an invasion of privacy but she wonders how her whole humanity can be diminished into such an objective headline—she had a name. Granted, she wasn't really worth knowing but regardless, it was better to be called by her name rather than a hotshot eye-catching headline.

She taps the link to one of the articles, scrolling through the lengthy piece of work, eyes squinting at the introduction where it states that Y/N was certainly a deviation away from Harry's usual hookups. Harry had taken it upon himself to make them some hot chocolate while she got changed in comfier clothes as a conclusion to their date night. She was supposed to choose the movie. Her eyes squint at the words "10 Proofs that Y/N Y/LN is a no match for Harry"

The first one on the list was Taylor Swift. Of course, how could Y/N forget about her. Skinny, blonde and pale skin, a stark contrast to her curvy figure, wavy hair and darker toned pigment. She feels a lurch in her stomach from the hit of realization.

Then came Camille Rowe—a model with similar attributes as Taylor. Completely the opposite of Y/N and she feels herself getting more sick at the knowledge being pounded into her. She didn't care about Harry's past because she only cared for who he is in the present. Seeing the women he went for before her puts a stake right through her self-esteem knowing that she would always be compared with one of them as long as she and Harry were together. Her confidence staggering each time she reads a negative comment about how her skin color made Harry stand out whereas it made her blend in the background-a sarcastic joke that wasn't very funny. Her breath hitching every time the topic of her accent came up; how fans who've met her in person make fun of her not having an understandable accent as if it was her fault that her pronunciation was too broad beyond their compare. And each time she sees a comparison of her and Harry with him and his exes, she shakes her head because she knows that literally nothing good ever comes out of that.

She knows she's strong. But why did this hurt her so much? The personal attacks being hurled at her made her feel so inferior to others and even to Harry! It was like the media was never gonna get used to the fact that she's a person of colour—continuously writing papers about their 'interracial' relationship as if it was such a huge deal when really, it was not even their business to pry or scavenge for.

"Hey love, have you chosen a movi– hey, hey what's wrong?" Harry walks through the doors of her bedroom, feet kicking the door slightly open while his hands carried two steaming mugs of foaming hot chocolate. Upon seeing her tears and slouched stance, he sets the cups down on the bedside table before sitting with her at the foot of the bed.

Y/N stares at him as he does so before wiping her eyes with the heel of her hands. "Nothing, it's nothing just.."

"You can tell me anything, you know that. Now tell me what's wrong, lovie" He wraps an arm around her figure as an action of comfort, but Y/N only sees it as a burden in her chest.

"I think we should break up, H" She looks at her sock-clad feet. Not being able to look at him in the eyes, it's her weakness.

"What? Y/N, did I do something?" Harry tilts her chin up towards his face, eyes frantically searching her red ones for a justifiable reason for her decision.

"I'm not good enough for you," Harry gasps at her confession, genuinely surprised that his girlfriend could even fathom to say those words, let alone think of them.

He denies every claim about her theory but his voice was muted by her mind repeatedly playing the things she had read a few minutes ago. Memories of her being demeaned echoing through her head.

"You're the best person I've ever been with. It doesn't matter what other people sa—"

"Yes it does, Harry! It definitely matters when I'm being constantly picked on and compared to your ex-girlfriends. Every day I read something about how I must've 'tricked' you into being with me because of how I look," Y/N cuts Harry's rant off, not caring if it hurts him because she was so so hurt. The pain had embedded itself in her, working its way up to her roots; who she was and where she came from.

"I'm not just another girl that Harry Styles dated. I'm the brown girl, the one who has the 'biggest ass' out of all of them and especially the darkest because you... you've only dated people like Taylor before and I can't live my life being put down because of how I look,"

Harry stares at her with emotion. Of course, the media was gonna pinpoint what his 'type' was. He didn't know it was hurting his love.

"Y/N, they're all bull. Whoever's writing this shit, they're only in it for the money," he begins, forcing her body to face him completely. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met. They're my exes for a reason and even if I did date them, I'm with you now because I love you for who you are,"

"But it's true, isn't it? They're all so small and I'm big. They're half the size of me for god's sakes!"

"It's not true. And you know why? You're mesmerizing in your own way. I love the way your body curves, the way you look doesn't matter to me as much because you're a beautiful, genuine person inside and out," He nods along to his words. "But your body is amazing, Y/N. And you should learn to love your skin because it shows you who you are."

Y/N bored at Harry's eyes, seeing nothing but genuine kindness behind it. Her mouth gapes open having not heard such compliments from anyone as authentic as the words Harry was speaking to her.

"Harry..."

"No, Y/N. I won't sit here and listen to you put yourself down. You deserve to know how unbelievably gorgeous you are. The tabloids, the hate—they're not true and people like them need some education before they go off dragging other people who don't look like them down."

"You're right, H. I'm sorry,"

"You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about,"

She wipes tears from her eyes, this time they're from happiness.

——

@ynm1505

[onyour-right]

12 & 132 for the dick kori prompts???? I love them

Firstly, thank you so much for these prompts, anon. I love them too. 

I don’t know whether you wanted them combined or not, but I kinda did them as two whole separate scenarios. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think xD

12.  “Cute, but still fucked up.”

Dick’s in his office in the apartment, eyes shut and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he fights the tiredness and the dull ache in his head threatening to completely take him under. He thought having a day to work from home would somehow help ease the stress of his job, but if anything it’s making him even more annoyed; that he’s having to deal with the idiocy of people in a place he likes to keep separate from all the bullshit.

After a few minutes of silently pulling himself together and steering himself up to dealwith the seemingly never-ending list of emails awaiting him, he opens his eyes and begins furiously tapping at his laptop keys. He doesn’t know how long he stays like that for, maybe it’s minutes or maybe it’s hours, but the silentconcentration is suddenly broken when he faintly registers the sound of a key turning into a lock and the front door opening. His brows crease in confusion as he glances up at the clock; it’s way too early for it to be Gar or Rachelback from school, and Kory wasn’t set to come back this early either.

One part of him itches to grab the weapon he keeps in his top drawer, but the other part of him, the more rational part, realises the likelihood of a bad guy breaking into the apartment using a key is very low. He’s just about to get up from his seat and investigate the sound when the door to his office swings opens suddenly and then Kory appears. Even though Dick feels like he’s seconds away from crashing, his eyes instantly roam over Kory’s figure carefully and intensely, scanning her for any visible wounds or signs of distress that might explain why she’s home so early.

“Hey, what are you doing back? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, waving away his concern as she moves towards him, “might have told a little lie to leave early though.”

His brows raise up at that. In all the time he’s known Kory she’s never once lied to himor to anyone, she’s the type of person who is so honest it’s almost hurtful sometimes, so the fact that she’s lied to someone is new to him.

When she finally reaches him a somewhat sheepish expression claims her features as she leans against his desk opposite from him. Her close proximity makes it even harder for him to focus, because she looks like a vision; even dressed in a standard white blouse with black pants and a pair of heels that add height to her already tall frame.

“I killed off my sister.”

Confusion momentarily clouds his face at her words, he’s way too exhausted to try and decipher what she means and he thinks she realises that because she breaks it down for him even further. 

“I told them my sister had died so I could leave early.”

“Kory!” He chastises, trying to reign back on his twisted sense of humour that makes him only slightly amused at the whole situation.

“What?” She answers indignantly, beginning to feel a little slighted at his scolding tone and expression. “She might as well be. Plus, I was tired and wanted to come home and spend a bit of time with you.”

He’d be lying to himself if he said it didn’t fill him with a sense of pride at hearingthose words come from her, if the words didn’t act like a soothing balm to his scars, especially with the day he’d been having so far. Dick breaks out into a little teasing smile and reaches forward to grab her hand, intertwining their fingers as he pulls her towards him and into his lap before letting go and snaking his arms around the curve of her waist. He pulls her close towards him, so close he can smell the scent of the perfume she’s wearing.  

“It’s kinda cute, I guess.”

Kory snorts, rolling her eyes as she lifts her arms up and wraps them around his neck. “Cute, huh?”

“Yeah, cute, but still kinda fucked up.”

132. “That was kind of hot.”

Kory saunters out of their kitchen and into the living room where Dick is sat waitingfor her, a wide, child-like grin on her lips that illuminates her whole face as she carries out a bottle of rum and gives it a playful shake. “Look what I found,” she says in a sing-song tone, her brown eyes blazing with excitement.  

He fights back a snort of amusement and continues to watch her as she makes her way over to him, clad in nothing but a grey oversized shirt of his, her magenta curls bouncing with every stride she takes. It doessomething to him and touches somewhere in him, something that he can’t quite name yet and a place he never thought anything or anyone could ever touch, to see her act so freely like this. To see her act so freely with himlikethis.

It’s hard for Dick to forget that she’s not human; it’s palpable enough in the way shecarries herself - with elegance and strength, in the way she speaks and the way she acts – with unwavering and refreshing honesty, the way she instantly draws out respect and attention from anyone she comes into contact with, even thoseshe’s going against.  

But it’s hard for him to remember how young they both are, how burdened. As much as they love what they do; fighting bad guys and simultaneously protecting but allowing Raven and Gar the freedom to grow into who they want to be, it’s extremely draining at times. It leaves them with very little time to do anything else, to be anything else – a young couple who enjoy each other’s company, for instance..

Kory sinks into the space beside him, a soft sigh falling from her mouth as she twistsherself round so that she can throw her long and exposed legs over his lap and cross them at her ankles. It’s something she loves to do when it’s only the two of them and she can be more open with her affections, it’s something Dick secretly loves when she does.  

“You’ve ordered the food, right?” She asks, her playful expression morphing into aserious one as she arches a well-shaped brow and waits for his reply. If there’s one thing that she absolutely doesn’t mess around with, it’s her food.

Dick feels himself breaking out into a smile, he drops a hand down to her thigh, his thumb drawing slow circles into the smoothness of her skin as he reassures her. “Of course, should be here soon.”

Satisfied, and trying to ignore the sparks his simple action ignites inside of her, sheelicits a soft hum before lifting the bottle of rum to her mouth so she can unscrew the lid with her teeth and pour them both a glass. It’s only when she’s halfway to pouring out the intoxicating liquid that she realises Dick is eyeing her with a weird look and his movement against her skin has stilled. It makes her self-conscious in only a way he can.

“What?”

