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flowers-of-io · 3 years

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@eri-223 you brought it upon yourself, now I won’t shut up c:

OKAY SO

I can’t really draw neat straight lines between the two, but there’s so much aesthetic similarity to me, particularly with Toland and the Hive-Ascendancy thing. Maybe it’s just me dying for the vibes (or loving POTO in general since I was 9), but it struck me today how Eris/Toland--when it’s made a Working ship--is basically everything Christine/Erik is not. There is so much to be said about Christine/Erik alone, but to me it’s an epitome of why gothic-novel-esque dynamics don’t really work in the long run when they don’t move past being just Gothic and Tragic. And hear me out. A goodhearted, elfin woman at her vulnerable point (grief over father) meets a honey-voiced stranger and has this secret thing with him, this music they share in the dead of night, and it’s intoxicating because music *is* her passion (and something she has deep emotions over in itself, the thing that is most hers in the world) and it’s secret, and a whole other world to what she’s facing in the daytime. The mystery is intriguing, and that’s intoxicating too. And there’s an uncomfortable power imbalance but it doesn’t bother you just yet, because there isn’t really any attraction between the two--not in the romantic-as-in-love sense at least, rather this romantic-as-in-romanticism pull all dark beautiful secret things have.

And here we can shout a fucking thank you at Erik for completely ruining that beauty by being an absolute creep. But Chrissie doesn’t know that yet. And so he leads her deep down into the dark, into his world of darkness and secrecy and yet twisted beauty, and she is living the mystery now, she’s in this nighttime world they would share in secret. And she’s close enough to take a peek behind the mask, something she was so violently curious about and attracted to, a glance into the dark abyss of his soul that is so intriguing. And so she does peek, and what she finds is terrifying rot.

And this, THIS is the best moment of the entire thing to me. This story could be well off without Raoul (whom I deeply love and cherish but he ruins the gothic) because he adds this romantic tension of a love triangle (which I absolutely loathe because ugh. love triangles.) to what could have been a tale of a girl torn between the world of day and night rather than two men who each love her in a different way. There’s so much of Persephone-sque struggle in Christine’s soul that has been shunned by the story imo, and would have made the whole thing better in the long run (and maybe less grossly-abusive on Erik’s part).

So let’s circle back to Toland, another pale, bony, possibly disfigured brunet in a dark coat with a living room full of skulls and candles (the vibes, huh. he probably owned a boat and a horse too). If we take Eris/Toland as starting off before the Hellmouth (I’m really starting to tentatively test my ground on this hhhng), it feels like the same story slightly to the left. Granted, Eris has more agency, but there’s still a huge power imbalance in her and Eriana coming to Toland--an exiled genius|madman with an evil black crow (Guren) perching on his shoulder--and asking him for help, laying their and their team’s lives at his feet - him, who could probably kill them in seventeen different yet equally fancy ways were he more invested! And there is so much darkness here already because how dark it must have been in Eris’ soul to agree on this revenge fantasy, what an abyss Eriana’s eyes must have been hiding; how desperate they must have been to come to him, to even consider this, to choose a possibility of painful, screaming agony in the Hellmouth over the ache they were feeling now. And so there’s vulnerability, too, in a way - because they’re desperate, because they’re hurting, because everything has been taken from them and they have nothing else to do but this ridiculous, mad plan. And oh he can abuse this void, he can make them do whatever he wants and they’d do it gladly, and I have a feeling both Eris and Eriana are aware of that.

And so they work, in secret, cracking secrets of the Hive, tasting the rot of the forbidden fruit, hiding from the daylight with their dark, heretic, nighttime folly. I think there is a threshold at wherever it is they are meeting--be it a room or a house, Eriana’s kitchen or Toland’s disturbing “lab”--in the doorway, between the bright but empty world of patrols and strikes and dead friends and this horrid, twisted, yet fascinating realm of promised vengeance. And I think Eris learns, hungry for secrets, hungry perhaps for Toland’s eyes on her because all dark beautiful secret things have a pull, and she can’t tell if she’s more drunk on the adventure, or the heresy they’re so blatantly committing, or him. And maybe he reciprocates in his own twisted way, maybe they talk or kiss over the parchment pages, and she cannot tell--she cannot tell if his eyes are truly for her or the Hive, the mystery, the thing they’re doing. I’m thinking of what you wrote, how “he wanted Ascendance as badly as she wanted him”. But despite that--or maybe because of it--she allows herself to be led deep down into the dark, into his world of darkness and secrecy and yet twisted beauty, and she is living the mystery now, she’s in this nighttime world they would share in secret. Is it the Hellmouth? Maybe, though I think it’s a process that spans between their secret studies of the Hive and the midst of their descent, when Vell is dead and maybe they’re all doomed, and Toland’s eyes twinkle in the dark and it’s such beautiful madness she cannot help staring. And the checkpoint has come, time to show cards--and she’s close enough to take a peek behind the mask, something she was so violently curious about and attracted to, a glance into the dark abyss of his soul that was so intriguing. And so she does peek, and what she finds is terrifying rot.

I think this is Ir Yut, or maybe a little bit earlier, but nevertheless the bubble bursts and Eris is left in the dark alone and betrayed. That’s of little concern, of course, when the Hive is hunting you down and all you hear is your friends’ dying screams, but it still hurts, it’s still bitter, it’s still so, so wrong. I like to think he comes to teach her then, maybe give her the journals, and it’s a whirlwind of madness and horror and fury and gore, but he’s whatever comfort she can hope for at this point. It’s twisted, it’s awful, it’s dark-gothic rotten, it’s as wrong and horrid as Erik/Christine is as a whole.

But then they’re given the chance Erik/Christine never got. They’re allowed to outgrow the rot. There’s so much dysfunctionality and disturb going on in most gothic-esque “love” stories because it’s not love, it’s attraction taken for a spin and often grossly abused. Love is growth. I like to think of what must have been going on in Eris’ head (and Toland’s too, perhaps, though I doubt he had one at that point) when they were exchanging the letters, the dearest Eris right next to did you watch me carve out each eye; now that she’s wiser, and scarred, and not so stupid anymore--but there’s still that dark pull she can’t help, now even scarier than before that she knows him for what he really is, now that she’s seen the rot. There’s so much hurt to be outgrown, so much betrayal, but she finds he’s yet again whatever comfort she can hope for (that entry *is* called A Light In The Darkness, huh). I could wax poetic about this whole process but I think you captured it so well in STM I don’t have much else to add.

I wanted to throw quotes into it but couldn’t quite fit them into this, uh, essay (which I didn’t absolutely re-read), and I guess Music of the Night would apply here but it’s ripe with uncomfortable sexual tension?? And aside from that (which is in its entirety a trip) just consider these ah

this whole moment

also this

He'll always be there singing songs in my head Is this Eris in the letters phase? maybe. I performed a vibe check and it showed positive

Wandering Child for how unhealthy-twisted and beautiful it is (ignore Raoul, I have no metaphor for him in this au)

For either way you choose, you cannot win It’s just a good quote y’all

Farewell my fallen idol and false friend / We had such hopes, and now those hopes are shattered

Angel of Music, you deceived me / I gave you my mind blindly (HOW SHE WHISPERS THAT LAST PART IN THE MOVIE OK)

Stranger than you dreamt it now you’re stranded in the Hellmouth good job

What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn / Beyond the point of no return

The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn

Down that path into darkness deep as hell but Toland smiles while he sings this

And of course the classic, And in this labyrinth where night is blind / The Phantom of the Opera is here inside my mind

Wow! I didn’t even get to the Dreaming City! It’s way more vague than the whole Eris/Toland thing because of course ships take up 80% of my brainspace but idk I just find it so incredibly fitting when it comes to paralleling Savathun/Dul Incaru terrorising the Dreaming City with what Erik does to the opera. Like, everybody knows he’s There but no one can do anything about it, he sends vague threats and kills people but nobody can catch him, and the place is just a giant playground for him to have fun and achieve his personal goals in. And whatever the hell is going on in Masquerade, like

Masquerade! Seething shadows breathing lies Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes Masquerade! Run and hide, but a face will still pursue you

wow that sure is subtle. Seething shadows breathing lies, huh. Run and hide, but a face will still pursue you :) And then he crashes the party in a fucking Red Death costume. If this doesn’t have huge Dul Incaru/Siren of Riven energy I don’t know what has.

And of course the shitshow only starts when we kill Riven but the seeds have been planted long, long ago. If you listen closely, you can hear Petra screaming in confusion somewhere under box five.

I know most of this second part is a stretch, BUT! this is my au. And for the record, I know there are very mixed feeling about the 2004 POTO movie but to me personally it was a formative experience, first watched on a very crappy TV in music class at the age of 9 and not even in its entirety, but I was already captivated and shaken to the core, and there’s still, after all those years, something that screams at my soul when I hear the first notes.

And, as a treat for those who suffered with me until the end of this essay,

#i may or may not be singing up to three poto songs next tuesday on a concert #which may or may not have been my teenage dream #reply #eri-223 #phantom of the opera #toland the sarky #eris morning #eris/toland #destiny 2 #npc talk #what is this even #i have no idea how to tag this #headcanon #ships #ir yût #dûl incaru

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years

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Run Away With Me

Synopsis: Every moment shared with Charlie Weasley is an adventure all it’s own. How you wish to spend every moment together and all it takes is to run away.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Words: 6.3k+

A/N - Every year I post a story on my birthday and today’s the day I turn a year older. Usually these stories are pretty sad but this year I wrote something a little softer so here is my birthday present for you guys, I hope you enjoy it.

1. A Stolen Kiss

A bright-eyed and clueless young student, excited to be attending a school of magic. Nobody else in your family had magic so it was a big surprise when you received a letter alongside a weird lady who looked like she just stepped out of the early 1920s. Sat between your parents, the older woman explained the entire situation much to your excitement and your parents' confusion.

Diagon alley had been your first experience of all things magical; it had been like stepping into another world instead of just any old street in London. There were book shops lined with all kinds of books, some were bigger than your head while others were tiny. A shop that sold weird and kinda gross jars full of who knows what. There was a place that only sold brooms but according to the list you had read like a hundred times, first years weren't allowed their own brooms. You spent what felt like a lifetime at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions getting fitted for robes. Your parents were utterly fascinated by all the different styles and kept asking questions that made the experience so much longer than it really needed to be. You'd never had a pet before, but after a lot of begging they let you pick out a cat; he was a small Persian cat. Not quite a kitten but not quite fully grown. Checking off each item as you went along, you were exhausted by the end of it. There was even enough time for a trip to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour where you had enjoyed a cone of strawberries and cream with sprinkles on top. All that was left on your list was a wand. Peeling gold letters rested over the door of a shop that read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Stepping inside it was a tiny little store with no costumers. Thousands of narrow boxes lined the walls all the way up to the ceiling. It didn't take long for the weird old man to give you a wand that felt warm in your hand. Unlike the other disasters that came at the result of you waving various wands, a stream of red and gold sparks shoot out the end of this one like a mini firework. The wand chooses the wizard whatever the hell that meant. All ready and packed for Hogwarts, you were really giddy to go. Your mother cried as she waved you off to boarding school but you couldn't sit still. The train ride took hours and it was a little lonely considering you didn't know anyone but as soon as you entered the castle you knew it was exactly where you were meant to be. The building was massive and practically oozed magic and mystery through each brick. The pictures, much to your surprise, were moving on their own. Hogwarts had four houses and each student had to sit on a tall stool, put on a funny talking hat which would decide ultimately where they belong.

The very first friend you made was Nymphadora Tonks but only because she was in all of your classes and by some twist of fate you always ended up seated together. She was a sweet girl with pink hair and a talent for mischief. There was never a dull moment with you two. Then there was Charlie Weasley. Ever since that brisk day in October when he had ridden in clumsily on his white horse to save the day, the two of you had been the best of friends. You were still getting used to all your different classes. Potions class, however, was proving the most difficult. Too many ingredients and types to get used to. Not to mention Snape was just... mean. The task had been to prepare a simple Wiggenweld Potion; a powerful healing potion that can be used to heal injuries, or reverse the effects of a Sleeping Draught. The book was open on the desk as you carefully followed the instructions until.... poof. All the confidence you'd gained since arriving disappeared as Snape scolded you in front of everyone for messing up. Charlie had swooped in to take the blame landing himself in late-night detention. On the other hand, you got to leave with your tail between your legs and a few house points shaved off the total. And yet even his small act of kindness wasn't enough to capture your affection at least not at first. For the little version of yourself was infatuated with another Weasley. An older Weasley.

The nerves of a handful of students could be felt by anyone sat in the great hall for breakfast. Tonks is sat beside you running butter over a piece of toast. Stifling a yawn, Charlie takes a seat across from the two of you sporting a jumper of Gryffindor red and gold.

"Good morning," You flash your cheeriest, half-asleep smile bringing your spoon of Cheeri Owls to your lips. "Nervous?"

"A little," He was looking especially pale today suggesting he was more than just a little.

"You should be," Tonks perks up. "It's only the last game of the season and all hope rides on the seeker,"

"No pressure then," Charlie huffs out a dull laugh. The boy excelled in his position as the Gryffindor seeker but there was no way to determine how he'd play today when he was carrying the hopes and dreams of his teammates and entire house.

"You should eat something," You suggest, pushing a bowl of assorted fruit forward. There was little you could to make him feel better except take his spot but that wasn't allowed. You also probably wouldn't be that good. "Might make you feel better?"

"I'm too nervous to eat," He insisted but he still took an apple; rolling the red fruit between his palms.

"Win or lose you're still number one in our heart, right Tonks?" Elbowing her gently, you shovel another spoonful of 'O' shapes into your mouth.

"Sure," she shrugs. "If you want we can jinx the other team's seeker? I've been practising."

"Or... how much time do we have? I can get one of the older students to brew some Felix Felicis." You play along. "Nothing like a little liquid luck to win a game."

"You both know that's not allowed," Charlie took a large bite of his apple.

"When has Tonks ever cared about rules," Sometimes you wish she did care, you probably wouldn't have ended up in detention so many times alongside her.

"Thanks but no," he took another bite. "We have to win fair and square."

The conversation drifted from nerves to lost spells and planned practical jokes. Charlie seemed to relax a little the more he spoke. Maybe all he needed was a distraction to cheer him up.

"We need to take a trip to Hogsmeade" Tonk announces. "I'm out of dungbombs."

"Urgh- you and that silly joke shop." You can't help but roll your eyes but it was all good-natured. Despite hardly ever buying anything yourself, you spent an awful lot of time at Zonko's infamous little joke shop. "I could do with a trip outside the castle though. You should come too Charlie and maybe... you could ask Bill if he wants to come?"

"You're still gushing over Bill," Now it was Tonks turn to elbow you playfully, her lips curling up into a tantalising smirk.

"I do not gush over him," you state firmly, brows knitting together in a frown. You didn't appreciate being made fun. Bill was older, wiser and always made time to show you kindness. He made your little heart flutter whenever you saw him and Tonks took every opportunity to tease you about it. "I just thought It'd be nice is all. Wouldn't you agree, Charlie?"

"If you want him to come, ask him yourself." He responds, taking a large gulp of his juice.

"She won't because she has a crush."

"I don't have a crush Nymphadora- stop it," It was infinitely more embarrassing talking about this with Charlie sat at the table. "Don't ask him then, I don't care."

"Yes you do," Placing her arm around your shoulder, she pulls you into her side. "Because you're in love-"

"I am not!" You snap, pushing out of her grip.

"I'll see you guys later." The two of you share a look as Charlie disappears without another word. It was probably just pregame nerves.

"You know what? I think I'll get some frogspawn soap too and put it in the prefects' bathroom." Typical Tonks.

You'd come to learn through your time at Hogwarts that Quidditch was the most popular sport among wizards. And each house had their own team who compete for a trophy and bragging rights. Today was the final game thankfully. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Apparently, it came down to these two a lot. As the Gryffindor team filter out of the changing rooms, you slip inside to find Charlie sitting on a little bench.

"Guess who?" You sing-song, slapping your hands over his eyes but only briefly. He turns to look at you with an almost sour expression.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to support you," you reply soft, offering a smile he couldn't even see as he turned away.

"You're not supposed to be in here," Had you done something to upset him? Surely not. This was the first time you were seeing him since breakfast so there hadn't been a moment for you to mess things up and yet, his voice held an icy chill.

"Guess Tonks is rubbing off on me?" You jest, looking around the room. It was empty apart from you two. Bags and clothes scattered across benches or half shoved into lockers. A chalkboard stood in the corner with drawings you couldn't understand. "I just wanted to see how you were doing before the big game, is all. We were worried about you."

"You were worried about me," He repeats slowly, looking up at you. "I thought you hated quidditch."

"I still do," Your shoulders rise in a little shrug. "It's silly. Doesn't matter how hard the team works or how many goals it's pretty much all decided by how good the seeker is so why even have goals?"

"Score enough goals before the snitch is caught and anyone could win," He perks up. "You just don't understand how good and exciting it is."

Your lips curl up in appreciation for Charlie Weasley and his love for quidditch. It didn't possess the sparkle that came along when he talks about dragons but it was still nice to see him liven up. "Then go out there and show me how exciting it is,"

You stand under the spotlight of his gaze as he seemingly takes in your choice of attire; wearing the Gryffindor colours with pride to show your support. You even let Tonks paint your face after she promised not to draw genitalia. "Do you really think we're gonna win? What if I mess up and everyone hates me?"

"Then you mess up and everyone hates you," You shrug a little. "But that's not gonna happen and you know why?" His head shakes slowly. "It's because you're the best seeker at this school Charles Weasley." You place your hands on either side of his shoulders. "And I believe in you."

"How does that help me?" With your index finger under his chin, you force him to meet your eyes.

"Because I'm never wrong."

"That doesn't sound right." He tries to look away but you stop him.

"But it is," You offer a reassuring smile; one full of determination. "You've got this Charlie. So come on before you miss the game entirely."

The cheers outside were seemingly growing louder by the second. With a deep breath, Charlie stands up, grabbing his broom. "You're staying to watch, right?"

"Of course. Tonks is up in the stands too." Taking his hand, you lead the way out of the tent. "Consider us your good luck charms." Charlie brings the both of you to an abrupt stop before you even reach the opening of the tent, pulling you back to him. "What's up?"

The peppering of freckles that covered Charlie's face was even more vibrant against the rose pink blush. You squeeze his hand a little hoping it makes him feel better. And then it happens. The crowd grows silent in your ear but only for a moment as Charlie's surprisingly soft lips crash clumsily against yours. "For good luck," his whispers; his hand slipping from yours as he leaves you dumbfounded.

"He okay?" Tonks asks as you return from your trip.

"Yeah... still nervous," You reply, sitting down beside her. "It's his first big game after all."

"Are you okay?" The crowd erupts into cheers as the Gryffindor team flys in first. You're almost too embarrassed to look for Charlie; worried about what you might find so you keep your head down. "You look like you've just seen a troll or something?"

"Mhmm," you hum, forcing yourself to watch the Slytherin team as they enter. Why had Charlie kissed you? Did it mean he liked you or was he just messing around? Your head swirled with possibilities.

"You want a sweet?" Your friend offers as the game finally starts. It takes you a second to register but you smile, reaching into the little bag she was holding only to come to a stop.

"They're not gonna burn my tongue off or something are they?"

"No," Her chuckle sounded a little too innocent but you trust her for some reason. Taking a piece of confectionery out of the paper bag.

"Charlie... kissed me." You announce, throwing the sweet into you mouth; face scrunching up when they turn out to be sour. Ten points to Slytherin as they take the lead.

"He what?"

"He... kissed me."

2. Together

Who was Bill Weasley but a distant playground crush after that day. And your time of classrooms and magic lessons came swiftly to an end; how bittersweet it felt to leave a place you loved dearly. A once naive little girl stepping into the unknown now called the Wizarding World Home. Now you would go on to be a healer which was simply a magical doctor although your parents strongly disagreed with the comparison. However proud they were of you there would always be some part of them that wished you had chosen to become a lawyer or 'real' doctor.

Bathed in the warm embrace of the setting sun, you ponder the tranquility in a bed of green grass. The youngest Weasley lay beside you, struggling to keep still as often children do. She was similar to her brother in that way who now paced back and forth a mere few steps away. The invitation had been for dinner but you arrived a little early. The burrow was always such a welcoming place like stepping into a home you used to live in many moons ago; it was cosy and warm and there was no doubt that many lived there. You found your house to be almost the opposite, it always looked like nobody lived there. Immaculate. Polished. Cold.

"Will you stop pacing, you're making me nervous." You call out to your boyfriend, opening your eyes only to squint at the bright light. "What's wrong with you?"

Charlie comes to a stop as you sit up; Ginny mimics you in sitting up but the boy's eyes stay on you. The longer he stared, the more the pit in your stomach grew; what exactly hid behind his blank expression. He normally possessed such a playful warmth but it seemed to have vanished as of late. Plucking a stray purple flower, you enclose it in the palm of your hands. "You know I love dragons right?"

"Of course," Since meeting him, he had probably managed to slip dragons into every conversation you had ever had. It was at a point where you knew far more about dragons than you ever really cared to know. Many found his obsession annoying because that's what he so obviously was, obsessed but you found it enticing. Charming, even. Opening up your hand, a small butterfly with deep plum-purple wings flutters into the air and onto a giggly Ginny's nose. The innocent glee of a child; how those days were gone for you. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Promise you won't be mad?" It would be foolish to make such a promise when there was no way to guarantee your reaction. Whatever it was must be bad, if he was this worried. Your shoulders rise a little then fall.

"I make no such promises- just tell me."

Charlie took a breath that travelled on the wind to your ears before he blurted out. "I'm moving to Romania."

"Okay," Is your first reaction while your brain tries to make sense of something it didn't want to hear. "Wait- what?"

"Charlie is moving away to work with big scary dragons," Ginny announces playfully, baring her little hands like claws.

The once small pit grew into a mighty black hole of uncertainty and sadness that threatened to swallow you whole. There had been conversations shared between friends of Charlie wanting to move away to a foreign land, just to finally see a dragon but you had never taken it at face value. Always so convinced it was but a dream rather like those of when you were little and you wished to be a vampire. Technically back then you didn't know they actually existed but still, even now it was never going to come true. Eyes cast upon the second eldest Weasley, he kicks up the grass with his hands buried in the pockets of his pants. "It's the nearest Dragon reserve."

That was something you already knew but it didn't make the decision, at least in your eyes, any less confusing. Instead, it prompted water to well up in your eyes for this was something that affected not only him and his family but your life too. "I... I don't know what to say,"

"Hey Ginny, can you go check if dinner's ready yet?"

"No- why can't you do it?" The bark behind her words was very in character for the fiesty young Weasley. Blinking away the tears, you plaster on the best smile you can muster.

"If you go check on dinner I promise we can play a game later, okay? Exploding snap maybe?"

"Really?" She eyes you suspicious probably because it was a promise you had broken before. Not always for the right reasons but this time it was genuine. Charlie clearly wanted this to be a private conversation or perhaps he was just saving you for the inevitable moment where she asks why you're crying. Ginny scrambles to feet when you nod and skips off towards the gravity-defying house. It still amazed you that the building hadn't fallen yet. Rising to your feet you brush yourself off.

"You know I want nothing more than to work with Dragons and this is the only way I can do that," There was no mistaking the serious tone that came along with his words. It didn't matter what you said there was no changing his mind but you wouldn't do that anyway. It seemed cruel to even try to get him to give up on something so precious and you would never want to do that to him. "I have an opportunity to do something I love and I won't waste it to get some boring job at the ministry."

"I don't expect you too..." You wanted nothing more than to tell him to stay; beg him even. You were fighting against the selfish little devil that was stabbing you in the heart. It was a dull, deep pain in your chest. You wanted Charlie to follow his dreams, you just never expected them to not include you. "It's just a lot to take in."

"I know," The red-headed boy walks ever so slowly over to you, taking both hands in his. His hands had always felt a little rough ever since Hogwarts. You used to complain back then and insist he needed to moisturise but over time you had grown fond of the familiarity. How you wished this tender moment could last forever because it very well might be your last. You're caught off guard when he yanks you forward. You stumble into his chest where he wraps his arms around you like the big teddy bear he was. You breathe in every inch of him like it was the last time. The intoxicating aroma of an early walk in the woods; that fresh earthy smell that really makes you appreciate where you are. You could almost picture the pine trees.

"I feel like I'm losing you," Your words but a whisper, lost on the breeze.

"You're not," His grip around you tightens and suddenly your in the air, spinning around. "You could never get rid of me that easily.

"Charlie," You fight back a smile as you return to the ground; burying your face in the nook of his neck. "What's gonna happen to us?"

"About that-"

"Because I don't know if I can do the whole long-distance thing? So do we break up?" The tears threaten to fall once again as you pull back to get a good look at him. You never wanted to forget the emerald of his eyes or each and every freckle that called his body home. The unusual scare that adorned his eyebrow that was always amusing to look at. If that was his true purpose to break up with you then there would be no stopping the tears when they finally burst through the damn.

"No, I-"

"Because that's a little mean Charlie, you could have at least waited until after dinner. Should have done it first actua-"

You words become mumbled by the palm of his hand which he's placed over your mouth like a seal of protection. "Shush for a minute."

It's hard to resist so you simply don't; sticking your tongue you deliberately lick the palm of his hand but it seems to not phase him whatsoever.

"I'm not breaking up with you, silly," You meet his gaze. "I was kind of thinking you could come with me?"

Reaching up, you yank his hand away. "To Romania? You've got to be joking."

"Why not?"

Did you even know how to answer that? There were so many reasons why one should not just up and leave to go live in a completely different country with the boy they dated through high school. "I can't just up and leave my family- my mum will be devastated."

"I'll talk to her about it," Charlie hums softly, placing a delicate kiss upon your forehead. "Your mum loves me and she wants you to be happy."

"Dinner's Ready," For such a small girl, Ginny had one big mouth. There was no mistaking her call. However, this whole situation now felt a little... off. Could you even sit through dinner without it all becoming weird?

"We're coming," Charlie yells back; offering up his hand which you reluctantly take and he leads the way back to the house. "You want to be a healer right? You could do that in Romania."

"I guess," You weren't exactly worried about not finding a job.

"You don't have to decide right now," He tells you before you have a chance to speak up again. "Just think about it. I mean the invitation is there and for what it's worth, I'd really like you to come."

3. Creeping doubts

It took a lot of convincing but despite everything you decided to follow Charlie into the Unknown. Your parents weren't thrilled with the decision but they respected it; they were just worried about what would happen if something went wrong. And as their only child, they would obviously miss you. A lot of time was spent at the burrow that summer before moving to Romania; you were beginning to feel like an honorary Weasley only with the experience of having been a muggle for the first eleven years of your life. It was but a three-hour flight to Romania and your mother had sobbed at the airport. It made you think back to your first time stepping onto the Hogwarts express, leaving your parents behind to go to a magical boarding school in Scotland. It was a peculiar thought but a nice one. One you wished to cherish. Now in a foreign land with no support system behind you other than a boy you had been dating for years, you were ready for a new adventure. And there was officially no doubt in your mind that you would do just about anything for Charlie Weasley.

