#wish i could give rafa a hint from the future on how and why he will cry his eyes out that next year. oh sweetie..

[rafasbiscuits]

2021 Fedal throwback

they really had no idea on what was about to happen "next year" huh...

[mrevaunit42]

Marco’s Corpse Bride (Starcoween, Corpse Bride AU)

Hello everyone! Mr.E here with the first of my starcoween stories (Starcoween was a holiday event i made up to write slightly darker stories during Halloween but i missed it this year and i still wanted to write some so here we are). Today’s story is the winner of the poll and inspired by @disney-n-stuff corpse bride au drawings. if you have not check them out, you should they are awesome!

So it’s the corpse bride. I mean it’s not a one to one. I cut off some parts, rewrote dialogue, added my own stuff and fit as much of Disney-n-stuff’s version of the story in here as I could. Also this is not the full version. I purposely left out the ending so you all could fill in how you want to this story to end and I won’t be giving this a proper end either. I mean I kinda hinted at an ending where jarco and starco both win but like i said, i wanted you to fill in your own ending. 

So that’s it aside for a very special thank you to my good friend @hains-mae who really did something amazing for this story. She made one epic cover page that is featured below (she’s taking commissions people *cough cough* just saying) that I am really grateful for. Thanks mae!

That’s it for me, I need to go work on the next nova chapter and Monster Hunter au part 1 which was the second highest voted from the straw poll (thank you so much for voting btw I really appreciate the help) have an awesome week and I hope you enjoy the story!

Notification squad: @artgirllullaby @ladyxgilex @hipster-rapunzel @thefandombytes @minthia-ren @isolated-frequencies @nerdymetalhead

Marco sighed tiredly, the muffled yet thick twangs of an out of tune piano floated sadly from beyond the door frame yet sleep eluded the young man.

He rose to a sitting position and folded the moth eaten blanket that his hosts so graciously gave him to sleep with. It was faded and worn with the odd hole here and there but Marco was grateful for it all the same. Once upon a time it must've been so elegant, so revered among its owners. Marco's family would've had saved many months to purchase such a treasure but down here it was as unnecessary as it was old.

The dead had no need for such things....

Marco stood, the guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders as he began to pace the room anxiously.

If you had told Marco that in one day's time (Oh lord it had only been a day hasn't it?) he would've been betrothed to his childhood crush without warning, foolishly wandered into the forest as a queasy and rather humiliating mess and subsequently asked the hand of a corpse bride in marriage accidentally only to be whisked away to the land of the dead.....well he would've called you a rather loony lot.

Yet that is exactly how the still living young man's day began and has currently ended.

Marco awoke the same as he did every other day: Cranky, sleepy and cold.

The Diaz's were a simple, humble middle class family. They lived within their means and the trio were content if not comfortable. Marco's father Mr. Diaz worked as the owner of a modest shop in the heart of town and while the larger, more well off family held an iron grip on the market, Rafael still made reasonable profits. Marco's mother Angie was a seamstress and thanks to a vast network of friends and friends of friends, she often patched and sewed for those who were not afraid to part with their money.  Marco himself had just turned 18 a few months ago and while his parents hadn't spoken of it, he was expected to seek his fortune and secure his future...by the way of marriage.

Marco felt ill at the idea of marriage. It wasn't that he didn't want to get married. The problem, rather, was he pinning for a specific woman to marry. A woman he had never even spoken to in his entire life: Miss Jackie Lynn Thomas.

Miss Thomas was the daughter of a local fisherman and a baker. She was a few months younger than Marco (Her birthday had been yesterday if he recalled correctly) though her family was marginally better off than Marco's (only by slim margin).

He known of her since childhood and while the two would occasional cross paths within the city and attended the same events, Marco could not bring himself to speak to the lovely Jackie. The few times he attempted such a thing either ended in an awkward, tense silence or him droning and babbling about nonsensical topics that ranged from the differences between a major and minor key to the rather disgusting digestive systems of livestock.

Needless to say Marco's chances with Miss Thomas were looking rather grim and while there were several other wonderful women in town, none carried the spark that lit his cheeks ablaze like she did.

Marco groggily made his way downstairs, the dreary weather of his beloved hometown the same as it had been 95% of the time: Cloudy, cold and bleak.

Marco sensed something was off when he found his parents speaking in tense, hushed voices as he approached the kitchen. When he entered the room, the conversation died at once and their gaze shifted from each other to squarely on him, their smiles well meaning but tight. Bad news it seems and bad news that would directly affect Marco.

“Morning” Marco muttered carefully, eying their uneaten food warily “Is something the matter? You both seem rather.....serious.”

“Mijo” Rafael began quietly “We have some news to share...with you.”

Marco nodded like he understood (he really didn't) “I see. And what news is that?”

“As you know mijo my shop has been getting a lot of new customers.”

“Mhm”

“And I thought” Rafael went on sheepishly “It might be wise...to...merge my business....with someone else's....”

Marco blinked in confusion, unsure where this conversation was heading. Initially he was under the impression someone in the family had died but this wildly veering off into  a rather surprising turn of events.

“I...see?” he was unable to keep the confusion out of his response.

Rafael fidgeted guiltily though his son was still unsure why. His father was expanding his business, that was good news....right? Then why were his parents acting like they were planning for his funeral?

“What your father is trying to say” Angie spoke up “is that he has found someone who is willing to cooperate and share resources...under...a certain condition.”

“What condition?” Marco asked slowly.

Marco stood before the altar, still awestruck and dazed from the sudden revelation that he was to marry his father's future business partner's daughter.

The church was drafty as always with its muted unassuming gray brick walls and pale brown pews.

Marco was dressed in his Sunday best: an old, elegant black suit once owned by his abuelo and handed down from Diaz to Diaz for special occasions. Marco himself added a pale, faded white collared shirt with a dark red vest and the most valuable of his possessions, a jet black ascot tie tucked perfectly within his outfit.  

His parents were more informal in their choice of attire but that was only because today was the rehearsal rather than the actual wedding.

Marco tried to keep his breath steady but his stomach churned unhappily. The ground swayed uneasily under his feet. The walls seemed to close in on him, the air stale and stuffy despite the frigid weather that always blanketed the town as the realization that he was to be married to someone he's never even met! HE WAS GOING TO MARRY SOMONE HE HAS NEVER EVEN LAID EYES UPON!