He shakes his head and stays quiet, but the intensity of his gaze on her indicates otherwise. She narrows her eyes and prods her red, manicured nails into his side, causing him to let out a yelp even though she knows it hardly hurt him. “Tell me.”

Dick sighs defeatedly, rolling his eyes as if he’s exasperated but in reality they both knowthat he’s anything but. “It’s just, that was kind of hot.”

Her face creases in confusion at what it is she could have done that could warrant such areaction from him, but then quickly it dawns on her and the frown on her face is swiftly replaced with a mischievous glint.

“You like what I did with my mouth, huh?”

Dick’s whole face splits into a rare grin; a grin that takes years from his age, a grin thatmakes Kory’s heart ache because it reminds her of the young boy who was never allowed to just be, a grin that’s reserved only for her. “What can I say? That mouth of yours is a gift.”

Kory’s answering bark of laughter fills the room and warms Dick from the inside out, it makes him want to pen poems about the warmness of her laughter even though he’snot that kind of guy.

“And don’t you ever forget it, Grayson.”

[aj-artjunkyard]

Trials Of Apollo Oneshot Series  CHAPTER TWO

It was my turn to keep watch. It was dark, though there was no way to accurately determine what time it was. Meg snored deeply from the rush-job tent just a few feet behind me. We’d had quite the close call a few nights ago, when a Pandos tracker from Caligula’s army had caught us off guard. From then on, we decided that at least one of us should be awake at all times. But now, sitting and shivering on an uncomfortable rock in the eerie darkness of the forest in the early morning, I decided I regretted every part of my and Meg’s little agreement. Not only was I cold and tired, I was also hyperaware of the fact that I was extremely vulnerable. I had been mortal for so long that I could hardly shoot a barn from point-blank range. I had trouble with the intricate fingering on my combat ukulele. My voice wavered at cracked when I sang even the simplest tune. I feared that if something were to happen, I wouldn’t be able to do anything except scream for help from a little girl in traffic-light coloured attire. Have I mentioned that being mortal sucks?

But… there was something else. When I was a god, I had the ability to keep an eye on mortal exploits from my throne on Olympus. I had observed with interest the quests of many heroes; Hercules, Theseus and Percy Jackson, to name a few. So I knew with certainty that the gods would be watching me. This was not new information. I had always known. What was bothering me was that the uncomfortable feeling of eyes on my back felt intensified. I was the entertainment of a large audience tonight. 

I could almost feel my image in the central hearth of Hestia in the Olympian throne room, where you could watch anyone in the world flicker through its flames like a blazing hologram. I’ve watched a few soppy family movies with Hestia and the others huddled around the warmth of the most gentle source of power in all of Olympus. When you were sat viewing ‘Beauty and the Beast’ in high definition, you simply forgot all sense of tension between you and your brethren. Even to lawless scamps like Hermes, it was simply improper to argue in front of Hestia's hearth. Demeter and I came to our uneasy truce over ‘The Secret Garden’. Artemis and I had forgotten countless arguments over ‘Robin Hood’ since 1973. (What? We’re archers. And we love the justice dealt to the greedy prince. Artie will tell you that Maid Marian shouldn't have gotten married. This isn’t true.) You catch my drift. It hurt that I was the one being peered at, ridiculed, from such a pure, sacred place.

And so, I knew something was going to happen. I stole a glance back at Meg, wondering if I should wake her. Then again, there was no telling what a cranky, sleep-deprived tween would order me to do if I were to wake her just because I was feeling a little skittish. I decided against disturbing her. 

But what I did next, I could not explain at the time. I thought perhaps the nerves got the better of me. Perhaps my fidgeting became too much. I stood. My keen ears picked up the faint squealing of an infant. Meg’s snores began to ebb away to the back of my mind, like the whole world was being submerged in Poseidon’s fury. The screams became more acute. I was drawn to go to it, to silence the scream. My peripheral vision darkened. I could only see straight ahead, to the source of the voice. The urge became as powerful as my master’s orders. I started to walk.

I had only gone a few steps forward in my trance when I gained back control of my lower body, and, with great force, willed myself to stop. I stood there, stuck in limbo, my mind violently hurling commands back and forth like the ball in an olympian volleyball game (Zeus and Poseidon are terrifyingly competitive).

‘Go!’ The first voice hissed. ‘You are needed! Save them!’

‘Not a chance!' The second sniped back. ‘You’d leave Meg vulnerable like that? You are no better than the gods and emperors you say you despise!’

‘Meg can defend herself. You need to be the useful one for a change. How many people have you disappointed? Do not let this be another.’

My legs felt detached from my body. I stepped another few paces. “No!” I muttered to myself. “I want to stay!” The pull did not lessen.

‘Trust me,’ said the first voice, morphing into that of a fierce woman’s. Her tone was a calm leader’s, pointing her soldiers into the battlefield. ‘No harm shall come to your companion. Now, go!’ Her last word spurred my legs against my will. I began to run towards the source of the screaming, my heart pumping faster and more desperately every second, without actually knowing why. My entire form went on autopilot. I saw myself jumping over fallen tree trunks, clawing up steep, muddy hills and wading through a shallow creeks. I felt every stone scraped my hands on, every branch that stung my face. But I could not control it. Down in the very depths of my mind I felt my fear of being trapped and guilt of leaving Meg, but it was quickly quenched by this new feeling of an unwelcome person sharing my Lester prison.

My subconscious thrashed to regain control. But I couldn’t. No matter how hard I fought, I could not make myself portray anything but this monotoned calm. I was forced to take a backseat and watch quietly as I let myself run and run until my lungs felt like Hephaestus had made them into his new forge. I wanted to wheeze, cough and splutter. I couldn’t. I tried to yell for help. I couldn’t.

Finally, after an eternity of sprinting through the damp, cold maze of trees, the presence left my mortal body. My knees buckled and my feet gave way. I lay face down in the dirt panting like Cerberus on a particularly dry day in the Underworld. My clothes were in tatters. My hands and knees were bleeding. Everything up to my mid-thighs was soaked, and the rest was caked with mud. I managed to push myself up, though I shook badly. I stayed like that for a while - on all fours, concentrating on breathing more than anything else. Breathing is good. I always recommend breathing. 

Then I heard the cries. They only sounded to be a few feet ahead of me. With all my mortal strength (which isn’t a lot, but I was tired) I used a nearby trunk to haul myself to my feet, still gasping at the air hungrily. When I looked up, my eyes connected with a strange sight. A wispy grey apparition floated silently next to a dark tree stump. On the stump lay a little bundle of writhing white sheets, wrapped tightly around a minuscule form. I stood there for a second - maybe out of shock - before I rushed over to the child, tripping and landing on my bleeding knees out of desperation to reach him. I took him up as gently as my shaking hands could, and clutched him tightly to my chest. You may be wondering why I did this. Firstly, please. I know I’m not a model father, but I’m no monster. Even in my godly state, I would have reacted as such. Just as my sister is the protector of young maidens, I am the protector of young men. I don’t quite understand how I knew, but this little child was a boy. Perhaps it’s my mother’s genes that spurs on this side of me. She is, after all, the titaness of motherhood (also, I know for certain that I don’t get any of my fatherly traits from my own father).

Secondly, this baby, barely a newborn, had obviously been abandoned by his parents. Left for dead with no skills or means to survive. He was utterly defenceless. I sympathised.

I felt the baby’s heartbeat and checked his temperature, all while hugging him as close as possible, trying to provide him with heat from my own body. I could tell he needed far more warmth than my shivering frame could give him. My teeth chattered. My numb fingers could just about keep an even grip on the baby.

“He won’t survive much longer.” The apparition’s voice made me jump. I had completely forgotten her presence. I scolded myself. You do not disregard a potential deity unless you want something sharp or white-hot to mutilate you on the spot. Stupid Apollo! This was basic hero knowledge! I looked up at her, already recognising her voice. The woman wore a full-length chiton, held a spear in one hand, and a shield in the other. Her head was adorned with a battle helm that sprouted smoky grey plumage as if someone had set her tightly woven hair bun on fire, though I guess that wasn’t the look she was going for. Over one shoulder, a small satchel was slung. Battle ready and stoic as ever, stood Athena, the goddess of wisdom.

“S-sister,” I greeted coldly (literally. I was shivering enough to cause concern.) “How nice of you to show. I would have thought you above interacting with human children.”

“You are four thousand years old. You are not a child, though your behaviour could fool most.”

“I didn’t mean me, I meant-”

“We have urgent matters to discuss.”

“But why did you-”

“There is limited time.” Ugh. Athena was and is the spitting image of Zeus. One track mind. It doesn’t matter if everyone was crying and screaming, they would still finish what they were saying or doing before giving a thought to anyone else’s feelings.

“I have information for you,” ghost-Athena continued. “You must-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” I interrupted (wow, Athena was right! Cutting people off was fun). Athena looked irritated, but allowed me to speak. “Why did you drag me to this kid? What’s he got to do with this?” Sighing deeply, she began to explain.

“It’s an excuse.” She looked down at me as if this should have been the most obvious thing in the world.  “My plan was to alert you to this child’s predicament, then appear and take him to safety. As the protector of young boys, his well-being is your responsibility. I told father how embarrassing it would be for him to look like he couldn’t handle your ‘simplistic’ jobs, and he allowed me take the child if you just so happened to find him,”- she waved her hands slightly for emphasis -“on the condition that I don’t talk to you.”

“So…why are you talking to me?”

“I am disregarding his condition as I trust his reliance on my wise judgement. He cannot hurt me.”

I grunted. “Right.” It must have felt good to be one of my father’s favourite children. I would not know. I was cursed to be in the same group as deities such as Ares and Dionysus. Sometimes even they got more attention than me! I was not some dumb war brute or a drunken demigod! I was Apollo! I (sometimes) knew the future! I sang songs of our (my) glory! Not to mention my (and my sister’s) skill with a bow! I was an intelligent medic! Have you ever been to medical school? Only the brightest survive (excuse my pun about being the frickin’ sun god).

Then again, my mortal mind had been kicking me recently. Ever since meeting Hermes on the way to Camp Jupiter, I had come to an awful realisation. Among the Olympians, I was always second best. An atrocity, I know! I do not suit silver. That’s my sister’s colour! I’m supposed to be gold! But I assure you kind readers, it is true, for I have thought this over. Anything I could do, someone else could also do. Healing? They had my son, Asclepius. Archery? My sister, Artemis. Music and poetry? The nine muses. The sun? They already had Hermes on that job. Sure, I could spread plague, but so could the Nosoi. I could be a deep thinker if I wanted to be, but so could Athena, and her ‘deep thoughts’ were usually to my father’s favour, unlike mine.