"It's not much," Charlie sets his suitcase down on the table. "Best I could do, for now, I'm afraid."

"It's fine," It was an old apartment in a building full of what you assumed were muggles. There was a small living room area with an ugly pea-coloured couch nestled against one wall. Beside it was a small coffee table and on the other side of the room was a TV, you weren't convinced actually worked. Then there was the kitchen which was attached to the living room. It had a fridge, a cooker and some cupboards. The only other room was a bedroom that literally only housed a bed in at the moment, then there was a door that leads on to the bathroom. It definitely wasn't much but a crappy apartment was just part of the experience, right? At least that's what you were telling yourself. "it'll feel like home soon enough," You had everything you needed to make this place feel like home right in your suitcase; oh the joys of magic. Patting yourself down, you search for the key to easy unpacking. "Uh... have you seen my wand?"

His head shakes and wears an amused grin. "You remembered to bring it right?"

"Yes," you huff. "I was gonna unpack," Falling back against the wall, you slide down onto the floor which you imagine hasn't been cleaned in a while considering the dust. "It's gonna take so long without my wand- which may actually be in the suitcase now that I think about it."

"Did you forget I'm a wizard too?"

"You do it then," You drop your head back against the wall. "I'm starving."

"actually have you seen my wand?"

You giggle to yourself "You're an idiot,"

"Hey- you lost your wand too." His shadow lingers over you as he comes to join you against the wall. Taking up a seat beside you, your head falls to rest against his shoulder.

"Can we get pizza? I saw some of those leaflets when we came in so we could order some?"

"Whatever you want, my love."

As time ticks on the pizza box is left discarded in the kitchen as the two of you retire for the night. Who knew not actually unpacking but simply thinking about it while eating pizza on the dirty ground could be so much work. You struggle to hold back a yawn as you snuggle up to him trying to absorb as much of his body heat as you can. All that lay across the two of you were a blanket and this building was next exactly the warmest. "Do you think we'll be okay? "You ponder aloud; it was a question that had been on your mind since agreeing to follow him to Romania. For not many people stay together with their high school loves. What if things fall apart now that you're in the 'real' world? What if this was all just a huge mistake?

"What do you mean?" Always such a simple boy; you wonder how he deals with his anxieties. Did he actually not know what you meant or was he merely putting on a brave face? A once proud Gryffindor suggested that he always looked to be brave above anything else.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" You repeat as if that somehow answers his question but it must have done something because even in the darkness you can just tell he's smiling.

"You worry way too much." Charlie laughs.

"You don't worry enough,"

He lays a kiss upon the top of your head, his hand moving up and down your arm. "It used to be the other way around."

"I was young and reckless back then. "How you missed the days where you ran around the halls of Hogwarts with reckless abandon. Well, not entirely reckless that was more Tonks but things had definitely felt simpler back then.

"You're still young and reckless now, I just have to hear you stress about it afterwards." Charlie taunts, pinching your arm. You recoil at the sharp pain.

"Shush."

"Being in Romania doesn't change anything," He expresses; his voice sounding louder in the quiet darkness. "I loved you back home and I still love you now. I'm really glad you decided to come with me."

Hoping to distract yourself from every worrying thought that clouded your brain you decide it's time to change the subject. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"Getting to work with Dragons all day every day? that's like dream come true."

"A dangerous one," Dragons were perhaps the most vicious creatures around other than humans. As captivating as they were and as much as charlie adored them, you couldn't help but worry about his safety. It seemed no matter the topic this evening you'd find a way to stress yourself out.

"I'll be fine, I'll have you there to patch me up," That he will for you had taken on the role as a healer willing to help out with all the injuries that inevitably come from dealing with dragons. You wouldn't admit it but you weren't quite convinced you were up to the task; you had never actually dealt with dragon-related injuries so this was like diving headfirst into the ocean when you only just learned how to swim in a training pool. "and if not- well, we had a good run."

"Don't joke about that," Nuzzling against his chest, you finally let your eyes close. Today was the start of forever with the one and only Charles Weasley and here he was joking about his ultimate demise.

4. The perfect day

It's peculiar how life can just fall into place. Your odd little world of dragons and leaky apartment buildings just became the norm. You had come to love your work at the reserve, Dragons were actually incredibly cool up close. Not to mention getting to see Charlie work with them after years of never shutting up about them was truly a sight to behold. Every day, it was like taking an excited little boy to his first day of school. His eyes simply lit up whenever he was at work although it was hard explaining his injuries to the neighbours when they were being nosey. You also had to be careful when using magic since you were basically living with muggles and it would be a headache if they ever found out.

With your site blocked by a thin piece of fabric, Charlie guides you carefully forward with his hands skillfully placed upon your arms to steer. This was the first day off the two of you have shared in a long time. Little information was given about your destination other than it being a surprise. With Charlie that could mean just about anything which wasn't always a good thing but you trusted him enough to believe he wasn't leading you into a dragon's den or something. A gentle breeze nipped at the skin of your neck and the ground felt soft under your feet. The gentle singing of a symphony of birds filled the air and the sun beamed down with remarkable easy. All this suggested you were somewhere withdrawn in nature. Charlie had always been one for the great outdoors. There were countless times you had found him sneaking in or out of the forbidden forest back at school.

"Am I going to like this surprise?" You inquire; your anxiety building with each step. You would much prefer to simply know what was going on rather than experience some dramatic reveal especially today of all days. Every year the boy seems to forget that he agreed not to make a big deal.

"I sure hope so," You practically slam into him as she comes to an unexpected standstill. "Because I don't think I can return it."

"Return what? Oh god- can I take my blindfold off?"

As the flimsy fabric skims the length of your face to settle loosely around your neck, your eyes take a minute to adapt. You don't know quite what you were expecting but this was not it. Before you stands a small cottage surrounded by nothing but a wide-open field full of a rainbow of wildflowers. It was a beautiful little house with as much charm and beauty you'd expect from a place out in what seems like the middle of nowhere. It could be described as the perfect place to settle down.

"Surprise!" He was redder than a cherry tomato when he stepped into view. Both arms in the air as a sign of celebration but you were just rather... confused? Whose house was this and why had he brought you all the way out here?

"I don't get it?"

"We've been here for a while now so I thought we should get our own place or like, a better place. One where we don't have to worry about anyone else." His confidence appeared to develop with each word but his face was still powdered in a deep shade of pink. S this was your house? He'd decided to up and move without even consulting you? "So I got us a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. It kinda reminds me of the burrow only, y'know, smaller."

"It's ours?" His excitement is clear on his face and he quickly takes your hand. Pulling you along with him. "And that's not all."

"There's more?" Surely a whole house was enough. You were quite proud of Charlie for picking such a beautiful little place. Come summertime, you could already see yourself sitting among the flowers painting little pictures. You also wouldn't have to worry about muggles. Coming up on the front door, your boyfriend delivers you a little golden key. And with just a tiny degree of fear about what could be on the other side you unlock it. Much to your astonishment and disappointment, nothing is behind the door except the hallway leading inside. Charlie enters first and even as you follow, you half expect someone to jump out.

"I know I agreed not to make a big deal but how could I not?" He opens a door at the end of the hallway that leads to the kitchen. It's not a massive space but it's assuredly not small either, the whole place was already furnished but you recognise the surprise was truly what sat on the table. It was a two-tier cake covered in blue frosting including the words Happy Birthday scrawled across the top followed by your name.

"You... baked?"

"Mum sent it actually," Charlie chortled lightly as he wanders up behind you. Tossing a package of red with multicoloured polka-dots onto the table. "Sent this along too. Reckon it's a jumper or something."

"That was nice of her," You weren't sure of how to react to it all. Birthdays had never really been your thing but you appreciated that Mrs. Weasley had gone out of her way to make you something special.

"And from me..." He trails off and the sound of tiny tracks echo off the walls attended by an adorable yelp. Up to your feet slides an ash grey puppy who was more legs than anything else. It had bright blue eyes and floppy ears.

"You got me a dog?"

"I got us a dog- thought we needed a pet around here. I debated getting a crup but that'd be a disaster if your parents ever decide to visit." Crups were notorious for their dislike of muggles. You never understood why but he was right in his decision. The gesture was sweet but rather odd all things considered but still you smile. It was hard to be mad at something so cute and you weren't just talking about the dog. The puppy sits at your feet, wagging its little tail a mile a minute. There was no denying how adorable it was and at least it wasn't a dragon. Or a murtlap for that matter, those things were ugly. "You don't seem happy... do you not like him? I can take him back?" Kneeling, your hand drifts over the soft fur of the puppy's head. In response, the dog jumps up in an attempt to lick at your face. Your smile grows as you try to get away. "I think he likes you."

"What's his name?"

"Whatever you want? He's a Great Dane by the way." The puppy had calmed down a little and you stare as you ponder the perfect name for an ash grey Great Dane. "How about... Arlo?"

"Arlo?"

"Mhmm," You hum standing up straight. "And I'm plenty happy if not a little overwhelmed. You know how I feel when it comes to my birthday."

"I do," He nods casually. His palms snake around your waist drawing you flush against him "But I never want you to forget that someone cares about you- that I care about you so bloody much."

"I know you do," You give him a quick peck on the lips. "And I'm thankful for that and for all of this."

"Arlo is the perfect name, Happy Birthday" Your lips connect in a beautifully slow embrace that fills your body with warmth and as he pulls away, his forehead comes to rest against yours. The dog barking as it explores the kitchen. "I'm just so grateful that you decided to run away with me."

#Charlie Weasley x reader #Charlie Weasley #charlie weasley imagine #hogwarts mystery #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

Text

Anonymous asked: I noticed you did post to acknowledge the death of Uderzo, the co-creator of the Asterix comics. I have to ask Tintin or Asterix? Which one do you prefer?

It’s like asking Stones or Beatles? I love both but for different reasons. I would hate to choose between the two.

Both Tintin and Asterix were the two halves of a comic dyad of my childhood. Whether it was India, China, Hong Kong, Japan, or the Middle East the one thing that threads my childhood experience of living in these countries was finding a quiet place in the home to get lost reading Asterix and Tintin.

Even when I was eventually carted off to boarding school back in England I took as many of my Tintin and Asterix comics books with me as I could. They became like underground black market currency to exchange with other girls for other things like food or chocolates sent by parents and other illicit things like alcohol. Having them and reading them was like having familiar friends close by to make you feel less lonely in new surroundings and survive the bear pit of other girls living together.

If you asked my parents - especially my father - he would say Tintin hands down. He has - and continues to have in his library at home - a huge collection of Tintin comic books in as many different language translations as possible. He’s still collecting translations of each of the Tintin books in the most obscure languages he can find. I have both all the Tintin comic books - but only in English and French translations, and the odd Norwegian one - as well as all the Asterix comic books (only in English and French).

Speaking for myself I would be torn to decide between the two. Each have their virtues and I appreciate them for different reasons.

Tintin was truly about adventure that spoke deeply to me. Tintin was always a good detective story that soon turned to a travel adventure. It has it all: technology, politics, science and history. Of course the art is more simpler, but it is also cleaner and translates the wondrous far-off locations beautifully and with a sense of awe that you don’t see in the Asterix books. Indeed Hergé was into film-noir and thriller movies, and the panels are almost like storyboards for The Maltese Falcon or African Queen.

The plot lines of Tintin are intriguing rather than overly clever but the gallery of characters are much deeper, more flawed and morally ambiguous. Take Captain Haddock I loved his pullover, his strangely large feet, his endless swearing and his inability to pass a bottle without emptying it. He combined bravery and helplessness in a manner I found irresistible.

I’ve read that there is a deeply Freudian reading to the Tintin books. I think there is a good case for it. The Secret of the Unicorn and Red Rackham's Treasure are both about Captain Haddock's family. Haddock's ancestor, Sir Francis Haddock, is the illegitimate son of the French Sun King – and this mirrors what happened in Hergé's family, who liked to believe that his father was the illegitimate son of the Belgian king. This theme played out in so many of the books. In The Castafiore Emerald, the opera singer sings the jewel song from Faust, which is about a lowly woman banged up by a nobleman – and she sings it right in front of Sir Francis Haddock, with the captain blocking his ears. It's like the Finnegans Wake of the cartoon. Nothing happens - but everything happens.

Another great part is that the storylines continue on for several albums, allowing them to be more complex, instead of the more simplistic Asterix plot lines which are always wrapped up nicely at the end of each book.

Overall I felt a great affinity with Tintin - his youthful innocence, wanting to solve problems, always resourceful, optimistic, and brave. Above all Tintin gave me wanderlust. Was there a place he and Milou (Snowy) didn’t go to? When they had covered the four corners of the world Tintin and Milou went to the moon for heaven’s sake!

What I loved about Asterix was the style, specifically Uderzo’s visual style. I liked Hergé’s clean style, the ligne claire of his pen, but Asterix was drawn as caricature: the big noses, the huge bellies, often being prodded by sausage-like fingers. This was more appealing to little children because they were more fun to marvel at.

In particular I liked was the way Uderzo’s style progressed with each comic book. The panels of Asterix the Gaul felt rudimentary compared to the later works and by the time Asterix and Cleopatra, the sixth book to be published, came out, you finally felt that this was what they ought to look like. It was an important lesson for a child to learn: that you could get better at what you did over time. Each book seemed to have its own palette and perhaps Uderzo’s best work is in Asterix in Spain.

I also feel Asterix doesn’t get enough credit for being more complex. Once you peel back the initial layers, Asterix has some great literal depth going on - puns and word play, the English translation names are all extremely clever, there are many hidden details in the superb art to explore that you will quite often miss when you initially read it and in a lot of the truly classic albums they are satirising a real life country/group/person/political system, usually in an incredibly clever and humorous way.

What I found especially appealing was that it was also a brilliant microcosm of many classical studies subjects - ancient Egypt, the Romans and Greek art - and is a good first step for young children wanting to explore that stuff before studying it at school.

What I discovered recently was that Uderzo was colour blind which explains why he much preferred the clear line to any hint of shade, and it was that that enabled his drawings to redefine antiquity so distinctively in his own terms. For decades after the death of René Goscinny in 1977, Uderzo provided a living link to the golden age of the greatest series of comic books ever written: Paul McCartney to Goscinny’s John Lennon. Uderzo, as the Asterix illustrator, was better able to continue the series after Goscinny’s death than Goscinny would have been had Uderzo had died first, and yet the later books were, so almost every fan agrees, not a patch on the originals: very much Wings to the Beatles. What elevated the cartoons, brilliant though they were, to the level of genius was the quality of the scripts that inspired them. Again and again, in illustration after illustration, the visual humour depends for its full force on the accompaniment provided by Goscinny’s jokes.

Here below is a great example:

There’s a lot of genius in this. Uderzo copied Theodore Géricault’s iconic ‘Raft of the Medusa’ 1818 painting in ‘Asterix The Legionary’. The painting is generally regarded as an icon of Romanticism. It depicts an event whose human and political aspects greatly interested Géricault: the wreck of a French frigate, Medusa, off the coast of Senegal in 1816, with over 150 soldiers on board. But Anthea Bell’s translation of Goscinny’s text (including the pictorial and verbal pun ‘we’ve been framed, by Jericho’) is really extraordinary and captures the spirit of the Asterix cartoons perfectly.

This captures perfectly my sense of humour as it acknowledges the seriousness of life but finds humour in them through a sly cleverness and always with a open hearted joy. There is no question that if humour was the measuring yard stick then Asterix and not Tintin would win hands down.

It’s also a mistake to think that the world of Asterix was insular in comparison to the amazing countries Tintin had adventures. Asterix’s world is very much Europe.

Every nationality that Asterix encounters is gently satirised. No other post-war artistic duo offered Europeans a more universally popular portrait of themselves, perhaps, than did Goscinny and Uderzo. The stereotypes with which he made such affectionate play in his cartoons – the haughty Spaniard, the chocolate-loving Belgian, the stiff-upper-lipped Briton – seemed to be just what a continent left prostrate by war and nationalism were secretly craving. Many shrewd commentators believe that during the golden age when Goscinny was still alive to pen the scripts, that it was a fantasy on French resistance during occupation by Nazi Germany. Uderzo lived through the occupation and so there is truth in that. Perhaps this is why the Germans are the exceptions as they are treated unsympathetically in Asterix and the Goths, and why quite a few of the books turn on questions of loyalty and treachery.

Even the British are satirised with an affection that borders on love: the worst of the digs are about our appalling cuisine (everything is boiled, and served with mint sauce, and the beer is warm), but everything points to the Gauls’ and the Britons’ closeness. They have the same social structure, even down to having one village still holding out against the Romans; the crucial and extremely generous difference being that the Britons do not have a magic potion to help them fight. Instead they have tea, introduced to them by Getafix, via Asterix, which gives them so much of a psychological boost that it may as well have been the magic potion.

I re-read ‘Asterix in Britain’ (Astérix chez les Bretons) in the light of the 2016 Brexit referendum result and felt despaired that such a playful and respectful portrayal of this country was not reciprocated. Don’t get me wrong I voted for Brexit but I remain a staunch Europhile. It made me violently irritated to see many historically illiterate pro-Brexit oiks who mistakenly believed the EU and Europe were the same thing. They are not. One was originally a sincere band aid to heal and bring together two of the greatest warring powers in continental Europe that grotesquely grew into an unaccountable bureaucratic manager’s utopian wet dream, and the other is a cradle of Western achievement in culture, sciences and the arts that we are all heirs to.

What I loved about Asterix was that it cut across generations. As a young girl I often retreated into my imaginary world of Asterix where our family home had an imaginary timber fence and a dry moat to keep the world (or the Romans) out. I think this was partly because my parents were so busy as many friends and outsiders made demands on their time and they couldn’t say no or they were throwing lavish parties for their guests. Family time was sacred to us all but I felt especially miffed if our time got eaten away. Then, as I grew up, different levels of reading opened up to me apart from the humour in the names, the plays on words, and the illustrations. There is something about the notion of one tiny little village, where everybody knows each other, trying to hold off the dark forces of the rest of the world. Being the underdog, up against everyone, but with a sense of humour and having fun, really resonated with my child's eye view of the world.

The thing about both Asterix and Tintin books is that they are at heart adventure comics with many layers of detail and themes built into them. For children, Asterix books are the clear winner, as they have much better art and are more fantastical. Most of the bad characters in the books are not truly evil either and no-one ever dies, which appeals hugely to children. For older readers, Tintin has danger, deeper characters with deep political themes, bad guys with truly evil motives, and even deaths. It’s more rooted in the real world, so a young reader can visualise themselves as Tintin, travelling to these real life places and being a hero.

As I get older and re-read Asterix and Tintin from time to time I discover new things.

From Asterix, there is something about the notion of one tiny little village, where everybody knows each other, trying to hold off the dark forces of the rest of the world. Being the underdog, up against everyone, but with a sense of humour and having fun, really resonated with my child's eye view of the world. In my adult world it now makes me appreciate the value of family, friends, and community and even national identity. Even as globalisation and the rise of homogenous consumerism threatens to envelope the unique diversity of our cultures, like Asterix, we can defend to the death the cultural values that define us but not through isolation or by diminishing the respect due to other cultures and their cultural achievements.

From Tintin I got wanderlust. This fierce even urgent need to travel and explore the world was in part due to reading the adventures of Tintin. It was by living in such diverse cultures overseas and trying to get under the skin of those cultures by learning their languages and respecting their customs that I realised how much I valued my own heritage and traditions without diminishing anyone else.

So I’m sorry but I can’t choose one over the other, I need both Asterix and Tintin as a dyad to remind me that the importance of home and heritage is best done through travel and adventure elsewhere.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #comics #tintin #asterix #personal #arts #culture

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years

Note

Well. In light of the recent vanessa fic, I am going to request a few things. How about Helena going to MC's high school reunion?

WARNINGS: Intolerable sexist arseholes Referenced rape culture Blood and minor violence Written by: @evoedbd ******************************************