The old church door creaked as an icy breeze filled the halls for brief moment before slamming closed with a dull thud.

Marco could hear his parents gleefully greet the bride's family, content tones and friendly banter filling the once silent halls.

The unexpected groom tried to will his body to follow his parents example but his nerves were frayed and despite his best attempts, he simply remained frozen in fear as soft, timid footsteps approached him.

He could feel the presence of someone behind where  he stood, waiting and watching for his greeting though if it was his future wife or his future in laws the young man couldn't hazard a guess.

Marco gulped down as much air as he could. He breathed slowly, rigidly turning in an attempt to make up for previously rude behavior.

“I am very sorry” Marco apologized, pivoting on his heels with all the effort he could muster “It's a bit drafty you see and I....I...I....I....”

His heart skidded to halt, his cheeks burned with an intensity that matched the glow of the sun as his eyes laid upon the last person he ever expected to see and the one whom he longed for.

Miss Jackie Lynn Thomas stood there, hair wrapped up in a neat yet enchanting bun (her blue streak visible) and a gentle smile danced on her lips. She wore one of the simple dresses she preferred when attending to errands in the city (Evidently it seems Marco was the only one who did not receive the notice that casual wear was allowed for the rehearsal) but to Marco she was as breathtaking up close as she had been from afar.

“Good morning Mr. Diaz” Jackie gave a polite curtsey.

Marco chuckled dumbly in reply “Oh it's just Marco. Mr. Diaz is my father.”

Marco mentally flinched upon realizing the words that escaped his lips but his ears only grew red when he heard Jackie giggle in response.

“As you wish...Marco.” She answered playfully.

Marco rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his anxiety growing each passing moment “Did you know that owls are often considered an ill omen in many cultures?”

“I did not”

Marco gave another timid laugh “yeah...it's silly really. I mean they're just birds! They go hoot, you know? Hoot hoot!”

Marco died the moment he began flapping his arms. He wish he could slap himself but he was afraid to appear more crazed to his future spouse than he already was.

But Jackie nodded as if it was the most interesting thing she had heard all morning “How fascinating Marco.”

“R-really?”

Jackie gave him a soft smile while she nodded in agreement.

“I see everyone is present?” The dull, gravelly voice of the priest snapped everyone out of their respective conversations

“Si” Rafael quickly made his way to the young couple's side “ everyone is present.”

“Then shall we proceed?” The priest looked thoughtfully towards Marco and Jackie.

“Of course Father” Jackie said respectfully.

“proceed?” Marco questioned “Proceed with what?”

“The rehearsal” The priest replied “You do know the vows, correct?”

“I...umm vows?”

“Yes” The priest continued “The traditional vows that every groom speaks to their brides. The vows that bind you to each other as husband and wife. The vows that are spoken at every wedding. Those vows.”

“Riiiiight” Marco chuckled “Of course you meant those vows! I confused myself for a moment, believed you were speaking about some other...umm vows! But yes I do remember the vows. The vows I must speak as to marry Jackie...the vows I shall speak after I...I....I receive the ring! Oh no!” Marco's face fell into mock worry “Darn, I must've left the ring at home! Clumsy me and my forgetfulness. Drat, I suppose we'll have to postpone the rehearsal. Can't practice my vows without a....”

Marco sighed as his father produced a ring from within his vest pocket

“Thanks dad” Marco said with the most deadpan voice he could muster.

“Anything for you mijo.”

“Now” the priest loomed over the young man menacingly “The vows.”

“R-right...” Marco coughed timidly “The...vows....I.....Marco Ubaldo Diaz.....”

The old rotten trees of the forest swayed back and forth as a chilly breeze howled through, the crunching of the dried dead leaves filled the air as Marco angrily and embarrassingly stomped his way deeper into the woods.

“I didn't know the vows” he scolded himself, pulling at his neat hair in frustration “of course I didn't know the vows! How could I know the vows when I barely found out I was getting married 10 minutes before! And dad had a ring?! DAD HAD A RING!? How long had they known about this little arrangement?! Why couldn't they tell me ahead of time?”

Marco let loose his emotions into a powerful yell but hardly a sound was heard as his voice was swallowed whole by dense forest.

“Okay Diaz” Marco told himself, taking a deep breath to relax himself “You're getting married to the girl of your dreams and you are utterly confused by this strange turn of events. That's okay! That's...normal? But you will make the best of it! You messed up the rehearsal but not the wedding! That's...something.”

Jackie's smile flashed into his mind.

“Vows...” Marco whispered as he pulled the ring from his coat pocket “Vows....everyone knows them. They are spoken at every wedding....”

Marco closed his eyes, clutching the tiny band tightly in his grasp.

His mind began to fill with thoughts of the wedding, of those who would be attending: His parents and Jackie's would be there because they had to. Ferguson and Al, two of Marco's best friends, would no doubt show though he was certain the promise of free food would lure them, not the actual event itself. Janna may catch wind of Jackie's attempt to marry her favorite target though he suspected she would behave herself for the sake of her best friend. And Jackie.....Jackie would be there, looking as lovely as the day Marco first laid eyes on her.....she would be waiting by the altar, patiently for him....

the young man took a breath, his nerves calm and steely as the words poured of his mouth.

“With this hand, I will cut off your...” Marco flinched “no no, that's...that's so wrong. Umm with this.....candle? Was there a candle? I'm remembering a candle but I do not remember why I am remembering a candle. Why is there a...am I suppose to light her candle with mine? I am almost certain the ceremony involves a....OH! Yes, there is a candle. Umm with this...candle? Candle. Candle! I shall....light...light.....light...your mother ablaze? That's more than likely....”

Marco opened his eyes as a sigh escaped his lips. The trees towered over him, swaying back and forth under the gentle yet cold breeze while their shade basked him in darkness.

“With this hand” Marco gestured high into the air “I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty for I will be your wine.”

Marco strolled confidently over to the nearest tree trunk, bowing respectfully towards it “Mrs. Thomas, you look absolutely lovely this evening”

Marco nudged at another tree with a sly “What's that Mr. Thomas? Call you dad? Well I suppose if you are alright with it.”