If I showed any disgust (and I’m sure I did,) Athena did not acknowledge it. Instead she ploughed on with her all-important speech.

“As I was saying, I have something important to share with you.” She started digging through her small satchel while she talked. “Both Artemis and Hermes have helped you, and both are now being watched by father. I will be more careful. I have only come to give you this.” From the petite bag, she drew a water bottle and a clear zip-lock bag with what looked like little squares of brownies inside. She placed the bottle on the tree stump next to her, and held up the bag. “These have been chemically synthesised by your son Asclepius and myself. They have the healing properties of ambrosia, but can be safely consumed by mortals, as long as you do not eat too much. The bag is not self-replenishing, so use them carefully. This is something Artemis whipped up. It’s-”

“-Moonwater,” I finished. The glinting silveriness of the liquid was too obvious to be anything else. I remembered Thalia Grace giving me some back in Indianapolis, before - well, before Caligula happened. I hated myself for reminding me. 

Athena seemed unbothered. “Yes. Now if you could hand over the child-” she started reaching her arms out the shivering baby in my arms. As soon as Athena’s hands were within an inch of him, he started screeching with renewed energy. The shrill sound echoed through the quiet woods, a few birds in nearby trees flapping off to escape the racket. I flinched and Athena covered her ears.  I rocked the baby and hummed a quiet lullaby until he calmed down. Athena sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Right. Let us try that again.” She picked up the baby and rocked him like I had, but the noise was no different. For a newborn, he definitely had a good pair of lungs. 

Seeing Athena struggle with something so simple was quite amusing, but I decided to be a good person (see? I am good. I am.) and help her out. With great difficulty, I stood and shuffled over to Athena’s smoke-self. She glared, but allowed me to adjust her hand positioning. 

“Babies don’t have much in the neck. You have to hold them like this.” Athena huffed. 

“I know that.” She snapped.

“Good. Now you’ll have to sing to him.”

Athena blanched (as much as a grey apparition can, anyway). “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You don’t have to sing the entire Les Misérables soundtrack. Just a little tune.” You’ll have to forgive me here. I knew there were other alternatives. But I also I knew Athena was self-conscious. I just wanted to get one of the Olympians to be as embarrassed as I constantly was for the last three months.

After some convincing, Athena agreed to hum, but nothing more. She chose ‘Für Elise’ by Beethoven. A good choice I suppose. I admit, it did please me that even in her semi-solid colourless state, I could almost feel her cheeks reddening. Too soon, the baby quietened down. 

“Not bad. Though your pace needs to slow down a bit to -”

“Hush up.” I held up my hands in surrender and flashed my old, cocky smile. It didn’t seem to fit naturally anymore. I ignored that.

“You’ve done better than I expected.”

“Gee, thanks.” Suddenly thunder rumbled in the distance. We both looked to the skies.

“I’ve exceeded my time limit. I must be off.” And with that, the embodiment of wisdom poofed and disappeared, leaving me coughing in her smoke. I arrived back at the campsite just as the sun’s first rays began to peek through the trees.

[krakenator]

Chapter 17 aka “Dune”

SPOILERS are sprinkled around extremely liberally for The Property of Hate

Masterpost here

RGB: oh fuck

That’s… that’s actually really neat. We get confirmation soon that everything in this world has color as blood, not just RGB. So, you can actually see it in this tree stump- idk if that’s how sap actually works but it’s a cool as hell visual

That’s a neat way to highlight how FUCKING UNNERVED AND AFRAID RGB IS SEEING THIS BULLSHIT

Oh fuck. Oh that is really not good. Oh no. oh god it’s a domino effect. No trees means nothing is holding up the sea which means the darkness can’t do anything on its own. This is gonna ripple back to the market isn’t it. Oh god

With the sea collapsing like this, Click may get released from his watery grave quicker than imagined…

YIKES

Ok, at least it stopped and stabilized. For now. buuuut that particular exit is completely unusable now

HEY WAIT A MINUTE *rewinds a few pages* YEAH REMEMBER THAT HUGE SCHISM CRACK FROM REALIZING RGB’S MURDERED MANY HEROES AND BEING TOLD TO SHOOT HIM? Yeah that shits GONE now

How the fuck? That hasn’t happened before. Hero’s had to sleep to heal her schism in the past.

AND ITS COMING BACK? One page after they’re out of the darkness and that schism is starting to think about making a reappearance. WHY THO

CONSIDER THIS: darkness ALSO has healing properties? Whereas total Light will burn, scorch, and white you out from existence, total Dark will hide, conceal, and heal you.

Then again, Hero’s schism didn’t heal on her first journey through darkness to get to the Market

So... more likely it was something to do with their bonding in the last chapter, or- or even though the Nightmare gave her a bad scare, it is still technically a DREAM, and dreams whether they are nice or scary will still heal you up a bit? Interesting if true. Alternatively, the sheer proximity to that literal blockade of dreams was just so, many and potent that Hero didnt even need to be asleep for them to work a little magic on her

I still think I’m onto something about Darkness also having healing effects, however! Consider the evidence:

RGB was fucking WRECKED right before Negative come out to play way back in chapter 6. Just utterly destroyed. He was COVERED IN BURNS from being PUNCHED ACROSS A FIELD and then his circuits got ELECTROCUTED. But Negative doesn’t have any of those injuries, and neither does RGB once Negative has finished his job. Negative, confirmed to be Made of Darkness, heals RGB from whatever dumb-fuck nonsense he’s gotten into to make Negative have to step in

EVIDENCE #2: that black residue Hero leaves from being impaled on the sick tree. Just because RGB believes nothing they did contributed to the tree’s revival doesn’t mean that’s entirely true. If Hero somehow left behind a lil bit o’ Darkness in the tree, then maybe it might have thawed a little/slower on its own even without the Butterfly also melting away the [—–]

One last, slightly off-topic thing before we get back to continuing the actual chapter, people produce soft lights and flowers when they sleep, right? and those flowers fade away once they wake up. RGB’s never done that, but Negative spawns blue roses that break apart when he’s done his business. My point being... RGB doesn’t dream. If he only ever actually asleep when Negative is awake?

RGB’s overabundance of color comes into play once again

“this sand is stained by the blood of dead trees” wow I did not remember this section of comic being as metal as it is

Wait the fuck a minute. Hold on. Hold- hold on

RGB IS A FUCKING COLOR BLEED PUN

RGB’s explanation is great for why this place is littered with husks of vehicles, but let’s think about what else probably ends up here, all those objects of sentimental affection and names- laptops, favorite pens. stuffed animals! The Sands are like a junk yard. and things occasionally get washed into the Sea, or the Sea washes them up here... just a cool cycle overall

SPECTACULAR TEAMWORK LOVELIES KEEP IT UP

back on the schism- its definitely much better than when they left the Market, but worse for having exited the Darkness. its more of an impression of a dip that a gaping wound right now

OH. So, yeah the sun piece will probably run into its brother whilst in the ocean, but RGB’s right- it probably went there in order to be hidden over other reasons

BUSTED

RGB: you did WHAT? You SOLD your FINGERS? Without TELLING ME? What made you think you could go and do that, I would’ve handled it!!

Hero, remembering that time she saw RGB rip his whole hand off and give it to an owl he met 2 seconds ago: I mean…

Yo can we… talk about RGB’s entire train of thought (LMAO) here? That he’s upset about Hero trading away parts of herself but doesn’t really give a fig about doing the same to himself? He’ll sell off buttons or an entire hand, but Hero gives away two fingers for a friend and he’s upset that she didn’t let him know, because he’d have handled it? On one hand it’s very “adults being horrified at children having to take on responsibilities and experiences they shouldn’t have to” which I am always about, yet on the other hand I’m getting a “RGB really doesn’t value himself much at all does he” vibe and yikes my heart

Like, between the self-worth issues touched on here and “maintain illusion of control and confidence by saying big words smartly”- same fucking hat. RGB needs to stop being relatable

“saying HUGE words, just INCOMPREHENSIBLE LETTERS when angry” is also. Yup. That’s uh. That’s me. goddammit

...... for me, this is what i would personally call the Nightmare Scenario

YOWCH that looks like it hurt. At least the good news is RGB will be able to recolor himself over a bit of time. Not sure if he’s also able to regenerate indelible lineart, so… better just not have to find out

also; that’s literally a train of thought. Why’s it colored like Negative, though? Is this a train made of Darkness?

YUP it’s a Darkness-cloaked train- how fucking weird must this look on Hate’s side?

Fdhafjk I forgot, they have NO IDEA what happened to Click. Amazing

what.... in the fresh hell is going on in this panel

BUT, super interesting implication that Hate can’t LEAVE this place, and that without Dial to get audio, or him/the Butterfly to go out and interact with things, Hate is very hands-off

but honestly wtf is the slanted speechbox? “this side of the script”??? i love it but what does this mean

RGB points out that charging through the sands like this should be destroying it, yet it remains perfectly intact throughout all of this, even when BURROWING INTO THE LITERAL ERASING SANDS. Interesting implication that Darkness can’t be erased. Interesting implication that Negative would be entirely unaffected by sand as well

IS DIAL EATING POPCORN? HOW

Who wants to bet this is gonna be an inkwell

AND DIAL IS LET OUT OF HIS CAGE!

Who the fuck would be the third party that’s sent this hell-train out to scoop up and deliver our heroes to them? 

The idea that the kidnapper has at least once before been a kidnapee is just so funny to me. HOW DOES IT FEEL RGB??

(war flashbacks to THIS MORNING when RGB: broke into song, rocketed himself across the market via explosion and a slingshot, and wouldn’t stop making puns the entire time) my man is a ball of stress but damn if he isn’t able to react in the moment

The good news is RGB’s color regen process is pretty slick- his back’s already back to normal

Your humansona’s a real Jackie Chan madman isn’t he RGB. a real Tom Cruise motherfucker. Some Buster Keaton level shit.

