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spartanguard · 11 months

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sons of love and death (4/13) {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon]

A/N: It's Wednesday, my dudes—so that means another update of my @cssns story! Hopefully this one answers some questions (but not TOO many, haha). (Forever thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl!)

rated M | 5.6k words | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3

Dawn hadn’t yet crested the horizon, but Killian was already up, wandering through the streets of Storybrooke. Sleep had come surprisingly easily, but he always rose before the sun. Usually, he’d curl around Emma and drift back off, but as soon as he recalled the previous day’s events, there was no chance of his mind shutting down.

After dressing in the dim light—the first tshirt and dark, skinny jeans he could grab—he had tossed on his jacket and made for the only 24-hour convenience store in town. Now, he had a bag hanging off his hook with a few snacks in it, and a holder for two steaming cups of coffee in his hand. Once he arrived at the sheriffs’ station, he performed a balancing act to get the coffee on his left arm so he could fish his key out of his jacket pocket. The magic of Emma’s spell washed over him as he slipped through the entryway; he just hoped the person it was meant to hold in had also remained.

The snoring that greeted him in the bullpen confirmed that Dorian hadn’t left; the man was somehow sprawled across the narrow cot, mouth agape, completely passed out. He finally understood Emma’s complaints about his own snoring, infrequent as they were (and she had little room to talk).

He did take a moment to study the man, though. If Gold’s test hadn’t confirmed their relationship, the name would have; his paternal grandfather was named Dorian.

They styled their hair similarly, both that on their head and their chin—just parted it differently. Obviously they had a similar manner of speech, which was even more surprising considering they grew up in entirely different environments. (There was that nature versus nurture discussion again.) But he’d need to know more of his twin��s history to do a proper assessment.

The man must have sensed he was being watched, or smelled the coffee, but he began to shift and stretch, and then familiar blue was staring back at him. “Wondered when you’d show up,” Dorian drawled, voice raspy with sleep. “I’m sure you want to give me a full inquisition, eh?”

“Something like that,” Killian concurred, then grabbed a cup from where he’d set them on David’s desk. “Coffee?”

“Please,” the man sighed. “I’m so hungover.”

Killian knew that feeling all too well, and passed the cup through the bars to their grateful prisoner, as well as the bag of food.

“Oh, bless you, brother,” Dorian effused, though there was something sarcastic about the way he said ‘brother.’ He skimmed the selection before pulling out a packaged banana nut muffin. “My favorite; how did you know?”

Killian declined to answer that they were his favorite as well (but Granny’s were far superior to anything mass produced). He just leaned against the desk and sipped on his own coffee while Dorian devoured the muffin, as well as a package of Pop-Tarts.

He drowned it all with his coffee in one gulp, not reacting to its heat at all, then dug through his jacket for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. “Ah-ah,” Killian warned. “No smoking in the station.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Dorian grumbled. “A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure.” He tossed the pack on the cot, and it was then Killian noticed the butts scattered across the cell floor and the smell lingering in the room. He’d have to grab the air freshener before anyone else got here. Dorian must have noticed the direction Killian’s gaze went, as he commented. “Could have gotten rid of them myself if you’d take this off,” raising and wriggling his wrist for emphasis.

“We’ll deal with it later.”

“You don’t trust your own brother?” he teased.

“I don’t,” Killian answered simply. “We may share a face, but I know nothing about you. You’re not the one I grew up with.”

He tilted his head. “We had another brother?”

Killian took a seat on the edge of the desk. “Aye; two, technically, but I was raised with my older brother. Liam.”

Dorian nodded. “What was that like—having a sibling?”

Part of Killian didn’t want to answer that—to relay something so personal to a relative stranger (and a malicious one at that). But, for the first time, there was something genuine about the query; this was a man who was also used to solitude, possibly for longer even than Killian.

He mused on the query, then; he knew what it felt like, but had never put it into words. “It was…he was my first friend, and by far my closest; we shared everything for a long time, whether we wanted to or not, but even when we fought, we still knew we loved each other. I always knew he was there for me, no matter the situation—until he died, of course.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t due to old age?”

“A fate that seems to evade the Jones men.”

“Oh, is that my birth name?” he asked, brows raised. “Huh. Dorian Jones.”

“The Second, I’d wager,” Killian added. “Dorian was my father’s father’s name.”

“How auspicious,” he deadpanned. “Didn’t stop them from giving me up, though.”