“With this candle? Candle!” Marco repeated, tearing a branch off to use as a makeshift prop “I will light your way in darkness.”

“With this ring” Marco glanced at the simple, plain brand that lay in the palm of his hand “I ask you....to be mine.” and in one fluent movement, he slipped the token of his love onto a finger-like branch.

The wind moaned softly yet Marco made no motion to retrieve the accessory, uncertainty and fear swirling about his head: were the vows correct? They must've been because those were the only ones he could remember.

"Okay" he told himself with a nod " That was perfect and all I have to do is perform it the exact same way with Jackie.

Jackie....

Marco let out a terrified whimper

Marco groaned loudly, clutching at his hair tightly "What am I thinking?! I can't do this in front of Jackie!

Marco sighed disappointingly " She's...she's...and I'm....and I.....I talked about owls! OWLS! I hooted. Who does that?!”

Marco caught the dull gleam of the ring as it swayed teasingly in the breeze, the solitary  cawing of a crow echoed throughout the empty forest.  

“And give me back my ring tree branch!" Marco tugged at the ring but the branch refused to let go, its gripped tight and firm.

“I'm losing to a tree” Marco murmured sadly “I am losing to an inanimate object.....This can't get much worse....”

A chill ran down Marco's spine as, without warning, the branches curled around his wrist.

“Oh? The branches seem to be grabbing at me.” Marco laughed for a moment before the weight of his statement hit him full force “THE BRANCHES ARE GRABBING ME!?”

Marco pulled away but the branches held fast, its grip on the young man growing tighter and tighter with each moment.

“LET ME GO NATURE!” Marco shouted as he frantically tugged at his wrist “I DID NOT MARRY YOU! I WAS JUST PRACTICING annnnd I can't believe I am actually having this conversation....”

The trapped young man planted his feet firmly on the dusty forest floor and prepared to throw his weight backwards in an attempt to free himself when the branches snapped and freed their grip Marco who was thrown back full force.

Marco tumbled to the ground, his suit torn and ripped from the various roots and low branches that littered the forest floor.

“Well that was unexpected.” Marco muttered to himself, rubbing the tension out of his neck.

He rose to his feet, wiping the dirt and any leaves that managed to glue themselves onto his clothing. This was absolutely disastrous. There's no way he could....

Marco felt his blood chill as the earth before him cracked open and without warning, a thin, pale blue bruised arm reached upwards, its hand grasping wildly at the air.

“Oh dear....” Marco murmured, his stomach groaning unhappily as a skeleton arm reached out from the depths of the earth itself and planted itself firmly on the dirt covered ground “Yeah, I think it's time I call it a day.”

The terrified man broke into a fevered sprint, wincing in pain as he collided with the odd branch and tree trunk in his mad dash to freedom.

“the church” he comforted himself “the church is nearby! If I can make it, surely I'll be safe.”

Fear bit at his resolve as the trees seem to elongate before his eyes, towering over him in strange, unnatural angles.

North was West, East was West, South was North. Despite the countless times he had ventured safely into the forest alone, in this moment he had never been so lost and confused. the soft crunching of dry leaves could be barely heard over his heavy breathing as something closed the distance between itself and him.  

Marco flailed wildly in surprise as his foot caught a tree root and he suddenly tripped forward, tumbling and skidding across the ground. Everything ached but terror and adrenaline dulled the pain. He scampered to his feet, unsteadily swaying back and forth as he saw the old stone bridge stretched out before him and beyond the lonely church beckoning him in the distance.  

Marco hardly crossed the bridge when the soft patter of footsteps filled his ears and despite the fright that enthralled him, curiosity called to him. He paused and turned to gaze upon his purser.

He was unaware of the gasp that escaped his lips as he found himself staring at the figure of a woman no older than he....maybe.

Her long flowing blonde hair was done up in an elegant pun with blue butterfly clips and a wedding veil adorning her head. Her eyes were a pale sky blue that seemed to pierce past his mortal shell and into his very soul.  Her outfit of choice was a torn, ripped strapless sleeveless wedding dress with white roses that had seen far better days The skirt split open at the bottom and revealed she was wearing boot-like shoes with heels. At least that's what Marco thought they were. But what had made Marco stop, what made him gasp was not her choice of attire but rather her appearance.

She was deathly thin, her skin a pale blue as if air no longer flowed through her body. One arm was nothing more than bone and while the other still possessed what Marco assumed to be skin, her fingers were long and skeletal. The most curious aspect, however, were the pale pink hearts that covered either cheek upon her face. She was hauntingly beautiful and she was slowly approaching the trapped man.

Marco wish he could say he did something amazing. He wish he could tell some extraordinary tale of heroism and bravery in the face of danger, that he fended off the ghostly beauty, that he was safe in and sound in the church with nary a fearful thought in his mind.

He wish but he'd be lying....

The truth of the matter was as the unearthly specter cupped his face with her surprisingly soft, warm bony fingers, his ring glimmering in the darkness at him, he fainted. Just up and passed out.

The land of the dead was a rather strange place if Marco was going to be honest. For one, he was still alive in such a location and for something that people talked about with such anxiety and dread, it was a rather lovely location.

It was no different than the local pub within the city though it felt brighter, more joyful than any establishment Marco had been to (not that he would've gone to such places of ill repute of course.)

The varied dead from all walks of life and ages long passed laughed and sung. They drank (which was strange in itself) and they told stories of their former lives, not with a tone of regret and longing but with one of satisfaction and contentment.

Well they did before Marco ran a small Napoleonic character through with a sword and began waving the tiny impaled man as some sort of deterrent.

He was quickly caught up to speed by a rather charming, bowler hat wearing, one eyed, strange jawed skeleton named Bonejangles who sang a delightful yet slightly uneven tune in a style Marco had never heard of before. One that told the story of his undead bride.

Her name in life was Star Butterfly. She was peasant girl who did not have much but always gave what she could. She was set to marry Tom Lucitor, the adoptive son of a local merchant and while the two had not exactly gotten off to the warmest of starts, the two gradually fell in love and made plans for their wedding day. Until Tom's adoptive father Toffee had gotten wind of Star's less than noble background. Father and son argued and Tom had decided he was going to marry Star regardless of what his father wanted even if that meant leaving his fortune behind and running away with his bride.