I SHOULD SINCERELY HOPE SO, you’re wearing like TWO lucky objects on your person currently. If that can’t give you even a smidgen of stat-boosting...

now CHECK THIS OUT: it seems like RGB starts running into weirdness BEFORE he charges directly into the dream-infested car. A film-reel overlay effect, and lookit his hat-  negative stripes of shadow

Chiaroscuro: “the effect of contrasted light and shadow” created by light shining in weird ways and directions. interesting chapter title to use, uncle mod, on a chapter which has got the pure whites of the erased desert/Hate’s realm directly contrasted with tree stumps and this weird, darkness train

Don’t you hate it when you run directly into a gas cloud of dreams

So we got a jewel (a box?), white and black hands, the iron again, a teardrop shape, what might be RGB’s Mystery Button, all with film reels

And speaking of that iron, we also get the fiery sharp shapes again… which morph into S’s. it’s a sound. a SSSSSSSSSSS

I just had to go look up what an iron actually sounds like and… yeah. It makes an SSSS sound

Human RGB is… unfairly handsome. Of course he is. AND I SEE THAT TV IN ON THE LEFT MOD

Hey wait a minute

That’s not my bastard man

NOBODY in this comic has spoken in ANYTHING other than black or white colored text. and now here is this ancient MEMORY MAN speaking in ORANGE?

well actually the ‘co-worker’ is speaking in like really dark maroon? BUT STILL

“we split” has returned, 15 chapters later

The duality of these two title pages is really something- past and present getting whacked awake, the similar position present RGB has fallen to mirror past-human-guy, going from the Light of the memory to the Darkness of the train

ACTUALLY, RGB didn’t even LAND like that. he fall on the floor like THIS. he’s SHIFTED to reflect the decayed, old, deteriotated and fragile memory currently playing out in his head

AND CHECK OUT THOSE NEGATIVE-STRIPE GLITCHES! WOWIE! Lots and lots of foreshadowing to the upcoming Neggy appearance coming very soon to a screen near you!

[hah-studios]

The Beauty of a Beast Part 3

In celebration of the upcoming Disney remake and for one of the most timeless love stories ever told: mixing three different adaptions and adding my own twists. A beautiful and strong-willed girl must pull a prince from a monster, a castle from its curse, she must do the impossible and find a way to love a beast.

The final part of my Beauty and the Beast story (and just in time!) and I hope you all enjoyed it!

Usually when Gaston spent the night at the pub it became a place to celebrate how amazing he was. Nowadays it was a place to pity him.

Belle’s rejection had wounded his ego no doubt, but what hurt more was that he couldn’t try to win her over, the girl having disappeared the night of his proposal. Her brother and sisters coming to the pub to try and appease him, stroking his damaged ego and telling him how Belle had just been surprised, that she would come around with time, just be patient with her. With a few drinks in him Gaston was just recollecting his resolve to pursue the girl when suddenly Maurice and Nicholas came into the pub. The old man had been trembling, eyes wide and glassy while his son held his arm and led him to their other siblings.

“Father!” Tristan gasped. “Where have you been?”

Maurice’s voice was hollow, “Belle…it took Belle.” He grabbed Tristan’s arms, “Belle was taken by a beast!”

           Gaston watched silently while Maurice’s children tried to calm their hysterical father down. Not even Nicholas believed what he was saying. But the young man did explain how Belle had gone to look for Maurice-and she hadn’t returned.

Gaston had led a small search party out, exploring the outskirts of the forest while Maurice kept insisting that they had to go deeper, that the beast’s castle was in the darkest part of the forest. Gaston had rolled his eyes at the man, there was no way a fragile thing like Belle would have gone that far into such a foreboding forest. No, after a few days everyone except for the old man had decided that Belle ran away, and everyone had their own theory on why she did.

“She was such an adventurous soul, she wanted to put some miles behind her.” “She actually hated her new country life; she went to find a way to regain riches.”

“She didn’t want to marry Gaston.”

That last theory always soured his throat and made him throw back another glass of beer. He sat before the roaring fireplace of the pub, antlers from his many kills hanging above the flames, usually a sight of pride they did not ease his soul tonight. But despite his melancholic drinking he had noticed a group of unfamiliar men, travelers, hogging one table to themselves. They had come in whispering but after a few pints their whispers became loud enough for Gaston to overhear.

“I ain’t goin’ back there!” The man who spoke was as white as a sheet, holding a grubby hand to his stomach.

One of his friends turned to him, “But imagine how much money we could get with a kill that big.” Talk of hunting piqued Gaston’s interest.

“Like we could kill it! It nearly ripped my intestines out! And it probably ate that girl we found!”

Gaston turned in his chair to get a better look at the men. Their clothes were ratty, hair a tangled mess and they were swaying in their seats from the effects of the alcohol. But the fear in their eyes was far too genuine. There was something out in those woods, and apparently not only it attacked them but also a girl who was out in the woods…

Gaston stood up to join them, lips curling into a smile.

.

             When the Beast arrived at the dinning room Belle’s smile was full of relief, standing up she met him halfway. “I want to apologize again,” she explained, expression morphing from relieved to stricken. And while he knew it was awful he couldn’t help but like how worried she was. She really cared for him…

           But he still assured her, “I’m fine.” He waited for her shoulders to relax before tilting his head to her. “Could I ask something of you?”

Her eyes glittered with curiosity and he took a moment to admire how large her eyes were, how warm the amber looked, matching her dark skin tone. “What do you need?” “I’d like to-to have a dance with you.”

He could practically taste her surprise, no need for the arched brows and parted lips. Belle looked him over as if she wasn’t completely sure this was her Montague. “In the ballroom?” she clarified softly.

He nodded, self-doubt clogging his throat and making words stick to his tongue, so he only nodded a second time. And slowly, oh so slowly, a smile curved Belle’s lips and- how could one person be so beautiful? “You want to dance with me?” The elated way in which she spoke did not slow down the Beast’s heart. He finally wrestled words out of his mouth, “I-I am not a very…coordinated dancer. But I’d like to try. With you.”

Her expression, warm and sincere, felt like an embrace. “Lucky for you I was raised by a socialite and know many a dance moves.” She held his hands in hers, so different yet so fitting. “Let’s dance tomorrow; we can make a whole evening out of it.”

           The Beast had to swallow a large level of pride to ask Renard and Plumes to help get him ready for the evening. The fox and owl gushed over him, instructing him on how to groom his fur, help him find the perfect outfit. All the while telling him how happy they were for him.

“She was worried for you last night, you know,” Renard told him while hunting through the walk in closet. “That’s why we went looking for you.” The Beast examined his reflection in the mirror, something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. Even with his fur well maintained now he had no idea what that girl saw in him, however he wasn’t going to take back his invitation to dance. Instead he looked to Plumes who sat atop the mirror, “Is it bad that I was happy she was so worried for me?”

The owl blinked at him. “That means you care what she thinks of you.” Renard trotted out of the closet, “And that’s never happened before! Not even when you were human!”

           Plumes spoke while the Beast pulled on the outfit Renard had chosen. “Speaking of, tonight you must let your feelings for her known.” The intensity of his eyes reminded the Beast that the rose only had so many petals left.

Renard was nodding in agreement, “You can’t deny it. You care for the girl and tonight after the dance is a perfect time to tell her!”

“It’s time to break the curse,” Plumes added.

The Beast nodded, his chest swimming with feelings of anxiety, excitement, and something he didn’t think he would ever feel again…  

 .

             Belle spun in front of the mirror once again, going through so many dresses, trying to find the right one. “This is silly,” she remarked when she found herself not overly fond of an eggshell blue number. “I’ve never cared so much over what dress I wear. That was my sisters’ job.” Lapin and Chat sat on her bed and the two exchanged a knowing look before the rabbit spoke, “Maybe that’s because you never had anyone you wanted to impress.”

Belle’s cheeks turned hot and she ran her fingers through her hair, an awkward bubble of laughter bursting past her lips. “You think so?”

Chat purred, “I’m sure the master is getting himself worked up into a right proper tizzy as well. He really wants to impress you.”

Belle smiled softly at the words, her heart picking up its pace. She did another spin, this time the eggshell blue was painted over by a shining, golden yellow and she couldn’t help a soft gasp. The bodice was a simple design, but it had wrapped off-the-shoulder sleeves along with matching yellow opera gloves, the skirt itself decorated with flowing yellow lace. Her hair was pulled up into a bun with ebony locks trailing down her neck in beautiful waves. Instantly she knew this was her dress.

The cat and rabbit cooed appreciatively, insisting she looked absolutely stunning and that the master wouldn’t be able to lift his chin off the floor. Belle giggled at their reaction, her stomach fluttering with butterflies, some anxious, some excited, and some trembling with a feeling she had feared she’d never know…

 .

             “Look at you,” Belle smirked. She had walked into the dining room to see the Beast in a blue suit, the tail coats and lining dashed in gold and a puffy white ascot hanging from his neck. She smiled at him, “Sir Montague you can clean up nice.”

He let out a breath of laughter and shrugged, “I have my moments. Renard and Plumes, standing behind him, loudly cleared their throats. “My servants were a big help.”

Belle stepped forward, holding the skirts of her dress in her hands and she spun a small circle before him. “Do you like the dress?” She didn’t mention it was the eighth dress she tried on.

“Of course,” he smiled at her. “You’re wearing it.”

Blushing pleasantly Belle accepted the seat he pulled out for her. The two usually sat across from each other but tonight they sat next to each other, elbows touching as they enjoyed the meal and company.

“Your fur is practically shining,” Belle told him, noticing the shine in his gray fur. The Beast looked to his paw, admiring the slick fur. “I haven’t fixed myself up in…in a long time,” he admitted.

“I haven’t dress up in a while either,” Belle replied, running her fingers across her finely done hair. “I always preferred reading.” He nodded in agreement. “Yes, but doing this once in a while…it would be nice.” “I agree,” she said, a spoonful of soup passed her ruby lips. “We could do it once a month.”

The fact that they had that kind of time, that he could spend years with her…spend the rest of his life with her…

The rose is wilting.

           The cold reminder brought his anxiety and self-doubt back, he swallowed against it. “Belle…” he tired to find the next words. “I wanted to…” He could find nothing.

Belle guessed his next words, it was an incorrect guess. “You wanted to go ahead and dance?” He wilted slightly. “Yes.”