“You didn’t seem so bitter about it yesterday.”

“I didn’t know they kept one,” he snarled. “Should I be jealous or grateful?”

Killian snorted. “Definitely the latter. Mum died when I was about 5; Papa abandoned us a few years later. Traded us to the service of a ship for nought more than a dinghy.”

Dorian gave a low whistle at that. “What an ass; I hope he died a painful death.”

“Oh, he did. Saw to that myself.”

“Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older, they judge them,” he mused. “That’s precisely what I would have done. Guess we are a bit alike, then.”

Killian’s mood darkened at that. “The hell we are,” he spat.

“Oh, please—you can’t assume I was never aware of the fearsome Captain Hook?” he countered, nodding towards the namesake appendage. “I’ve heard plenty of your exploits over the years; just because you’re parading around with the heroes doesn’t mean you don’t have a dark side, too. Unless J. M. Barrie got it right, and you really are a codfish.”

He rolled his eyes; it wasn’t the first time he’d heard that, and probably not the last, but it was annoying nonetheless, so he ignored it. “I did. But I’ve made every effort to come back from that. Because, if I’m reading you right, your motivation is power, correct?”

Dorian smirked. “Yes indeed; ever since I was a lad in the Dark One’s castle. And I make no effort to hide that.”

“That’s the difference between us,” Killian went on, pointing at Dorian for emphasis. “My actions may have been foul, but my motivation was always love—either the pursuit of or vengeance for. Tell me, brother—” he didn’t like how it sat on his tongue in the context, like a slur rather than a term of endearment—“have you ever known love? Real, true love?”

“Of course I have,” Dorian answered darkly.

Killian was taken aback at that; he’d gotten the impression that someone this self-centered wasn’t capable of loving anyone else. “What happened to them?” he asked quietly.

“Her name was Sybil,” Dorian said. “She was an actress—a wonderful one. I fell hard and fast, as did she.” He chuckled to himself. “She always called me her Prince Charming.” Killian made a mental note to never address David by his nickname in Dorian’s presence. “I actually was going to settle down with her; I came very close. But then I was reminded who I was and what I was after, and I had to make a choice: her, or continuing to pursue the Darkness.”

“Pretty obvious what you chose.”

“Yes, and in dramatic fashion. I knew the power I naturally possessed wasn’t going to be enough to keep me around as long as it might take to defeat the Dark One. And thankfully, I’d befriended just the right kind of artist-slash-magician, and ended up with the cursed painting you may have heard of.”

“When you say cursed…”

“It grows old, I stay young. But it came at a dire price.”

“Which was?” he asked, but he had an awful feeling he knew what it was.

“The thing I loved most: Sybil. Crushed her heart right into the wet paint.”

Killian just shook his head. “You’re a bastard.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. But I’m a bastard who’s going to finally get what he wants.”

Killian let out a hollow chuckle. “How many times do we have to tell you? The Dark One is no more; the powers are gone. Find something else to focus your life on.”

“Except it’s not!” Dorian shouted, jumping to his feet. “I can feel it still. You think I can’t tell where it is? I grew up in the Dark Castle, was raised by it, taught by it. I can feel that magic in my bones—and yours.”

“What?” That took Killian aback.

“I don’t know how, but you’ve got Dark One magic in you. You must be hiding it somehow to protect yourself. You fucking liar,” he hissed.

“I was the Dark One at one point—past tense,” Killian threw back, putting as much emphasis as possible on that last bit—if only to remind himself as much as tell Dorian, because still being under the influence of that magic was a recurring nightmare. “But that man is long gone, for a few years now. He sacrificed himself, and that power, for love. I died once to put an end to it, and I’d rather die again a thousand times than hurt the woman I love.”

“Is that why you’re still living, then? Why I can still feel it?” Dorian argued. “It’s like—it’s in your aura, somehow, or your heart—I can’t tell, but I know it’s there.”

Killian clenched his fist. “I think you’re going mad, mate.”

“Oh? Then what’s that,” he countered, nodding down. Killian followed his gesture and looked at his hand; it almost seemed to be glowing again. He opened it and those same sparks and blue light from last night were emanating from his palm. “That’s magic, mate,” Dorian said, using a mocking tone on the last word.

“Impossible,” Killian replied, but it wasn’t as confident as he would like.