“Helena… my feet hurt.” Kya’s soft, plaintive voice rung like gunshots in Helena’s ears. To hear that Kya was in pain caused a war of sensations within the Sorceress, turning her chest into a battlefield as she aimed to pick out her own thoughts amidst the din. The music was too loud. All pulsing beats and pop hits that all bled into one another in an unpleasant screech. With all the beauty Kya’s people could capture, the fact they abused that power to capture such meaningless garble was bad enough, but the songs that Helena’s ears had picked out went beyond this. The images of men taking what they pleased, or endlessly fucking hoes and capping foes… it set her teeth on edge. Why would anybody wish to put a cap on someone they disliked so much? It was absolutely beyond her. After all, she had seen the selfishness of humanity. She had seen people who would do precisely what the songs fantasized about. She had been one of those prizes. The pet. The mess left behind once a tyrant had finished with her for the night. She had been the violated girl dragging herself across the floors because she couldn’t walk, trailing blood. Why did some of Kya’s people find this concept worth celebrating? How many even knew what they danced to? “Helena?” This time, Kya’s voice was pleading. A gentle touch to Helena’s ravaged senses. This was accompanied by the lightest touch to her forearm, fingertips begging for more yet restraining themselves until Helena gave consent. The Sorceress had to close her eyes, to stop watching and picture a much calmer place. An open field, filled with flowers that had no name, not in this world. Flowers woven through black hair, accompanying laughter that became wings for Helena’s soul. She didn’t particularly want to open her eyes to the gyrating crowds. Around her, she could feel a thousand candles, each flickering in time with the sea of sorry, middle-aged bodies awkwardly trying to reclaim their youth. All dressed in finery above their means as they tried to convince everyone of their success and happiness, even as they reeked of misery. An ocean of people, all smiling politely whilst firing knives from their tongue, shooting daggers from their eyes. Alcohol flowing a little too freely, too dangerously. Control, so willingly abandoned. It was as if none of them knew its value. As if none of these people had ever seen or experienced control torn away completely, until even the breath a body took was at another’s whim. Then there were the lights. A spinning ball reflected everything, casting a thousand fragments of light across the floor, growing larger as they grew further from the centre. Spinning chaos across the wooden floors, illuminating the deep blue lighting, catching in the mist across the dancing masses. An unnatural mist summoned by machines… and Kya said her people possessed no magic. “Helena… are you with me?” The longing to answer hit her harder than a boulder from a catapult against a crumbling castle wall. Gods, how she wanted to open her eyes and find only one person before her. Yet, she was surrounded; drowning in the sea of bodies as the unnatural mist lapped at her ankles. As elbows collided with her, or fingers nipped at the bottom of her hair like vultures testing the fight left in their meat. Her heart pounded, beating against the cage of her chest much like how her magic pulsed with her fears. Limbs tingled; fingers began to move on instinct. Then, warmth. So much warmth. Enough that she gasped. Instantly, her lungs filled with air; her nose with that delicious mix she had never quite learned. Something soft, something smoky and then a hint of spice. Always, it was sweet. So very, very intoxicatingly sweet… but not sugary. The underlying bitterness of coffee tempered sweetness so deliciously that Helena found herself devoured by her craving for that scent. A second inhale gave her more, slowly begun to redirect her roaming senses to a singular focus. It was enough for her to open her eyes. “Welcome back.” A kind voice fell from naked lips. The smile upon them was small, nothing intended for the world to see. A secret amidst the crowd, the last life jacket on the Titanic. Just seeing it was enough for Helena to be saved. Shining grey eyes accompanied that encouraging little smile. Adoration glistened in beautiful grey depths, outshining the tinges of concern playing flecks in bluestone. In the swirling lights and dulled room, stone was more akin to gems than cobble, captivating Helena’s attention for far longer than society deemed polite. She could care less. Museums held marble statues of deities past, depictions of Aphrodite to stare at for hours. Marble was incomparable to the greys, Aphrodite a hag compared to the graceful woman donning such a flowing black dress. Elegance in its purest simplicity. “As if I could ever be parted from you.” Helena gave her best attempt at a purr. It was effective, given the creep of pink over Kya’s pale cheeks. Pale, not bloodless, Helena reminded herself. Bloodless was danger. It was the colour Kya had gone after the Queen’s spell struck her. It was the colour Kya had been when the Queen held a blade to her throat, when the Queen tormented Helena into confessing every pain, tried to make Sorceress scream and kneel. Tried to break her. Bloodless was the Witch Queen leering over a terrified girl, or ordering her most loyal man to ensure said girl was prepared… Helena flinched. Faster than Helena could blink, Kya’s hands left her, gathering in front of said woman’s chest. Kya held her hands there patiently, as if they were to be bound. Somehow, the speed and implications of such a gesture did not spark further fear within Helena, did not reignite the painful memories lapping at the edge of her consciousness. How such gestures could be made soft and welcoming, appealing even, still befuddled her. Flummoxed, her breath caught, even as Kya spoke. “Helena, I’m going to grab your tie, ok? I won’t pull, and my hands won’t move until I know you are ok. If you need to grab me, that’s ok. I know you won’t hurt me. We can just sway.” “The music is too upbeat for such a slow dance.” Came Helena’s rebuttal, even as her body moved to follow Kya’s suggestion. Cautiously, she gathered Kya into her chest, holding the otherworldly beauty there as if the world might snatch her away. Beneath Helena’s pale skin magic simmered. It heated her veins, writhing and bubbling like serpents of heated tar. She could feel the sparks escaping her control, trapped between her skin and her silken black button up. Kya had expressed her appreciation for Helena’s suit, several times, yet Helena had not seen the appeal until just now. The darkness of her shirt slimmed her down a little, whilst also concealing the fact she was sweating bullets. Her turquoise suit jacket was cut to perfection, emphasising both the strength of her shoulders and her feminine curves, without drawing attention to an overly generous bust. The matching pants fit her like a second skin, showing off impossibly long legs right to heels which meant business. Not only did they elevate her above the heads of many men, they also screamed womanly power. That she could, and would, step on any fool who crossed her path. Then, there was her crisp white tie… the very tie currently embraced between Kya’s gentle fingers. “Who cares about the music? We make our own rules, babe, always have. This was meant to be something fun, Helena. I didn’t think it’d be like this. I just thought it’d be romantic. Like going to prom with my soulmate, instead of some boy who expected me to finish the night on the backseat of his car.” “That boy dare-“ “He didn’t try to physically force me. He was confused as to why I wouldn’t, tried to convince me verbally, but he never laid a hand on me. He wasn’t a bad person, just an ignorant one. He was influenced by the wrong people. He actually wrote me an apology. It doesn’t makes my memory of prom the best.” “Yeah, had a bitch, but she ain’t bad as you. So hit me up when you passing through. I’ll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two” “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” Kya exploded, her wrath erupting in an enraged shout. Her voice carried, drawing countless gazes to the human embodiment of furious flames about to claim their penance. Kya’s entire body trembled, almost as if her growls were causing her to vibrate, and her cheeks took on a hue often associated with a devil. The fire in her eyes seemed poised to devour the world in its search for vengeance, yet Kya tempered it to three precise culprits. Three large men, all crowding around an uncomfortable-looking DJ who cringed as the song continued to play across a stagnant dance floor. “What’s wrong? Don’t like the music, dyke?” The first man sneered, his voice grating from between crooked teeth. His mates laughed, playfully jabbing him in his well-padded arms, hooting their drunken approval. His large belly jiggled as he laughed. Helena’s eye was drawn to his shirt, specifically the valiant efforts of a single thread stretched between a disconnected button and said shirt. “You’ve been playing rape culture bullshit for over half an hour. Do you even know what half of this shit means? Slip her a Molly? That is roofies! Drugging a woman’s drink to sleep with her, cause that’s totally sexy. That Nirvana song? It is literally about a rape victim. Did you idiots even stop to think that some people here might have gone through that?” Kya’s accusations were sharp, to the point, a jab of a blade straight to the ribcage. “We thought it was setting the mood. Isn’t your bitch DTF? She looks the type.” The second man taunted, giving a poor attempt at a suggestive wiggle of his brows. This man appeared more in shape, lithe, with the veins standing stark beneath his muscles. However, the stench of alcohol was only smothered by the copious amounts of noisme body spray he stained his wrinkled shirt with. “This isn’t the 1800s, dude. Women have the right to get married and be together outside of a Pornhub video.” Kya’s tone dropped along with her brows, her expression challenging, daring the men to come up with a retort worthy of her. “It isn’t rape if the bitch wants it.” The third man jeered. Unlike his counterparts, he appeared clean and put together, something Helena might have even called attractive before he opened his mouth. A good-looking man, ruined by his horrific mouth or corrupt by the company he kept. “What happened to you three? How can you be so cruel as to deliberately target someone just for existing? I know you’ve been watching us and noticed Helena’s reactions.” Kya’s words struck Helena to the core. Suddenly everything made too much sense. How the songs had seemed to only get worse and worse, their violations and sexist attitude more crudely represented. More stark. How the music had steadily grown louder and louder, until their sounds had burned into Helena’s consciousness. Until they became shadows which she could not be free of. Shadows where leering eyes hid, a pride of lions or a pack of wolves slowly circling their prey. What she had dismissed as a trickle of sweat down her back now stood out, an instinctual twinge, a warning. One she had not taken heed of. It left her wondering, was anywhere truly safe for her aside from Kya’s arms? Even in this strange new world, where nobody knew her crimes, she found herself persecuted. Had coming here truly been the new start she believed it to be? Or had she just fled her own insecurity into a pit of newer, wiser vipers whilst she played catch up for over thirty years of missing knowledge? “This is America, we have the right to listen to what we want.” “You have a constitutional right not to be a colossal dick.” Kya fired back without pause. This earned several snickers from around the room at the man’s expense. She wasn’t done, not even close. Kya continued, launching into a scolding with enough disgust in her tone to cow the watching crowds. “After everything she has done for this damn country, hell, the world, she deserves ONE night without some douchebags throwing shit at her. All we wanted was to come and have a lovely night out, not cop sexual harassment from a failed security guard, an alcoholic and a walking advertisement for how not to be a man all trying to relive their high school glory days.” “What? She got bored of servicing all the real men and went for her own bitch to boss around instead?” The second man taunted, snickering loudly at Kya’s repulsed expression. The expression was barely a flicker on the way to a smile. No, a smile implied genuine joy and happiness. Kya’s expression was something far darker. Ink dropped into water, sinking to the bottom of the glass. Purity tainted by malicious intent. Helena internally flinched. That expression was unlike anything she had seen from Kya before, save when Kya dealt with the Queen. It was the closest Kya could ever come to such wickedness; the closest Helena could bare to see her fall. “Oh I get it now. This is about your inferiority complex that no woman as gorgeous as Helena would want to be within ten feet of you unless it was to deliver a restraining order.” Kya’s voice was so calm, so crisp and clear, yet somehow a sneer. Something that even the Witch Queen could never truly pull off. It all happened so fast. Faster than Helena could even react. One moment, Kya was snarling in the face of some asshole, the next he had reached out in a sloppy attempt to smack her. Kya was faster. In a blink, she had grabbed the man’s wrist, grip unyielding, stepped into his space and twisted her body. Just like Helena had taught her. The man went plummeting to the ground in a flurry of ill-fitting formalwear and disgusting body spray. The collision was bone-jarring, filling the room with an audible thud. Before anybody could do anything more than gasp, the third man launched at Kya’s exposed back. Helena’s heart leapt into her throat, her magic burning beneath her skin in preparation to unleash. It was a pointless endeavour. Kya moved naturally, as fluidly as a trickling stream with the passion of a dancer and the heart of a knight. Her elbow came up, driven into the man’s nose without a moment of hesitation. He too fell, left with only his hands to try and still the raging current of blood pouring between his trembling fingers. His hands desperately palmed the broken mass of his nose, which made his cries sound wet and gargling. A second strike, a vicious kick to his groin, ensured he would not be getting up again. Helena arched a brow. That was not something she had taught Kya. “How?” The most rotund of the three questioned, wisely keeping his hands well away from Kya as she stormed up to him. Helena knew his fear, it was once an intimate companion to her afterall. He looked at Kya as if she were the Witch Queen, something which sat uneasily in Helena’s gut. Even here, Kya was not the Queen. She had not taken evident joy in her power over these men, nor in their fear. Kya wore an entirely too calm expression, as if the violence had been a bore to her. As if the blood running down her arm was something to be nonchalant about. She was silent as she reached out, hooking a single finger into the string stretched between button and shirt. Finally, it gave out, snapping under the added pressure. Then, Kya spoke, her voice kept low as if to protect the man from further humiliation. “My wife is a war hero. I’m not the scary one.” She informed, using the tails of his shirt to wipe the blood from her arm. At Kya’s words, Helena noticed the room focus on her for a moment, awe and respect flooding their eyes in a manner that was entirely too familiar. Too uncomfortable. It was the awe and fear of Reiner’s army. How long would it be until they too saw the monster she could be? Could that be how they now viewed Kya? “She’s earned her peace, and I’ll fuck up anybody who tries to attack that. She shouldn’t have to kill anybody else to protect this country, let alone deal with shitfucks like your friends shaming her for having an ounce of happiness.” Kya continued, eyes blazing dangerously. That. That there was something the Queen never had. The heat in her eyes, the fire and compassion. Helena’s heart rose in her throat. She’d seen this scene before. The Queen, leering over her prey, leaning down to mock their failure before she crushed them. Now Helena could see it. Kya’s connection to the Queen. The heat had faded from her cheeks, yet that heat seemed to have migrated to her eyes. Where the queen froze, Kya blazed, charring the man’s willpower to cinders with but one annoyed glance. Her focused glare had him trembling, fearing what she might do next. Helena felt that fear. Had the queen claimed her lover? Was she to truly lose her happiness now? Was fate so cruel? “Your friends will need medical care. That elbow could have broken more than his nose, and your other buddy smacked his head pretty hard.” Kya added, concern filtering into her expression for a microsecond before she turned. With the grace and confidence of a Queen, she strode over to the first man, her dress fluttering around her knees like wisps of shadows and silk. She leaned down towards the man, crouching so that she could speak directly to him. “If I ever hear you dared touch another soul without their consent, then you will no longer have hands.” Kya warned, her voice a tide of outrage tempered by her own compassion. Her hand upon him reminded him to stay down, but also touched with concern. Feeling how his heart rose to meet her palm. Despite his unfocused gaze, he afforded her his full attention, staring at her as if he was looking upon an Angel. No, not an Angel. A Valkyrie of Nordic legend. A guide to the lost heroes, the one to guide their souls to peace. Helena understood, for she gazed in utter devotion. This Kya was a new creature, one embodying her soulmate, channelling Helena’s protective energy in a uniquely Kya way. Helena couldn’t help but smile, to grace her protector with an approving twitch of her lips and a nod. Kya was not the Queen, nor did she continue her violence when it was not in defence. She had picked up arms in this moment so Helena would not. So Helena did not have to. Just as Kya had promised, she protected Helena’s peace. Kya rose after a few more moments, stony eyes softened to gems as she gazed upon Helena. The Valkyrie extended her hand, fingers imploring Helena’s to weave between them with a silent little wiggle. Helena, a lost soul if ever there was one, was helpless to do anything but reach, to accept the hand offered to her. With the softest of smiles, she entrusted herself entirely to her soulmate, her Valkyrie, trusting that if Kya was not her peace then at least she would lead Helena there.

#Anonymous #lovestruck #love and legends #love and legends helena #helena klein #lovestruck helena #helena x mc #angst #fluffy angst #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: reference to rape culture #woeful wednesday

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victoria-daydreams · 4 years

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Till Kingdom Come

Chapter One: My Story Is Much Too Sad to be Told

AN: I’m fairly shocked at the reception this story got, I didn’t expect to gain immediate attraction because I posted it at like 3am lol. Nonetheless, I am grateful to all the people who read this story. Once again, this chapter is dark as well. I promise this whole story is not going to be doom and gloom, but it feels inappropriate to even try to glaze over the cruel treatment of slaves in America and to be honest, this chapter is probably just a glimpse of what real life slaves were put through.

Word Count: 3.1k

Trigger Warnings: slavery, violence, physical/mental abuse, racism, racial slurs

Chapter Two: Life Being What It Is

That was seventeen years ago.

Sabine's life had changed for the "better", at least that's what Mistress Genevieve would try to convince her as such. Sabine certainly didn't see it that way, she was still a slave, after all. Not to mention, that the Martin family has for all intents and purposes, mentally and physically scarred her for the rest of her life.

Sabine was fucking miserable on the Martin Plantation.

From the moment Sabine arrived on the plantation as a child, she became something of a pet project to Genevieve. She taught Sabine arithmancy, how to read, write, and to speak proper English and French. This was not out of kindness though, no, this was a source of derision. Whenever Genevieve would host any type of social gathering, Sabine would find herself being paraded around by her Mistress to her guests.

She despised the gatherings with every fiber of her being, she was subjected to the most degrading comments by the party goers.

"Dear me, I didn't know negros had the capacity to learn how to read,"

"Genevieve, you must have the patience of a saint to be willing to teach a member of an illiterate species,"

"You taught the monkey to read and write? What's next Genevieve, music?"

This is what Sabine had been put through for as long as she could remember. Every time she learned and mastered something new, Sabine knew what was to come. She hated the fact that accomplishing something a white person could do was met with oohs and awws in the most mocking fashion from Genevieve's friends. Sabine remembered one night that word had spread at a party that she was fluent in French and for the rest of night she was bombarded with requests of ‘saying something in French’. She felt like an animal in a zoo and she knew that's how most people viewed her in the first place.

"Teach anymore parlor tricks to your pet Genevieve?"

Sabine would internally scowl every time she witnessed Genevieve be lavished in praise by her friends for her work. Isn't it sweet? The benevolent mistress bestowing an education to a lowly slave like herself. The Southern Belle, extending her graciousness to one of her lowliest effects.

Oh, but Sabine would find little ways to carry out her revenge especially as she grew older and was given tasks that held more responsibility. Her favorite way, "accidentally" pulling her mistress' corset too tight or "accidentally" stabbing her in the scalp with hairpins. Her yelps of pain would bring a ghost of smile to Sabine's lips which would instantly vanish if Genevieve turned around to scold her for her carelessness. And of course Sabine would offer a quick apology, telling her mistress that she didn't mean to and will be more mindful in the future. But the second Genevieve left the room, Sabine would let out a snicker only to be popped in the back of the head by Alice, the woman, who's in charge in keeping the rest of the slaves in order.

The blow was not out of malice, further from that really, it was out of love and concern. Alice had been like a mother figure to Sabine since the day she arrived on the plantation.

"One day the Mistress is not going to put up with your 'mistakes'," Alice warned, worry was evident in her eyes.

It wasn't until Sabine would turn sixteen the following year that Alice's warning would finally sink in for her. The most ironic thing about it was the fact that it didn't happen because of one of Sabine's mischievous acts, it happened because of the wandering eyes of Genevieve's husband, Aaron Martin. What's even more ironic, is that Master Martin didn't even want Sabine in the house at first, he wanted to make her a field hand. Genevieve convinced him otherwise, saying that she would be malleable and make the perfect, obedient slave since she had no attachments on their plantation.

She was wrong.

The decision to keep Sabine as a house slave would be one that Genevieve would come to regret, but only out of wounded pride. Sabine, on the other hand, longed for freedom and was desperate to escape the growing tension between Genevieve and Master Martin. She doubted that they knew how many times she fantasized about running away from the plantation. It was more than once as each day passed.

She had good reason to as well, Sabine had noticed that the mistress had been short-tempered with her as of late. And that was never more evident on one fateful day, where everything in Sabine's life seemed to further spiral out of what little control she had.

Sabine wiped down the top of the fireplace on the far wall of the parlor room, humming to herself.

"What's that song?"

Sabine stumbled in surprise of hearing Master Martin's voice, his French accent only slightly there. Pushing away from the fireplace, she tightened her grip around the rag in her hands as she stood at attention. His thin lips were curled up into a smile, a smile that Sabine was sure he thought would put her at ease, it didn't. Matter of fact, the expression had the exact opposite effect, Sabine thought his smile looked like a wound opening. Everything about the forty-five year old man unnerved her, Master Martin had a complexion that teetered between being pale and matte, short, dark brown hair sat on top of his oblong head. His long face made his humped nose prominent, but the most terrifying feature on his face was those piercing gray orbs.

It was the eyes of a predator stalking its prey.

Bowing her head in apology, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you, Master," Sabine apologized, vowing not to hum again.

"You didn't disturb me. What is that song?"

It's something that her mother would sing to her when she was younger. Sabine couldn't remember the words to the song, but she knew how the tune went, it was the only piece of her mother that she had left of her.

Shaking her head, "I don't know," Sabine lied remorselessly.

Instead of letting her get back to her work, Master Martin just continued staring at Sabine, it made her flesh crawl. His eyes traveled from her face before letting them roam down to her neck and then onto her chest. This had become increasingly normal behavior for Master Martin, each week it seemed like he managed to find her alone and just study her figure. His eyes would always linger on her breasts, and that was what made Sabine most uncomfortable in his presence.

Master Martin leaned against the door frame, "You've been filling out your dress quite nicely as of late Cecile," he commented, now looking at slim waist and then her hips as his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

Sabine had to swallow down the bile she felt that might escape her mouth.

"Cecile!" Genevieve's shrill voice called from down the hall. "Cecile! Where are you, you daft girl?!" she yelled, as she stopped right beside her husband. "Aaron, dear, what are you looking-" she began, but cut herself off when she followed her husband's leering gaze. Genevieve's expression hardened and she narrowed her eyes at Sabine, pressing her lips together into a thin line. She stormed over to Sabine and came to a stop in front of her.

"Mistress I-" Sabine started, but Genevieve's hand whipped out and struck her hard across the face. Sabine's head snapped to the side and she lowered her stare to the floor, her breath uneven as she rubbed her cheek.

It was the hardest slap she had ever received.

"You stupid girl! Why are you distracting the Master?" she demanded, glowering at Sabine. "Get out of here and get back to work!" she ordered, her rising temper reflected in her face.

"Yes Mistress," Sabine replied, quickly bowing her head as tears began to well up in her eyes.

"And didn't I tell you to cover that horrid hair of yours? The sight of it is revolting!"

Genevieve had never once demanded Sabine to cover her hair, not until that day. But from that day on, Sabine wore a headscarf religiously to cover her head. Sabine figured that Genevieve's thought process probably fell along the lines of, if Sabine's hair wasn't visible then she'd become less attractive. It was a flawed logic that did nothing of the sort, much to Genevieve's and Sabine's dismay. So, for Sabine, the physical and mental abuse she received from Genevieve increased on a scale that she never experienced before.

The days of Sabine just being a pet to show off to Genevieve's friends to poke fun at her, were long gone.

Genevieve now saw Sabine as competition for Master Martin's attention. Attention that Sabine never wanted in the first place, Genevieve could keep her disgusting husband all to herself for all she cared. But of course, Genevieve would never see it Sabine's way, no, somehow Sabine's at fault for Master Martin's lustful stares.

Things only seemed to get progressively worse for Sabine as the years passed and her body continued to mature. Not only did she draw the unwanted attention from her perverted master, but she unfortunately also captured the eldest son's attention, Marc. He was almost a spitting image of his father, but was by far, worse than him. He's actually touched her in inappropriate ways, too many times for Sabine to recall. At least Master Martin just stared at her, although Sabine was sure that one day he might begin touching her as well, her worst fear was that he would flat out rape her.

Lord knows, Marc had been working his way up to it.

Sabine noticed that he had become increasingly aggressive as of late. And that frightened her to no end. She remembered one time after a dinner party she had to serve in the parlor room where the male guests were playing cards. She had just finished serving a round of drinks to Marc's table and the way he decided to thank her was to roughly squeeze her ass with a disingenuous smile. This action made the men at the table roar with laughter, but all Sabine could feel was mortification.

She wanted to curl up into a ball and cry in the corner of the small shack that she called home.

Sabine wanted to believe that the abuse she was suffering could not get any worse, she thought wrong. For, not only was she terrorized by the Martin's, but Marc's arrogant, smug college friends who often visited the plantation, partook in her torment as well. They would whisper things in her ears that no upstanding, God-fearing gentlemen would ever say to a white woman.

And for having such a supposed repulsion and violent reaction to someone of her complexion, white men sure seem to fancy negro flesh. It was confusing, yet terrifying realization. How could you hate and treat someone with so much scorn, but at the same time want to sleep with them?

Sabine's worst experience with one of Marc's friends was that he managed to corner her and forceful stick his hand up her dress, grabbing her thigh, luckily his hand wasn't able to go any higher thanks to one Alain Martin.

The only kind-hearted Martin in the family.

Alain, the curly headed and bright blue-eyed boy who always had a boyish grin on his face. He actually treated Sabine and the other slaves on the plantation like actual human beings, showing them dignity and respect, something that was completely foreign to them. Sabine wondered how the cruelty that Alain's family gleefully inflicted on the slaves didn't corrupt him and make him turn out like them. Maybe it was because Alain had actually questioned his surroundings as a child and didn't simply just accept what his mother and father told him as fact. She could recall many times Alain saying, ‘that doesn't seem right’ as a child.

And as Alain grew older, he continued to challenge his parents on the practice of slavery, prompting several arguments and debates, especially when it was dinnertime. Sabine had been a witness to quite a few of the shouting matches that would erupt at the table between Alain and Master Martin, Alain would also go at it with his older brother. Marc claimed, 'that because of the negro skull size all they were capable of was menial work and that white people were justified for enslaving them. With no one to oversee the negroes, they would hurt themselves'. This claim only enraged Alain further and Sabine as well.

Sabine had more knowledge in her pinky, than Marc's thick skull.

She pitied Alain, he had become the black sheep of the family. He attended college in the North and his views against slavery had only become stronger. He was an unapologetic abolitionist, which of course was completely the opposite of what his family believed. There would be many times that Sabine found herself listening to Alain as he vented out his frustrations about his family. She didn't mind, because that's what friends do, you let them vent.

However, it was not always like this, the bond they shared now as young adults would seem unimaginable to Sabine when she was younger.

Sabine and Alain had spent a lot of time together as children, but not because she wanted to, at first. The only reason she and Alain were in close proximity all the time, was the fact that she was tasked with fanning him while he had lessons with his tutor. Sabine resented him, they were only two years apart and yet here she was fanning him like he was some type of king. She was cold towards him (as respectfully as possible) and it went on like that for a couple of months, until Alain decided to speak to her when his tutor went inside the house.

"Pssst, Cecile, do you know how to say this word?" he asked, pointing to a word in his book.

Internally, Sabine arched a brow, she didn't know if he was asking out of genuine curiosity or to mock her.

"No sir," she answered, her grip tightening on the fan at the fact that she had to address a fellow child as 'sir'.

"You didn't even look," he argued softly, looking up at her. "Come on, I know you're smart, probably smarter than me," he added, moving the book closer to her eyes.

"Don't let the master and mistress hear that," Sabine remarked mindlessly, before freezing at what she let slip from her mouth.

Sabine expected to hear Alain run from his seat and tell his parents what she said, instead she heard giggles.

"You're funny Cecile," he commented, shaking his head.

A breath of relief left Sabine and she craned her neck, "What's the word, sir?" she asked, her eyes scanning the ink on the page.

"This one," he replied, pointing to the third word on the page.

Sabine nodded her head, "It's glaciers, sir," she said, before looking at Alain.

"Thank you Cecile," he smiled, bringing the book closer to him again.

"Your welcome sir,"

"Alain," he corrected.

"What, sir?" Sabine asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Call me Alain,"

And from that day forward, to some extent a friendship was born. The breaks in between Alain's lessons where his tutor wasn't present, were the only time that the two of them could really speak to each other. Alain did most of the talking, he told Sabine things he probably wasn't supposed to and if his mother ever found what Alain told her, Sabine was sure that Genevieve would just about faint. Sabine on the other hand, was much more reserved on what she was willing to tell Alain. She never told him anything personal, just mainly what she did each day. Sabine was afraid of telling Alain something that could somehow finds its way back to Genevieve. But, as years passed and they slowly matured, Sabine finally felt that she trusted Alain enough to tell him her real name when they were fourteen.

She hadn't heard the name Cecile since.

It was a friendship of secrecy, but that didn't mean Alain wouldn't try to protect Sabine as best he could. Alain could do it overtly, like he done with Marc's friend by yanking him away from Sabine and punching him square in the jaw. Other times, he would opt for more subtle ways that were just as effective. Remember the assault that Sabine suffered in the parlor room? Well, Alain was a witness to his older brother's molesting of her.

Alain strode over to Marc, appearing as though he was going to tell him off, which for Sabine's sake, she hoped he wasn't. It would only lead to further humiliation of her in some sort of fashion and probably Alain as well. Alain approached the table where his brother was playing cards when he suddenly tripped over his feet. Sabine watched in almost awe as the champagne flew in the air before raining down all over Marc, soaking his hair and a part of his evening jacket and dress shirt.

Marc's face turned beet red.

Sabine had to force herself to keep a neutral face, for a grin was threatening to form on her lips followed by uncontrollable laughter.

"You clumsy idiot!" Marc exclaimed, venom laced in his insult.

Alain didn't seem affected by the remark, "I'm so sorry brother," he apologized, without the faintest hint of sincerity in his eyes. "I'll go get some towels for you," he offered, before turning to look at Sabine. "Will you escort me? I would hate for my clumsiness to resort in another mess," he explained, and Sabine nodded.

"Of course sir," she stated, and led Alain out the parlor room.

Once they were in the hallway and out of view from everyone, Alain grabbed Sabine's wrist and pulled her along to the bustling sounds of the kitchen. Entering the room, Alain let go of her wrist and the two of them stared at each other before bursting out in laughter. Sabine felt tears forming in her eyes and used the back of her finger to wipe it away.

"You're going to get an earful from your mother Alain," Sabine warned, with a breathless laugh.

"I don't give a damn," Alain declared, a proud grin on his lips. "Marc deserved it," he added, nodding his head.

Sabine leaned back against the counter, "You didn't have to do that for me," she said, looking over to her friend.

"No," Alain disagreed, vigorously shaking his head. "I had to, Sabine," he corrected, his expression turning serious. "Marc assaulted you. He humiliated you," he continued, his hands bawling up into fists. "Humiliation in return, it was the least I could do," Alain explained, and Sabine ran her hand up and down his arm soothingly. "I know it won't erase what was done to you Sabine, but I had to do something," he finished, his gaze soft as he looked at her.

"It is a small victory I shall revel in for a long time," Sabine said, placing her hand on top of his shoulder. "Thank you, Alain,"

Chapter Three: Steal Away

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lutrain2020 · 4 years

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Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Cromulent Crab!

Commissions: I don't think I will be for quite some time ^^ I still have much to learn in the ways of valuable art

Social Medias: No thank you

What's your artistic process like?

I'm a great deal into both traditional and digital art, but I've found that in both cases using the loomis method for people and/or power lines for animals has really started to boost the quality of my art. My inspiration seems to usually stem from music (Perhaps due to my synesthesia), and blooms into a story based on the words and feel of the piece. It took a few weeks of me listening to the song I chose for my Zine to finally get a clear vision of what I wanted.

Tell us a little bit about yourself!

Greetings! I'm a closeted Non-Binary person who prefers to go by the name Marzen on the internet though the nickname Marz I also seem attached to. I've been absolutely engrossed by LoZ games and everything else they have to offer since I first played Botw in 2018. How real and fleshed out the world feels really brought me to what you could call a release from responsibilities. And, since I have diagnosed ADHD, botw just so happens to be the only puzzle-focused game I've ever 100%ed! Sorry Skyward Sword. I love the colour gold, not like jewellery or riches, no, like a bright gold against a black background. Red through green are colours I am also delighted to see. I'm a dog person with an infinity for reptiles and birds. And Bugs! Maybe crustaceans as well... and arachnids. Well, you get it! I'm a sucker for angst, love the Hunger Games books, laughs at everything, allergic to just about everything as well, middle school student who's thinking of joining the Canadian Military just to make enough money to pay for school- I would give anything for a scholarship to RingLing college of Art and Design! I want to work on video game rigs when I come of age!

What kind of mediums do you like to use?

If I had any money at all I would use it for cosplay and/or and apple pencil, I was able to scrape together enough last year for a Wild costume to be made but I have greater aspirations for when I'm old enough to get a job ^^ For now, I've been spending my time memorizing Richard Williams "The Animator's Survival Kit" so I can get a head start in animating. Just wait until I get an apple pencil! I'll be animating 24/7 now that I'm out of dance!

What got you into art? what inspires you to keep creating art?

Art for me is the ability to create ANYTHING! There's no limit with a pencil and paper. I mean, the LU wouldn't exist without it! There's so much power to be harnessed in being able to draw anything. You can tell stories, make gifts, brighten people's days and bring life to worlds that couldn't exist otherwise. It took me all 15 years of my life to figure out how much art can mean to people. It's so much harder than it looks, and yet, when you finally get it right, a lot can come from that!

What's your favorite/least favorite subjects to use in your art?

I love drawing cats. That's it. They came easily to me! In fact, learning the ways cats move was the key to me figuring out how to use power lines! I'm not great at fan art, I've fallen victim to the whole 'The sketch looks better than the final piece' thing which is sincerely frustrating sometimes. Really, creating completely randomized OCs help teach me how to draw much more than trying to paint Legends hair from 11 different angles.

What's the worst thing you had to draw?