           Belle took his hand and led him to the ballroom, the room having been polished to perfection by the staff. The night sky was clear and to perfected by the staff. The night sky was clear and beautiful and the chandeliers lit, the light falling them and dazzling across their fur and skin. Renard and friends head slipped in after the two, making themselves comfortable at the piano. Meanwhile Belle pulled the Beast onto the heart of the dance floor. And Belle found it ironic that what felt like a life time ago, she had hated the thought of being in the same room with him. But now, now she pulled his paw forward to hold her waist, her hand lying on his shoulder. Their fingers interlocked and the Beast’s blue eyes trailed to their hands, something unsure played across his face. Belle quickly called out, “Chat! Play me something.”

           A few seconds later a sweet tune filled the room and the Beast turned his attention back to his dancing partner. Belle’s voice was professional and serious, but the twinkle in her eyes ruined the effect. “We’ll start with something easy. We’ll form a box.” When his brow furrowed she continued, “Just follow my lead.” She pulled him forward, moved to the right, pushed him back, and then to the left. They repeated the steps a few more times and Belle saw realization spark in his eyes, their feet were forming a box. When they had stepped into rhythm he pulled his gaze away from the floor to her. She smiled at him, “You are a natural.” He returned her grin. “Now let’s try a spin.”            As the night went on the Beast showed a rusty but natural talent for dancing, mastering Belle’s lessons fairly easily. It made her wonder about the past he refused to share. But her curiosity was short-lived, instead her attention focused on the dance. She focused on the way his paws held her, large but gentle, in the way her hair flew across her shoulder, in the delighted shine in his twilight eyes and the wonderful way her heart wanted to burst. The ballroom swirled around her, stars and candles and marble. She felt warm, and energetic, and happy.

The dancing was coming to an end when suddenly the Beast grabbed her waist with both paws and lifted her into the air. Belle let out a shock of surprised laughter as he spun her through the air, but he only spun twice before tripping over his own feet, sending them both to the floor. The Beast had landed on his back; Belle sprawled on his chest and both laughing.

“Are you okay?” he chuckled, eyes glowing up at her.

She grinned, “I could ask you the same thing. Next time make sure you have solid footwork before trying that again.”

“Promise,” he smiled, sitting up.

Belle let out a breath, “Want to take a break? I’d like to walk out to the balcony.”

He nodded quickly and helped her to her feet. As they walked to the balcony Belle noticed the delighted and encouraging smiles of the staff.

           The night air was cool and crisp, and Belle happily breathed it in. She stepped into the moonlight, leaning her arms on the stone railing as she gazed out at the gardens and the forests beyond.

She felt his eyes warm her back and she spoke without turning back, “A gentleman doesn’t stare, Montague.”

He snorted, “Why does everyone keep insisting I’m a gentleman?”

She looked over her shoulder, smile widening, “Because we all know there’s a heart of a gentleman under all that fur.”

He didn’t roll his eyes at that, instead looking at her with sincerity. “Come here, I have something for you.” When Belle was before him he lifted her hand, palm up, and placed something smooth and cold in her hand. Belle’s eyes widened-it was her father’s locket. The Beast still held her hand, “I shouldn’t have kept it, I’m sorry…I was so awful to you.” Belle met his eyes, “Something tells me someone was awful to you as well.” His eyes grew glassy.

“I think…” she breathed thoughtfully. “I think we both needed someone, someone who can understand us.” Her other hand covered his paw, “I’ve never met someone who understood me…not like you.”

His throat bobbed and his words were shaky, “I feel the same.”

           Belle leaned her head against his chest, followed by the rest of her body. He wrapped a comforting arm around her and Belle spent a moment listening to his steady heartbeat that still felt like it was fluttering. For a moment Belle was completely content.

Then she clenched her hand around the locket.

           “Belle.” The Beast’s breath made her hair shift. “Are you happy here?”

“Of course I am,” she breathed.

However he heard the tinge of melancholy. He pulled back slightly to meet her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” she didn’t know how to say it without breaking his heart. “I want to see my family again.”

As expected his expression grew painful and his paw dropped from her back. “Oh.”

“Please don’t be upset,” she begged.

“I’m not.”

“I truly adore it here, I do, but I’m still reminded of them…and I can’t help but hate how I didn’t properly say goodbye.” “Belle,” his soft, understanding tone silenced her. “Do you want to visit them?”

Her eyes nearly fell out of her skull, “You’d-you’d let me go?” He stepped forward and his gaze was intense. “You stopped being my prisoner a long time ago. If you want to leave I will not stop you.” His eyes softened and he swallowed, “But I would be very happy if you came back.”

Belle took his hand in both of hers, “Just give me a week. Just one week to see them.”

His insecure expression made her heart ache. “Then you’ll come back?”

She hoped her smile showed her sincerity, “I promise.”

His smile was just as genuine, “Best get ready.” She let out a delighted laugh and dashed off; she was out of earshot and didn’t hear his next whisper: “Farewell, Belle.”

 .

             The Beast and his servants sat in the room where he had first met Maurice, first bonded with Belle. Said girl had just left, giving them a swift goodbye and a renewed promise.

“Well I think it was very sweet to let her see her family,” Lapin said. She laid next to Renard, they along with Chat were sprawled before the small fire. Plumes, roosting on top of the chair, hooted. “We don’t have that kind of time! The rose will finish wilting any day now.”

Chat was determined to stay optimistic, “She’ll return soon, it’ll be fine.”

But then the Beast let out a sigh, “She won’t be coming back.”

Frightened eyes stared at him. “Why would you say that?” Renard demanded.

“Because she loves her family.” Plumes had puffed up his feathers in anger, making him twice his size. “The why did you let her go?!” The Beast’s chest twisted in agony, “Because I love her.”

 .

             Belle, accompanied by Philippe and Darling arrived home at daybreak. Dismounting from Philippe she walked out of the woods, her house in sight. Walking closer she saw a familiar shape out in the yard, crouching by a broken wagon wheel. Maurice stood up straight and went stock still when he spotted Belle.

Rising tears blurred her vision and she smiled. “Papa…” She broke into a run, “Papa!”

Her embrace knocked him to the ground; tears streamed down their face as they kissed each other’s cheeks and sobbed how they had missed each other.

Nicholas’ voice suddenly spoke up, “Father, what’s-BELLE!”

A moment later Nicholas appeared by their side, wrapping his arms around his sister. A few seconds later Tristan, Susan, and Lucy joined them, and to Belle’s surprise they were just as happy to see her. Belle’s family pulled her into a large family hug, wet with tears and warm with laughter.

 .

             News in this town spread faster than wild fire in a dry forest so Belle had been home for only a few minutes when the news reached the pub where Gaston loitered. He was still with the group of men who had explained there was a giant wolfish monster stalking the forest and that the girl they had seen was clearly Belle. LeFou, who sat next to Gaston, believed they were making it up.

Hearing the girl was not only alive but back the gears in Gaston’s head started to turn. “Boys,” he turned to LeFou and the gang. “Let’s go see what my future wife has to say about this monster.”

 .

             “You didn’t have to run away to prove a point, Belle,” Tristan was saying.

She sat at the table with her family, all enjoying a cup of warm tea. Her older brother’s words made Nicholas scowl at the man. “You were trying to make her marry a man she didn’t love!” To Tristan and the twins’ credit they did look guilty.

“I wanted to find Papa,” Belle explained.

Maurice looked to his daughter, “How did you escape Belle?” Her siblings’ interest instantly piqued, obviously their father had told them about the Beast.

Belle looked to her father. “He let me go.”

Jaws dropped to the table and Maurice looked at his daughter as if he didn’t believe her. “That horrible beast let you go?” “He’s not horrible,” Belle insisted, just managing to not raise her voice. “He’s changed. He knew I missed you all and let me come home. He even gave me your locket back.” She decided to wait to tell them she would only be here for a week. Even if the Beast hadn’t asked her to come home she would still return to him. She loved her family but she also-

Nicholas interrupted her thoughts. “Belle…your bag is shaking.” They turned around to see Belle’s knap sack (she had taken it with her to carry small amounts of food and Maurice’s locket) shaking to and fro before suddenly a fluffy white head popped out.

“Chaton!” Belle smiled.

The kitten returned her smile, “Belle!”

Her sisters shrieked when the kitten spoke but Belle had stood up and walked over to Chaton to pick her up, “You little stowaway.” She turned to her family, “Everyone, this is my friend Chaton.”

Maurice smiled at the kitten as she was placed on the table, “I remember you.”

Nicholas looked absolutely entranced by the talking cat while Tristan and the twins looked convinced they were dreaming. The kitten greeted all of them in turn before turning back to Belle. “Why did you leave Belle? I thought you liked us.” Belle’s heart ached, “Of course I like you. But I missed my family.”

Chaton pouted, “Why didn’t you just bring your family to the castle?”

“With the beast?” Tristan scowled.

The kitten glared up at him, “He’s very nice now! And he loves Belle, he’d let you move in!”

Belle blushed, embarrassed by the kitten’s blunt words. But luckily a distraction came as the sound of Chaton’s rumbling stomach. “I’m hungry, is there anything to eat?”

           The day passed quickly with Belle and Chaton telling Maurice and the others what castle life was like, though Maurice and Nicholas were the only ones to accept that there was just a castle in the woods filled with talking animals. While they talked Chaton showed obvious favoritism to Nicholas, sitting in his lap and purring as he rubbed her head. When they weren’t talking about how Belle’s time had been they had talked how her family had coped. Life had more or less stayed the same despite her absence, still having to work and still bored out of their minds. Susan mentioned how Gaston had been in a state of melancholy after she left and had even led a rescue party. Belle had rolled her eyes and said he had done it because he hated to lose-which was true. And to Belle’s relief no one tried to defend the man.

But say the devil’s name and he will appear. When night fell there was a knock on the door. While Belle and her sisters knitted, Nicholas played with Chaton, and Tristan tended the fire, Maurice opened the door. His words instantly sent Belle on edge: “What are you doing here?”

“I heard Belle had returned.” It was Gaston.

Belle stood up, fright making her skin chill. Her siblings stood up as well, Nicholas and the twins standing before her protectively and it eased Belle’s fear slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Chaton’s voice had grown scared, burrowing into Nicholas’ palm.

“It’s going to be fine,” Nicholas whispered to her. “Just stay quiet.”

Maurice was still talking to Gaston, blocking the door, “Where did you heart that?”

Belle could imagine the egotistical man waving his hand dismissively, “You know how gossip is in this town. Is it true?”

Maurice was silent for a few moments but ultimately decided he couldn’t hide his daughter forever. “Yes.”