“Unless you’re still lying, you know what it feels like. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He wasn’t—but Killian wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. He was starting to feel it pulsing in his veins like the Darkness had, but it was different—lighter. And he had no idea how it got there.

Was Dorian right—was this a side effect of his past? Or something else? “I’ve—I’ve gotta go,” Killian stammered, quickly downing the rest of his coffee (like Dorian had) and tossing the empty cup in David’s trash can.

“Aye, you might want to get that looked at, brother.”

Killian just glared, then turned on his heel and left. But he didn’t miss the sound of Dorian’s dark chuckle as he exited the station.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

After an hour or so of aimless pacing and wandering, Killian found himself in front of the only place he could think of: Gold’s shop.

Inside, Rumpelstiltskin and Regina were in the process of cleaning up Dorian’s mess, despite both wearing their typical pantsuits and not being dressed for dirty work; the door still hung open though, so neither noticed his approach until he accidentally stepped on a piece of broken glass.

“Captain,” Gold greeted. “It is you, correct?”

“Aye, Crocodile; it’s me,” he confirmed, annoyed.

“Can’t blame me for being cautious. What brings you in today? Pardon the mess; I’m afraid we’re still doing some clean up after your long-lost sibling’s tantrum.”

“Wait—step aside,” Regina directed before Killian could say anything, but he complied. Then with a wave of her hand, the glass shards he’d stepped on floated up into the air along with many others, reformed, and went back to their rightful place outside one of the display cases. “Much easier than sweeping,” she commented.

“Yes, but I didn’t come to help with housework,” Killian replied. “Though I am glad you’re both here. I was just speaking with our visitor, and he mentioned something that I wanted to confirm with you—something regarding magic.”

“Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place,” Gold answered with a still-reptilian smirk.

“Though I’m a bit surprised you’d come to us; if I recall correctly, you tend not to be a fan of that, aside from Emma’s.” Regina crossed her arms and leveled a curious stare at him.

He swallowed; he didn’t even want to put it into words, but he knew he had to. “Is there anything left of the Darkness…here? In me?” he asked, placing his fist over his heart.

Regina rolled her eyes. “I think you should talk to Archie, not us.”

“No, no—he’s right to ask,” Gold countered, cutting Regina off with a wave. “And of course there is,” he went on matter-of-factly, setting his hand back on his cane almost smugly. That wasn’t what Killian wanted to hear. “Though we’re among the few people to lose the curse without losing our lives, it’s not something you can live through without it leaving a mark on you.”

“What kind of mark?” His voice was gravelly and he was squeezing his still-sparking fist so hard, his knuckles felt like they might split.

“It’s hard to describe. It’s not quite physical, but perhaps…metaphysical?” Rumpelstiltskin mused. “When you take on the curse, part of it wraps itself around your soul. It doesn’t embed itself, but creates something of a shell. When a Dark One dies, it’s what lets the previous holder of the position become part of the collective voice of Dark Ones past; something of a tether to this world.”

Killian somewhat recalled his own conversations with Nimue before welcoming her physical form to Storybrooke, so that much made sense. “So what does that mean for us?”

“For you, me, and Mrs. Swan-Jones, that shell is still there, even if the rest of the curse is long gone. It doesn’t hold any magic or influence itself, but once a soul is altered, it cannot be undone. Now, it’s just a scar, basically. Harmless, but there.”

“So it has no magic of its own?”

“None.”

Killian felt slightly better at that—but only slightly. “Okay. Then I have to ask—what is this?” He opened his palm and raised it so they could see the odd sparking and light pulsing in his veins.

The Crocodile was somewhat taken aback, it seemed, but Regina’s brow furrowed as she came closer. She took hold of his hand with one of hers, and let the other hover over his palm, studying it. “Well that’s an interesting development,” she concluded after a minute.

“What is?”

“Oh, just that it’s even less of a surprise now that you and Emma are soulmates. That's your magic.”

Now it was his turn to be surprised (he was getting tired of that lately). “What exactly do you mean by ‘mine’?”

Gold chimed in. “Remember long ago, when you were blackmailing me, and I explained how each person’s magic is unique?” It was no shock he couldn’t resist a jab while giving an answer; that was the trend of their tenuous relationship. “It’s even easier to recognize it as someone’s own power when they’re right there, using it.”

“I’m not using it, though—I have no idea where this came from, or why it started.”

“You’ve had quite an emotional shock, Hook. Those are prime triggers,” he theorized.