I tried to draw curly hair once... never again. That's what I need to work on the most.

Is there something that you struggled with that made you grow as an artist?

Currently, I've been working on attaching legs to human figures a little more seamlessly. My big breakthrough came with finding the inspiration to learn from others. I've never had 1on1 help when it comes to art, but watching YouTube videos have provided me with an archive of vital information. Learning the way torsos worked in general on a person was a big turning point. That's when my art went from 2d, staring directly at the audience doing nothing, to being able to picture how I want the character to move in my mind and translating that with fancy angles and weight distribution accounted for. That either came from me watching other people create art or I just unlocked that part of my brain during puberty. I will admit though, I can draw the shape of a head really well but I struggled to capture the right emotions.

If you have any fun stories about the pieces you made, please do share!

I did an art swap with a friend a few months ago, while I gave her Warriors to draw, she gave me a furry and two weeks to complete an "exciting" scene. Now, I have nothing against this type of art, however, I had absolutely no clue how to draw non-humanoid characters in that format. I forked over ALL of my free time to learning how to draw fluffy people and it honestly drained my soul. The piece didn't even turn out good.

#Meet The Creator #lutrain2020 #linkeduniverse #lu

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blu-joons · 5 years

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Married to Taehyung ~ BTS Headcanon

Your Wedding

Your wedding was everything the two of you had dreamed of, it was the perfect mix of your personalities

Most of the planning was left to you, making sure every fine detail was perfect, with Tae pitching in every now and then

Your wedding was in a church, traditional, with a few decorations to make it feel a bit more relaxed

Throughout the whole day Taehyung was sobbing, from the moment he saw your dress for the first time tears fell

“You look so beautiful, better than I could have ever imagined

Every member of both your families were there, the first time you’d seen some in a while

Taehyung was overwhelmed by the whole occasion, it felt like he was living a dream

His speech was beautiful, you could tell he was nervous, but he wanted to make you proud with it

Jungkook took most of your photos just because he loved having his camera in his hands snapping candids

The boys were the perfect best men, supporting Taehyung through it all like they usually did

“It’s like that time you sobbed at the awards show, only this time, you’re getting married.”

If he was nervous for your speech, he was even more nervous for the first dance, making sure to show you and your dress off to the guests

Neither of you wanted it to come to an end, it was the most special day with all those that mean the most to you

No day in your lifetime would ever compare to your wedding day

The two of you were ready to take the next step in your hectic lives together

Being Married To Each Other

It took a few days for you both to stop crying at how incredible your wedding was and realise you were actually married

You were forever staring at your ring, admiring what a good choice Taehyung had made

The two of you went back over your guestbook each night before you went to bed reading through everyone’s messages

“I feel like if I keep doing this I’m reliving the day all over again which is exactly what I want to do.”

“Me too. We could just keep getting married everyday for the rest of our lives?”

It was nice for you to not have to worry anymore and fret that something would go wrong

Taehyung kept a week away from the studio, spending time with his new wife and embracing married life

Jungkook very quickly sent you lots of photos that the two of you could look back over

The night of your wedding you spent back at home, there was nowhere else either of you wanted to be

Taehyung spent an extra couple of weeks at the gym so he could carry you over the threshold into your bedroom

“It’s a bit anticlimactic coming back to the same bed we usually sleep in, don’t you think?”

“It’s not just out bed anymore, it’s our marital bed.”

One of the things you looked forward to most was changing all your documents so they came to Mrs Kim, that made it feel very real

You had to wait a few weeks for your honeymoon as Taehyung had a very busy schedule to keep to

Despite being married, the two of you still did the same things you did when dating, seeing friends, going for coffee, long walks

Your dress and suit were hung up pride of place in your wardrobe

Taehyung loved to introduce you as his wife, even if you were out clothes shopping, he loved to tell people

It was only a matter of time before the two of you got married, you were his first and only love in life

Jungkook was so kind to put a video together of the day, having secretly recorded the first dance and speeches

Taehyung was a wreck throughout the whole thing as you watched it back together

“Look at how you’re smiling there, don’t you look cute?”

“Tae, everyone looks cute, our whole day was bloody cute.”

You found that marriage changed a lot of what went on at home, Taehyung began to take on more chores at home

Very quickly the topic of children was brought up, mainly from his siblings who were desperate for a niece or nephew to play with

You were always his number one priority, but he still began to make a bit more time for you

As a reminder of your wedding Taehyung painted a photo of the two of you which hung in your bedroom

You had a whole room dedicated to wedding gifts, whether they be from guests or just the fans

Lots of fans sent you cards and messages beforehand, and continued to compliment your dress after the wedding

If anything, Taehyung fell more in love with you as he became a dutiful husband

Married life was the best life, he loved the feeling of being married and being a grown up

It brought your families closer too, as you were both incredibly family orientated

The butterflies would still be there, Taehyung continued to make your relationship fun to keep that spark there

He liked you to be around the studio a bit more so he could spend more time with you and not worry about you being at home alone

It felt like you were living a dream for the first few months of marriage

Everything began to feel like it was being completed, all your dreams coming true

Your Honeymoon

Your honeymoon was lowkey, you spent most of it travelling around a few different places you’d always wanted to explore

Mostly you travelled around Asia and Oceania, exploring the places you never normally got to when he was on tour

The most important thing for you both was relaxing and getting away from all the stresses of the band and living in the city

You’d spend your days sunbathing and reading, whilst Taehyung loved to draw pictures of his surroundings and of you

The two of you would walk for hours, talking about anything that came to mind, you were the only person in the world Taehyung was truly open with

Lots of photos were taken to capture all your memories and put them with your wedding photos

It was the longest time you’d got to spend with him for years without interruptions, so you were determined to make the most of it

You both reflected on your favourite moments from your wedding too

“Drunk Yoongi trying to dance will always be my favourite Yoongi.”

“Or, how about Hobi when he knocked those glasses over whilst hip thrusting?”

The boys missed you both immensely, two very important people were out of their lives for a while

You continued to update your socials, whilst Tae would post on Twitter every so often

A few fans spotted you, but they were very respectful, congratulating you both

It was a once in a lifetime visiting some of the places so you made sure to embrace the culture

Taehyung bought a lot of clothes from different places whilst you bought jewellery and pieces for the house

The only downside was that it went too quickly before you were on the flight home

All the boys were there to greet you at the airport and have you home as soon as possible

“Let’s just get back to the studio, we can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Marital Issues

The two of you had your fair share of arguments, being adults there was definitely more things to argue over

It was usually the tiniest things that would set you off, like someone not putting their shoes away or washing up after themselves

Usually you’d talk things through together, but sometimes the pressures just caused you to explode

Taehyung could be argumentative if he wanted to be, but any argument with you always upset him greatly

He would always apologise and sit down with you that night to just chat about things

Your house was filled with reminders of your wedding, reminding you both that you were with each other because you always loved each other regardless

Usually he would get stressed when work got busy so you’d be there to help relax him and support him

Arguments were very rare, you preferred to have disagreements, there were never many raised voices

You found you argued less when you got married as you had more of a purpose to remain calm for

The two of you were the best of friends, everyone argues at some point

“Can we just forget about the whole thing? We both just got a little bit annoyed over what was nothing really.”

“I agree, I think we should of just talked to each other openly rather than feel we need to rant.”

You never slept on an argument, it was too awkward and tense for you both

The two of you were still learning about each other, even if you were married

Looking To The Future

Kids were a must with Taehyung, he loved playing with his cousins, but now he wanted a family of his own

The thought of starting your own family was much less daunting now you were married

He’d achieved most of what he wanted with BTS, so now was the perfect time to set some new goals

“I always picture us at random moments with a baby, I think it’s meant to be.”

Buying your first house away from the boys was also a big step for you both as you only had each other for company

Above all else Taehyung wanted to be the perfect husband, he never wanted to let you down

You were his first love and he wanted to keep you happy and treat you right like you deserved

Knowing that you were his forever brought great comfort, but that didn’t stop him always putting the effort in

The next step seemed right to start a family together

The Boys Take On Your Marriage

The boys all adored you, they knew Taehyung had wanted to find a girl for so long, and when you came along, it was perfect

Jungkook loved to take pictures of you both and surprise you with them on special occasions

Jin loved to tell you embarrassing stories about Taehyung to make him blush in front of you

“Did he seriously never tell you about the time he fell over trying to kick a rugby ball?”

Namjoon still led you both and was always on hand to support you when you needed it

One of your highlights was the song Jimin sung at your wedding that Taehyung had written and produced himself

Hobi taught you a few moves for your first dance so you weren’t a complete novice embarrassing yourself

“Everyone will be watching you, and the two of you will look absolutely gorgeous together, I promise.”

Yoongi would always be there just to cheer you both up if there was ever a bit of tension and remind you both to stay on the seesaw of love

From start to finish they supported you from day one through everything together

They couldn’t have found a more perfect girl themselves to make Taehyung happy

---

Masterlist

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shipmistress9 · 4 years

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HW2020 -- 4: Drawing Each Other

Part 4 of my Hiccstrid Week 2020.

This one... I’m not really sure how to feel about it. 😅 When I wrote it, it made sense. Now, I’m not so sure anymore. 🤣 Anyway, I hope someone likes it.

. o O o .

Astrid’s eyes were wide as she stared down at the piece of paper in her hands. This picture shouldn’t faze me so much, she thought absentmindedly, her fingertips hovering over the charcoal lines. And really, it shouldn’t. It was an image she saw every day, after all. Every time she walked past a reflective surface.

And yet, there was something strange about this picture that she’d found lying on the ground after Hiccup had left the clubhouse in a hast just a minute ago. Sure, the lines were smudged from how quickly he’d apparently folded the paper to tug it away, but that wasn’t why this drawn version of her face looked so… different.

It took her several minutes of inspection and even then she couldn’t really pin it down. As far as she was concerned, the image was flawless, just like all of Hiccup’s drawings. There was her usual round face with the pointy chin, the small nose, the slightly too-big eyes hidden by her fringes, and the small braid running down one side of her head. It all looked just like she was used to.

And yet, it was different somehow. Deeper. There was an unfamiliar softness in the way her likeness looked somewhere into the distance, in the way she smiled, in all her features. Something warm and glowing. It wasn’t really tangible, more as if there was something beneath the surface. As if he hadn’t just captured her likeness but also her self.

Astrid swallowed and gazed at where Hiccup had disappeared. She felt weird. On the one hand, she was flattered by the way he apparently saw her, not just the fierce warrior but something… more. But on the other hand… He knew her so well. Of course, they knew each other for all their lives, but this…

Gazing down at the picture again, a strange sensation blossomed in her chest and she made a decision.

. o O o .

“I think my idiot brother is in loooooove,” Ruff sing-songed over dinner a few days later, giggling at the surprised looks everyone else threw her.

“I am?” Tuff asked, puzzled.

“He is?” came from Snotlout. “With who?”

Ruff grinned. “Well, with Hiccup, obviously.”

There was a heartbeat or three of silence as everyone looked at Hiccup. He blinked, then looked from Ruff to Tuff, then to Astrid and back to Ruff again. “Excuse me?”

Still grinning, Ruff nodded. “He’s been staring at you all night. And I just want to say that I approve of his choice, you’ve really developed well over the years. You have my blessing.”

Astrid’s lips twitched. None of their friends knew about how Hiccup had kissed her after she’d regained her sight a couple of weeks ago, nor did they know about the tender minutes they shared every now and then since that day. But even without that knowledge, it was clear what both Hiccup and Tuff thought about this idea. Hiccup buried his face in his hands, groaning, while Tuff shook his head at his sister.

“You’re quite mistaken, sister,” he said in his usual slightly over-dramatic tone. “It is not me who’s in love. In fact, I’m not sure anyone will ever fall in love with such a malnourished runt with bad hair, strange teeth, and a twig for a neck.”

Ruff rolled her eyes. “But you were staring at him!”

“Of course, I was!” Tuff exclaimed. “But only to see whether I can understand what’s so special about him or whether he had something funny on his face or whatever. Because Astrid has been staring at him all evening.”

Now, all eyes wandered to her, surprise – and, in Hiccup’s case, the hint of a smile – on everyone’s faces.

“I… I wasn’t,” she tried to avert attention, though admittedly rather poorly and Fishlegs ruined her effort anyway.

“Actually, you were,” he said. “I noticed it too, just…” he trailed off, shrugging.

Trying – and failing miserably – to play it cool, Astrid stood up and pushed away her nearly empty bowl. “You’re all daft. I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow.” Then she left the clubhouse in too much of a haste to look unperturbed, cursing herself but unable to help it. It wasn’t even that she didn’t want her friends to know she’d been looking at Hiccup. Sure, she’d rather they didn’t know about them just yet, but she also didn’t want to outright deny what was between them. No, what bothered her more was that Hiccup might be able to guess why she’d been studying his face so intently.

As soon as she was back in her hut, she lit the candle at her tiny desk and pulled out a piece of charcoal and a fresh paper. With how annoying this incident just now had been, she didn’t want it to have been for nothing. Quickly, as long as the memories were fresh in her mind, she made some sketches of the details she’d studied just now, the exact outline of his chin and chiselled jaw.

Once she was satisfied, she pulled out another paper, one she’d worked on a lot lately. There were thin lines outlining a head and face to get the proportions right but also some more detailed areas, those she’d practised before. Hiccup’s unruly hair, his bushy eyebrows, his nose, his lips, so quick to pull into a smile. And her favourite part: his eyes, always so alive and gleaming with passion for whatever he was up to at that moment. With sure hands, she added the cheekbones and chin then leaned back to inspect her work. The image still looked a little off, but she hadn’t expected anything else. For the final version, she would draw it all in one go anyway so it fit better.

Smiling to herself, Astrid took a minute or three to look at her drawing. It wasn’t how she wanted it to be, not yet. It wasn’t like the drawing of herself she’d found, the one where Hiccup had captured so much more of her than just her looks. But she was getting there. And once the picture was as she wanted it to be, depicting Hiccup’s soul, the way she saw him, when she knew his face as well as he knew hers…

… then she would give it to him and tell him that she didn’t just like him.

She would tell him that she loved him.

. o O o .

One thing I learned about myself during all these shorts is... that I have way too much fun writing the twins. 😁

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

#Hiccstrid Week 2020 #hiccstrid #fanfiction #httyd #Hiccup Haddock #Astrid Hofferson #ruffnut #tuffnut #snotlout #fishlegs #fluff #romance

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poppibranchlover · 4 years

Text

Nine Lives, One Fight - Part 21

The story: Deep in the forest of Troll Town, there lies a mysterious tiny purple mushroom that has a secret magical ability. King Peppy calls this mushroom forbidden for all Trolls to go near it. One day, while Branch is out in the woods doing his survival research studying, he encounters it and, not knowing it is a regular mushroom, decides to harvest it and bring it home. But in the next morning, its magic effects transform him into a small blue cat! After being sent to the animal pound, his girlfriend, Poppy, finds him and decides to adopt him, although not recognizing it is Branch. Desperate to finish his research project due for a special event invented by Poppy, Branch is forced to learn how to behave like a pet cat and must figure out what caused him to become one.

You already seen what had happened in Part 20. Now get ready for Part 21!:

Flinging herself into her pod with her hair, Poppy didn’t stop until she got into her bedroom. Then she threw herself down on her bed and broke into sobs.

Poppy laid down motionless. Overwhelmed by the loss of her boyfriend, she clutched on to her pillow and wept. With tears in her eyes, she moved a picture frame beside her pillows and looked at it. The frame had a picture of Poppy and Branch, sitting on a hill together and giving each other loving looks.

Poppy sighed at the photo. She had never felt so distraught in herself.

“Oh, Branch,” she said softly, her eyes full of sadness. “I knew you’re always there for me, but you can’t be gone forever.”

One of her tears dropped down to the picture frame. The memory of Branch made Poppy feel even worse.

She decided to settle herself for a good night’s rest. Tomorrow she would surely feel much better. Poppy turned on her side and closed her eyes, welcoming sleep to take hold of her.

During her sleep, a light suddenly flared into existence, dim behind Poppy’s closed eyelids. She clenched her eyes tighter together and rolled over to escape the small nuisance. The light was still there, and the warm and cozy bed was a little less so. Poppy opened her eyes to a sliver, then fully so.

A spotlight? And the bed was gone, replaced by a rough, stone floor. Poppy lifted herself off the ground and slowly made her way towards the lit area. What was this place? Was I dreaming? she thought. She reached the spot and bathed in the light. A black void surrounded her in every direction, except for the moon, which was positioned in the center of a starless sky.

This place… it felt so lonely… and so familiar, like Poppy knew everything about it, but didn’t recognize it at all. Every time she closed her eyes, she would see this, feel this, live this. It was almost like this was in her own mind.

Poppy began to sing to capture her mood:

You rest inside my mind

Since the day you came

A wind blew around her, pushing the fog away and leaving her untouched. Long-familiar features finally began to come into focus. First a rocky floor, then the center studying table, followed by the walls with shelves and baskets of supplies and survival equipment.

Poppy knew this place. “Branch’s bunker!” she whispered, putting her hands up to her mouth and tears running down her face. She must be dreaming!

“Come on, Branch! I knew you wouldn’t miss the big day!”

Poppy’s eyes shot fully open. She knew that voice from out of nowhere…it was her own.

“I don’t know about this, Poppy.”

The pink Troll turned around and found a projection of herself talking to Branch, who was in Troll form in that time of the day. They glowed, with trails of foggy light seemingly evaporating off of them and disappearing into thin air.

“Why don’t you want to come to their wedding?”

Branch rubbed his chin, his eyes speaking volumes about his apprehension. “Are you sure your best friend will be alright to marry the king?” he asked Poppy.

“Of course!” Poppy told him enthusiastically. “Bridget and King Gristle are getting married today! They’re inviting all of us to their wedding! Why you want miss the chance to go to Bergen Town again? I thought you liked Bergens because they don’t eat us anymore!”

“I know!” Branch said awkwardly, nodding and raising his arms up. Then he hung his head, feeling a wave of sadness across his face. “It’s just...if only my grandma were here to see our happy village.”

Poppy clenched her eyes shut, remembering the day she used to comfort Branch over the loss of his grandma, who got eaten by the Bergen Chef when he was a little young boy a long time ago.

The foggy image of Poppy hugged Branch, and he hugged back, enjoying the pressure of her big warm hugs. “Oh, Branch,” she told him. “I can see how you felt. But now that we made peace with the Bergens and you regained your true colors, there is nothing to worry about. I’m sure your grandma will be so proud of you, smiling down from heaven.”

“Thank you, Poppy,” Branch said gratefully. “You were always there for me when you helped me to be happy.”

“And I knew you always were,” Poppy added.

The two Trolls looked at each other lovingly and leaned forward, bringing each other’s lips close...

Poppy’s body trembled against the threat of tears. She did her best to shake it off and watched as the apparitions of herself and Branch disappeared. His chance to see Bridget and King Gristle’s wedding would be the best from him… At least he got to see it, and she is glad he enjoyed it. She quietly sung a few words:

I knew you would be with me

All the time we spent

“Hey, Poppy! How’s it going?”

Poppy got startled from her song when another memory of herself visiting Branch again sprung up to the right.

Her image approached Branch. “Hey there, Branch!” she said proudly. She noticed that he is stashing some acorns in a bag. “What are you doing?”

“Storing food for the winter,” he said. “Why are you here? Aren’t you cold?” Branch looked so worried that she might be getting a frostbite if she went to his bunker without any warm clothes. He turned to a closet and cried “Let me get you some warm clothing!”

“No,” Poppy corrected him. “How could you forget? I’m here to give you a Christmas present!”

Poppy immediately remembered this! It was Christmas in Troll Village, and she went to visit Branch’s bunker to offer him a holiday blessing. Thankfully, Branch was able to accept the offer and unwrapped his gift with mere anticipation.

Branch’s jaw dropped open wide at his Christmas present. He was totally speechless at what Poppy give to him. “Whoa! No way!” he said, excitement gripped his throat. “A SuperTroll action figure?!”

Poppy tried not to laugh so that her boyfriend can agree with her. “Yes!” she squeaked, nearly throwing her arms wide to hug him.

Branch was overwhelmed with love and admiration. After pulling himself away from her hug, he moved his SuperTroll toy around, pretending that it can fly. “You’re the best, Poppy!” he said happily. “How can I ever thank you for this?”

“Well, you can always thank me as much as you want!” Poppy said proudly, smirking at him. Then she yanked him to the bunker elevator, and Branch was suddenly confused.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked.

“I’m sure you would love a good snowball fight!” said Poppy, bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Um, what are you talking about?” Branch didn’t understand what she was planning for him.

“Come outside! I’m sure you’ll love the snow!” With pride in her step and a determined smirk, Poppy hopped on the elevator platform, with Branch pulling the lever, rising themselves upwards into a flash of green fog. That was always like Branch; no matter what the situation, he would always be willing to come with her and help her, whether he enjoyed the fun or not.

As the memory disappeared, Poppy sang:

What we shared was surely

Warm enough to know you cared for me

“DANCE BREAK!!!” A familiar cry caught her ear; Poppy turned to see herself preparing to dance excitedly while Branch overreacted in horror.

She recognized this moment. Branch had never been too keen on overreacting just for the fun of himself. He’d only ever overreacted in some circumstances whenever something for a party was forgotten. One day, it was Guy Diamond’s birthday party at that time, and Poppy and Branch wanted to organize the party with a huge success, and they were busy setting up the balloons and banquet. During that one moment of preparation, Poppy started doing a victory dance and Branch nearly panicked, as if they were forgetting something.

“Clear the area!” he yelled, frantically looking around and waving his arms around. “Check for potential tripping hazards! Establish a perimeter for an open path for non-dancing Trolls to pass!”

Finally, Branch faced Poppy, who was staring at him and knew he had overreacted once. He threw his hands up in the air and dramatically cried out “DO WE HAVE ENOUGH LIQUID IN THE AREA FOR HYDRATION?!”

For a moment, everything was silent. Branch turned to Poppy’s glaring expression and hung his head, embarrassed at his outburst. “Okay then, point taken,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was overreacting for the sake of myself.”

Poppy’s image giggled and offered a genuine smile. She pushed her fist against Branch’s shoulder to playfully tease him before being engulfed in the fog of her mind, like all the rest.

Poppy turned away and was met by a large opening in the wall. She stepped outside into an open field, lit only by a sun hidden far below the horizon and a plethora of scattered stars. A green mist materialized beside a pod far from her gaze. It slowed and the fog fell off, revealing another image of herself, giggling as she showed Branch a drawing of himself with a porcupine quill-like hairstyle, whom he grimaced at. Poppy couldn’t place this memory, but it was yet another time they were at Maddy’s barber shop. Just as soon as they appeared, they disintegrated into ashes and disappeared into the night sky.

Poppy closed her eyes, taking in the sounds of chirping insects in the tall grass. Sounds became muffled, as if she’d been placed behind a window and was no longer really there. She opened her eyes to the sight of trees sprouting out of the earth, surrounding her wherever she turned.

Once again, the familiar faces of this dream appeared, appearing in a forest, only to disappear once more as each memory tended to do. To calm herself down, Poppy sang as the images played out from her mind:

Light floods through memories

Helps me walk my path

As she kept singing, Poppy was now on a rotating pedestal, lifted up high enough that she would be out of reach. On the memories played, showing her more of the happy times she had with Branch: the time when Poppy was curious of an emergency lever encased in a glass box he had created in the corner of his bunker and Branch warned her for her safety, advising her not to break the glass and pull it unless there will be danger.

She remembered the time when she sheepishly told the truth to him after she accidentally breaks his vase made out of clay.

Poppy also remembers that one time she discovers his polished brass knuckles in his drawer, leading Branch to snatch it from her as she teasingly held her hand high from him, her fingers buckled within the shiny object. The memories surrounded Poppy with such dizzying velocity that she felt the need to curl up in a ball and hide.

She quietly sang some words as her voice nearly shook:

I'll keep my head up high

Words of faith and love

Your strength gives me hope

Someday I'll find you with open arms

The memories all vanished in the fire of the setting sun, not unlike the one that had greeted her when she arrived home.

It was quiet. Poppy wasn’t sure she would hear it if she even spoke, but slowly a sound echoed around her. Ahead of her was a large clearing occupied by endless lumps of snow. Cut through the center of the area was a path, and the source of the sound.

Another ghostly image of Poppy ran down the path towards her. This memory was different. There was an urgency in her step, and Branch was nowhere to be seen.

“Poppy?”

Her breath caught as she faced a Troll with blue hair wearing a scarf, with his back facing her. Right in front of her, staring down the path, was Branch.

As Poppy’s mirror image closed in, Branch gave a happy wave before running in and hugging her tight. She looked on, as a lump formed inside her throat and a pang of sadness took hold of her. The other Poppy had tears in her eyes when she embraced Branch in the middle of the snow.

“What’s wrong, Poppy?” he asked in the memory, concerned about her emotion.

“Nothing,” she wept, trying to smile.

“Tell me what is wrong with you,” Branch said in his gentle voice. He lifted her chin with one hand to make her look directly into his eyes, but the sad pink Troll is unable to be comforted, looking down at the ground and crying.

“Don’t cry,” Branch said warmly, doing his best to comfort her. “It’s okay. I’m right here now. You can tell me what is your problem.”

“Branch, there is something I need to tell you,” Poppy said sadly.

“What is it?” asked Branch, pulling her tightly into his arms.

“One day, what if you leave me and get yourself into trouble? What’s gonna happen?” Poppy quickly paused for a moment, trying to hold back her sobs. Branch hugged her close, and she broke down in his arms. She poured out her sorrows and upcoming predictions to him. He listened without interrupting before he gently comforted her. He gave her valuable advice while he hugs her tight, assuring her that it was not the end of the world and that soon, all would be well.

“Nothing’s going to separate you from me,” Branch assured her, smiling. “It’ll be fine, Poppy. I’ll always be right here…in your heart.” He pointed out his finger to her chest as he said this, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Poppy leaned in close to his touch and was able to calm down. Together, they gazed lovingly at the beautiful sunset far from them.

Poppy forced her eyes shut, wishing the image would go away. That was it, the lie she had ever heard of her life. Why didn’t Branch have the guts to just tell the truth of his mistakes? At least if only he had told her… If he had told her that he accidentally pulled out the Archaeo morphisis mushroom that one single night, then maybe she’d at least know what to expect. She would have stop him from touching the mushroom, which Branch would then have to choose to lie about, or tell the terrible truth.

But it was too late to save his life now. Branch did promised that he will not leave her side, but he broke it for now. Her entire life is shattering to pieces as she predicted that she would live in a world without a village grump walking around and carrying sticks in his arms. Poppy knew Branch decided to lie, anyway, with the hopes that she could somehow conjure up the miracle cure needed to save him. But now she had failed him, and he would never forgive her.

Plus, she would never forgive herself too.