“Excellent!” Gaston’s voice smiled. “May I see her?” ”Her opinion of you hasn’t changed,” Maurice snapped. Belle had to bite her lip to keep from laughing; she obviously got her attitude from her adopted father.

But Gaston wasn’t deterred in the slightest. “Not yet, but I’m here not to propose but to ask her some questions. I know of the monster that had attacked her.”

Those words sent Belle past her siblings and her father, standing in front of Maurice and glaring up at the smug chiseled face of her worst enemy. “What are you talking about?”

His smile didn’t wane, “Belle, darling. Thank heavens you’re all right. I heard that you had been attacked by a ferocious beast.”

Her brow furrowed, “Who told you that?”

Gaston stepped to the side to see that behind him was a whole mob of townspeople; they were carrying torches and pitchforks and looked frightened and furious. In the front of the crowd was LeFou and…Belle’s heart dropped. The bandits that had attacked her were there, and by the leering looks they remembered her all too well. Belle took a step back, grabbing her father’s arm for courage. She turned her eyes back to Gaston, “Why are you listening to them?”

“We’ve all been listening to them,” Gaston waved his arm to indicate the mob, “We’ve seen the damage such a monster can do.” Gaston looked to one of the bandits and he lifted his shirt, across the flesh of his stomach were five long red welts, claw marks. Belle took a small moment to enjoy the satisfaction that the Beast had nearly ripped the disgusting pig’s guts out. But then she had to come back to reality and how, to all these people, and maybe even her family, this was a poor man who had nearly been killed by a savage monster.

           Belle released her father’s arm and stepped forward, her eyes glared at the group of bandits, wishing she could set them ablaze. “The only monsters are only those bandits!” She pointed to the group of men. “They attacked me in the woods, would’ve killed me or worse. Montague saved me!”

Her words were meant with silence. And then Gaston curled his lip at her, “Montague?”

Belle looked up at him, holding her ground and raising her chin. “It’s what I call him. You’re nothing but a filthy liar, Gaston. He’s kind and gentle and my friend.”

He scowled at her and for a moment he looked as ugly as his personality. “If I didn’t know better Belle I’d think you had feelings for this monster.”

Belle bared her teeth, “He’s not the monster Gaston you are!” Her words got surprised murmurs from the crowd, Belle’s family staying silent.

Gaston stared at Belle with hate flaring in his eyes and she saw she had finally got it through his thick skull that she would never be his. But what she forgot was Gaston’s mindset: if he can’t have Belle no one would.

           He turned his back to her and addressed the mob. “It’s worse than I thought. Instead of killing her this beast has turned her against us! This creature kidnapped her own father and she is defending him! For all we know she had told him all about our village, she might be planning to help it come and kill us all!”

Gaston controlled the mob like a puppeteer, pulling their strings and turning their heads to share frightened words, widened their eyes and opened their ears to him. “But not if we kill him first!”

No. The crowd erupted into bloodthirsty cheers. Gaston stalked down the steps of the house Belle ran after him, leaping on his back and crawling at his shirt. “Don’t you dare!” But when Gaston got over his surprise from her attack he easily peeled her off him and pushed her roughly back to her house, Maurice reached out and grabbed her before she fell to the ground.

Tristan and the twins followed after their father, Nicholas and Chaton no where in sight. “That was uncalled for, Gaston!” Tristan snarled at the man, Susan and Lucy checking on their sisters. Gaston placed his level gaze on Belle’s brother for a few seconds, but then he snarled right back. “You’re either with us or against us.”

And despite Belle’s growing fear she felt a deep love for Tristan and the twins when they protectively stepped in front of her, having finally see the horrible man Gaston was and taking their sister’s side. But her happiness was very shortly lived, Gaston flicking his wrist at the mob and several men stepped forward and grabbed the family, dragging them kicking and screaming to the barn.

“Don’t listen to him!” Belle begged of the people. “I know you’re scared but the Beast would never hurt any of you!” But her pleas fell on deaf ears and the family was tossed into the barn, using a log of wood to bar the doors from outside.

Belle had jumped up as soon as she was released and slammed her fists on the splintered wood of the door, even when she felt splinters dig into her flesh she didn’t stop pounding against the door, not until Maurice pulled her back.

“Belle, stop it,” he begged. “You can’t open the door that way.”

That fact brought her to tears; she slid down to her knees and covered her face with her hands, “It’s my fault! It’s all my fault!” I’m so sorry!

 .

             Chat’s fur was bristled. Chaton was playing hide and seek but her mother was in no mood to play along. She sat in the library with Renard, Plumes, and Lapin, all sprawled around the room and quiet. The master had vanished to the west wing and hadn’t returned.

The rose only had one petal left, and the servants were accepting the fact they would never be human again.

Renard’s voice was soft and sad, a tone he had never used before: “Maybe it would’ve been better if she had never come at all.”

Chat tried to think of something but any comfort would feel so empty. Plumes feathers were practically drooping and Lapin’s nose wiggled, looking around at the three animals as if they had the answer. She looked ready to hop out of the room when suddenly her long ears shot up, eyes moving to the window. “Someone’s coming.”

A moment later all their heads lifted, hearing the distant sound of people. “It couldn’t be…” Renard breathed, rushing to the window with the others on his tail.

“Is it her?” Chat asked, pressing her paws against the window glass.

The four animals’ jaws drop when they saw it was a mob, torches burning against the night sky and heading straight for the gate.

Renard snarled, “Intruders!”

“What do we do?” Lapin asked frightfully, “They’re going to storm the castle!” Renard dropped to all fours, “Not while I’m still standing! Human or not this is our home and we’ll defend it!” He flexed his sharp claws and bared his teeth, “Let’s put these to good use.”

 .

             Belle and her family were trying to figure out if they could dig their way under the door when a familiar voice called out from the other side. “Belle! Father!”

“Nicholas!” they all cried out. In all the chaos Belle had forgotten he had vanished during the confrontation.

“I went upstairs to hide Chaton when Gaston arrived,” he explained from the other side of the door, he grunted as he started to remove the log. “Then I heard the shouting and thought it was better to stay hidden for a while.” Chaton’s voice spoke up, “Good thing we did! Now we can get you!”

The log fell to the ground with a  thud and a moment later the barn doors swung open, moonlight outlining Nicholas, Chaton riding on his shoulder. Belle was already pulling Darling to the door, pulling herself up on the mare and grabbing onto her mane. “I need to get to the Beast,” she told her family. “I need to warn him.” “You can’t go alone!” Maurice told her. “I’ll go with you.” Tristan stepped forward and grabbed Maurice’s shoulder, “Father you stay with Susan and Lucy, me and Nicholas will follow Belle on Philippe.” Maurice still looked unsure but Belle was done waiting. She had to get back.

Kicking Darling the mare whinnied and darted to the forest, her brothers scrambling to mount onto Philippe and follow after her. As the dark woods swallowed Belle and Darling the girl made a deal with the heavens above. Just let him be okay when I get there and I’ll tell him what I should’ve told him before I left.

 .

                         Chat had run to the west wing to tell their master. He sat before the rose, blue eyes blank. “Pardon me, sir-”

He was already shaking his head, “Leave me in peace.”

“But, sir, the castle is under attack!” The rest of the staff had already gone to the first floor to prepare for the attack.

The Beast released a breath that was both sarcastic yet painful. “Of course it is…” He closed his eyes and looked to wilt right before the cat’s eyes. “Let them come. None of it matters anymore. Nothing matters anymore.”

Chat looked at him helplessly for a few moments before shaking her head and dashing back to the others. She found them blocking the front doors, the wood shaking on its hinges. She hurried downstairs and pressed her paws against an empty square of wood, vibrations running up her paws, “What’s going on!?” “Then chopped down a tree and are trying to break down the door!” Abel told her, he and his pups pressing their shoulders against the wood. “Renard we can’t hold them back!”

“I know, I know!” The fox was looking around the room, “Okay! I have an idea!”

 .

             With one more hit the doors flew open, revealing the dim interior beyond. Gaston’s lips curled into a delicious grin. “Take whatever you want,” he told the mob. “But remember, the Beast is mine.”

“What about us?” the leader of the hunters glared at him as the group walked into the castle.

Gaston met his glare head on, “You really want to face the monster that nearly tore you in half.” He watched the torn look in the man’s eyes, on one hand he wanted the money he could get from killing such a creature, on the other hand there was the fear that said creature would finish the job. Gaston didn’t wait for an answer, instead heading up the stairs while the mob looked around the first room.

Then there was an inhuman shriek.

           Our from the crooks and crannies and side rooms and ceiling came a legion of animals. The leader of the hunters was knocked down by a feral fox, an owl and several other birds flew overhead, clawing at the mob’s head. Even a rabbit bite LeFou’s ankle.

Gaston cursed under his breath and dashed up the stairs, he had no interest in these animals. His prize was somewhere else in this castle and he was going to find it.

 .

             Darling was covered in sweat when she broke from the trees, arriving at the castle with its open gates. Belle sucked in a breath and urged the mare on, Philippe and her brothers following after. Belle dismounted Darling before the horse had completely come to a stop, running inside the castle’s open doors and stepped into chaos. The servants were making a mockery of the mob. She saw Chat and a few other felines of the castle, chasing down a few men. Abel and his pups nibbling on one mob member, not making him bleed but definitely scaring the daylights out of him. She also saw Renard clawing at the bandit the Beast had attacked.

“Wow,” was all her brothers could say when they reached their sister and saw the sight before them. Chaton saw her mother and cheered her and the other animals on, digging her tiny claws into Nicholas’ shoulder.

Belle turned to his brothers, “I need to find the Beast. You help here.”

“But Belle-“Tristan began but was interrupted by his younger brother.

“You be careful,” Nicholas ordered, “Gaston is probably looking for him as well”

Belle smiled at them, “This is me we’re talking about. I can handle anything.” She whirled around and dashed into the madness. She heard her name being called out happily, Renard having pinned the bandit down and smiling at her with adoration and relief. She smiled back but didn’t stop, almost at the stairs a rough hand dug into her shoulder. Belle was turned around to stare into the snarling face of one of the other bandits, he held her arms in a vise-like grip and she remembered him as the bandit who had tried to lift up her dress. There were bite marks across his arms and bleeding cuts on his head.

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart!”