“So I’ve always had this, is what you’re saying?”

Regina still had a grip on his hand and was tapping at his palm and fingers; it was starting to get annoying. “Yeah, he is. Not sure what else we can tell you.”

Killian sighed and pulled his hand back, running it through his hair—and immediately regretting it when the static from his apparent magic made his hair stand on end. (Regina did not do a good job of hiding her amusement.)

“Okay, so, I was born with magic. Where did it come from? Because it’s certainly not anything related to True Love; my parents were far from that.”

“Was your grandfather a wizard, perhaps?” Gold unhelpfully suggested. “Your mum an elf?”

“None of the above,” he replied dryly (though he’d been on the receiving end of taunts as a youth suggesting the latter, based on the shape of his ears).

Regina seemed to be musing on something, though. “Wait—where exactly were you born?”

“A village that no longer exists.”

“Humor me.”

“I can’t even remember its name,” he confessed. “It was just a tiny port near the Cailleach Mountains; other towns grew, it dwindled until nothing was left, and I was long gone by that point.”

Gold quirked an eyebrow. “Cailleach, you said?”

“Aye…” Gold and Regina exchanged a knowing look, but Killian was left confused. “What about it?”

The former Dark One disappeared into the back of the shop, but Regina at least clued him in. “There’s a rumor about that part of the realm—an urban legend, if you will—that any set of twins born in the shadow of those mountains possess powers in complement of each other.”

“I thought I had a book on it, but it’s not here,” Rumple called out as he shuffled back to them. “But yes—that’s a story that goes back generations, although evidence of its veracity is anecdotal at best. Belle can probably help find more on that, though.”

Killian heard everything he said, but it still wasn’t making sense. “What I don’t understand, though—I’ve been through trauma before, emotional and otherwise,” he started, with a pointed look at Gold. “Why is this only happening now?”

“Proximity, most likely,” Rumple said. “Dorian was raised in magic and was able to harness his natural ability sooner. For whatever reason, you had no use for yours until finally reuniting with him.”

“In other words: he’s rubbing off on you,” Regina teased.

That was what he feared, though.

“Uh, thank you for your guidance,” he said, as politely as he could muster despite the continued spiral of his mental state. “I’m sure I’ll be back. But I need…a bit.”

“Understandable,” Gold said, oddly caring.

Regina added, “You know where to find us.”

Killian nodded and left the shop, then back out into the morning. He would go to Belle, and he knew he should talk to Emma—but he wouldn't be him if he didn’t brood about it for a while, even if he’d been doing that all day so far.

Per usual, he sought out his old friend, the ocean, in search of some serenity.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Emma wasn’t shocked to wake up on her own; her sleepy mind had registered Killian’s goodbye kiss when it was still dark, and given that he was still processing recent developments, she knew he’d need more alone time than usual. If he didn’t come find her before long, she’d probably go to him.

But his absence meant the house was extra quiet right now. Henry had left for his Enchanted Forest journey almost 6 months ago and she was still adjusting to that void. At least this little adventure with Killian’s secret twin was providing a good distraction.

If she knew her husband well enough, and got lucky, he was already at the station having a heart-to-heart with his long-lost sibling. Maybe if she moved fast enough, she’d catch the end of it. (Maybe she needed to move faster to make sure neither of them killed each other.) But first: coffee.

Which, of course, Killian had already left ready to brew in their coffee machine in the kitchen. God, she loved him.

But then the clock on the microwave told her she was running behind, so she dumped it in a thermos and got ready quickly; she always forgot how much she relied on Killian to keep her on time. That said—she was the only one on duty today, so who would know?

The protection spell was still up when she got to the station, but as expected, the door was unlocked. “Hello?” she awkwardly called out, not sure who was there to hear her.

The face that greeted her in the bullpen was the one she’d been looking for, but not quite—just Dorian.

“Well, good morning, gorgeous. Wondered when you’d show up.” He was leaning against the bars with a kind of nonchalance she wasn’t sure Killian even possessed.

“I mean, I work here,” she said. “And I suppose I still have to figure out just what the hell we’re supposed to do with you.”

“Oh, I can think of a few things,” he said lasciviously; she rolled her eyes, even though that was similar to a Killian-ism. “You let me go on my way, that’s what. And I promise to stay out of your lovely blonde hair.”