Toffee did not take that well and his revenge was a cruel as it had been cold. He forged  a letter in Tom's name asking Star to meet him deep in the woods where they would elope and as Star waited, alone and unsuspecting, Toffee murdered her.

Her soul did not rest, however, and she waited for the day her greatest wish would come true: To become a bride.

She waited. She waited decades upon decades, through scorching sun and freezing night in her makeshift grave for someone to speak the vows she's always longed to hear.

Which was today it turns out when Marco foolishly recited them and placed his ring upon her finger.

How someone could mange to fit such a large and rather deep lore into a three minute song was pretty impressive and while he wasn't sure how one skeleton could use another as musical instrument, he had to admit that was a sight he would not soon forget.

So Marco's proposal was valid and he was now engaged to lovely corpse of a woman (a statement that really brought rather conflicting emotions to the young groom.) and while he wasn't completely sold, he had to admit Star had this energy that was intoxicating.

Despite her tragic back story, she was vibrant and cheerful. As she readjusted herself to the world of the living (or was it the living dead?) once more, she greeted old and new friends with an eager fever. She asked countless question about everyone was doing, what she had missed as she slept. Laughs, jokes, unnecessary battle cries and fighting stances. It was...nice. For someone so dead, Star breathed life.

And since things were going so well, naturally Marco had to mess it all up.  

It was a tiny lie. A tiny, harmless white lie that shouldn't have hurt anyone....except it had and the person he'd hurt was his new wife.

He hadn't actually expected Star to readily agree to his casual comment about visiting Jackie and letting her know about the new situation he found himself.  Of course she meant it as informing his friends and family about their future wedding while Marco saw it as a chance to find a way to escape the Land of the dead and figure out how to break his oath to the undead bride.

In retrospect, barging into Jackie's home, rambling in a panicked, stuttering mess was probably not the best idea especially given the current circumstances and once the weight of his choice began to dawning on him, his voice slowed, words ceased to flow out of his lips and the crippling shyness began to grip him tightly. What was once a fantastical story about how he married a tree branch and found himself being serenaded by a deep voice skeleton became a murmur about how it wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be before finally drifting into an awkward silence once he realized he was currently alone with his fiance.

She was as beautiful as ever but the reality began to creep up on the awestruck groom as he realized she was dressed in a wedding gown. A wedding gown she was supposed to use for their wedding.

It was traditional as most outfits but Jackie was absolutely angelic in it: A modest yet well kept wedding veil tied to her bun. The fabric that covered her neck and shoulders held simple ruffles, the sleeves were long enough to cover her bare arms but Marco could see her exposed fingers reaching out for him in concern. The bottom of the attire was bell shaped with layers upon layers of cloth cascading downwards like waves upon the ocean and like Marco, Jackie had decided to wear her most prized possession for their union:  a small belt hugged her waist composed of fine string and beads that held her beloved sea shell in the center of the dress.

“Marco?” she asked softly, approaching the shell shocked groom slowly “Marco, I don't understand....what are you talking about? You speak of the dead and corpses singing and marrying trees? And you seem pale....paler than usual.”

“Oh!” Marco snapped out of his stupor “No no no. I didn't marry a tree, I married a corpse that was buried in the ground whose fingers resembled tree branches. I-it's...ah....very, very easy thing to mistake...or....not believe....”

“I....I'm not sure I follow.”

Marco and Jackie jumped as, without warning, the door flew open and in walked Star, her pleasant, polite smile melting into shock and anger.

Looking back, Marco could only fathom how bad it had seemed at the time: Here he was, a groom Star had been waiting for all of her dead life for and he was talking to another woman dressed in a wedding attire.

And instead of trying to clear up the situation when Star revealed that she was in fact Marco's bride, he had dug his grave (so to speak). It turns out the dead are not fond of people reminding them they are no longer among the living or that there were other women that he was supposed to marry.

And for someone who hadn't been alive in such a long time, Star was rather strong. She effortlessly dragged him away from the home and as Marco called to Jackie one last time, a swarm of crows blinded his sight.

The following scolding was no doubt the worst moment in his life: Star was nearly in hysterics, alternating between anger and sorrow as it all came forth: his lies, his broken promises, his real intentions and if he truly cared for his corpse bride.

He said nothing. Courage had left him and in its void, shame filled its place. Guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders as he realized Star had feelings and he hurt her in ways far worse than her death had.

Star finally stopped and sent him away, too distraught to continue the conversation further and thus we are where we began: A human consumed by his guilt and his bride, pained by his actions.

Marco sat up in his bed. He hadn't meant for all this to turn out this way and hadn't the slightest idea how to fix it all. Star was far more fun and wonderful than he'd expected and his moment of deceit cost something he was unaware he valued.

The once lively, cheery tune of the untuned piano was now somber and melancholy and while Marco knew it was simply a song composed in a minor key, he couldn't help but feel sadness at each note held.  

Marco took a deep, calming breath. He needed to fix this. He wasn't acting out of malice but fear wasn't an excuse either.

He made his way out of the bedroom and peeked fearfully into the next room.

The Ball and Socket pub was empty save two occupants: Bonejangles, leaning lazily on his stool and Star, head laid against the aged wood of the piano, her skeletal fingers dancing across the ivory keys.

“Star?”

She made no indication she heard him as she continued to play the same note over and over again while she refused to meet his gaze.

“Look....” Marco began slowly “I....I know you're mad at me....”

“No kidding” She muttered sarcastically “I let my fiancee go invite people to our wedding and I find you with another woman.”

“Well...I mean...”

“SHE WAS WEARING A WEDDING DRESS MARCO!” Star glared “Why was she wearing a wedding dress?”

“Umm...” Marco awkwardly paused “Well....”

“Were you planning on marrying her? After you proposed to me?”

“...that's not quite....”

Star let out a defeated sigh “Look Marco, that hurt. A lot.”

“...I know....”

“I mean...” Star uneasily said “I get it. She's alive, she's cute, you obviously have history with her..”

“I do?” Marco rose a confused eyebrow “I mean I-I do! If you count staring creepily at her from afar...”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Star sat up though she still refused to look his way.

Marco inched his way closer under the watchful eye of Bonejangles and took a seat neat to Star.