No fear iced Belle’s veins, instead a furious fire set her blood ablaze and she knew she had no time for this piece of scum. So she kicked him in his nether regions. “Do not call me sweetheart,” she said simply as he fell to the ground, moaning in pain and cradling himself. Belle hurried up the stairs and made her way to the west wing, vaguely realizing she had never been to the room. But now was not the time for idle curiosity now was the time to punch Gaston in his perfect, smug face. Something someone should’ve done a long time ago.

 .

             The Beast wished he could be left in peace, when Chat had first come into the room his stupid heart had fluttered with hope that maybe Belle had come back. Maybe he could finally tell her how he felt.

When heavy footsteps reached his ears he forced his head up to see a strange man standing there. Slick black hair and a face like a Greek statue he was someone he imagined any woman would love to be with. And he was aiming an arrow to the Beast’s heart.

He turned his back to the stranger. Go ahead, it’s already broken. But despite his melancholy when the arrow sliced across his back he still reared up and screeched in pain. He had hardly gone quiet when the man slammed into the Beast, knocking them into the glass that shattered from the impact. He rolled down across the slick shingles of the room, landing on a lower balcony, the man landing on his feet before him. Breathing through the pain licking down his spine the Beast tried to stand up-but then wondered what was the point? It was all over.

The man kicked him in the ribs and the Beast flinched. The stranger’s taunting voice spoke above him, “Get up and fight!” Another kick and he let out a mocking laugh. “What’s the matter then, Beast? Too kind and gentle to fight back?”

The Beast only closed his eyes and waited for the man to grow bored and once more fire his arrow, he hoped his servants were okay, he hoped they could find a better life even with the curse. He hoped-

“STOP!”

The Beast’s eyes flew open and he looked beyond the man’s shoulder to the broken glass of his room…and there she was. Belle’s hair was loose and flowing across her shoulders, her eyes were wide with fright and anger and she looked ready to jump down after them. And she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

The stranger followed his gaze to see Belle; he then scowled and turned back to the Beast, a new arrow notched. But this time the Beast slammed his foot into the man’s stomach, knocking him across the balcony and hitting the wall. The man pulled himself back to his feet, eyes blazing with blood lust.

“Don’t you dare hurt him, Gaston!” Belle screamed out, jumping past the broken glass and clumsily sliding down the shingles, she knocked into Gaston and the man stumbled, his bow falling out of his hands. She pulled away from him and started to hurry to the Beast but Gaston grabbed her before she could, pressing her back against his chest and pulling out a knife.

The Beast snarled and moved forward only to stop in his tracks when he turned the knife on Belle, the sharp edge pressed against her neck. “Don’t move,” Gaston ordered, looking crazed.

The Beast’s heart had stopped but Belle didn’t look nearly as frightened. “You coward,” she growled.

Gaston laughed, not moving the knife. “Come now, Belle. Do you honestly want to be with that when you could be with me?” Belle looked at him with disgust, “He’s not holding a knife to my throat.”

But Gaston had turned his attention to the Beast. “What gave you the right to think you could have her all to yourself?”

“Let her go,” the Beast begged. “This is between you and me. Let her go please.”

“Between you and me?” he echoed, “Don’t be ridiculous. This is between me and Belle and her choice.” He looked down at the girl and his voice changed, sounding soft and sincere. “This is your last chance, my dearest. Choose me and live, choose him and die.”

Belle slowly turned her heard to give Gaston her iciest looks and for a moment that felt to the Beast like eternity she was silent. Then she spoke: “I’ve chosen the third choice.” And then before Gaston could react she shot her head back, knocking her head into his face and breaking his nose, the knife moved away from her neck and Belle pushed out of his grip. But as she did so the knife sliced across her cheek, ripping over the flesh and making blood stream down her face. Belle cried out in pain and the Beast surged forward, grabbing Gaston by his shirt and slamming him back into the wall, knocking him unconscious. He dropped the man to the stone floor and quickly hurried to Belle, holding her face in his paws to examine her wound.

“Are you alright?” he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” “Then why are you crying?”

Belle smiled through the tears that had started to fall, “Because I’m happy! You’re okay!”

He smiled at her, the unbearable ache subsiding in his chest and he pressed their temples together. “I am now that you’re here.”

           They took a few moments collecting their breath and letting their heartbeats slow down before Belle spoke. “Are you sure?”

He blinked and pulled his head back to look at her. Belle ran her finger over the dried blood on her cheek, the wound having stopped. “I think this’ll scar. I won’t have the ‘flawless’ beauty other men had always complimented.” “That’s not the beauty I care about,” the Beast’s voice was soft. “I worry about the beauty inside you, and it’s still shining. You could be covered in scars and you’d be absolutely angelic in my eyes.”

Her smile only widened and she giggled breathlessly, “Don’t be such a sap.”

He wanted to join in with her laughter but a second after she had finished speaking he felt a jagged bolt of pain through the small of his back. He howled in agony and Belle let out a scream, Gaston had risen and stabbed him when they were distracted. The Beast violently whirled around, dislodging the man who hit the railing of the balcony, bloody dagger in hand. He lifted himself to his feet, eyes inhuman, burning with lust for Belle and jealously for the Beast and hate for them both. But before he could take a step forward Belle ran at him, “Don’t touch him!” She pushed him, and the man was sent over the edge flailing and screaming as he fell into the dark.

           The Beast dropped to his knees and then fell down. His vision was starting to turn black and his ears were growing numb. He vaguely heard Belle call his name; he also heard what sounded like Renard, Chat, and Plumes. They all sounded so scared.

Belle appeared in his sight, her tears streaming as she pulled his head onto her lap.

“Beast,” she sobbed, “Keep your eyes open! Look at me!”

He smiled at her. “I’m fine,” his voice was so quiet.

“No you are not you’re hurt! We need to find something to stop the bleeding!”

He slowly shook his head, “No…it’s too late.”

She only cried harder, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Beast. This is all my fault! If I had never left they would have never known about you.” He reached his paw out and his took it, her fingers were trembling. “It’s okay. I’m happy…I got to see you again…one last time.”

“Don’t you dare talk like that,” she said hotly, “You’re going to be just fine. We’ll get you fixed up and then we can spend the rest of our lives here, dancing and playing and reading.”

His eyelids lowered, “That would’ve been paradise.”

“Beast I order you to live,” Belle’s angry voice wobbled. “If you die I’ll die too, and then I’ll follow wherever you go.” Her voice broke and her next sentence was more of a sob than words, “I’ll go wherever you are sent but I will not abandon you.”

How had he gotten so lucky? How had he met a woman who cared for him so deeply? That thought reminded him that there was one more very important thing he hadn’t told Belle. But he had to be careful about it.

“This is how it looks.” Through her tears her brow furrowed.

“You-you always said how Romeo and Juliet were so in love. No, this is what a it looks like when someone dies for their true love.”

Her eyes widened the amber glassy. He breathed out his next words, “I love you, Belle.”

She swallowed and so many emotions came across her face, “I love you, too.” And oh, how was it possible simple words could be so sweet?

He closed his eyes and Belle shook him, “Don’t you dare! Look at me, look at me! Open your eyes!

           Belle couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, she could only feel. Feel pain tearing her heart into a thousand pieces, feeling the hot tears slid down her cheeks and across the caked blood. Felt her entire body shaking as she felt into his chest, burying her head into the fur of his neck. “Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me! Not now, not after they had just confessed to each other. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair!

Unbeknownst to anyone-the last petal fell.

.

             Nicholas cheekily waved goodbye to the fleeing mob, all covered in bite marks. He and Tristan stood with the cheering animals, proud of themselves for defending their turf and apparently hadn’t noticed the two men still in the castle.

Chaton was purring in her ear. “We did it!” she exclaimed even though she and the two brothers mainly stood awkwardly by while the other animals sent the mob running.

Nicholas turned to look at the staircase where Belle had vanished, she hadn’t returned yet and he was starting to get worried, “Maybe we should go check-” he stopped mid-sentence when a golden glitter shone at the corner of his eye. He turned his head to see Chaton being enveloped by a golden light. “CHATON!” he gasped before falling to the ground. The golden light faded and instead of Chaton there was a small girl in a white dress, blue eyes wide and silvery blond hair tangled. She sat up on his chest, eyes looking at her now human hands then slowly turned her head to look at Nicholas. She broke into a wide grin as around her the rest of the animals were enveloped by golden light.

 .

             A sudden light shown beyond Belle’s closed eyes, her eyes popped opened and she let out a cry of surprise, crawling back a few paces as the Beast was encircled in a glowing light. Renard, Chat, and Plumes looked thunderstruck.

In the circle of golden light Belle could make out the silhouette of the Beast, it grew smaller, leaner, no longer wolf like and her lips parted in awe. The golden light fell away and instead of the Beast there was a man, his hair a fair shade as well as his skin, he slowly pulled himself up and to his feet, staggering as he did so. Belle watched, transfixed as he examined his body, his legs and now healed torso, his hands. And then he whirled around so suddenly he nearly tripped.

Belle was suddenly starting into twilight eyes. She breathed out a word, “Montague?”

He smiled, “Belle…”

She rose onto shaking legs, still unsure she was truly seeing what she was seeing. He walked to her, grabbing her hands, interlocking their fingers and familiar blue eyes shone down at her with love. And then she was positive.

Belle released a shaking breath and smiled at him, “It’s you. You’re okay!” She suddenly held his face between her hands and pulled him to her lips, he instantly returned the kiss, his warm hands caging her. Fresh tears, joyful tears, fell down Belle’s lips. When they pulled away he whispered, “You broke the curse. You saved me.”

“Just like you saved me.”

They pulled each other into an embrace, cheeks aching from smiling “I love you,” she declared happily. His voice was softer but no less happy. “I love you too, my Capulet.”

           Sudden whoops of excitement brought their attention to Renard and the others, only to see the fox, cat, and owl had vanished. In their place was a ginger young man, an older lady with silvery blond hair, and a bespectacled man with a heavy set.

Human Renard ran to them, “I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!” He pulled them into a tight hug that Chat and Plumes quickly joined in. Belle laughed along with them, happy and in awe and in love.

She had never needed to go far away to have the adventure she always read about.

 .