“Mm, I know better than to believe that. Also, I can spot a lie from a mile away, so you should probably quit while you’re ahead.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, then turned and grabbed something off the cot behind him. “Pop-Tart?”

He stuck the package through the gaps in the cell, letting it dangle in the fingers of his left hand—as if to further emphasize how different he was from Killian.

But then she smirked when she saw the flavor. “Not a fan of s’mores?” she quipped as she grabbed it.

He winced. “Ew. Never. My brother apparently has terrible taste.”

Emma waited to truly smile until her back was to him; that was her favorite kind. “So I take it you’ve already had a visitor today?”

“Aye, it was an…enlightening conversation,” he said, emphasizing his unusual choice of words. She’d have to ask Killian about that later. “Figured you were aware; you’re bedfellows, are you not?”

“Little more than that,” she tossed back, holding up her left hand and letting the diamonds catch the light.

“Then he and I have similar tastes, I see. But I’m not quite the marrying type. A bit surprised you are, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, whirling around to face him again, though it wasn’t exactly menacing with a too-large bite of Pop-Tart in her mouth.

“Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious: both are disappointed,” he deadpanned. “You strike me as someone who enjoys their solitude to an extreme. If you put yourself first, you can’t get hurt.”

“I used to be,” she replied (after swallowing). “And then I my son, and my family, and Killian, and I realized what a fucking lonely life that was. Maybe that’s a lesson you need to learn, too.”

“Pass,” he drawled.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged. She continued to eat her breakfast as she got the station ready to go for the day and was keenly aware of Dorian’s eyes on her. Let him watch.

Until she heard a noise she knew all too well from her foster kid days: a lighter clicking to life. She looked up and he had a cigarette dangling from his lips, trying to get it going.

“Uh-uh, no way,” she scolded. “It’s against the law to smoke indoors in Maine.” (She did know some laws.)

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “What kind of awful place is this?”

“The entire northern half of the United States,” she deadpanned as she approached. She was half ready to just yank it away from him, but then she saw the other butts crumbled on the floor of the cell. So with a flick of her wrist, she magicked them all away to the dumpster, even the one at his mouth.

Dorian’s mouth hung open for a moment, but then his gaze narrowed on her. “Oh, you have it, too,” he said, like he was discovering something.

“Have what?” she asked, suddenly self conscious.

“A touch of the darkness.” He practically hissed the last syllable.

He was one to talk. And what did that even mean? “No one’s perfect, dude.”

“No, no—the Darkness, capital D. Just like he does.” She was really curious how their conversation had gone now. “Tell me, is it sexually transmitted? Or did you come by it in some other dishonest manner?”

Emma coughed. “Ew, no. And I have no clue what you’re talking about; I’m kind of the opposite—I’m the Savior.”

“That may be, but you still have some of that dark magic in you somewhere; I can feel it.” She tried not to let it show, but that made her a little nervous; even if he was talking out his ass, she was still trying to keep her dabble as the Dark One behind her. Yeah, everything had ended well, eventually, but she’d made so many mistakes.

“And guess what, sweetheart?” Dorian went on. “I’m gonna take it—you have my word.”

“Mm, no you’re not.” She was tired of him, and maybe it was a rush reaction, but she quickly poofed them both to the town line. “Sorry, but you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“If that was ‘welcome’, then your town really needs to work on its hospitality.”

“Your feedback has been noted,” she replied sarcastically.

“Won’t you even let me say goodbye to my dear brother?” he fake-pouted.

She’d briefly considered that issue, but had to hope their earlier conversation covered whatever they had to say to each other. “I’ll send your regards.”

“Even if you send me out, I will find a way back in. I will have that magic. I will—”

She got tired of listening to him monologue and magically shoved him over the line. Without his own powers, getting back in was going to be a feat. He was angrily saying something, but she couldn’t hear it. So she just wiggled her fingers in a sarcastic wave, and transported herself back to the station.

Right away, she forwarded the station phone to her cell and headed back out. Given Dorian’s skill at pressing buttons, she was sure Killian was off brooding somewhere, and he’d probably been doing it alone long enough. Hopefully, knowing that his evil twin was gone would help. She sent him a quick text to let him know she was looking for him, but also had a feeling he wasn’t going to respond.