The air was thick with an awkward silence that Star refused to break and Marco was unsure how to. This situation had wildly span out of his control and for once, the safe kid had no idea how to get out of it. Jackie still made his heart skip but...Star was slowly doing the same.....

Marco sighed, halfheartedly pressing a random key over and over when an idea formed in his mind.

Carefully keeping one eye one Star and the other on the keys, Marco slowly began to play an upbeat duet his parents would often perform at home. His fingers effortlessly ran up and down the upper register of the instrument, the upbeat song filling the air before Marco paused, glancing towards Star in hopes she continue the call and response aspect of the piece.

She did not.

Marco bit his lip nervously, deciding to go on with his next part of the musical piece. He'd never played this particular song before and was rather surprised how naturally it came to him: E to F, F to D with an E sharp chord coming up next measure. Each note rang with a longing twang as he poured his apologizes, his guilt, his heart into this song.

Star did not respond.

Marco felt dejected. His best effort was not enough and no matter how hard he tried, it seems he could never heal the pain he caused Star.

His masterfully playing devolved into playing the same lonesome note over and over as Star once had. He saw why she'd done it: It was oddly therapeutic in a way. An endless repetitive action that numbed the mind and the regret.

Marco blinked as his single note was joined by another and another. Note after note filled the air as Star's skeletal fingers played.

Marco smiled softly as their individual parts forming into a beautiful symphony. When she rose, he followed. When he played a chord, she filled it. And each note brought the two closer into their own world and before they knew it, what had been a few minutes had stretched into hours as Star's hand escaped her wrist and began running across the keys wildly.

“Whoops” she nervously chuckled while Marco caught the escaping appendage “Must've been a bit too enthusiastic.”

“That's okay” Marco muttered, his warm hand in hers as he reattached it to the wrist “I like your enthusiasm. It's fun”

The two shared a small grin

“It's late” Star stood up “I don't need to sleep but you are still alive so off to bed.”

“I don't know how to feel about getting curfews from my wife” Marco snickered as he made his way past.

Star could feel her cold dead heart thump loudly in her ears, a pale blue blush warming her cheeks as she realized what he had said but as she whirled around to speak, Marco had vanished beyond the door frame and a moment later, darkness plunged his room.

She stood, dumbfounded as shame began to pour into her undead body.

“So” croaked Bonejangles “getting cold feet?”

Star scoffed “All of me is cold Bones.”

“That's not what I mean princess.”

“I know...” she frowned thoughtfully “I...I've waited so long...and he's just so...” The pale blush worsen “But I'm stealing him from the living and he's already got fiancee waiting for him.....Can I really just....?”

Bonejangles leapt off the stool “You can't marry the living darling and he ain't dead. That's gotta change.”

Star remained silent.

“Besides” Bonejangles shrugged casually “Most marriage vows break when death does them part.”

Star was unsure what he was getting at “Bones, I don't understand....”

“Just saying” he waved her away “Who says he can't remarry when he gets down here?”

Star pursed her lips as the skeleton's song filled the air, her longing and guilt pulling at her resolve.

[3one3]

The Sequel - 841

Full Sail

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

Four sails propelled Lilly XO from Port Pierre Canto out into the Mediterranean around noon on Sunday. There were three big sails and one little one. Christina couldn’t remember the proper names, and didn’t ask her captain. It didn’t really matter to her. All that counted was the pleasing sound of the enormous white sheets first rippling and then catching the wind and going taught. She was pretty sure she once learned a technical term for that too. The boat’s masts were impressive even without the sails, so with them up they really were quite imposing. Those sails cast a great shadow. It was like having high-rise buildings built right on the main deck. The biggest was taller than the boat was long. She and Juan enjoyed her $26 million bequest from her father right at the bow, in the small area in front of the biggest sail, in the beautiful Côte d’Azur sun. Her hull tipped one way and they leaned the other. The metal railings helped add some stability, but Christina felt safe in that otherwise precarious spot while they sped through the water because Juan held onto her waist. His arm was mostly just a passive guest around her middle, in reality. In her head, his arm around her was nearly always the mental equivalent of a life vest.

“I can’t believe we can go so fast and have it be this smooth,” Juan remarked as Lilly XO picked up speed. They’d been standing up there at the pointy nose for a while, and the spray was just getting serious enough to sting a bit.

“If we go any faster and any more sideways, we’re gonna be stuck up here until we get where we’re going,” his more wary friend replied. They could stand upright. It would be difficult to walk back to the cabin if the deck pitched any more dramatically.

“How’s your stomach?” he asked her, smiling over her head. He knew her history of small-boat seasickness.

“It’s okay for now. Don’t let go of me though.”

The player promised not to let her go, but he deliberately abandoned her just as Lilly XO leaned over at a most extreme angle- so seriously that they absolutely had to hold onto the railing to keep from losing their footing. Christina was furious, and terrified. There was no good reason, really, since she was a perfectly capable swimmer and the worst thing that could happen was ending up in the water. It was just one of those irrational fears that really got to her. She was full of panic and anxiety until he realized his game wasn’t amusing and held onto her tightly until their progress slowed and the deck leveled out. That was enough “King of The World spot” for her. The rider scurried back to the safety of the fly bridge, and asked if they were going to be “all sideways” again. Captain Theo promised an uneventful and more upright cruise the rest of the way to the spot he picked for them to enjoy their afternoon and evening, off Pointe du Batéguier on the north side of Île Sainte-Marguerite. They made it there without her having to throw up. One of the dogs got sick downstairs though, probably before the promise was made. They joined their mom in relieved happiness when the anchors were tossed into the greenish blue water and the other two men in the crew methodically secured the downed sails. She sat with them for a few minutes to make sure they were both okay and that they knew they weren’t alone on the scary carnival ride, and then they accompanied her and her friend to the swim deck.

“Okay, you guys stay here. Don’t jump in. I won’t go far, so don’t-“ Hey! Christina felt allover cold when she unexpectedly hit the water. Juan shoved her in the shoulder and sent her flying. Spencer jumped in after her, so before she could complain she had to rescue the tricolor terrier and put him back on the deck. Both dogs were okay swimmers. They got in the pool at home. Their legs got tired quickly though, and it was much easier for them to tread water in the pool. One of the guys was supposed to be finding their floating kiddie pool as well as some snorkeling gear for the humans.