The world around Poppy grew dark, and her eyes grew heavy. The weight she had been carrying finally pushed her down to the ground. Her head became light and she felt the life escaping her as the air in her lungs escaped through constricting pressure. Tears streamed down her face through her closed eyes, dripping onto the packed dirt beneath her.

“You promised me to not leave me, Branch,” she murmured. “I know you were always in my heart...”

Soon, Poppy shot out of bed in reality, still holding on to her photo frame of herself and Branch and gasping for any air she could take in. Her body trembled as she fought to catch her breath.

Once Poppy managed to calm down, she sat back against the pillow and studied the darkness in her room. She could see faint silhouettes scattered around her. She fixated on one of them, studying the intricate curves of the craft. Suddenly, a ghostly mist began to weave around the object, and it began to turn to face her. Poppy shook her head and looked again; it was gone. Just her mind playing tricks on her.

The dream was still clear in her mind. Memory after memory, the happiness between Poppy and Branch was apparent, except for that last one. Branch had been scared and looked to her for answers. He trusted her, and she betrayed that trust.

One thing each memory had in common, though, was that Branch was always there. He was always there for her when she needed him. So why, after a few days of disappearing, was she not by his side now?

Without anyone to hug and comfort at bedtime, Poppy felt completely lost and alone. She looked up at the darkened pink ceiling and sighed. “Branch, where were you when you always need me?” she wondered. She couldn’t think where he had gone to, and hoped that he would be in a better place any time now.

Meanwhile, deep in the woods, Branch, stuck in his cat form, sat on a cliff near a river, heartbroken. It had been a long time since he had been chased by the Animal Control officer an hour ago. A cold breeze drifted over him and he shuddered. He had no idea how many hours he had been sitting here. With a deep sigh, he placed his chin between his front paws and brushed at the tearstains dripping out of his whiskers.

Branch gazed down at the river, where he can see his own reflection. He had never felt so hopeless in his life. Then he spotted a small rock in front of him and flicked it with his paw, sending it dropping into the water.

The liquid rippled, and through his own eyes, he can see that his watery reflection changed into his old Troll self, all dressed in his usual green vest and brown shorts and with pointed elf-like ears sticking out on the sides of his head.

Branch took a moment to look down at the reflection in the river. Seeing his Troll form down there made him feel even more worse. He closed his eyes and shed a tear, letting it fall into the river again. When the water rippled again, his reflection reverted to his cat form.

Dropping his head to his front paws, Branch sighed and curled his long blue tail around his body, blaming himself for ignoring Poppy and King Peppy’s warnings. The life he had always known was gone forever, and he needed to accept his fate.

To Be Continued...

Stay tuned for Part 22!

Note: This time, there were not much pictures in this one. For the most part, I'm very happy with how it turned out! The part is based off the music video “Memories” that I created last year, with some parts of it incorporated into the paragraphs. I hope I did the video justice because it really was incredible to me.

I give you a link to the video! I dare you to watch it while you read through this part because it is linked to it.

Click here for the “Memories” music video! Good luck reading it! 😊💙💖

#dreamworks trolls #poppy and branch #broppy #poppy #branch #cat #cat branch #branch the cat #cat branch story #nine lives one fight #fanfiction #memories #serah's theme

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staticscreenwriting · 5 years

Text

All you have to be is here - Part 4

Synopsis: Billy has fucked up and has to do 60 days of community service at a home for troubled kids and youth. Working with the kids there makes him learn a lot about himself. Also there’s a girl there his age who’s smile is phenomenal and who is way too nice to him.

I guess I should mention there’s a lot of angst in this. Talk of substance abuse later on, physical abuse, emotional abuse. All that kind of gnarly real life stuff. It deals with kids and teens struggling with a a shitty family life so be aware of that.

Part 4 of ?

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Also this chapter was partially inspired by this post by @sinfulserpents about Billy playing piano. Credit where credit is due.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please. I’ll make a header image at some point.]

I never really ever felt so adored before Never really ever felt this type of vulnerable Don’t have to hide, don’t have to fear All you have to be is here Never really ever felt so adored before And I said I wanna feel like this forever Even if forever’s just for now We’re on fire, let us burn As the outside world, it turns We are here and alive In our corner of time Forevermore

Hawkins seems to be caught under a heavy blanket of thick gray clouds. Rain is thumping down on the roof of Billy’s car, drumming along to the song coming from his car radio.

This weather makes Billy miss the California sun extra hard. It just all seems even more dull and boring and — grey.

He drives along the narrow roads of the town flanked by trees left and right. The therapy session as ended just a few minutes ago though he doesn’t particularly want to go home just yet. It’s saturday which means Neil is home which means all there is for Billy is yelling and looks of utter disgust thrown his way. And though he’s used to it all, he takes the long way home.

The camaro is his safe place. It feels more like a home than his actual home ever did. It’s solely his. It’s so much more than just a status symbol, it’s his escape. Whenever things at his house get too loud, too much, too hard to handle, he just gets in his car and drives. As far and as long as he can. Far away from the bullshit and the hurt and the toxicity of one Neil Hargrove.

The silhouette of a person appearing in front of him, walking slowly along the side of the road makes him slow down a little. It’s a woman — no, it’s a girl, dragging a large duffle bag.

Everything inside of Billy screams at him to ignore it. To let this be someone else’s problem. To just keep driving. Keep driving.

As he gets closer though, he catches a glimpse of the girl’s face and suddenly it’s not just a stranger anymore. It’s someone that he kind of knows. Someone that he’s talked to before. It’s someone he’s well aware can use all the help she can possibly get.

So he slows down and comes to a stop beside her.

“ Hey, hey uh — “ fuck what was her name again “ — Alex ? “

When she looks up at him, it becomes abundantly clear that she’s been crying. Even with the rain pouring down on her, soaking her down to her bones, there’s no doubt in his mind that she’s been crying. He knows what crying girls look like, seen the red in his mother’s eyes one too many times. She always tried to hide it, play it off as if it was nothing. Hay fever, stress, a sad movie she’d seen. It was always something else but never the truth. Billy used to wonder if she was telling those lies to convince him or herself.

There’s something else about Alex that looks familiar though and it makes Billy’s blood boil. A big bruise colors the side of her cheek in hues of blues and purples.

“ B — Billy ? “

“ Where are you going ? “ he asks through the open window, hoping to god that the raindrops finding their way inside the car won't ruin his seats too much.

She sniffles then looks around as if trying to find the right words floating through the air around her. “ Wherever this road leads, I guess “

“ You guess ? Hey aren’t you supposed to be back at home ? “

“ HHTCY ? Yeah. But I — I can’t go back now. “

“ And why’s that ? “

“ None of your business ! “ he can see the tears rising again as she snaps at him. Her hands curl up into fists, gripping tightly to the handle of her duffle bag.

“ C’mon Alex, get in the car. “

“ I can’t go home ! “

“ I’m not taking you there! “

She hesitates for a moment. When he looks back at him, her eyes lock with his and there’s a silent question in them. He knows the emotions running through her, knows them all too well. They’re ever present in him. Wherever he goes, whatever he does.

She asks if she can trust him. Asks herself more than she asks him. Billy can’t blame her for that.

“ I promise. “

Billy doesn’t make a lot of promises but the one he does make, he wholeheartedly intends to keep. There’s no room in his life for fake promises, he’s been on the receiving end of far too many of those.

“ I promise to protect you. “

“ I promise, we’ll be out of here one day. “

“ I promise I’ll be back soon. “

They all mean shit and in the end they hurt far more than the truth ever could.

“ I promise, Alex. I don’t break my promises. “

He doesn’t know why it suddenly become so important to him to get this girl out of the rain and bring her someplace safe but it does. Maybe it’s because he’s growing soft. Or maybe it’s because he knows the pain she’s feeling, the sadness, the anger.

Maybe it’s because in that moment she reminds him all too much of himself.

“ Okay. Thank you. “ her words are but a whisper as she walks around the car and slumps down on the passenger seat.

If this was any other day, Billy would be complaining about her wet clothes against his precious leather seats and her dirty boots propped up against the door. He doesn’t though. Because it isn’t another day. It’s this moment and this lonely broken girl.

So he swallows his pride, keeps his mouth shut, and drives.

“ Holy shit “

“ Nice to see you too. “

(Y/N) stands by her front door only in a pair of short pajama shorts and an oversized sweater. Her hair is piled on top of her head and yesterday’s makeup is still smudged around her eyes. Earlier, Billy had left before she had even gotten up but seeing her in all her post party glory, he wishes he hadn’t.

“ I uh — what are you guys doing here ? “

“ Can we come in ? “ Billy asks, motioning his head towards a still completely soaked Alex who timidly hides behind his frame.

“ Oh yeah, sure. Please. Alex let me get you a change of clothes and some towels. “

As (Y/N) hurries Alex into her bedroom, Billy walks towards the fridge, takes out two cans of Doctor Pepper and sits down on the couch. It’s only the second time he’s been here but it feels weirdly familiar, like he’s been here a thousand times before. He feels comfortable. He feels safe. And maybe that’s why he’s brought Alex here. To make her feel as secure as he does whenever he’s around (Y/N).

She radiates a warmth he’s never encountered in another person ever before. Not even his mom on good days. It’s like a little ray of California sun captured in a person.

How awfully cheesy.

When the girls return he hands one of the cans to Alex then opens his as she sits down next to him.

He doesn’t miss the way (Y/N) smirks as she watches him act like this is his home, giving out drinks and making himself comfortable on her couch.

“ So, can I finally ask what’s going on ? “ (Y/N) asks and for a moment no one answers. That is until Billy realizes she’s looking at him, asking him for an answer.

“ Don’t look at me. “

“ Well you brought her here. “

“ Because I made a promise. “

“ Guys, I’m right here, you know ? “ Alex chimes up, taking part in the conversation for the first time since they arrived. As she lifts her head and the hair shifts off of her face, (Y/N) catches sight of the bruise.

“ Oh. “

“ It’s nothing. “

Oh it all sounds so familiar. He knows those words too well, sure they’ve left his mouth many times before. It’s nothing. It isn’t though. It’s everything.

“ That’s not nothing, Alex “ (Y/N) chimes up, softly taking the girls hands into hers “ what happened ? “

“ It doesn’t matter. “

But it does matter. It matters a whole lot.

“ Alex, someone hurt you. We have to talk about this. “ (Y/N) tries again.

“ No we don’t ! “ Alex yells, ripping her hands out of (Y/N)’s “ because if I tell you, you will tell Lydia. Then I won’t be allowed to see my mom anymore and I — I miss her. But I know she won’t stop seeing Kyle so — I promise, it’s nothing. “

There’s tears now. There used to be for Billy when he was younger. They made things worse though. Neil doesn’t do well with crying, especially crying boys, especially his crying son. Billy hasn’t cried in a long time. At least not for anyone to see.

In private, that’s a whole different story.

“ Alex, if I promise you that you will still get to see your mom, will you tell me what happened ? “

To his surprise, Alex glances towards Billy, sends him another silent question. Do we trust (Y/N) ?

Billy nods. He trust her more than pretty much anyone else in his life right now. It fucking scares him.

“ Kyle is my mom’s new boyfriend. He lives with her, I guess. Came home this morning and didn’t like that I was there. That mom and I had fun, kept laughing through his tv show. He smacked me right in the face, told me I was too loud. And mom — mom just stood there. Didn’t do nothing. She just watched, looked at the ground. Then told me to leave. She chose him over me and she will chose him over me any other time too. I miss her though, I want to see her. I do. “

Billy’s blood is boiling again, sending hot shivers down his back. He’s pretty sure his lip is drawing blood by how hard he has to bite down on it not to get up and find the guy. Make him feel just as small and helpless and he did this girl. She’s a little girl. You don’t smack around girls, ever. And her mother? God, what a bitch. You’re supposed to love your kid, protect them. Fight their fights for them.

“ Alex, I need to tell Lydia what happened but I pro — “

“ You can’t ! They won’t let me see mom again. “

“ I promise you they will. It just won’t be overnight and she won’t get to take you home but you will get to go places together and she will get to come see you. I promise. I promise. “

The girl is in her arms in the matter of seconds, holding on to her as if all depends on it, as if she’s the only thing keeping her afloat. Billy thinks that maybe that’s how he’s feeling too.

He gets up slowly and walks towards the kitchen area, throwing his can in the trash and opening the freezer. “ Knew it. “

As he sits back down next to Alex, he holds out a pack of peas, wrapped in a kitchen towel.

“ huh ? “

“ Hold them to your bruise, cools it down. The peas work better than anything else cause they take the shape of your face better. Some girl once told me that and she was absolutely right. “ Billy explains and throws (Y/N) a wink as she glances at him over Alex’s head.

As she smiles back at him, he feel it again. That one ray of California sun.

Two hours, a lot of tears and several episodes of Happy Days later, Alex is fast asleep on the couch, Luke the cat happily resting on top of her.

The rain has stopped and Billy has resorted to the tiny little balcony that looks out into the woods. It feels tranquil here, almost like time stops. Though his insides are a whole nother story. Fury is still brewing inside him only waiting for the inevitable eruption.

He’s used to swallowing his anger when it’s about him. He’s used to ignoring the facts that he shouldn’t be in the situation he’s in. So fucking used to being miserable all the times. So much so that at this point it’s become his default.

It’s a different story when it happens to someone else though. He can’t just stand there and pretend like this is okay. Like her mother isn’t a full on trash person for not protecting her daughter, for choosing some dude’s micro dick over her own flesh and blood. And the guy ? He doesn’t even want to think about him. Thinking too much about it would only fuel the fire that’s already threatening to burn everything to the ground.

The balcony doors slide open then close again. Billy doesn’t need to turn around to know who comes to stand beside him. She brings a warmth wherever she goes.

For a moment they don’t speak, just soaking up the fresh air still thick with a promise of more rain to come. It’s not cold out yet but the wind sends a chill down (Y/N)’s skin and makes her move just a little closer towards Billy so that her arm just merely brushes his.

Billy takes one last drag from his cigarette before he stubbs it out and throws it down over the railing.

“ Sorry I didn’t warn you. I just — she didn’t want to go home and I didn’t know where to bring her. “

His voice is deep and husky and he tries to hide his emotions but he knows they’re shining through.

“ Don’t apologize. You did the right thing ! “

“ Yeah ? “ he turns to face her. There’s absolutely no uncertainty in her eyes. None. It’s something he appreciates about her. (Y/N) doesn’t do things half-assed. No half assed hugs. No half assed friendships. No half assed caring. No uncertainty.

Billy however, feels awfully uncertain about — well everything.

“ Obviously, Billy. You got her out of a shitty situation and you did what was right. You made her a promise and you kept it. You made her trust you and you didn’t break her trust. What you did was right ! What you did was very sweet . “

Billy scoffs out a humorless laugh “ sweet huh? Billy Hargrove, local asshole, doing the right thing for once in his life. Shout it from the rooftops, people. Put it on the front page, it doesn’t happen much. “

“ Would you stop “

“ It’s true, (Y/N). I fuck everything up I — I’m gonna fuck this up at some point sooner or later “ he says and motions between them two “ I haven’t yet but I will, I just know it. “

“ Is that really what you think ? “ (Y/N) questions, softly placing her hand on Billy’s arm though he quickly pulls away, lunging into another rant.

“ It’s what I do, (Y/N). I almost fucked it up earlier. When she told us what happened, I wanted to punch something. The guy, preferably. I wanted to destroy something. I’m angry. All the time. All the time, (Y/N), and that just put a cherry on top. She’s just a kid. Who punches a kid ? And for what ? For laughing ? For doing what kids do, what they should be allowed to do. It just won’t make sense. She’s a little girl, for fucks sake. And her mother ? Just stands there and watches. She knows what happens. She knows. “

And suddenly it’s not about the girl on the couch anymore.

“ She knows so why did she leave ? It must be because I fuck things up. It must be. There’s no way. There’s just no way she — “

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t. His words become a blubbering mess as the tears cloud his vision. Billy Hargrove hasn’t cried to anyone but his pillow in what feels like forever. Because there was no one there who would’ve cared. To not judge him for it or make him feel less manly. All that ever came with tears was more anger, more resentment, more pain.

It’s different now though because as soon as the first tear falls, he’s engulfed by a warmth he hasn’t felt in so long. He buries his head in the crook of (Y/N) neck, her hair sheltering him from the world. She’s warm and soft and comfortable. Crying doesn’t make him feel vulnerable or angry. It doesn’t scare him. It’s cathartic.

“ You’re gonna be okay, Billy. “ (Y/N) says and pulls away slightly as his tears start to slow down.

He doesn’t want to be okay though. He wants to be good. He wants to be grand.

As she takes his face in between her hands and brushes back some of his hair, he can see her eyes are glossed over. The emotions he’s feeling, she’s feeling too. Feeling with him. He doesn’t think anyone has cared this much in a long time.

She smiles again, so soft, so gentle, it’s hardly a smile at all. And yet, he thinks right then, that maybe it’s not just one ray of sunlight, maybe it’s the entire sun.

They bring Alex home later that day but Billy comes back to (Y/N)’s place. You don’t just cry to someone about your fucked up childhood and then leave. There’s no manual for it but Billy is fairly sure that’s not how this works.

He stays until Sunday afternoon, eating pizzas and watching stupid tv shows. He watches her do her hair, listens to her sing, just experiences her day to day life and something in him changes. He wishes he could have this. A home that doesn’t feel like a prison. A place where he can be himself. Free. Safe. Happy.

When he leaves, neither of them mentions that moment on the balcony. Some things you don’t need to say, to talk about. Some things you just feel.

It’s monday after school when Billy arrives back at HHTCY. (Y/N) isn’t there yet so he changes into his “uniform” and checks his schedule for where exactly he has to be to help set up.

“ Room 322 “

It’s not a room he’s familiar with but what he does know, is that it’s located in the newer section of the place. There’s a gym there too and an auditorium for when they have little festivals or the kids put on plays.

Soon enough Billy finds himself pushing open the doors to room 322. It’s a large room and ar first all he notices is a few rows of chairs on one side of the room, that is until he walks inside a little further. At the other end of the room, there’s all kinds of instruments. A drumset sits in the corner, several guitars are resting against the wall, flutes and clarinets and trombones are placed neatly in a shelf.

And then there’s the piano.

It’s stuck right in the middle of the room surrounded by all the other instruments on one side and the chairs on the other. Made from a dark wood it shines in the harsh light of the ceiling lamp.

As Billy walks closer, memories from his childhood pop up like ghosts in a christmas movie. Taunting him with what once was. Teasing him with what could have been. What could still be.

He remembers one time when he was maybe 7 and dad had a proper job for a while. They had moved to a really nice house that had big sliding windows leading out onto the beach and the ocean. Mom was happy then. Probably happier than he’d ever seen her. Before and after.

She had a piano there and she always played it. Always. She kept the windows open and let Billy play by the water. He could hear her music all the way down to the beach.

He loved to watch her play. There was a smile in the corner of her lips whenever she played. A secret smile reserved for only the music. Her fingers moved over the keys so elegantly. Like they were dancing.

Billy loved to watch and he loved to listen. So much so, that he memorized her exact movements. Memorized each small little gesture. He knew just by watching and listening, what keys to press at what time to create which sound.

Billy Hargrove taught himself to play piano by ear without even knowing or realizing it. Solely and purely to be able to remember the magic his mother brought to those days at the beach when things were happy and the secret smile was still there in the corner of her lips.

They didn’t live there for very long and things got way worse after that and the piano was sold to put food on the table and the secret smile was gone and never seen again.

Slowly his feet drag him towards the instrument, like he has no real control over them. His mom always had a certain gift of creating magic in a moment with just pushing down a few keys on the piano. She captured all the best things about life in one short melody.

Billy despises his dad for taking that away from her. For taking away the magic and the smile. For making her leave.

When he sits down by the piano, Billy closes his eyes and tries to remember the days of summer. Tries to remember sitting by the open window and watching his mom play. Play and smile. He tries to remember the sound of the songs and the movements of her fingers.

It feels like it happened just yesterday and in another life altogether.

His fingers begin to move along the keys trying to remember, trying so hard to recall.

And before he knows what happens really, he plays. A soft melody echoes around the room and for a fleeting moment it feels like he succeeds in capturing the magic just the way his mother did.

Only he’s still Billy Hargrove. Local asshole. Broken boy with daddy and mommy issues who always fucks things up for everyone. There’s no magic in him. Maybe there used to be when he was a kid with big blue eyes and an imagination and an innocent heart.

His fingers stop moving and he lifts his head and opens his eyes, expecting to find a big empty room void of all magic.

Only he doesn’t.

He’s met with a pair of eyes sparkling at him and that one of a kind sunshine smile that he’s grown so fucking fond of in the last few days.

Her eyes are so soft and kind and there’s no judgement in them and yet Billy feels insanely insecure. He’s never showed this to anyone. Never let anyone but his mom know that he was able to play.

It feels more intimate than sex ever did. This is stripping down on a whole new level.

“ I uh — sorry I didn’t — I “ he doesn’t really know what to say.

“ Don’t apologize. That was amazing. I didn’t know you could play. “

Truth be told, until just then Billy believed he had forgotten how to do it. And really, he can’t play he just mimics what his mom used to do. All theory, that’s completely lost on him. He just knows how to do the songs his mom used to play. Put a sheet of music in front of him and he’s hopeless.

“ I only know a few songs. The ones I heard as a kid. “

“ Heard ? You play this by ear ? “

He shrugs “ — and eyes I guess. Watched my mom do it. “

“ That’s incredible Billy. Can you — can you play another one ? “

Her voice has never been so soft with him, as if she’s afraid of breaking him should she talk any louder. And truth be told she just might.

There’s a song his mom always used to play, it’s hidden in the corner of Billy’s mind but he knows he can play it. Remembers it so vividly. It was in some cheesy Audrey Hepburn movie his mom made him watch with her one day. From the moment she heard that song she was enchanted by it, tried to buy ever cover version she could find on vinyl and made it her mission to learn how to play it on piano.

He didn’t like the Audrey version all that much. The one his mom played though, he loved that one. Loves it. Present tense.

So he closes his eyes again and plays, he’s rusty at first but soon enough his fingers glide along the keys creating music. Creating magic, maybe ?

He knows there is magic though, when a voice starts to sing along. It’s soft and quiet at first but as the song continues she seems to get more comfortable. More sure of herself.

Billy feels that in that moment when she’s sitting down beside him on the piano bench, singing along to the song he’s playing for her, the song his mom used to play, that magic is present in all of it. There’s enchantment in the way she softly touches his shoulder. How she giggles when she doesn’t hit the note just right. How she makes him feel so effortlessly at home right there with her. Making music. Making magic.

The song ends and Billy turns to her then opens his eyes and oh god she’s so close. She’s so close he can see the different colored specks in her eyes creating one pool of kindness and wonder. He can feel the tip of her nose against his and her breath on his skin.

There’s so much he wants to say and yet no words would ever suffice.

The words of the song keep echoing in his head, louder and louder with each heartbeat, each breath mingling, each soft touch of her fingers against his shoulder.

“ Two drifters off to see the world. “

“ (Y/N) — “ he says, trying to even his breath, calm his heart.

“ Hmm ? “

“ When’s your birthday ? “

“ Friday three weeks from now “

He nods then leans in closer, and closer.

Only to pull away when the heavy doors open and a gaggle of kids rush into the room.

And the moment is gone.

And the magic is gone.

Only it’s still there. Hidden in the corner of his lips, a secret smile meant just for her.

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bluepenguinstories · 4 years

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Happiness Overload Chapter Fifty-Six

Coriander Rule #56: Never trust someone who sits on top of a pile of popsicle sticks and obsesses over art, for such people will surely monologue.

Exhibit A, and the only exhibit to date: this Dr. Popsicle Stick Lady. Or whichever of her doctor names she gave herself. Who gives a fuck, am I right?

Now, before the rule turned out to be true, my client, Velvet, was on trial for the crime of trusting someone who had way too much fun with popsicle sticks. She didn’t know she was on trial, but she totally was. We both were, but I wanted to think I was the defense attorney. Or the prosecutor.

“I’m telling you, I’m getting bad vibes,” I tried to keep my voice low as I muttered to Velvet.

“Don’t worry. If it comes down to it, you’ve got that backpack blaster and I’ve got this gun I found.”

Tch. “Found”. More like looted off an enemy guard. Not that semantics ever helped anyone.

“Why does someone like you want to help us defeat the guys that you work for?” I called out.

She bobbed her head to and fro as if she was listening to a song. In fact, she grabbed the popsicle sticks that were in her hair and started tapping them against the pillar she sat on. “Look at all the things you can do with a little bit of arts and crafts!”

“You’re not answering my question!” I snapped.

“Oh, but I am! You see, this huge corporation claims to want what’s best for humanity, but they failed to realize that without art, Earth is just ‘eh?’ But that’s just how corporations are, aren’t they? They stifle creativity and restrict art until it’s sanitized and marketable! Just like that snappy slogan I just used! If they can’t find a use for art, they find it useless. Me? I just can’t abide. I need to show everyone all the ways art is essential to humanity!”

“But aren’t you on their side?”

“I’m on the side of art, the greatest side you can be on. As long as I’m inspired, I don’t mind where that inspiration comes from! I need to be free to explore all mediums, and even discover new ones!”

...Yep. There it was. The monologue.

I tried to look around me. I couldn’t see any form of exits besides the way we came in. Figures. If there was a way for her to have gotten out, wouldn’t she already? Considering how The Flashbulb seemed to go to great lengths to hide her existence, I had to assume that she was trapped there.

Yet another ridiculous person we just had to meet. Go-fucking-figure. Really, how could this person help us, anyway?

“Velvet, let’s just turn back and find some other way around,” I nudged her. “I don’t think we’ll find anything here.”

“Really? We found a person. That’s already one thing.”

Gah. The fu...fu...fudgetrucking nerve! Did she not notice the red flags?

Or maybe she did and she’s just confident she can use the situation to her advantage. She’s probably already thought something up. That’s just like her.

“Aaaaand...DONE!” Lord Popsicle (look, it wasn’t like anyone was going to care what I called her) announced. She held up some wooden block.

“We can’t see shit, dumbass! You’re too high!”

“Astute observation!” She dropped the wooden block down. It landed without so much as a scratch. I was hesitant to approach it, as I knew I needed to be on my guard.

“I get it, I get it! I’m a scary lady you just met who recently learned how to use popsicle sticks as chop sticks! It was hard at first, but I got the hang of it! Also, that wood block is made entirely from recycled...guess!”

“How about no?” For real, not even (if I had to guess) five minutes in and I was getting real sick of the repetition. ‘Art’ this or ‘popsicle’ that. How irritating.

“I like that! Unorthodox answer! Quite artsy!”

Velvet took a few steps forward and pointed the gun upward at our supposed helper. “I’ve got this, Corey Andy.”