She also needed to stop by Granny’s; this definitely called for comfort food.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

The mid-morning sun was hot at Killian’s back, but the way its reflection was currently dancing on the waves was doing its job of calming him, to some extent. (Also—how had he gone so many years without the modern invention of sunglasses? His kohl did a good job of cutting the glare, but these were so much more effective…and Emma seemed to like how he looked in them.)

As much as his thoughts toward his brother had settled, the sparking in his hand continued. He hadn’t dared touch his talking phone, lest he destroy it (and despite the vibrating he’d felt in his pocket, indicating someone was sending him text messages). That was something he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with, especially since taking the magic-blocking cuff from Dorian wasn’t an option. (They really could use more of those.)

Perched on the seawall, he took another swig from his flask, but the burn of the rum didn’t soothe him the way it usually did.

“Maybe some tea will help instead?” He looked up at the sidewalk behind him, and Emma was headed his way, a Granny’s to-go cup and paper bag in her hold. “Or a muffin?”

No matter his mood, he couldn’t help but grin when he saw his wife approach. “Aye, that does sound nice.”

She awkwardly managed to sit down next to him without either spilling the tea (literally) or falling over, and then set both it and the bag on the ledge between them. He could already smell the banana nut muffin; he had indeed been craving one ever since the morning. And just the scent of his preferred English breakfast tea was already soothing.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Just what I needed. How did you know?”

“I’m magic like that,” she teased, and then leaned into him—but sat straight up when she noticed how he stiffened at that mention. “What is it?”

He knew better than to lie, but he was nervous to reveal the entire truth just yet, even if he’d eventually get there. “Just…had an enlightening conversation this morning and I’m still processing it.”

Emma tilted her head. “It’s funny—he used the same word. ‘Enlightening.’ Just what happened?”

“Chatted about our youths and lives, mostly. And he reiterated his claim to capture the Darkness.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too.”

“And, well…this.” His hand had still been clenched in a fist, resting on his thigh, but he turned it over and opened it to reveal the continued light show happening in his palm.

Emma’s eyes briefly grew wide, but without hesitation, she pulled his hand into her lap and stared at it for what seemed like ages. It wasn’t the studious look Regina had; it was more like…awe, if he had to label it.

Then she took her index finger and slowly brought it down on his palm—then yanked it away when sparks flew at the proximity.

“Sorry,” he blurted out and tried to take his hand back, but she tightened her grip on his wrist.

“Don’t be,” she said firmly. “It’s…”

He held his breath at whatever adjective she was about to use.

“…Beautiful.”

That was not what he expected.

“We can go talk to Regina to find out what this is, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Already did,” he said, and summarized the earlier conversation as far as this newfound magic was concerned. “I don’t want it, though,” he confessed. “You know I never have, and I don’t want to become a liability.”

“You won’t,” she assured him. “But if it helps ease your mind—I may have kicked Dorian out a bit ago.”

“You did?” He was a bit surprised—and slightly hurt, if he was being honest, mainly at the lack of closure he’d now face, but he didn’t blame her.

“Yeah; it was a little rash, but I was tired of him pushing my buttons and going on about some goal he was never gonna achieve. How many times do we have to tell him there’s no more Dark One?”

“We don’t give up easy,” he said, mentally noting that was the first time he had considered he and Dorian a ‘we’. “But that also came up in my conversation with Gold and Regina. Did Dorian say anything to you about being able to feel the Darkness?”

“Yeah, he did,” she confirmed solemnly. “I figured he was just talking nonsense—but now I’m thinking there was some truth?”

“Some, but not much,” he answered, and explained what Gold had told him about the bit of Dark Magic lingering deep within.

“That’s kind of creepy,” she concluded. “But I guess it makes sense. Weird that Dorian would pick up on it, though.”

“When it’s something you’ve spent your whole life chasing, you know how to find it, and I’d imagine having your own magic helps.”

“Yeah, but it’s not something I’ve ever noticed.”

“I don’t mean any disrespect, Swan, but he’s been working on his magic far longer than you have. By a couple centuries.”

“Point taken. Still—it’s not something we need to worry about, especially now that he’s gone.”

“Aye, I suppose.” He did feel a bit more at ease, but not wholly.

“Killian. Look down.” She had that somewhat exasperated, somewhat amused tone she got on the rare occasions he missed something obvious.

So he did—and to his surprise, his hand was back to normal; the tingling that had accompanied the sparks of magic had gone away. He stared at it in shock for a moment, but Emma always tended to have that effect on him.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” she assured him, then intertwined her fingers in his and settled her head back on his shoulder. “And if it does come back, we’ll make sure you know how to keep it in check; you’ve got lots of potential teachers around here.”