“That wasn’t very nice,” the grand prix winner turned professional vacationer admonished once her footballer companion slid gently off the deck into the water. “Why are you determined to scare me to death today?” And why do you look so amazing without a shirt all of a sudden, she added. And why didn’t you take it off sooner? We’ve had days of lying in the sun and he’s had a shirt on almost the whole time, or at least all the time he was standing up. Even when we’re having sex, shirt on. When did he get so...lean?

“You make it easy,” Juan shot back. They both held onto the deck. Only one of them had wet hair and salt water in her mouth. “Water feels good.”

“It doesn’t taste very good.”

“I wish I brought my sunglasses down.”

“I’m glad I didn’t or they’d belong to some fish right now.”

“I think they probably float.”

“Do you want yours? The Fonz can get them for you.” Christina nodded at the young Italian, Alfonso, who was coming down the stairs with their swim accessories. He understood English perfectly well and never said anything but “yes” and “very good”. He was the newest member of the current crew, apparently.

“No.”

“Can you give me a boost?”

“You’re getting out already?”

“Just to get them in their pool.”

Juan lifted the rider by her waist and got her about halfway to getting her butt on the wet, wooden deck. She had to do the rest herself, and accidentally kicked him in the face in the process. That evoked hysterical laughter, and comments about karma and payback. The partially-submerge-able kiddie pool was readied for Spencer and Lucky and she set them inside with two tennis balls once it was securely tied to the ladder into the water, which Christina used to get back into the water more gracefully than her first entrance. The Chelsea man with the surprisingly lean and chiseled torso was already swimming around with his snorkel.

Life is good. I’m going to take this moment and reflect on that, because he and the other one constantly accuse me of skipping over the good in the now to worry about the unknown in the future, and I don’t want them to be right, Christina decided. Dirk was brilliant last night but not in an above average way, which is great because it means his baseline is back where it belongs- significantly higher than everybody else’s. It felt good to go out and experience that with him. We’re in a beautiful part of the world. Juanin has been so fun, and so easy, and yeah we’ve had a lot of completely pointless conversations but we’ve had a lot of interesting ones too- that I don’t get to have with other people. I can tell how much he loves being here with me. I can tell how much he loves being with me when I’m showing.

Also, I think I’m ready to be grateful to Dad for this boat. He was totally stupid to do what he did, but it’s possible he had some wisdom here. It’s possible he knew it would one day be the place I can go to get my head on straight, and to get to a place where I feel good. I think that’s what his boat always was for him. Maybe that’s why things were never good with him and Mom once it was gone. I don’t know. And I don’t feel bad that I can finally have a “life is good” moment when Schü and Lukas aren’t here. I probably should. It’s probably a bad sign that I have to be away from my husband and son to get to that. But I feel like I’ll still think life is good when they’re here too. They aren’t suffering somewhere else because I’m here with Juanin. We’re all doing something good for us, and enjoying it. I think he’s good for me and I enjoy him. How can that be bad for my marriage? Isn’t anything that makes me this happy- this relaxed, and settled, and not worried about what’s coming- a good thing for me and the people who love me?

I mean, I mentioned the Olympics selection last night without even having a hint of a panic attack. That’s real progress. I hope boyfriend is waking up today thinking about how good life is too- that he had a fun trip with his friends and he’s looking forward to the last day there and coming to see me and the Munchkin. I hope the Munchkin is covered in Uncle Rafa’s spaghetti sauce right now and not even thinking about whether his parents still exist since he hasn’t seen them in days. I hope that one over there with the farmer tan and the nice dolphin kick is thinking life is great today as well, and isn’t too down about our little part of the summer drawing to a close. I’m pretty sure the horses are all enjoying life, and Tom probably had a great week at home, and Isa I know is thrilled to be back with us. That’s pretty much everyone I care about. I can’t worry about anything else. That’s my circle.

“You know it’s not actually swimming if you’re just sitting on the ladder,” the current center of her circle pointed out while she was off in reflection but very much on the stairs, with her elbows at least.

“I don’t need to literally swim to enjoy being in the water.” Christina rolled her eyes and let go of the ladder to swim lazily to where Juan was treading water, a few meters away. She swam around him so that she could hold onto his back and neck as if to get a piggyback ride. “All my ouchy spots stop hurting when they’re underwater.”

“Good. Five days with you and I see now that you have more chronic pains than I’ve ever had. You should have a real break some time,” the Spaniard recommended, increasing his energy output to compensate for the extra weight on his back. “A whole month or something, just giving your body a chance to rest.”

“Yeeeeah I think we know I can’t do that, for a multitude of reasons.” And let’s not even get into them. “I have this week off from riding at least, and there isn’t enough gym equipment onboard to do that much. Hey, speaking of gym equipment, when did you get so skinny?”

“A while ago,” he laughed as he slowly headed for the swim deck.

“Did you change something? Are you eating differently, or working out more?”

“A little of both things. I had to change with the way we played this year. I feel better than I ever have though, so I’m happy I had to do something different,” he explained. His passenger made her mouth into a suction cup on his cheek for no particular reason other than it was close by. “You should do the same. You’re so heavy.”

“I am not. I just did a fucking bikini shoot.”

“They can Photoshop.”

“Pfft. I am very hot right now. I know because when I get tan it makes all my muscles more noticeable, and because I’ve gained three pounds since I moved to Germany. I was getting kinda skinny, as you know.” Christina let go of his neck and tugged the puppy pool closer to the ladder so that she could sit on one of the steps and reach over the side to play with Spencer and Lucky, who were trying to climb out. Juan used one of the shiny metal railings to hoist himself up onto the deck. He still had the snorkel and goggles on his head and the sight of him made her laugh inside. It also made her swoon. “You should leave your shirt off when it’s time to lay in the sun soon.”

“You should take your bathing suit off when it’s time to lay in the sun.”

“I will if youuuuu do,” the rider smiled. “I think these guys are down for sunbathing in the nude too. What do you think, Spence?” The more colorful of the terriers got help in his bid for freedom. Christina lifted him out of the little floating pool, which was really meant for Lukas, and gave him a smooch on the head. He licked at her chin. “I’ll take that as a yes. Who wants to get started on the whole laying in the sun thing? Yeah me too.” She nodded emphatically at the curious pup, who knew he was being asked a question but not what it was or how to answer it, and then put him down on the deck behind her so she could get his brother out too. The Spaniard wasn’t ready to leave the water yet.