“I’m going to ignore that for now,” I replied.

Why does she have to come up with the most ridiculous names? There’s no way I’m going to be referred that way.

I walked over to the wood block and picked it up. Then, my hands began to shake: it was a picture of Velvet and I, which, would have been fine. I mean, the details were amazing. Our forms were near perfect. That wasn’t the problem. No, it was that the picture was of me standing on my tiptoes and kissing Velvet’s forehead. Something that happened not all that long ago.

What started as shock and possible fear turned into anger and confusion.

“How could you…”

“How could I draw so fast? Mostly a force of habit from back when I had to finish my dad’s paintings for him.”

“No!” I shouted. My hands were balled into fists, I dropped the painting on the ground. “How could you have known? Unless…”

Beside her buzzed two little flying drones which were about the size of flies.

“Oh, that’s what you mean! I used these little bugs! They’re small enough that they can fit through the cracks within walls! It’s nice for when I need inspiration!”

“Who gave you the right?!”

Velvet turned to me. “This isn’t the time to lose your cool,” she urged me. She was right, too, and by all accounts, it must have seemed like I was making a cow out of beef jerky, but I had my reasons. I didn’t know what those reasons were yet, but they were there.

It used to be my job to spy on people. This shouldn’t bother me.

“Not only can they watch people, but they can also listen in to their conversations, and let me tell you, I’m so glad that you two found a way to get in here. I was really hoping you would. I just loved both what I heard and what I saw. The motivations, the struggles. The pain and joy. It’s all so poetic! I just had to capture your likeness.”

I dropped the painting and stepped on it. “Capture that!”

Was it petty? Sure. Would it drive home how serious I was? You betcha. No more games.

“Is it smudged?” She leaned over and looked down. “I was going to say you could keep it, as a gift, but if you want to use it in that way, that’s fine too! As long as it served some kind of purpose, I’m glad! Besides, I can always make another. The important thing is, no matter how fast or slow I am with my art, I always put effort into everything I do!”

“Look, Velvet and I don’t care!”

Velvet continued to point the gun at the art nut. “I would have phrased it better, but she’s right: we’re trying to fight an impossible battle against an entity that can’t be defeated, so if you want to help us, you’ll step aside and show us where the exit is.”

Damn. I forgot how fierce she could be when she wanted to.

“Give it up, Velvet! There’s nothing she can do to help us. Keep your aim on her and let’s walk back. If she knew where an exit was, why would she be in here?”

Velvet started to walk back, still aimed at the one atop the popsicle pillar. I pressed a button on one of the straps of the backpack and the lasers set their sights on Popsicle Lady.

“If you try anything, I swear…” I stopped myself. I sounded ridiculous. So far what had she done? Spied on us and drew a picture? In other words, a little creepy, but harmless. Velvet was right: we needed to be as efficient and free of distractions as possible. Creepy or not, if that woman wasn’t going to be our enemy, there was no need to attack her.

But as I started to walk back and try to catch up with my silk spun partner, I felt the force of something hit against me and the force thrust me against a wall.

“What the –”

I tried to move my arms, but nothing would happen. For whatever reason, I was stuck.

“What a beautiful wallflower you’ve become,” mused someone from up above.

I could hardly turn my head to face her. Whatever substance had covered me must have been pretty strong.

“What did you do?!”

“Oh, that? That’s gorilla glue! And no, in case you’re wondering, it’s not made from actual gorillas! I’m as surprised as you are, I’m sure!”

“Argh!” I tried to thrash about with the same results. No movement.

“Nothing I can do to help? Isn’t that what you said?”

“Spice!” Velvet cried out.

“Since when was that my nickname?” I groaned. Oh, it didn’t matter.

“No, I will help you two out! By drawing out your potential! True, your goal is a near-impossible one, and you were right to focus on it, but you won’t get very far without some guidance! So allow to make you my muses and become wonderful works of art!”

Ladies, gentlemen, kind folks of the jury, I rest my case.

Damn it, I really thought I was onto something. Usually I could just wing it and when an opportunity arose, I’d take it. I thought that was one such opportunity, but now look at the mess we were in.

“This is all your fault!” Coriander yelled. Whether she thought that way or was just pissed at her situation was anyone’s guess, but I didn’t blame her. “We should have never trusted this art freak!”

It’s not that I trusted her, I just thought that we had caught a lucky break. But then again, maybe I really did trust that person. Maybe I had gotten so used to finding allies recently that I believed there could have been someone in that evil lair who could help us.

You’ve gotten softer, Velvet, I scolded myself. Softer, silkier, smoother. Velvety.

I knew I’d have to take a life eventually. It went without saying that being in such a place and not expecting to have to kill was absurd. As hesitant as I may have been before, I wasn’t about to let anything happen to Coriander. So I set my sights, aimed, and…

I saw myself step forward with a pistol. She pointed it right at me. In my hand wasn’t the same heavy weapon as before, but also a pistol. We both aimed at each other, and then everything went black.

Engulfed in total darkness. Or so I thought, but there was a light somewhere. Above? A dim glow? Either way, I stood, once again.

Stop it. Stop getting distracted by this. My target is the art lady. After that, I need to free Cor...Coral? Never mind. It would come to me.

I aimed the pistol, which I somehow obtained, and shot straight ahead. I was surrounded by Velvets on all side, who also took aim, and before I knew it, confetti. Wait. Confetti? Or nothing?

That’s right. It’s all an illusion. I don’t really get it, but I just have to analyze my surroundings, focus, and then the weak point should appear in my mind.

“I know what you’re doing!” I cupped my hands and called around. “But it won’t work!”

“Cut! Cut!” The voice of the art lady boomed. “End scene! Perfect!”

“What’s going on?” I yelled in response.

“You’ve been cast in the leading role of some new blockbuster movies! But who am I, you may ask? I am the great Dr. Lynch, of course, director extraordinaire!”

I groaned. “I don’t care what you call yourself! I just want to get a move on!”

“So you’re the type of actor who gives every performance your all? Excellent! Next scene!”

I don’t think so.

I ran forward, sure that if I just broke through I would be free of the illusion, and then I could break Coriander free and together we would –

Bright, orange glow. Beat up cars. Explosions in the distance.

“Fine. I’ll bite. What kind of movie is this, anyway?”

I wasn’t sure if she’d answer, but to my surprise, she did.

“It’s an art film! Of course, all films are art, because good or bad, corporate or independent, they all have effort put into them. But, is effort the only thing that goes into art?”

I wasn’t about to answer that. I decided to wander around the city landscape a bit. Even if it was some green screen, illusion, ‘movie magic’, whatever, I didn’t see myself making much progress until I could figure out a way to exploit the situation.

Maybe I should think like a hacker, like the good old days. Only this ‘movie set’ is the software, and I’m the infection.

I went around and kicked some rubble. These “streets” were already on fire, destroyed by some unknown force that I didn’t care to know.

Off in the distance, I could see a group of people in what appeared to be superhero costumes. Jeez, what a bunch of dorks.

“Dr. Banter, I’m going to need you to get irritable!”

“That’s my secret, Admiral: I hate it when you leave the toilet seat up. I hate it when you don’t wash your hands after you use the bathroom and then wipe your dirty hands on the shower curtains. I hate when you put used paper towels in the recycling! I hate when you leave your shoes around everywhere! And when you snore!”

“Yes! More! We need you to turn into Bunk and smush Lowkey!”

I grimaced. While I didn’t know what was being referenced, it was clear this ‘movie’ was parodying something. Regardless, I wasn’t having any part of it. I picked up a brick and threw it at the group.

“Hey assholes! How do I ditch this popsicle stand?”

Everyone turned to me and looked stunned.

“It’s Black Velvet!” Admiral (I guess was his name?) pointed at me. “The secret agent who works for Condom! Why is she attacking us?!”

Condom? Really? Couldn’t they have picked a better name?

“Maybe she’s being mind controlled by Lowkey!” Someone covered in tinfoil suggested.

“You’re right, aluminum foil man! Or maybe Condom is really a front for the evil organization, Gorgon!” Some guy who looked just like a thumb suggested. Everyone looked at him in disgust. Honestly, I was too. I mean, he looked like a thumb.

“You may be the god of fungus, mighty Thumb, but you are not very bright,” Admiral replied. “Besides, that’s spoilers for the next movie! Dude, you’re not supposed to give that away.”

Are they...breaking character?!

I shook my head. It was best not to get sucked into the nonsense. What was that old saying? ‘Exit stage left’? Very well. I turned to my left and began to run.

“Smart thinking! You need to find a way to escape, don’t you?” Came the voice of ‘Dr. Lynch.’

“Gee, I didn’t know this was the director’s commentary track!” I retorted as I ran through a torn down building.

I know this isn’t real, but I don’t know how else to explain this.

“How are you doing this?”

“Should you really be asking that? That’s like asking a director ‘what’s my motivation?’ There are some things you should just know!” Her voice boomed.

She’s right. Somewhat, anyway. I didn’t know how she was doing these tricks, but I knew what my motivation was, and that was good enough.

“Mark my words, I’ll find an opening, exploit it, and break free! Then I’ll break Coriander free!”

“That’s what I like to hear! You might want to hurry, though! I hear poly...urine? Poly...uranium? Um. It’s a hard word to say, but I hear it’s quite toxic! Plus, as we speak, popsicle sticks are being dumped on her, so if you don’t hurry, she’ll suffocate to death!”

I’ll burn this whole set down if I have to. I’ll reduce every piece of “art” that she has to ash. So what if it’s true that most people don’t even “save” one person in their lifetime? As long as both Spice Bae and I are still alive, I’ll fight time and again to keep it that way.

Heh. I needed to be careful with my line of thinking; I didn’t want to be mistaken for an actual hero.

There were worse ways to die and I would have rather chosen any one of them over what was being done to me.

“So that’s just it, huh? You’re planning on confining me here until I die?!” I shouted.

“Hm? Hm?” It was like she was humming a tune. How irritating. “Oh, you can call me Dr. Bob Ross!”

“I’d rather not.”

“Very well! And to answer your question, no, I’m not just confining you. I’m confining both of you! As we speak, your little gal pal is in that little box and hallucinating up a few good movies for her to star in. I can’t wait to find out what movies she was in after she’s all done! But, if she spends too long in there, her mind will erode and wear itself out. That is, unless she finds the willpower to break free. But even if she does, that box is pretty sturdy!”

So basically I have to break myself free and break her out. Or she has to break herself free and break me out

“You two are stronger together, right? And I’m willing to bet you and her are pretty strong individually, as well. So this shouldn’t be too much of a problem, right?”

That’s right. Velvet thrives on life or death situations. As for me…

“If I could just reach the buttons on my backpack…” I muttered.

“Velvet was what you called her, right? Well then! She will become Velvet, the movie star! And you...I haven’t decided yet. But I’ll make you my muse yet. Maybe I’ll make a sculpture out of you…”

That wasn’t going to happen. No sculptures. No human arts and crafts projects. None of it.

Up another torn down building I went until I reached a floor where there were no walls and I could see the sky outstretched.

Where is there to go from here?

“If it’s all an illusion, then there isn’t very far that I can go. Theoretically,” I let out a deep breath. How hopeless. I didn’t know how to go ‘off-screen’.

“There’s no escape! I will rule all of Nude Pork City and there’s nothing you can do!” Cackled a snobby British voice.

“The...fuck city?” I jolted. Startled, I turned around and saw a skinny man in a green leotard with a horse mask on. He cackled once more.

“This movie is PG-13! You can say ‘fuck’, but only once!”

“Dude, you just said it again.”

“Fuck!” He cried out, as if he had already been defeated. The most surprising thing of the whole ordeal was that I could actually hear what he said from underneath that horse mask. “No matter! No one can defeat me, for I am Lowkey, the villain!”

I looked up. Could I find my way out by running to the highest point of the building and jumping out? But then that might just kill me. Ugh. It would really help if I had a laptop next to me right now.

“Hey! Why aren’t you paying attention to me! I am Lowkey!”

“Sorry, this just isn’t my kind of movie,” I explained.

“Heh. Heh! HEH!” He cackled once again, then pulled the horse mask off. Underneath, was an emaciated face which sported greasy black hair. Even if I swung that way, I didn’t think I’d find him all that attractive.

From his suit, he pulled out three little grenades. “You talk a big game, but you’re still human!”

“Still not my type!” I called back, then rolled over behind a pillar. He tossed the grenades my way. I thought I was a safe enough distance, but they detonated, and the explosion sent me back to the further end of the building. Not only that, but the explosion was causing the building to collapse.

I struggled to stand back up. I had to hold onto the very pillars that were crumbling.

I need to run. I need to run and tackle that guy and then get out of here.

From behind me, that same snobbish voice: “Hey cupcake!”

“What...did you call me?” I growled.

“Hey cupcake, why don’t you and I go back to my place later?” He mocked. “Velvet? Like a cupcake? Are you sweet like one too? Do you taste good like one? Hm, cupcake?”

How did that Dr. Lynch woman know that about my past? Did she really know that much about me? Just how did this movie operate?

“Shut up!” I leaped and grabbed onto his leotard, then reached into his pocket and grabbed one of his grenades. “You want to taste something? Taste this!” I shoved it in his mouth, then pulled the pin and let go.

There was little time: I needed to run down the collapsing building before it could come crashing down and reduce everything to rubble.

But isn’t that what I want? To bring it all down? To destroy the “art” that would hurt the ones I care about? Why does this building feel real, anyway? Did she create this elaborate of a set? If it’s not real, then what danger am I in? If I’m in no danger, I shouldn’t be worried about anything…

I stopped.

“Where...where did the gun go?” The one that was taken off of the guard. I had it. Then it was replaced by a pistol. Somehow.

Because it wasn’t real.

When I got to that “movie”, I had nothing. I had to use a brick. I had to use that villain’s grenades. Grenades that weren’t real.

So in other words, I have nothing. But wasn’t that par for the course? I came to The Flashbulb’s lair with nothing. I’ve had all sorts of risky endeavors, and each time, I would just acquire things as I go.

I ran anyway. For whatever reason, I ran.

No. I don’t have nothing. There’s someone I came with that I care about.

On cue, just as it came crashing down, I escaped. Not even a second after, credits started to roll.

...Wait, what?

‘The End’

Then, the list of the actors who played the characters showed up in front of me. I just couldn’t believe the whole environment was covered by text. Names I didn’t recognize to characters that didn’t matter. Then, I saw my own name. Or...my character’s name? Next to it, it listed…

“No...it can’t be…” I gulped. “Scarlett Johansson?! Really? Come on! I have more class than that!”

Then, answering my call, Scarlett Johansson’s name was crossed out, and a new name replaced it.

“ZENDAYA?!”

I shook my head. “Just stop it! Why can’t I be me?”

Thus, Zendaya’s name was crossed out as well, and finally it said:

‘Velvet as HERSELF’

I nodded my head. “Much better.”

“Stay tuned for a post-credit scene!” Boomed Dr. Lynch’s voice.

Right. There was still that matter.

“Not happening!” I shouted, then ran toward the front where the credits were and kicked forward. As I did so, I hit a wall.

Literally.

Everything turned to black. But my eyes opened once more.

There was gas all around me. I began coughing uncontrollably and it ached just to stand. I didn’t understand why, but I did my best to break free, anyway. I banged my fists against the walls.

Pounding of fists.

It seemed like I was going to lose consciousness up until that jolted me back awake. I still couldn’t turn my head. All those popsicles were growing quite heavy. But, that sound. It must have been Velvet.

If she can do that...if she’s still trying…

I had to as well. It’s not enough that she could try to break free on her own. It had be me as well.

At first, all I could manage was to twitch my fingers. With each passing second, it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

But, if I can twitch my fingers…Yes!

I balled my hands into fists and with as much pressure as I could muster, I slammed my fists against the wall. It didn’t amount to much at first, but I kept trying. After a few tries, with increased force, my arms broke free and I could move them again.

However, the pain was excruciating. I cried out. I couldn’t cover my mouth.

“Hm? Oh, hello there,” Dr. Bob Ross turned to me. I raised my arm up and pressed the button on the backpack. Lasers fired around me and broke me free from the wall. With a thud, I landed.

After I brushed off the popsicle sticks, still disgusted, I looked up toward where that mad artist was.

“I’ll break Velvet out myself, then I’ll get up there and kick your ass! Mark my fucking words, you’re dead, kiddo!”

Dr. Bob Ross burst into laughter. “Okay, okay. Congratulations are in order. But you broke free a little sooner than I expected. I’m not ready for you yet.”

I cracked my knuckles and gave a fiendish grin. “Nobody’s ready for me. I can deal so much pain.”

“I’m going to need you to stay put and wait your turn,” she didn’t seem to heed my boasts at all. I watched her spin her finger, and from the ceiling, a giant claw reached down and pried my backpack off of me.

“Hey! What gives!”

She cupped her hands together and shouted: “Popsicle house time!”

“What?!”

Something dropped in front of me. Once again, I found myself confined.

Four walls. Small, dim, with a roof that was only a little above my head. My only reprieve was one window. I looked out: the room on the outside had grown brighter. I could see the encased area where Velvet was, but I no longer heard her knocks against the walls.

She better still be alive, dammit.

I leaned my head out a little more. Next to me was another popsicle house. Someone else leaned their head out: a bearded old man with gray, curly hair.

“She locked you up too, huh?”

I wasn’t about to dignify that with a response. Instead, I walked off to the other end of the popsicle house and ran toward the wall with full force, elbow in tow. Rather than the house breaking apart, all that happened was a world of hurt.

“Ow! Ow!” I winced. “Maybe I need to try harder.” I walked back, then ran again, with even more anger and drive. Again, nothing but pain.

“God damn! Who knew popsicles could be so sturdy?”

“Welcome to Gay Baby Jail,” the old man greeted once more. That time, I peeked out of the window once again.

“What did you call me?”

“That’s the name of the cell you’re in. Once she puts you in Gay Baby Jail, you’re not getting out unless she wants you to.”

I shook my head and lowered it against the window. “This is stupid…everything is so ridiculous.”

“This is your life now. Consider yourself a gay baby.”

“Ugh…” I groaned. “I am getting out of here. I don’t care how. I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because I have someone out there...we protect each other. I’m not saying I care about her, but she’s important to me and I’m going to do all that I can to make sure she’s well!”

Once again, I tried to break the walls that held me in. I wasn’t about to accept that it was useless. There had to be something I could do.

What wonderful muses I happened to acquire. Things were going so smooth that I almost felt like I needed to shake things up more. But patience. Those two were an inspiration, sure, but inspiration wasn’t instant. So while they were kept occupied, helping me along, I had to study them well.

“Now let’s see their character bios…” I pulled up a tablet. Just about everyone’s records was stored in The Flashbulb’s database. If we didn’t have a profile on them, well...I’d just have to make one, wouldn’t I? But let’s not be too hasty.

“What did they say their names were again? Velvet...and...Coriander? Is that right?”

Velvet was easy enough. Sure, there were many Velvets in most universes, but then there was matching a name to a face. Lucky for me, that also proved to be easy. Next was Coriander.

That one was a little harder. There were a few Corianders out there. More people named Cilantro, to be honest, but that was neither here nor there. But a Coriander that had some sort of relation to the Velvet whose profile was displayed in front of me? Unheard of. So instead I refined my search to all the people associated with that Velvet until I saw an image that matched “Coriander”.

My eyes lit up. Yes! YES!

“This! This right here! This is the inspiration I need!” Oh my, how interesting things were. To learn such things about those two. I could use that.

But enough about those two. They were a little preoccupied. My little muses were making me proud, reminding me of why I got into the game in the first place.

Yes: my backstory. Or more, my “midway” story. My humble origins as an intern for The Flashbulb, back when I was still among fellow artists. “But aren’t you still an intern?” The spectators might have asked, were there an audience to spectate on my thoughts. To answer those hypothetical spectators: yes. But there was an explanation for that.

It all started back in Flashbulb University (note: Flashbulb University was not an accredited university), a school where interns for The Flashbulb went, fully funded by the Education Department. We never really learned much, but the wiser of us would join clubs, otherwise we’d just get displaced and used as fodder for whatever tasks those in proper departments wanted done.

I had wandered down the halls, having gotten as lost as ever, when I pulled out my map. At the time, I developed a keen interest in the art of map making, as well as studying architecture. As it so happened to turn out, the layout of the university was...excuse my language...uncreative. If I had my way with the layout, well...I wouldn’t do anything. That wasn’t a medium I was willing to tackle just yet.

Yes. As loathe as I was to admit, there were certain arts that I would never be able to see myself doing. The art of cooking, the art of staying organized, the art of money management. Who needed any of those skills? Not me. Especially when I could just eat whatever was made at the cafeteria. My taste buds could handle anything, and not only that, I got to experience someone else’s art. Really digest it fully (most of the time).

One day in that very cafeteria, I met up with my fellow intern buddies, Dr. O’Keefe, Dr. Kahlo, Dr. Kubrick, and Dr. Méliès. Each of us were aspiring Flashbulb members as well as members of the Painting and A/V Clubs respectively.

“Every form of art will be available to you,” Dr. Louvre told me when I first joined. So naturally, the first thing I clung to was the art of film-making.

So we all sat, some of us eating tacos, others eating escargot. Me? I ate dried squid, of course.

“So what projects have you been up to?” Dr. Kubrick opened up the discussion.

“I’m studying a venus flytrap,” Dr. O’Keefe answered.

“I’ve been staring up at the moon,” it was Dr. Kubrick’s turn.

“No way! So have I!” Dr. Méliès replied, a hint of astonishment in his voice. Then, I glanced over and noticed the two staring into each other’s eyes.

“I see the moon in your eyes,” Dr. Kubrick uttered such words.

“I see the same in yours.”

Was that really so inspiring? Yes. In much the same way I found inspiration from a burning building, Van Gogh found inspiration from the night sky. With that in mind, inspiration could come from anywhere. No, not just anywhere. Everywhere. Every little thing.

So while everyone began to chat among themselves, I began to doodle. Nothing in particular. Unlike my father, it wasn’t so much nature that inspired me, but humanity. Rather, the vague shape that humans took on.

That must be the reason I was recruited, I thought while reminiscing. Back in the memory, I recalled what happened as soon as Dr. Kubrick and Dr. Méliès left.

Dr. Pollack showed up and slammed his fists on the table.

“Hey guys!” He looked around. “Sorry, I should be more discreet.”

He sat down. “Sorry, I’m just frustrated.”

“Having an art block?” I asked as I sipped on oyster milk.

“No. It’s this...this whole thing! Day in, day out, we’re stuck as interns.”

“Well, there’s no way out of it,” Dr. O’Keefe replied. “The Flashbulb isn’t known for its upwards mobility. If they decide to put us in a department, they will, otherwise, we’re here doing their chores for them and anything else that needs to be done that they don’t want to do. Of course, if someone decides to attack the main headquarters, they keep us around so we can be their human shields.”

“Some saviors of humanity, am I right?” He slumped over.

All that time since I’ve known them and I never realized they had such ambitions.

“You know, if you want to be part of a department so bad, it’s not all that hard?” I spoke up.

“What was that?”

“Yeah, ya heard me. Easy peasy.”

“How do you figure that? It’s not like there’s an A/V Department or an Arts and Crafts Department.”

“Of course not. But there is a Fine Arts Department.”

“Those guys? Really? They’re all a bunch of snooty snobs!”

I scowled. “The answer is right in front of you, yet you refuse to see it.”

“Fine, if you’re so smart, tell us.”

“We bring the Arts and Crafts club and the Painting club and the A/V club to them. We could be the first department with its own set of sub-departments. So if you want, present them the opportunity to expand the Fine Arts Department. Those guys love the word ‘expansion’. All you have to do is say ‘expand’ and they get all hot and bothered. Try it.”

Those three looked at each other, then ran off. Not long after, the plan was a success, and Dr. Louvre as well as Dr. Cannes approached me.

“We have you to thank,” Dr. Louvre towered over me and every syllable out of his mouth boomed. “Without your help, we wouldn’t be able to,” he drew a deep breath, breathed the words between his nondescript lips. “Expand.”

He cleared his throat. It seemed that word had quite a powerful effect on him.

“But what about you?” He continued. “Isn’t there something you should want? With your artistic talent, we could make you one of the leaders of the Fine Arts Department, alongside the likes of Dr. Cannes and I.”

I shook my head. “All I want is my own studio. Food prepared for me. All the art supplies I could ever need. An assistant. That’s all.”

“Very well. It shall be done.”

Yeah, that guy sounded so big and commanding, but in actuality, he was too afraid of my artistic talents and so the Fine Arts Department left one day to a version of Earth, with no specific mission attached. While I was content to stay in my studio, I wished they would have invited me. Shame, too. They never did come back to the headquarters, and ever since, it seemed as if most people were too afraid to visit me. They gave me food, water, any art supply I needed, but that was about it.

Oh well. That was all history (in the sense that there were many gaps and the information that was known paints an incomplete picture). I had two muses now, and I would help them reach their full potential. Speaking of, it was probably about time for Velvet’s next movie to start. It should start getting good now that the movies were going to dig deeper into her consciousness.

Ah, I should’ve known by now; the walls were too thick. My movements grew weaker. It hurt just to stand.

I need to...I need to rest a bit…I’m sorry.

Right before passing out, I had just one more thought: Aha! So that’s how it works!

Then darkness once more.

Once again, I found myself leaning against the window, my only reprieve.

Then, I heard the worst thing I could hear: nothing. No more knocks against those walls.

Has she given up?

I kicked the popsicle wall that held me and screamed out. After a few huffs, I paced about.

“She better not be dead! I won’t allow it!” I growled. “She’s too good for that!”

“Relax,” the old man in the other cell called out to me. “If anything, she’s just passed out. Her second movie is probably about to start. It usually takes at least four movies to kill someone.”

Of course. She passed out before. When she first met me from a previous life, she held me at gunpoint while I held her at laserpoint. Her gun was empty. Before my lasers could fire, the power went out. Then, she passed out. It ended up being up to me to carry her and I to a locker, as I was worried about whatever danger could have lurked. Those were memories I still had, as painful as it may have been to recap.

“That...that doesn’t reassure me.” Even still, I felt too defeated to do anything other than relax. So I went back to the window.

“Maybe if I had a lighter or a flamethrower or something…” I shook my head.

“What do you need one of those for?” The old man asked.

“Are popsicle sticks flammable? I mean, they’re wood, right?”

“Those are the questions which will haunt me up to my deathbed.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” I scolded. That was something I needed to tell myself as well, huh? Why was I so worried about someone who didn’t need worrying about, anyway? She was capable. So it was fine. Ugh. No it wasn’t.

I shook my head.

“I can’t do nothing, and it’s not because I don’t think I could survive on my own. That’s not the issue. We could both probably survive on our own. But, I mean, just in case, I’d like to be there…” No, that didn’t sound right. “Well, what I mean is, even if we could both survive on our own, I’d like us to not be on our own as long as we’re alive, y’know? Gosh, maybe I’m taking this whole ‘til death do us part’ too seriously.”