             Morning light shined on the ballroom, the now human servants and Belle’s family surrounding she and the prince as they dance and spun to the happy music, he sun casting gold, purple, and red light over the ballroom. Renard had an arm around Lapin while he and Plumes argued over who had said Belle would break the curse. Chat and Chaton sitting at the piano while the older woman play an elegant and loving song. As they did so she once again brought up the cut on her cheek, it was slowly becoming a scar. “I think it gives you character,” he smiled. “It’s a testament to your bravery.”

She smiled at him, glad to know that the one man whose opinion mattered to her didn’t care if she her skin was flawless or not. But her lips turned up into a thoughtful frown as she looked up at her prince.  

He blinked, slightly concerned. “What is it?”

“Would you ever consider growing a beard?”

[tellytantra]

Samaina OS Phir Dosti? It was a very humid day, the dark grey clouds so full, but still not ready to let out all that they were holding inside. In some ways this matched Naina's state of mind too. Nothing was black and white anymore, all that was happening in her life was embroiled with shades of grey. Her future, present and past. Even the parts which had been pure and pristine white were now speckled with the grey. The saying that we cannot change the past was proving to be a falsehood. Though the past cannot be altered how we remember it can be changed. These days she moved in a haze, constantly trying to hold in the deluge of emotions that threatened to burst out at any moment and destroy the calm facade that she had so painstakingly created. As the bell marked the end of another lecture, Naina along with Preeti and Swati gathered their books and slowly exited the classroom. Only to run into a hyper Kamya and Hema who had news that Sharad's mom was visiting the college and carrying out a character check. At the moment, she was headed to the cafe to confront Sameer armed with some gossip about him and Naina. Hema voiced her concerns about what he might reveal, scared that he might destroy Naina's reputation. Naina rushed towards the cafe. No, she was not scared of what he might say about her, she knew him too well. Not for a moment did she doubt his protective instinct when it came to her. But, she was scared of the scene he might create or how he might tell off anyone who went around questioning her character. His hot-headedness had always been his weakness. But that day there was no need for her to be afraid cause the maturity and sly with which she saw him handling Sharad's mother left her in awe. As others turned indignant at all the apparently insolent things that he said about her, Naina's eyes moistened in understanding and gratitude. In that moment all that she could see was his growth and transformation. The boy who was ready to pick arms and rush into battle ever so thoughtlessly had morphed into this young man who knew where words were mightier than the sword, strategy more important than just attack.  And seeing this person, her heart swelled in pride, knowing that she and her love had played a part in this transformation. If nothing else, she would at least have that, the satisfaction of having touched his life for the better in some way. Maybe that would be enough, knowing that she had left a mark on him in some way. After all isn't that the true measure of a life well spent? Convincing Preeti that she needed a few moments to herself, Naina ambled away to a quite corner overlooking the playground and settled there still deep in thought. As she pondered on all that had changed in him, she started wondering about all that was still to come, all that he would still become. All that she would miss. How would he look ten, twenty or thirty years from now? Would his shoulders grow even broader? Or would he put on a lot of weight and end up with a paunch? How would he look wearing reading glasses? And his beautiful hair... would they always have the ability to make the females around miss a few heartbeats? For a moment she very selfishly hoped that he would go bald sooner rather than later... well just for a moment! For years she had dreamt of a life together, some dreams which she had shared with him but so many that were left unsaid, stored away for another day or for the right time to come. All the hopes that she had carried in her heart for him; some her own, some his and some inherited from his loved ones like Nanu. She wondered how many would come true. And which of his dreams would he let go as he was forced to let go of her? The home that he had dreamt of, would he still build it and share with another? She knew she had stopped dreaming. Her life now revolved only around memories. Memories when they had smiled together with their hearts. She recalled the time when his mom had got him a new bike while in Delhi. He had been bursting with excitement as he described it to her over the phone. All he could have said that it was a black Hero Honda and she would have known exactly how it looked, there were hundreds of those in Ahmedabad. But she had indulged him and listened attentively as he described the colour of the mudguard, the pattern on the seat cover and the texture of the hand grips. She listened and saved every syllable that he uttered close to her heart to replay it a thousand times till she saw him again. And then his voice had sounded a little low as he expressed how this experience wouldn't be complete till she sat on it. That day he also told her how happy he had been when she had sat in his car the first time, when they had gone around distributing Pooja Didi's wedding cards, even though she had been angry at him. Finally, he got a pair of eyes painted on the bike's number plate, saying that at least this way his Naina would always ride with him. She had been overjoyed with this gesture. She now wondered about all the new vehicles that he would buy over the years and if his heart will yearn for her just a little in those moments. And there was that time when one day at the start of the college, he had handed her a small gift, wrapped very prettily. She had been puzzled as there didn't seem to be any occasion to necessitate it. On his urging, she had unwrapped it to find a very beautifully carved wooden jewellery box. Sameer had explained that he had brought it for her from his first earnings while working at the radio station in Delhi. But had not got a chance to give it to her during the whole stupid manhoos phase. He then went on to say that it was empty today, but he would fill it over the years. She had cheekily remarked that it was quite small, and did he mean to imply that he would buy her very little jewellery? He had laughingly pulled her pony. Well, seemed like the biggest treasure of her life was now going to be an empty box. No, not empty, it would store all their memories. So many milestones that she would miss. The journey ahead would be long and lonely. She felt like she was becoming something of an expert in seemingly walking ahead while looking back all the time. One lone tear caressed her left cheek, which she quickly wiped away, reminding herself this wasn't the time. The long dark nights while her sister slept soundly were reserved for this. Another skill she had mastered now was how to cry soundlessly. She was sure it would come extremely handy in the future too. Right now, it was time to thank him for his generosity, for his kindness and for his selflessness. Everything that she believed she did not quite deserve. But then the give and take in their relationship had always been unconditional at its core. Love comes with expectations, friendship doesn't, and they had started as friends. Swati had been her best friend since her early childhood and she would never want to trivialise that bond, but her friendship with him had been so unique. All her hopes and dreams that she had never been able to voice so freely with anyone else, had spilled out in front of him so naturally. Naina walked to the bike stand where he stood with his pillars, Munna and Pandit. The pillars silently walked away, subconsciously recognising that while she was around, just one was enough to hold him upright. Rather awkwardly she thanked him, and he awkwardly accepted her thanks. Things that used to come so naturally now felt forced and formal. Suddenly her longing for his quick easy smile and few more memories to add to her box overpowered her better judgement and she proposed the middle ground. Could they be friends again? Sameer was stunned by this proposal. Friends, just friends with her... what did that mean? And was it not impossible? He had no answer and watched her walk away with a heavy heart. There were no scales that could have determined whose heart was heavier in that moment. Hours later Sameer lay in his bed thinking about what she had said. She had thanked him for his kindness today. Why? Since when did this need to thank each other for being human start arising between them? And why did his friends praise him for this apparent act of benevolence towards her? Had he really done anything extraordinary? Was this behaviour so unexpected from him these days?  When had everyone decided that she no longer came first for him? If that was true, that woman's words today about Naina and her son being the Best Jodi would not have pierced his heart as they did. He had seen pride in her eyes today at his level headedness, at his impulse control. His friends had complimented him on it too. But, he knew that praise and pride were misplaced. He knew he had failed, when he had proposed to Sunaina. Anger had once again got the better of him and once again he had created a mess. As he pondered on all this, an English movie was playing on the TV, which he wasn't really watching but the background noise helped keep an overwhelming sense of loneliness at bay. A scene played in the movie where someone had died, and friends and family were gathered in the church to pay their respect. Few people delivered their eulogies, which was then followed a shot of the gravestone mentioning the dates of birth and death. Sameer contemplated on what the world perceives as the defining moments of one's life and the how this is probably not true at all. Obituaries mention the date of birth and demise, professional positions held, and the number of children left behind. But is this what life is really defined by? Where do all the important moments in which one feels truly alive get lost? When family and friends spoke about his Nanu, they mentioned all his accomplishments that they deem worthy of mention, his business and charity. But Sameer knew that Nanu's eyes would really light up when he reminisced about his Nani. The way his voice turned all tender and eyes misty as he shared the memories of the love and care she had showered on him. He recalled Nanu sharing the incident of his mandir meeting with his Nani and the cow tail slapping incident. He had suddenly seemed so young again and also so eager to talk about the adventures of his youth. Sameer felt a sense of crushing loss as he realised that he could never share the memory of his mandir dates with anyone. When others around him talked about their favourite mode of transport, he would not be able to mention his as a paddle boat, because he had once shared it with a pretty girl in pink. Post his demise, no one would ever think that maybe the reason the crow was not touching the food offered, was because his soul was hankering for the extra sweet candy floss that had been touched by her lips. That and so many endless memories close to his heart would have to be locked up somewhere, like a closet in the attic that people are hesitant to approach. A couple of days back, while he was sitting with Munna-Pandit and Sunaina, he had absentmindedly quoted some shayari about moon and loneliness - Chaand khaamosh ja raha tha kahin, Hum ne bhi uss se koi baat na ki. Sunaina had tittered thinking he was saying something as a compliment to her. Munna-Pandit as expected had not understood a word and had looked at the sky wondering how he was able to see the moon at high noon. Munna had remarked that probably the moon was off to the market for some shopping and laughed at his own joke. Sameer had also good naturedly joined in. But in that moment, he has missed her so intensely. She had understood him. Really understood him. And all that was said and unsaid between them. She understood his silence even on the phone and she read the unwritten words in his letters. He would terribly miss that. Even before he fell in love with her, he had marvelled at how she understood him, he had felt he had finally found a real friend. A friend he could connect with on a deeper level, not just for the fun and jokes. God knew how much he loved his crazy duo, but sometimes one needs someone with whom you can bare your soul. She had seen through his carefully erected perfect facade and reassured him that what he was hiding inside considering as ruins was a place of beauty too. Not only had she found it worth visiting, she had made it her home. How can you let go of a friend like this? Sameer jumped out of his bed and dialled her number. She picked it up even before the first ring was completed. And her hello laden with expectations was enough to tell him that she had been waiting for his call, even now sure that he would call. And once again his silence was enough. Fortunately, they were both saved from using any unnecessary words to break the beautiful silence as someone called out to her. Years later they would hear therapists and psychologist using the term closure and the importance of closure. But that day they had unknowingly tried to find it for themselves. They had attempted to hold on to the beauty of their relationship and not mar all their memories. Woh afsana jise anjam tak, lana na ho mumkin,Use ek khubsurat mod dekar, chhodna achchha... SixteenAgain

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