She left him there and took her little friends up to the main deck for towels, then to the tiny bathroom in the tiny hall between the outside sitting area and the inside one, to get in the shower with her to rinse off the Mediterranean. Lucky in particular loved being invited into a shower. He hated baths, but showers were great. Sometimes when they stayed in hotel rooms he waited outside the shower for Christina, perhaps hoping to be let in. André told her it wasn’t that he liked the rainfall feeling but that he didn’t want to be away from her in places like hotels- away from home. Spencer liked showers slightly less. What he loved was the towel-dry treatment after any exercise in wetness. His mom rigorously rubbed all over his coat and gently on his legs and feet, and his eyes closed in sleepy relaxation even as he stood on her thigh outside. They were both unhappy with her when she told them to wait there while she went downstairs to get a tote with her sunscreen, two books, her phone, and Juan’s reading glasses, to bring to the lounge chairs just set out for her with more towels, some cold water to drink, and a bowl of tropical fruit kabobs to snack on. The Toy Fox Terriers got the last of their pig ear chews to enjoy in the sun. Espen was bringing fresh supplies on Monday.

Getting settled for sunning was much more complicated for Christina than for Spencer and Lucky. She needed to reapply her SPF, and apply it for the first time to the bits that were previously covered by her various bathing suits since she was sunning without. She needed the perfect fold job to make a towel into the ideal pillow. She needed to debate the use of sunglasses and try reading with and without them multiple times before committing to a strategy. She needed to forget and then remember to put sunscreen on the soles of her feet. And then about 90 seconds after getting comfortable with her crime novel about a Swedish detective and the unsolved rape and murder of a 9-year-old girl, the rider on her first real day of holiday fell asleep. That was probably a sign that she really needed the rest, and that might have been why Juan let her sleep, though he did fit himself onto her lounger instead of taking up the one the dogs abandoned in favor of the couch in the shade. They were the ones who woke her. A large sea bird landed on the railing near the flag at the back of the boat. They had to rush back to bark at it.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” Christina yawned. The art of yawn-complaining was well represented in her portfolio.

“You should probably turn over so you don’t end up uneven,” the player suggested to her as she felt around in front of her for the book he’d already relocated.

“Are you wearing a shirt? I don’t want to open my eyes.” She switched to feeling around for him instead, and did roll over when she found him. She put her arm on his chest and rubbed by his collarbones. He feels so hot, she thought idly. Like temperature-wise. He’s baking. I hope he put the whole bottle of SPF30 on. “How long was I asleep?”

“Twelve hours.”

“Don’t even joke about that. If I slept for 12 hours then that means you’re leaving soon, and I’m not ready.” The very naked girl opened her eyes one at a time not to make sure it was still sunny out and not the middle of the night, but because she wanted to see the face she was already close to missing. Don’t get sad yet, she urged herself, almost pityingly. You were doing so good about being here instead of worrying about there. He’s so...sweet looking. Sigh. Squinty blues peered back at her on the nearly flat chaise. It was the comfort behind them, and in the rest of his red-tinged face, that read as sweet. It was vulnerability. Christina wondered, just a little, if he was still shy without a shirt around her. He was a shirt on guy, all the time. André was to some degree too, but he preferred to keep his clothes on because he was always cold, and had no insecurity about stripping off in the sun, or in bed. Juan appeared to her without a shield of sorts, not just without a shirt. It was endearing, and revealing. It was a unique kind of intimacy between them, she assumed, that allowed him to let her fully “in”, in all the different ways that manifest. Even at the beach in Spain, he kept a towel on his shoulders when he was without a shirt and not actively submerged in water.

“Do you want to go out tonight?” The Spaniard didn’t move, but she could feel his scrutiny intensify, like he was looking at her for an answer to more than the question asked.

“What are you thinking about right now?” she questioned, curious, and wanting to be real.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her without inflection. He wasn’t going to be as real.

“Thank you.” She was going to give him a pass.

“Dinner and drinks out tonight? Or dinner and drinks at the table behind us?”

“I dunno. Which would you rather do? I don’t mind either way.” Christina shrugged and slid her hand lower down to draw a path around his chest. “We haven’t even had lunch yet.”

“I would like to go out, maybe some place special,” Juan winked without a smile. Why so serious, his ex asked in her head. Is it just because he’s squinting from the sun? He’s so...intense. I’m just gonna ask. It’s Juanin.

“What’s up, babe?” She wriggled even closer and propped herself up on her elbow so that she could see better, and so that he wouldn’t have to keep his head turned all the way to the right just to see her at all. “Something is different.”

“Nothing is up.” He shook his head and pushed his lower lip in, as if to imply she was asking a baseless question. His simultaneous scratching at his cheek and then messing with his hair made her skeptical, and her instincts said she shouldn’t believe him anyway. There was something amiss.

“Are you sure? You look...preoccupied.”

“I’m sure, cariña.” The player offered a smile, and stopped his nervous or distracted habits in favor of covering her hand on his chest with his, and giving it a gentle squeeze/pat combo deal.

“Okay, but just know that I totally don’t believe you,” she warned.

“That’s your problem, not mine! What are we having for lunch, since you mentioned it.”

“Tacos and margaritas. Let’s get drunk.” Christina leaned over to peck his shoulder, and offered a big grin of her own. She wasn’t going to accept that something wasn’t going on in his head that he was keeping from her, but she was willing to accept responsibility for stopping whatever it was. It had to be an “icky” thing, because it was making him much too intense for an early Sunday afternoon on a lounge chair. Also, she wanted to hang out with “lazy-drunk Juanin” and his particular sense of humor and sharpness of wit. He was one of her favorite friends. They could be relaxed and slothlike together while also cracking nonstop jokes and sharing sloppy, pointless kisses. Sometimes being lazy-drunk could lead to exclusive admissions of conscience too. It could lead to learning new or interesting information about one another’s thoughts. Margaritas could loosen lips that way. The drawn out intake could ensure that they never got tipsy enough for Drunk Drama. “Are you hungry? Should I tell Georgina we want to eat soon?”