“You sure do care about her, huh? So what, you two married or something?”

“What?! Why would you think that? That’s ridiculous. Anyway,” I smiled. “Yeah, I do. Even though I was supposed to hate her, it somehow ended up like this. She can get on my nerves sometimes but I know she just likes to see my reaction. If it’s something that really bothers me, she knows not to do it. She knows when to be serious, too, and she can be really supportive.”

“Sounds like the real deal.” “Oh yeah. That’s not even going into her talents. She can find the smallest details in the shortest amount of time. Hell, she’s the very definition of ‘think on your feet’. Like, sure, most of the time she’s lazy as fuck, but then when push comes to shove, she really shines. Her hacking skills are unparalleled, and she’s so resilient. Able to take on foes far stronger than her and still maneuver around whatever obstacle in her way. Being able to improvise and use anything around her to her advantage. Honestly, she inspires me, and I hope I can inspire her too.”

I lowered my head against the edge of the window and shook it. I felt like tears were about to fall out. So, at the very least, I made sure to smile.

“What’s wrong with me?” I shook my head.

“You’re a gay baby, all right,” he sounded like a fucking sage.

“Shut it, you. No one asked.”

I thought that maybe if I used my environment to my advantage, just like how I described Velvet, maybe I could have broken out. But I saw nothing that I could use.

Even if that were the case, I wouldn’t give up.

Ugh. Talk about weird dreams. Something about a fisherman’s wife and a giant squid. Being a pirate sure was a mess.

I got up from my uncomfortable cot in my captain’s quarters and stumbled out. As my accursed luck would have it, I had a headache. Like all things, I blamed it on the sea.

Yes, that very sea in which our pirate ship, the Jo-Ann’s Revenge resided.

My body ached as I swayed to and fro, as if enchanted by a sickening sea shanty.

God damn, how much rum did I have last night?

“Mornin’ Velvetbeard,” ol’ paranoid Connard greeted in ever the dull tone. “I hear the marines have taught the parrots to read our minds. We must steady our guard.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay. Jot that down or something.”

Our crew ate our share of mackerel and sardines for breakfast all while we gathered around the table and made plans for our next raid.

“So there’s a trade ship that was spotted,” Connard reported.

“Do we know its contents?”

He nodded. “Doritos, fruit snacks, top ramen. All your favorites.”

“Hot pockets?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh...but when I think of all the sodium…” I leaned over the table and rested my head on it. “Can I just, like, go back to bed? I’ve got this massive headache and I’m tired of pirating.”

“I knew it!” The Jolly Kelly Roger barged in. “You’re not really a pirate, are you? You’re a spy for the marines!”

“The fuck? Forget the plank, I’ll throw you overboard with my bare hands.”

“Go ahead! I hear there’s a pirate ship full of catgirls and I’m prepared to swim over to them!”

I looked up. “Real shit?”

“Mm-hmm! Anyways, see ya. I’m off to cat paradise.”

Jolly Kelly Roger was never seen again.

Meanwhile, three years later, and I wasn’t quite sure what all happened, but Connard went to chill in some pyramid and I lost most of my crew. All that was left was Blanka, Connard’s best and only friend. Who for some reason decided to go with me of all pirates (people).

“How did it even come to this?” I shook my head. Three years, and the headache still hadn’t gone away. It was like a coconut kept dropping on my head every morning.

“Something something gray stoner pirates,” Blanka replied, although Blanka was no longer there.

It was up to me to take on the marines and the 51st Fleet all by my lonesome. So I did. I infiltrated their ranks by punching a hole in the bottom of their vessel and jumping up. To think it was common belief that it was impossible to sneak in. Ha.

I’ve already done it once before, in fact. Like, some odd years back. When I was a wee little Velvetbeard. My first mate, Violetbeard was rumored to have been captured by the 51st fleet, so I took it upon myself to sneak in and find her, for the thought of what horrifying things they could have done to her was too much for me to bear. Unfortunate for me, I never did find her, nor a trace that she was even there. The best I could manage was stealing a pirate ship from them. That is why the Jo-Ann’s Revenge exists.

Now, onto the sneaky pirate stuff…

“There’s gotta be something I can do,” my voice grew weary in what must have been such a short amount of time.

You’re nothing without your technology.

Maybe that was true at one point in time. Even if that was still true, anything could be technology if it could be utilized…

“Isn’t the right, popsicle stick sticking out on the ceiling?” I looked up. Such a faint hope. How to get there. But wasn’t that what my whole journey was built on? Some faint hope that I took a chance with and made it far enough to find myself where I was. So being “stuck” wouldn’t register to me. Even in my past life, though others were convinced I was stuck, I still tried and fought anyway.

There were “ledges” (so many quotations, I know. Bear with me), I could use. Flimsy, easy to break, but that lent me more hope than despair. All I needed was one, maybe even a few, and I could make my attempt…

So, one foot over the other one, and just a few steps more, and I had gotten the diamond stick in the rough. The wooden needle in the needlestack. Just as my luck had turned bright, I lost my footing and fell back onto the metal floor.

“Owwww,” I groaned. There went my youthful back. Now I welcomed the embrace of my newfound elderly back. Oh, and the embrace of several popsicle sticks. One of which, I held in my hand, and when I shook the rest off of me, I got to work.

“You okay over there?” The old man called.

“The okayest,” I scoffed. Then I got to work chiseling away at the wall in front of me.

“What are you doing, anyway?” “Well, old gay baby, I don’t know about you, but this gay baby wants to leave the crib.”

“She can see you, you know.”

“Let her try and stop me.”

“How bold.”

“I’m not bold, I just happened to make the first move.”

“Bold statement.”

That guy was frustrating me. But, deep breaths, I tried to play it cool.

“What are you even in there for, anyway? I just realized I never thought to ask.”

“I was hired as her assistant after the last one got set on fire and had to be hospitalized. I told her that her paintings should have more men in them, especially men in diapers. She scowled, put me in a diaper, then kept me in here.”

“Oh jeez. I’m sorry.”

“Why? It’s not all that bad once you get used to it. I actually rather enjoy it. Plus, I don’t have to go to the bathroom, because I’m always already there.”

Ew. Ew. EW.

“Okay, uh, what was your name again?”

“Dr. Michelangelo.”

That made too much sense.

“Okay, Dr. Michelangelo. You stay right there. I’m not breaking you out.” Once I was free, I hoped and prayed that I never had to meet him again.

Hold on, Velvet. This gay baby is learning to crawl.

So far, so good. The whole sneaking business was a go. Then came the inevitable.

“Jolene, I know you’re there! You stole my man!”

Shivers ran down my timbers. The unmistakable voice of Mustachebeard, the fearsome vice-admiral for the marines. For the record, yes, I did say I was Jolene when I infiltrated their ship last time, but no, I did not steal anyone’s man.

I did my best to avoid detection, knocking marines out one by one as I traversed the hallowed halls of the ship. I stole a musket off of one of the marines, which really helped once I made it above deck of the ship and found one of the vice-admiral’s lookouts. I ran up to her and before she had the chance to pull out her weapon, I pointed the musket I had looted right at her face.

“Y’arr. Name’s Velvetbeard. I’m here to steal your heart.”

“You,” she growled. “I heard you’re the worst pirate to have ever existed.”

“Nah, there’s worse. There’s gotta be, right? I mean, I can’t be that bad, can I?”

I pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. As it turned out, the musket had no ammo. That, and I didn’t know how a musket worked.

“Nice try,” she smirked. “Now men! Fire!”

Behind her was a firing squad, which meant that I was as good as dead. But instead, everything went black. Everything began to spin in place.

That girl, whatever her name was...was kind of cute.

Yes. There was the headache, in full force. My head felt ready to split itself open and all the contents would spill forth for the world to see. It all felt both so uneasy and yet so familiar. As if it was all a rehash of something that I had been a part of before. Something long gone.

It was but a small opening, but that opening was good enough for me. Like a baby, I crawled through and as soon as I was out, I ran over to the metal box that Velvet was trapped in. I kept banging my fists against it.

“I’m impressed, but at the same time, I wish you’d slow it down! She’s got at least two more movies left in her! The next one will surely dig deep into her psyche.”

“Not. Gonna. Happen,” I growled.

That same gloved metal claw came, likely to pick me up. Some artist Dr. Bob Ross was if she thought I was going to be fooled twice. I swerved to my side to avoid the reach, then I grabbed on to the metal spring and I began to hit the wall with the metal claw.

I was awoken by that same lookout, the one I thought was kinda cute. We were in the middle of a cabin. She shook me awake. As it stood, I was grape jelly.

“Come on, we gotta work together if we wanna make it out.”

“Ugh...what happened?” I rubbed my forehead.

“We were invaded by the Polo Wearing Pirates. Fearsome bandits, they are. As much as I hate to admit it, I need your help. Everyone else aboard the ship has died.”

“Oh, I see what’s going on. Some kind of enemies to lovers type thing, right?”

“Wrong. This is serious. We will never be anything more than enemies.”

“Then why did you kiss my forehead?”

I paused.

She was gone. I was somewhere else. In the clouds? Or aboard another pirate ship. Or in a room, where my former first mate was, Violet. Just Violet.

“Why hello,” Violet greeted.

“What...what are you doing here?”

“You wanted to see me. So I am here.”

“But…” It was ten years. Tears began to trickle down. “I can accept you being gone.”

I knew where I was. At a park. Close to where the school was.

“You’re still the same timid Velvet I knew.”

“How do I escape this movie?” I demanded. Was it me coming back to my senses? No. It was just something that came out.

She approached me. Between the high seas and what I thought to be the closing credits. But maybe they were cornflakes in the wind.

“You wish you knew what happened to me. But you never will. That you may have accepted, but it will still be on your mind. The thought of what became of me. Whether I lived or died, and if I lived, have I lived a good life?”

I shook my head. “Maybe I wonder from time to time. Maybe you will always be someone that I’ll miss. But you know what? So will anyone else that I meet. I’ve accepted that I’m not the type to forget people, no matter how big or small the impact. So...deal with it.”

Yes. That was what they called a flashback. Or forward. Or somewhere in between, on the side. Because I was still next to that blue haired spice.

“So you see, ten years ago there was someone who knew me as someone else. I’m still an anxious person from time to time, but I’m also much more than that. In fact, some would even go as far as to call me ‘badass’.”

“What are you talking about?” My enemy, not lover, asked.

“I...maybe you’ll find out in a later stage of our relationship,” I teased. We got up, but I fell again.

“Sorry,” I croaked. “Now I must inform you that I feel like I am dying.”

My eyes. They eclipsed.

Pounding sounds began to erupt, like my own heartbeat. I clutched my chest, but that didn’t feel right.

“Oh no!” The blue haired wonder cried out. “We have to hurry! The ship is exploding! Our ship is going down!”

I tried to get up, but I could feel the heat. Smoke rose up all around us and I started to cough. Not only was the rest of the ship on fire, but so were my lungs.

There.

At last, the box was broken. Gas leaked out and dissipated. I covered my mouth, but I could still feel the effects making me dizzy. Not to mention that I already felt weak from my previous two ordeals.

I looked around and there Velvet was, on the floor. I rushed to her.

“Hey! Hey!” I shook her.

“Our ship is sinking…” I heard her mutter.

“No it’s not! See, I’m right here!”

I held her against me. It took me a few more seconds to register that she was just asleep, but even still, I needed her awake. Then, I thought of something.

“Hey if you wake up, I’ll kiss you on the lips.”

Her eyes shot open. “Real shit?” She uttered with a groggy voice. Then she looked over and saw that it was me, “oh hey, enemies to lovers.”

I groaned. “I wish you wouldn’t remind me.”

Now, there was just one other matter to attend to...but before I could get to that, Velvet tugged at my shirt collar.

“What about the kiss?”

“Can’t it wait? We’re in the middle of a fight.”

“No.”

I let out an exaggerated sigh, then leaned in and gave her a peck.

“Really?! That’s it?! Come on!” She jolted up.

“I’ll do it for real later,” then I turned my attention to what was behind her: the gun that she had before passing out. I took it and almost dropped it, the damn thing was so heavy. Just a few more steps, though, and I would then part with it.

“Hey Popsigirl!” I yelled.

From atop the pillar, I saw a hand emerged which then proceeded to wave at me.

I growled, then threw the gun at the pillar. All the popsicle sticks began falling down, one by one, as the mad artist’s tower crumbled.

Court dismissed.

#happiness overload #scifi #surreal #comedy #drama #gay #writing #stories #fiction #velvet #coriander #pirates #superheroes

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theatresweetheart · 5 years

Text

Nightingale

Fandom(s): Sanders Sides, G/t

Summary: Roman is captured by a group of bandits and is used for their entertainment because of his voice. Logan hears the soft tune, the breaking voice and the shouting and he lets his curiosity of the situation get the better of him.

Warnings: Blood, gore, mentioned non-explicit death, fear, mentions of abuse, kidnapping, swearing. (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

Pairings: Platonic Logince, Background/mentioned Romantic Prinxiety

Word Count: 9,604 words.

A/n: I have had this story in the works for a very long time and I’m really proud of how it came out. It has been posted over on my A03 account (link here if you’re interested) and I’ve decided to post it here too!

Enjoy!

~—~—~—~—~—~

“Sing!”

Everything in him wanted to say “no.”

Everything in him wanted to demand he be released for what would be the hundredth time. To demand that this charade would only last for so long. That someone would come for him, to take him back home after making sure that these petty thieves got what they deserved.

He could feel the attention of the rest of the camp watching him intently. The sharp, hot, eager gazes that knew they would eventually get what they wanted from him.

It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It made the blood in his veins feel like ice, yet burn through him at the same time. To know that they could get what they wanted from him so easily.

At one point, he would have said “no.”

At one point, he would have demanded his freedom.

At one point, he would have defied everything they were telling him to do.

“Sing, little Nightingale, sing!”

The nickname, at any other time, would have been anything but derogatory. If it were coming from someone that he admired—a face that very vividly came to mind; a face that he yearned to see at least one more time—the nickname would have been soft and caring. Sweet. Something to be treasured and cherished.

But having it come from the mouth of a drunken man that decided he was worth kidnapping for his voice, to be used for their entertainment, it sounded as if the name was a slur.

A name that made him wince.

While everything in him was telling him to bark something back, to tell them to stuff their wants and their demands where the sun didn’t shine, Roman held his tongue.

He knew better.

He had tried to backtalk and it hadn’t ended in his favour. The reminder made him feel sick.

— — —

“This is absolutely barbaric,” he had spat at the men standing in front of him, standing over two hunched over forms. The others held them in place and kept them from fighting. One was in tears and the other sat in resigned silence. “You wouldn’t make me choose.”

“Don’t be so cocky, boy,” the man just behind him hissed into his ear, causing Roman to tense up, tilting his head away to try and put some space between them no matter how futile the attempt. “You don’t understand what we’re capable of doing.”

“Capable of being a pack of half-witted delinquents. If that’s what you’re going for, you’re doing splendidly.”

“Watch your tongue!”

The feeling of a sharp weapon suddenly digging into his lower back gave him pause. Even with the threat there, he sent a heated glare towards the one man right in front of him.

“Foolish of you to assume I listen to orders from a witless mongrel,” he barked, staying silent only proved to hurt more.

Though, when a sharp yelp of pain was derived from the young man knelt closest to him, ice was shoved into his chest. Almost immediately he had shut his mouth. A terror that was cold and biting stopped him from spitting another insult.

“Decide,” the thief spat at him, “one of them lives, the other dies. It’s a simple choice.”

Deciding over who got to live and who had to die was not a simple choice by any means.

While his bonds cut further into his wrists, he could feel the tip of the blade digging slightly into his back; a looming threat that if he didn’t say anything, there would be a world of hurt coming.

There was howling laughter from the others, as if this was some cruel sport that they were making him play for their entertainment.

Roman hated it.

He hated everything about this.

“Come on now, Songbird, decide.”

He had already made his choice. Deep down in him, he knew he had already made his choice.

The tired chocolate brown eyes of a close friend looked to him from his knelt position, even as blood trickled from his nose. A silent look was hidden behind those emotions; exhaustion, resilience, yet there was also something that said he was ready to give up his own life for the life of an innocent.

‘It’s okay,’ Virgil had mouthed to him before nodding slightly to the sobbing stranger beside him, ‘it’s okay if you don’t choose me.’

Nothing about this was okay.

It was almost too sickeningly easy.

Roman didn’t know the stranger, while he had spent far too many nights with Virgil to be able to let it go. To be able to let them do something far too gruesome to him just for the sport of it.

He had gotten the other into this mess and he was going to do his damned best to get him out of it, too.

“Have you made your decision?” The man closest to him spat, causing Roman recoil from the proximity.

He could only muster a single nod.

“Good,” the man crooned, removing the tip of his weapon from his back, before moving stand just over Virgil, the same weapon held under his throat threateningly. His friend didn’t move, but an almost unnoticeable wince showed just how terrified he was. “This one?”

When Roman met Virgil’s eyes again he saw the flash of terror, the panic that was rising in his chest. Then there was a look of resignation, as if he had accepted it.

He felt like he was going to throw up.

Roman shook his head, unable to speak.

He couldn’t bear the look of surprise on Virgil’s features, even the realization that flickered.

The blade was removed from his throat and was instead moved to the other’s. Their sobs got louder in response to feeling the cold metal. “This one?”

There was a single nod offered and instantly he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tune it out.

The sound of something soft being sliced through would haunt him. The silence that followed the resounding thud was the only thing he could hear ringing in his ears. His entire body was tense with fear, anger, every emotion that he couldn’t express with his hands bound. There was so much he wanted to do to them. So much that he wished would happen to them.

After a second, he reopened his eyes and he met that of his companion’s. They were wide, terrified. There was blood staining Virgil’s clothes, but it wasn’t his own and Roman felt a heave rise in his throat.

“Let him go,” he spoke up, a weak plead, “please. You have no use for him.”

“I’m sure we could find another use for him,” one said, getting a bit too close to Virgil for Roman’s comfort, using the tip of a knife to tilt the other’s chin up.

It took only a moment before the latter spat in his face. “Don’t touch me.”

The thief flinched back instantly, leaving a small nick on the underside of Virgil’s chin, but he said nothing about it.

“If anything, he needs to learn his place.”

That was a shock. A stab of instant worry was the only thing Roman could feel at that moment.

“Let him go and I won’t say another word!”

The words were out before Roman even knew he had said them. The startled gazes of their captors turned to face him, their leader looked down his nose at him. Seemingly considering the offer.

Virgil’s eyes were wide, surprised at the fact that Roman would give up his freewill just to get him to safety.

“Really?” The leader stated.

Roman’s pleads got more desperate. “I’ll do whatever you want, just- please, let him go.”

“A deal like that is hard to refuse,” he said instead. The man turned on his heel and grabbed the knife from the other’s hands, using the same weapon to threaten Virgil’s life again. “If we let this one go, you’ll do anything we say?”

“Roman don’t—” Virgil was cut off when the knife dug deeper into him and he winced.

“Anything,” Roman agreed. “I’m begging you. Let him go and let him live.”

After a moment of silence, the knife was removed from his partner’s throat and his bonds were sliced. Two men from either side of Virgil grasped him by the shoulders and dragged him to his feet.

While the helpless look never left Roman’s face, the anxious one that fluttered over his own would forever be ingrained into his memory.

While Virgil’s angry shouts and swears faded from the night, swallowed up by the forest that surrounded them, the painful pounding of Roman’s heart never ceased.

“Now,” the leader grinned sharp as a dagger, sheathing the knife in it’s rightful spot before turning on his heel and looking their capture up and down. “Stay true to your deal boy, or there will be hell to pay.”

— — —

The tune started slow, a low resounding noise in his chest. A hum that reverberated through him, a song that he had had memorized ever since he was a little boy.

It was a song that he had taught to his beloved, even though his beloved felt as if he wasn’t worthy.

The song itself gave him comfort almost.

A sound that he could lose himself in, find a place to hide away and stay there for all of a few minutes. For however long he decided he would draw the music out. Sometimes it was slow, sometimes it was fast.

Sometimes his emotions would get to him and his voice would break.

He wasn’t proud of it. He wasn’t proud of any of his work.

Roman used to be able to take pride in his music, in himself. Ever since his capture, everything had changed. Without a choice in how he was able to share his talent, a gift as he had once been told, there was no heart in it anymore.

He had once been able to attract a crowd of willing listeners, grins of children that would push him onward, before bringing them into the song as well, allowing for them to experience and try and play around. To have fun when doing something so meaningful. To discover and laugh.

The sounds of the thieves relaxing to the song was all he could focus on, even as he shut his eyes. He ignored the chafing of his wrists. He ignored the cuts that lined his arms and sides, the stinging that never ceased. He ignored the aching pain in his chest. The longing he felt.

Instead, he focused on an evocative picture of sparkling brown eyes, a smile that would astound him every time it was flashed his way, brown bangs that would hang in front of such lively eyes.

As his voice grew in strength, he could hear his partner’s voice joining him in his head, bringing him back to a simpler time.

The sounds of hands drumming along in a timed rhythm with the song and suddenly he was no longer stuck behind bars with a travelling group of outlaws but was back home in the town square during one of the Midsummer festivals, a hand in his own as they danced. Bangles of gold and silver, hues of royal reds, purples and blues flashed through his memory. Laughter and warmth. Noises of the bangles jingling together and the excited chatter of the children in the village.

The faint sound of feet pounding against the ground in an exhilarated dance, hands clapping in time with the beat, bringing the colourful town to life. The sounds of instruments being strummed and pounded.

The rising moon in the back of his mind as he held onto his partner, moving in sync as they held onto each other. Twisting and twirling in practiced motions, memorized patterns.

The melodic laughter from his sweetheart was one of the few things that kept Roman going. On the vague hope that he would see him at least one more time.

As he spun the imaginary form into his arms, it was as if he could almost feel the actual warmth of someone in real time. The colours of his clothing twirled as the form did. The feeling of their hands intertwined, with one resting on his shoulder to keep his darling upright.

The scent of rose and lavender filled his senses, the smell of which his partner nearly always smelt of. Working with herbs gave him an earthy scent, something that could calm Roman within minutes. Holding his significant other in his arms only made it easier.

It was almost as if he could feel the cool touch of grass beneath his toes.

It was easy for Roman to lose himself in the song when he focused on surroundings that were no longer his every day reality. To sing and sit behind bars would not derive the feeling he needed to present.

He had tried performing halfheartedly. He had tried to keep his voice low and unheard. It had only resulted in pain and suffering. The young man had instead resorted to trying to picture that he was anywhere else than where he actually was.

As the song faded, so did the vivid image of the countryside and the festival’s coloured lights. The feeling of Virgil’s hand in his own seemed non-existent and the warmth disappeared as soon as his passion did.

When he had finally finished, he reopened his eyes, welcomed back with the unnerving sight of the others watching him intently.

He dropped his gaze to his hand, letting the thumb of his opposite run over the palm, as if trying to bring back the feeling of warmth and safety he had felt.

“Another,” someone demanded of him, someone far too close to the outside of his bars for comfort and he winced away from them. His wrists burning from the rope digging into them.

This was just torture. They were torturing him without really touching him.

He knew that if he didn’t do what they said, he would be putting his partner in danger again and that was the last thing he was ready to do. He’d stay in the firing line if that meant Virgil got out of this. If he got the chance to live his life like it was supposed to be lived.

“Come now, little Songbird. With a voice like that, there must always be an encore!”

Like there’s a choice, he sneered inwardly.

Just as Roman was about to snark something back at him, the flash of wide, terrified eyes and the sound of a body slumping to the ground resounded in his head and he shut his mouth.

It was a promise that he couldn’t risk breaking.

Instead, he began to tap against the bottom of the cage. The wood gave the sound he wanted, but not the atmosphere he dreamed of. Tapping in a rhythm that would be easy even for these imbeciles to follow.

It took a minute, but they were soon following his lead and the pounding was being repeated into the night air, creating a beautifully, haunting, echoing sound against the woods.

Another tune started again, but it wasn’t nearly as low in his chest as the first had been. The words, though he knew them by heart, started almost a count too late for his taste. A part of him took pleasure being able to sing in another language, as Gaelic was far from something this band of misfits knew.

Perhaps it was better that way, when they didn’t understand the lyrics.

While Gaelic was not his mother tongue, after countless nights practicing and learning from the others, he was able to repeat the song back to them without a hitch.

It was a tradition for at least one of the songs at their Midsummer’s festivals to be in the foreign tongue as it was said to honour the original settlers of the town itself.

Roman allowed himself to close his eyes again, drifting off to a place where he could find comfort. Though, the more he allowed himself to drift into the memories, the more unsteady the song became.

— — —

There it was again, that soft hymn of something on the wind.

It was something that Logan had come to recognize. Something that he had almost started to expect to hear every night at this point.

A voice, quiet as it was, carried on the peace of the night. While a sound that never ceased would usually cause discomfort or frustration, this sound was softer. It allowed him to relax in his study late into the night when his work kept him up.

It hadn’t always been there, he knew. From the very time he had settled in this area, there had only been the sounds of the birds or the babbling brook a couple of paces away from his doorstep.

The new addition of such a small sound only proved that there must have been some sort of travelling band in the area. They had been there for a few nights by this time, even as he sat by the window, a wicker candle sat on the windowsill with a flame that flickered back and forth and a book that sat open in his lap.

There was always the sounds of voices following after the song had ended and while it did make him feel uneasy, the songs themselves were melodic, whomever was singing them had a talent for the art of performance.

As intoxicating as the music would be, Logan had also begun to notice fluctuations in the notes. The voice cracking or breaking, turning into nothing but a noiseless whisper against the woodlands. Shouts would follow the fail and then there would be a tune again, but far less confident.

Some nights the songs would clear as the night sky, some nights the voice would break between notes. Almost as if the songs sometimes became a desperate latch on to a reality that was no longer theirs. Of course, searching too far into something like this could prove fruitless as it may never be understood why the voice would crack.

A part of him knew that impeding in someone else’s business could only end in more trouble, but the sound of those shaky notes said something that perhaps real words may not be able to express accurately.

While a part of him believed that something horrible could be happening, another part of him said that perhaps he was just imagining the bad scenario. There were cheers and claps that would follow the performance, begging for another song to follow. The night would stay quiet for a little while, before another song would begin.

Though, he did notice that no one would thank them for the praise, which did say something about the situation.

Logan briefly wondered how long the traveling band planned to stay in the area. While it was a bit inconvenient having a group of humans constantly chattering, he supposed if that was all they did, there was no harm in having them around.

It did make the woods feel a tad less lonely.

While Logan did enjoy his solitude—the tranquility of the forest gave him peace of mind—there was always a somewhat lonesome aspect to living away from his own civilization. He was more likely to happen along human camps than he was to find someone like him wandering this close to the border. This wasn’t to say that he didn’t have the occasional visitor.