“Yes. Eat soon; drink now?”

“Okay.” The rider got on hands and knees to administer a cheek kiss, and then put a towel on to go find the chief stewardess. It dawned on her on the way inside that while she wanted to cover up before talking to members of her crew, there were no boats anchored close enough for anyone aboard to see her walk around naked, or to see her do anything else for that matter. She remembered that that was almost the whole point of leaving Cannes for the day, and for Juan staying the extra night. She wanted the freedom to behave with him however she wanted without fear of being “caught”. Therefore, after letting Georgina know they were starting to think about lunch and very much craving margaritas, she dropped her towel on the deck near her lounger and installed herself directly on top of the midfielder occupying it.

“Hi,” he greeted her, his expression that of someone trying to figure out exactly what she was up to. She straddled his waist and leaned on her hands on either side of his head, giving him a face full of breasts.

“Hi. I’m here for the carefree naked caressing.”

“I’m going to get a funny tan. I’ll have an outline of a girl on my stomach.” His confusion was very temporary. One of his hands formed to her waist and the other landed gently on her white butt.

“I’m not that narrow,” Christina laughed. “I’m more like an umbrella just blocking out all the sun. Hey. Question. Are there any things that your parents tried to get you to use when you were a kid that you were like “pfft, never, I’m good” but now you use all the time?”

“Like what?”

“I refused to wear winter hats until I was like 20, and I never used umbrellas, and I hated sunglasses. Now I love hats and sunglasses and I’m pretty cool with umbrellas.”

“No. I-“ Whatever Juan was going to say was interrupted by Georgina, loudly announcing the margaritas. Well that’s embarrassing, her employer sniggered inside, meaning for her and not herself. The Englishwoman looked incredibly uncomfortable having to deliver the two tequila cocktails to the little table next to the naked woman squatting on her not-husband. She sat up straight while she waited for the short glasses to be moved from the tray to the table, and Juan released her butt to squeeze her thighs instead. If I were sitting on Schü, he would pick this moment to sit up and suck on a boob, just to make it MORE awkward, and because he’s an exhibitionist.

“Thanks.”

“Enjoy. The drinks.”

Georgina practically ran back inside. Christina reached for a margarita and her sailing companion spanked her hard enough to spill it all over her hand.

“Now I’m going to be all sticky,” she complained, allowing her hand to drip on his stomach.

“Gimme.” Juan gestured for her hand and she thought he might wipe it with the end of the towel under the back of his head. He actually just licked all the tequila, Cointreau, and lime juice from her fingers, no extra salt necessary. “That tastes good, cariña,” he nodded. “You should try spilling the whole thing on yourself and licking it off. Particularly in this area.” He made a circular gesture in front of her chest and then reached for his own beverage. The lime wheel stuck on the rim was his first focus. He pulled it apart and sucked on it for a second, and then dropped it into the glass before taking a sip from the non-salted section.

“Yeah. No. You make a good coaster though.” The expat took a tentative, testing sip of her drink and then set it back down on the Londoner.

“You’re a sexy umbrella.”

“I don’t think I’m blocking much sun right now.”

“You’re blocking it from my eyes and that’s good enough.” Juan reached to squeeze and release her left breast, and poked her belly button. Whatever was on his mind before was definitely gone, she decided. His happy holiday glow was back on his features where it belonged.

“Where do you want to go tonight?” She took another sip and returned the drink to his defined stomach again, but Juan slid the sweating glass, still in her hand, down his abs and to where she was sitting on him. He pushed the icy cold object against her pubic bone and then smirked at her when she shuddered in surprise.

“Give it a second; it’ll feel nice,” he assured calmly.

“How would you know? You don’t have a vagina to put ice on. I refuse to believe you ever enjoy ice anywhere near your gentleman’s area.”

“Does it not feel nice?”

“Kinda,” she conceded. What she felt after the initial shock of the cold was a sort of awareness there, between her legs. There was a serious contrast going on. She was sitting on a very hot body, baking in direct sunlight, and the most sensitive part of her exterior was wet and very cold and had something hard pushed against it. Juan had some more of his margarita and then held his own glass on top of his stomach in front of her. “So where do you want to go? What did you have in mind?” his friend prodded. She thought going out for dinner might have had something to do with whatever was definitely troubling him moments earlier. Her fingers wiped some of the condensation down his glass and spread it around aimlessly where the hair was growing back on his chest. It was very difficult for her to let go of the compulsion to know and understand his thoughts, despite her best effort to ignore it and focus on the “good”.

“Some place where flip-flops aren’t allowed.” The player’s eyes grew wide and comical, and “eepsy”.

“You don’t even wear flip-flops.”

“Sí, but you do, everywhere.”

“My feet are nudists.”

“You have stilettos that cover less of your feet than your flip-flops.”

“Which part of “you should take a month off because of your chronic leg pain” did you not really mean before?”

“All of it.”

“Can I lay on you or is it too hot?” Christina lifted her drink to her lips and some of the condensation immediately dripped down her arm. It wasn’t unbearably hot. There was a lovely breeze. Sitting on skin and against skin was just helping the ice in her margarita melt faster. Her coaster told her she could lay on him if she got up first and lifted up the back of the lounger a little so that he wasn’t so flat. Her desired location was actually mostly next to him, but she leaned over his shoulder and rested her cheek on him, and folded one of her legs over his thigh. The Spaniard put an arm around her and used it to absently rub and squeeze her butt. His flat stomach remained the coaster for their emptying drinks. Juan had been trying to teach her, for days, how to just do nothing. She was really quite terrible about being idle. He told her she didn’t have to read a book or magazine, or play cards, or browse social media on her phone, or have a strategic planning session in her head about what to do later, or what to do next week, or next month. His hope was for her to be able to do nothing without even talking, but that was asking a lot. His best results came when he chatted with her about inconsequential or nonsense things, like what kind of fish she’d like to be and what he would take with him on a sailing trip around the world. The player managed to keep his theoretical girlfriend in theoretical “do nothing” mode long enough to drink another round of margaritas, go for another cooling dip in the sea, and sit down for lunch. Then it all went to hell because André called to share the fact that he got a text from Thomas Tuchel. It was a goodbye text. The club was going to confirm the termination of his tenure as BVB manager in the morning.