While he did find it a touch odd that there were humans this close to the border itself, it wasn’t truly any of his business. Even if the strained notes caused a slight discomfort in his chest that he didn’t necessarily appreciate.

Pushing his glasses back up so they sat more comfortably on his nose, he turned his attention back down to his book.

What did catch him off guard was the sudden breaking of the voice and the silence that followed. However, the quiet didn’t last and was instead filled with noise from that camp. Though, the voices didn’t sound all that pleasant.

While Logan couldn’t make out any distinctive words, it was rather obvious that said voices were unhappy that the song had ended early.

While it was a bit disappointing, he could admit, Logan felt as if there was no true reason to be upset over such a thing.

As much as he didn’t want to involve himself in some unnecessary confrontation, there was something telling him that leaving this situation unattended could end in someone getting hurt. The idea didn’t sit well with him in the least, so, with a resigned sigh, he placed a bookmark into the centre of it before shutting his book and setting it to the side.

Grabbing his coat from just beside the door, he stepped out into the cool autumn night. Winter was on the rise slowly, just as the moon was reaching its highest peak.

The crisp air was refreshing.

Logan tucked his jacket a bit closer to himself, shielding out the cold air. It was about time he got out anyways. He’d kept himself cooped up in his house nearly all day reading, getting work done. It was good to get out for a little bit, even if it was to soothe his curiosity.

Turning his attention towards the source of the noise, he carefully followed along a path that he had made for himself a couple of weeks back.

While creeping up on the camp wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, keeping as low a profile as possible may be the better option if they had weapons. Not that it would do much damage, but a right shot in just the right place could prove painful.

“… finish the tune, Songbird, come now,” a voice demanded, sharp as a knife. Harsh and cold. “Don’t leave us in silence.”

“… I-I can’t—” A softer voice replied, it was shakier, more timid than the other, as if it was worried about something. Possibly his safety. “I-it’s- I …”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, did I, boy?” The first voice replied, a rhetorical question, then there was the sound of metal on metal and it rang against the forest, a yelp of surprise followed after it. “I ordered you to finish the song. For talkin’ back, I s’pose it wouldn’t hurt to have you start it over.”

Logan furrowed his brows, lowering himself into more of a crouch when the camp finally came into view and he was peering just over the edge of the trees. While his presence was largely unknown, as he had taken measured care to manage his footsteps, it allowed him the perfect place to sit back and observe the situation in front of him before intervening. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to at all and he had the situation entirely wrong.

Though, when he took in the scene in front of him, Logan was disturbed to find that there was a young man sitting bound in what seemed to be a cage. It was odd, as he seemed to be just as human as the others that surrounded him.

Searching over, he found that each of the members currently surrounding him had red arm bands on the right biceps; an easy mark to show others that they were apart of a certain band.

The young male sitting trapped didn’t, which told Logan that he was a captive. As if the cage didn’t do that for him.

“It wasn’t a request, Songbird,” the first voice said again and Logan was quick to identify him as the leader of this operation. “It was a demand. You wouldn’t appose us, would you? You haven’t forgotten what happened the last time you spoke up without permission?”

The young man shifted uncomfortably, turning his head away. “… no.”

“Ah,” the leader crooned, leaning a bit further forwards, looking as if he were about to reach through the spaces between the bars. When his hand was inches away from the boy, he shifted away, pressing his back against the bars furthest from the man. Unhappy, but not lashing out, he said, “then sing.”

A moment of tense hesitance, Logan was just about to break his cover when the sound of a rhythmic tapping caught his attention instead. His gaze was drawn right back down to the kid in the cage—maybe not a kid, per say, but a young man—dressed in a dirty white tunic and torn brown pants. A royal red silk belt was tied around his waist halfheartedly. He began to tap out a rhythm against the bottom of his confinement.

It took all of a few seconds before the rest of the camp began to join in on it and he was followed.

A moment later a soft tune arose from the enclosure and Logan was welcomed with that same melodic voice from earlier. Seemed that the nightingale was not a nightingale at all, it was a human boy that seemed to be used for his talents against his will.

The Gaelic that soon followed was something Logan recognized vaguely. There were a few words he picked up on such as “lost love” and “forgotten times,” it was obvious it was heartfelt lament that no one in the camp seemed to understand.

They obviously mistook the upbeat tune for something other than what it was.

While Logan was not fluent in the language, he knew enough to tell that this song was not for the thieves that kept him captive, but for the captive himself, possibly as a comfort.

Then, there was the shaky tone again. The notes were being missed and the voice was straining. He was trying to do his best without giving away how emotional he really was.

The leader seemed to take badly to this revelation and he used the hilt of his weapon to knock against the bars of the cage again, making the song halt immediately in response. “When I said restart the song, I didn’t mean for you to restart with your bellyaching.”

“I-I know, but I—” The boy was cut off and he flinched back as the cage was knocked on again.

“Stop with your words, and start with the music again, boy.”

When the others began to chime in on how they felt the lad wasn’t trying, he could see the fear building on the kid’s features. It wasn’t hard to miss such terror.

Everything in Roman wanted him to snark back.

He was fighting against every one of his instincts by staying silent, but breaking his promise would only lead to more harm than good. Though, when being faced by a group of belittling thieves, there wasn’t much he could do to stop the fear that flickered or to stop the panic that was growing in his chest.

“I do believe the lad has every right to feel emotional,” Logan spoke up, finally revealing himself and causing the camp to silence almost instantly. “I would say that being stuck behind bars and then forced to sing for your pleasure, which is clearly against his will, would be a tad upsetting.”

As soon as a voice as deep as the night itself rumbled around them, Roman’s attention had shifted instantly from the leader to the newcomer.

He was startled to find a form that towered over the trees that surrounded the group, which only meant trouble for himself. There was nothing any of the men in the camp could do and he certainly couldn’t fight back if the giant deemed that he was worth taking.

From what he could see through the darkness, there were sharp, cold, analytical brown eyes watching each and everyone of them in the camp. The glasses that he wore just magnetized it. He could feel his heartbeat and he could hear the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

The first man took a step forwards, but his sword was drawn and raised. Almost as if a weapon like that would do any damage at all. “A-and what say you about this?”

While Logan was impressed by the fact that he was being stood up to, instead of having panic reign throughout the camp, it was very obvious that this human didn’t want to lose his “prize” because they had rightfully kidnapped the boy in the first place. Who was Logan to take that trophy away from them?

He watched quietly as they seemed to surround the confinement of their hostage, whom of which looked mortified in his own way. Each of them had their weapons drawn, looking as if they were ready to put up a futile fight.

It was almost comical, in a pathetic way.

There really wasn’t much they could do to keep him at bay. Though, the way that the determination seemed to settle within the group said that he may need to go into more drastic measures.

So be it.

“Ah, I see what’s going on here,” Logan mused, planting a hand in the centre of the camp, partially for intimidation purposes and partially because he needed to balance himself. The others seemed to push away from the limb, and the unsteadiness of the group grew. “You think I’ve come for your little Nightingale.”

Hearing the term from a completely new source made Roman’s stomach sink. Whomever this person was, only thought of him the same way the other’s did.

“What else would you be here for!” The man shouted up, his hand tightening on the weapon he wielded. “We’ve done nothing to you!”

“That is true, but it would be impossible not to hear the sounds of someone’s voice carry,” he scanned over the group, looking unimpressed, almost bored. “You have found yourself a prize worth being proud of.” He ignored the way the quiet noise of protest from the hostage dug into his chest deeper than he thought it would. “It would be shameful of me if I were to take such a lovely voice away from you.”

The man stiffened at that, shoulders growing tense. “We shall fight you for the boy!”

“And you shall lose,” Logan shrugged his shoulders idly, “I fail to understand how you’ve not noticed the power I hold over each and every one of you. You may outnumber me, but you do not intimidate me. I advise you, do not be so foolish as to risk the safety of your men over something so trivial.”

While stooping to childish measures, such as knocking stuff over to cause a distraction, was not what he wanted to do, Logan wasn’t necessarily above it at this point. If he needed to get the kid out of there, then he would do what was needed.

This entire situation was just unnerving.

How humans could capture and keep one of their own as if they were nothing more than a treasure to either be hidden away or put out on display. He didn’t understand it and he might never understand the workings of their minds. Not that it was exactly the top priority, but it was endlessly fascinating, he would admit.

Now it was just getting tedious.

Humans were not a threat to him. He had slightly hoped that they would have gotten the hint and given up, but alas, the stubbornness of such people seemed to rage stronger than their short tempers.

“Well, you can make this easy on yourselves or you can be morons and make it difficult. Which option would you prefer?”

“We don’t take demands from the likes of you!” Another shouted and Logan’s cold gaze was drawn to the one that had said it.

“The likes of me?” He repeated, a brow quirked in question.

The same man seemed to be less confident when Logan was looking directly at him, holding his stare without once wavering.

“Do you wish to repeat that?”

When he was answered with nothing more than silence, Logan was satisfied that he had done nearly all he needed to. A lot of the intimidating just came from the fact that he was able to keep a cold exterior. It did make it easier that he really didn’t care much for this particular band of humans, save for the one that was currently there against his will.

Speaking of which, he leaned forwards a bit more, slightly unintentionally—but getting the exact reactions he wanted—blocking out the moonlight and casting the group in shadow. The kid in the cage seemed to shrink away from him as best as he could, eyes wide and terrified and, well, Logan couldn’t fault him for that.

“If you give up your little Songbird willingly,” the name sounded weird and unfamiliar, especially so since he wasn’t talking about a bird at all, “I may take pity on your pathetic attempt.”

“I will never give up! I said we shall fight you for it!” The first man declared again, stabbing the weapon in Logan’s direction and said male rolled his eyes.

“How many times must I repeat myself before you brutes understand?” He quipped.

Roman had almost seen it coming from a mile away and he ducked a bit lower down. While he was grateful to be getting away from the very people that had caused him so much suffering, he felt as if being taken away with the giant wasn’t exactly a better option.

Not if he felt as though Roman was a prize.

Logan leaned a bit further forwards, reaching over each and every one of the thieves and lifted the cage from the ground with ease.

Even though Roman had tried to prepare himself, he wasn’t able to stop the yelp of surprise that escaped him. His stomach dropped as the cage was lifted so effortlessly off of the ground. Every other time his cage had had to be moved, there had been four or more men on it at all times to make sure it didn’t tip or break open if dropped.

Logan drew the confinement back over towards himself and settled it down right in front of his crouched position. “If you attempt to best me, you should understand the fight will all be for naught.”

“I have never—”

“Never what? Been bested by someone bigger than you? Seems that way,” he mused, “with an attitude like yours, I would understand if you’ve never been told the word ‘no.’ I would also recommend that you pack your things and leave this area by morning.”

“And why should we comply?”

“Perhaps it would make you feel safer to know that your camp is practically on my doorstep.”

The hush of uneasiness that fell over the group said more than words ever could. Of course that knowledge wouldn’t make them feel better, he knew that very well.

Even though the leader still seemed to be seething in his anger, there was nothing he could truly do to stop what was happening. They all knew that weapons would only get them so far and if those were to be taken, there would be no chance at all.

In a huff, the leader raised his hand and snapped his fingers, though his stony gaze never left Logan’s. He would admit, the bravery was mildly impressive, more barely amusing.

“As pleasant as this has been, the night does grow late.” Logan tipped his head in a nod, showing some sort of acknowledgement, it was only respectful, before picking up the cage with a gentleness that belayed the rough words. “If I return tomorrow, there better be no sign that you were even here. Best of luck.”

With that, he pushed himself back into a stand and brought the cage a bit closer to himself, almost as if he were trying to steady the boy inside of it. His weight was hardly noticeable, but as he fell back into a comfortable walking pace, he could feel the slight swaying from inside a bit more prominently.

While it was getting late, he had more important things to deal with now and getting sleep was on that list, just not yet.

The trek back to his home almost seemed longer now that he had an unwilling passenger.

He entered his house moments later and shut the door, he slid his jacket off of his shoulders as an afterthought after transferring the confinement to one hand.

He was privy to the little noises coming from the human inside of the metal trap and it wasn’t that the terrified little sounds surprised Logan at all. Truly, any human with common sense would be frightened of something that could do whatever they pleased.

While that was not the case here, Logan hadn’t exactly explained himself or his actions to the captive.

The cage was settled down onto the counter of his kitchen not long after. The form inside of it cowered away from him, tucked into himself against the furthest bars possible.

“While telling you there is no reason to be afraid is illogical at this point, I would like to assure you that I don’t have the same plans for you as those thieves did,” Logan broke the tense silence.

Roman flinched back at the rough voice, before finding the words somewhat confusing. So, he wasn’t just some stolen prize? “I-I beg your pardon?”

While the giant seemed to be busy rummaging for something, it was obvious he had been heard. “As soon as I get that lock off of your confinement, you will be free to go. I certainly do not plan to keep you here against your will.”

When he came up with nothing, Logan shut one drawer before moving to the next one. After a second of rustling around, he was able to find the smallest knife he could. While it would terrify the captive anyhow, it was the least he could do.

He reached over and pulled the cage a bit closer to himself, the lock was impossibly small. It wouldn’t hinder him much, but it would make it a tad more difficult.

Getting the tip of the knife under the bridge of the lock took some maneuvering, especially to get it into the right position. It had slipped a couple times and the human and flinched with a gasp. Though, after he successfully managed to do it, it took one simple slight motion of the wrist and the lock was no more.

The door to the cage swung open after he pulled away and settled the knife a few paces away from the cage.

“I would recommend using the knife to cut yourself free,” Logan instructed, turning his back for a moment to shut the drawer he had left open.

There was no sound of movement for a minute, which was understandable, yet the constant fear was a bit frustrating. He had explained to the human he was safe, but yet he still showed the same terror—if not more—to him than he did with his human captors.

Roman hesitated, watching as the giant turned his back to him, seemingly distracted with another task.

But he did feel an onrush of emotions flood forwards at seeing the cage door open. The lock laying in pieces to the right of it. Seeing the knife come so close to him had been admittedly terrifying, but the promise had held up.

So, he eventually pushed himself into a shaky stand, using the bars behind him to pull himself up and keep him steady enough.

Freedom was right there and yet, in a way, he was still trapped.

Ignoring those thoughts, Roman moved to the edge of the cage before ducking through the low overhang and dropping the foot down onto the counter. The sight of the large kitchen was almost enough to stagger him completely. The fact that everything in here was not scaled to his size was incredible.

Incredibly horrifying, his mind supplied to him helpfully, if the giant changes his mind, you’re screwed.

He shook his head, as if shaking the awful truth away for the moment. While the knife itself was more than twice his size in length, Roman moved towards it, the only thing that would actually cut the ropes for good. He had tried biting them, countless times had he tried tearing through the ropes with his teeth only to be given a sore mouth and loss of hope.

Grabbing the flat of the blade as best as he could, he tried to pull it upright enough to actually get at the sharp edge. When that failed and it slipped from his hands, he jolted back.

The small curse split the air and Logan resisted the urge to turn to see what had happened. Had he cut himself? Injured himself further than what he already was? A brief glance over his shoulder proved that the human was struggling to keep the knife in a position that he could use to actually cut his bonds free.

As helpless as ever, he noted.

Turning back to face the kid, he reached over to grab the hilt of the knife, watching briefly as the human scooted a bit further away from him, even as he tilted it upright and held it loosely.

“This should make your task a bit easier,” Logan assured him when the confused brown eyes tilted up towards his own. “I only assumed that a little assistance would be necessary.”

“… thank you,” came the soft reply.

When the blade was tilted up for him like this, Roman could certainly get at the sharper edge easier. Though, the nervousness stuck in his stomach. The fact that anything could happen at this point was terrifying. So, he tried to shove the fear back and masked it with an air of, what he thought was, confidence.

He pulled himself forwards on his knees before placing the rope on the sharp of the blade and beginning to saw through it, aiming to carefully cut between his wrists and to try his best to keep from nicking himself in the meantime.

Though, his eyes did flutter up for a brief second and when he focused on the fingers thicker than he was, holding the knife up like it was nothing, an icy stab of fear fell into his gut. He was reminded at just how helpless he was.

So, he instead focused on doubling his efforts and getting the ropes cut quicker. The heaviness of the giant’s eyes on his back never lessened.

As soon as his wrists were free, another onslaught of emotions hit him from nowhere and Roman pushed himself away from the knife, his hands rubbing at the redness that circled his wrists. It had been so long since he had had full range of his wrists and the water that blurred his vision was almost a surprise to himself.

A shaky breath was taken in, even as he trembled with his reality. If the giant really meant what he said—how he would get to go home—then there was nothing to be afraid of. He could return to his life back in the village. He could embrace his darling again.

He actually stood a chance now.

This release must have been emotional and because of this, Logan didn’t really know what to do. So, he instead took the knife away and tucked it back into its proper place. Which then, if the little human was reacting like this, how long had he been an unwilling hostage?

“Judging by your stature, I would assume that they didn’t feed you very well, did they?”

At the suddenness of the voice, Roman’s gaze was drawn upwards, even as he rubbed the water from his eyes. “Ah, no, not really,” he admitted.

In all honesty, there were days that he went without eating. It wasn’t healthy, but it had been his only choice.

Logan made a low humming noise, letting his eyes flicker over the smaller form. “Perhaps you would want something to eat and drink before you head out on your way?”

While the question sounded more like a statement, almost as if he would be turned down if he said “no,” Roman could admit that having something to eat before finding his way home would be ideal. “If it isn’t any trouble,” he adjusted his torn shirt, uncomfortable under the inquisitive gaze.

“I offered,” he stated with a shrug, adjusting his glasses before turning to focus on the next task.

Roman’s attention instead flickered back down to his wrist, the blood that had dried around the open cuts where the ropes at dug into him.

What he didn’t understand, out of this entire situation, was why he had been helped in the first place. It didn’t really make any sense to him. It would have been easy enough to have left him there, to pretend that he hadn’t seen a thing and moved on as if nothing had happened. Or to even just ignore the travelling band altogether. Or even, taken him and kept him in the cage, kept him bound and stuck at the mercy of another stranger. It wasn’t as if he really expected to be let go.

“I don’t understand,” his voice came out soft at first, conflicted and confused as his thumb ran over the tender skin on the inside of his wrist. He then turned his attention back to the other male. “I don’t understand why you helped me. Wouldn’t it have, I don’t know, been easier for you to have ignored it?”

Logan’s shoulders straightened after a moment, setting the cup he had filled with water off to the side, before looking briefly over his shoulder. Roman was peering at him, confused yet searching for the answer.

Why did humans have to be so frustratingly touchy?

“While, yes, it would have been far more logical to not have intervened in your situation, unfortunately emotions are not solely a human feature.” While digging around for something that Roman would actually be able to drink out of, he spoke up again. “Morals are also something that are not only a human feature and my curiosity had put me into a precarious position. Seemed I was blissfully ignorant to the true nature of humanity.”

It took a bit of work, but he was able to find something that would work a bit better for a drinking tool, before flickering over his pantry. Bread would most likely be the easiest option on someone’s digestive system if they hadn’t eaten in days. Something heavy may make them throw up.

Logan dipped the small container into the water carefully, before nudging it over towards the human without spilling any of the liquid. “I did not expect to be harboring a human tonight, so do excuse my lack of resources,” he then leaned against the opposing counter for a moment, eyes staying locked on the smaller form. “So, yes, I suppose it would have been easier if I had ignored the position you had found yourself in, but it would not have been fair. Certainly less so since I was able to do something about it.”

Roman seemed hesitant to reach for the water at first, but his thirst was greater a need than his pride was at the moment. After taking a greedy drink of the cool refreshment, he sat back a bit more comfortably. “So, you’re really not going to … keep me?”

“Of course not,” Logan waved the worry away, “what good would that serve me?”

The human only shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno, it didn’t really serve the others any good … it was more for their entertainment, I guess.”

“Well, you have no need to fret about me doing the same thing,” he responded, pushing off of the counter and moving towards his pantry. “Unlike what others may tell you, I do have morals and they are, unfortunately, very loud.” Logan paused in the doorway of the pantry, looking over his shoulders. “You don’t have any allergies, do you?”

Logan would feel rather bad if he gave the boy something he couldn’t have and ended up doing more harm than good.

After Roman set the drink back down, he shook his head in answer.

He was honestly slightly surprised that he had been asked about that in the first place.

With a satisfied nod, Logan disappeared into the pantry to search through what would be suitable for the human. While he knew humans could eat everything they could, it was still difficult to find something that would be able to crumble into good portions without making too much of a mess.

While Logan seemed to be preoccupied, Roman let his eyes wander the rest of the kitchen. The house was astoundingly big and he was slightly shaken by the fact that when the caravan had picked their place of settlement for the couple weeks they planned to be there, that they hadn’t seen the mountainous cottage that had been nearly a mile or two away from the spot.

While it did make him uneasy, he was in no place to really voice that opinion. Not when he was being shown such hospitality instead of being stuck into another cage and used for his voice.

That experience was certainly going to be something that was going to follow him into his dreams for nights to come. At least this time, he wouldn’t have to face his night-terrors alone anymore. As soon as he got home, everything would be back to the way it was.

At least, that was the hope.

It was the only hope that Roman could hold onto.

From what he could see of the home, it was nice. Orderly, everything had a place and everything stayed in that place. There were a few pictures on the walls, as well as some paintings. Pictures of ravines and mountains. He leaned a bit further to the side to peer into another room through the doorway, what seemed to be a living room and a study.

His attention shifted once more when Logan reappeared through the pantry’s doorway with the biggest loaf of bread Roman had ever seen in his life. Admittedly, he didn’t spend much time around giants, but he had met the odd few that would pass near the town he lived in.

The two races usually stayed away from each other, or as separated as possible. He had heard of cities that had integrated both into one society, but he failed to really understand how well that worked. While it would be an adventure every day to live in such a place, Roman was happy to live in a countryside human village with Virgil. It was peaceful, quiet and the town was almost always alive with music in the evenings.

It was a bit unsettling, seeing a bigger knife making an appearance. Even focusing on how large Logan’s hands were compared to himself, or how easily he used the utensil.

So, he instead turned his attention away from that, sticking his thumb into his mouth before focusing on scrubbing the blood off of his wrists. He didn’t know when it had happened or how long it had been there, but he now had the chance to clean himself up to the best of his ability.

It stung, but that meant nothing to him. Not from everything else he had suffered through.

It took nearly a minute before there was a piece of bread being slid over to him.

“I do apologize, I’m sure it has become quite apparent that I don’t usually cater for people of your stature,” Logan said, leaning back against the counter once more.

Roman shook his head. “No, no, this is all— thank you.”

“It is the least I can do to assist you,” though there was something that was bothering him. However, he held off until Roman had at least had taken a few bites to settle his hunger. A moment of quiet passed before he found himself speaking again. “Though, I am curious. How long has that travelling band had you?”

It seemed he had asked the wrong question, as the human seemed to flinch slightly at that.

Roman dropped his eyes, just focusing on the bread that had been cut for him, even if it still had been a bit more cumbersome that what he was used to. “Four months, give or take.”

That nearly made Logan choke. Four months and no one had thought to step in to help before now? The thought was upsetting. The only one who had managed to actually make a difference was himself and that was because he wasn’t necessarily human.

Watching the downtrodden look sneak across the human’s features—he really needed to ask his name—it was obvious that this was not the topic to be chatting so lightly about, so he decided to change the subject. “The song you had begun in Gaelic, that was a lament about a lover, was it not?”

A more surprised look flickered over his face and the surprised brown eyes turned up to meet his own. “Yeah, it was. You’re the first person to figure that out. Do you speak Gaelic?”

“Rather brokenly, if you must know,” Logan admitted, “but I was able to pick up on a few words. I am left to assume then, that you have a significant other waiting for you?”

Roman nodded his head, a gentle grin crossed his features, as if he was lost in a memory. “Yeah,” he agreed again, “at least. I’m hoping so. I haven’t seen him in months. I can only hope he’s doing alright.”

Him, Logan filed that information away.

Roman knew that Virgil was fully capable of taking care of himself, but he didn’t want Virgil to worry himself sick over his absence—even if it was bound to happen anyways. Though, he ached to hold him again.

Hoping that all was well, was fair. Logan’s eyes flickered outside after a moment. It was possibly much later into the night than what would be healthy. He had stayed up far later than what was considered healthy, but sometimes it just needed to be that way if he were to finish some work.

Then again, it may not be perfectly safe letting the little human leave at this time of night.

Not if those thieves were scouring the forest in search of him, or if they were smart, packing and leaving. Not to mention the amount of nocturnal animals that would wander the forest looking for easy prey. The boy was weaponless, hell, he had been stripped of his shoes as it seemed, if he needed to defend himself, he’d need to be crafty with weapons.

“I’m sure you have got nothing to fret about,” Logan said instead. Emotions were far from something he understood, but a fondness that ran that deep meant something to the human.

They fell into silence again and Roman finished off the piece of bread he had been given, which had been more than filling and finished off the water he had been offered as well. Which meant that leaving was his next priority.

“I, um, I want to thank you for all of this, really,” Roman pushed himself into a stand, letting his eyes wander the counter top before turning his attention to Logan. “Without you, well, I’d still be a hostage. But I think that it’d be best if get on my way home.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you stayed.” Logan was quick to realize almost instantly after he saw the fear flicker on the human’s features that he had phrased that horribly wrong. “I meant the night, I didn’t—,” he cleared his throat a bit awkwardly, “that came out wrong. I was just speculating that if you stayed the night you would have a better chance of getting home in the daylight than you would in the pitch dark of the forest. Not to mention, you must be absolutely exhausted.”

After the explanation, Roman’s tense shoulders released and he relaxed slightly.

God, hadn’t that been quite the scare?

As bad as he wanted to get home, he knew that trying to while so emotionally and physically spent would only hurt more in the end. “I suppose one more night away from home wouldn’t hurt too much,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “if you’ll have me.”

Logan quirked a brow as if to say, once again, ‘I offered.’ The smirk on his face said more than words needed to. So, he pushed off of the counter again, only to pause for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night. “I am afraid I never got your name.”

It almost hadn’t occurred to Roman that they hadn’t swapped names, but there hadn’t really been the grounds for it. “Oh. It’s Roman.”

“While the circumstances could certainly have been better, it is a pleasure, Roman,” Logan acknowledged, as if it was more of an afterthought than a topic to dwell on. “Logan.”

While the moment was admittedly soft, it was almost getting stifling.

He then left the room altogether, leaving the human standing on the counter.

After a moment, Roman took a seat on the counter again, focusing down on his wrists, but with a smaller grin. A warmth bloomed in his chest as he let his eyes flutter closed, almost as if he could feel the heat of Virgil’s hands in his own.

After all of these months away, Roman was going home.

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