“Just not Gold, okay?”

She laughed. “Obviously.”

Part of him was a bit sad he couldn't bid his brother farewell—he’d at least gotten that much with Liam (the younger). But mentally, he wished him well, and hoped he’d be able to forge a new path in life, much like Killian had.

As for him, he was going to continue to enjoy his own.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Dorian waited for the sheriff to disappear, hoping he was acting sufficiently angry and defeated to convince her she’d won.

But he knew as soon as he’d crossed through the invisible barrier around the town that whatever kept the cuff working inside didn’t have the same effect in the Land without Magic. It still worked, but it was weaker somehow.

Once she was gone—likely off to console his morose twin—he slipped a finger under its edge and knocked it off, and took a moment to savor the rush of his power returning. He picked the cuff back up from the dust, though, and pocketed it; surely it would be useful at some point.

And then he didn’t hesitate to cross back into Storybrooke. They may doubt him, but he would get his hands on that power. He’d just have to get a little creative, but that was how he’d survived this long, right?

He’d need an ally, though, and he had a good idea of who might help him.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke @bluewildcatfanatic

#cs ff #killian jones ff #cssns 2023 #captain swan supernatural summer #sons of love and death #my ff

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thegamingcatmom · 1 year

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hi! i love your maggot mommy posts they’re so fun and hot!

but i was wondering that in your writing it seems reader is a sorta unwilling prisoner? like she’s been trapped by maggot mommy and doesn’t actually want to be there with ellie. like she isn’t actually attracted to mommy or into anything mommy is doing to her or in front of her etc.

is that right? you see reader as being like an unwilling captive? who is horrified by ellie and disgusted by her in a negative way rather than finding her attractive?

Hey there!

Thank you. 🥰

I figured this question would come sooner or later. 😅

So...it´s complicated. Let´s just say that for now, for the time being, yes - I defo see reader as an unwilling prisoner who is fearing for their life most of the time because I like to write them as realistically as possible and the same goes for Maggot Momma - I want my monsters to remain monstrous. I like to describe things as one might actually experience them and, therefore, things can take a rather dark and twisted turn. But that´s where the appeal lies for a lot of people (myself included).

Exploring the inner workings of someone as twisted as Maggot Momma feels almost forbidden at times, but that´s what makes it so much fun to write and analyze. There´s just something so alluring and sinful about, well, everything Momma represents, really. She´s a deadly weapon which won´t hesitate to snuff out your life and laugh in your face while she does it...except when it comes to that certain someone and THAT´S where the true appeal lies.

What makes that certain someone so different from anyone else? What is it about them that makes a literal monster pause and decide that - yes, that´s the one - and being obsessed, completely smitten with their chosen one which is so untypical for a monster but here we are and, again, THAT´S what´s so alluring about it. A beast turned (somewhat) soft for that one person while everyone else can just rot in hell-

It´s basically Beauty & the Beast gone unhinged you could say.

Also, I wouldn´t go so far as to say reader feels "disgusted", at least not when it comes to Momma´s overall appearance (at least I don´t think I´ve given that impression in my previous posts, feel free to correct me though). They´re simply scared shitless and that breath truly does stink because Maggot Momma´s literally the walking dead and who can blame them IF they felt slightly repulsed by that? Also, have you been around decomposing, rotting bodies over a longer period of time? Me neither, thank god. Because lemme tell you, it would not be pleasant, at all.

Also, you might have noticed that Maggot Momma and her certain someone haven´t actually ticked that box yet. Meaning: anything to do with actual body contact has yet to happen - save for the occasional bite or lick here and a sniff there and sometimes raking those bloodstained hands through their hair. But that´s about it and your ask perfectly explained why I decided to do it that way.

Because, while I do love tapping into darker territory, I don´t want it to get that dark. That´s just not appealing to me as I feel like there´d be no room for that delicious tension or any kind of holy shit that´s hot yknow. (But that´s just my opinion, to each their own.)

So the clothes stay on (for now) and Imma keep sneaking in some lighter moments to balance out all that...other stuff.

But I guess we might be tapping into things like Stockholm Syndrome at some point in the future because I feel like that´s just an obvious consequence of...everything that´s happening in this (cursed) building.

Thanks for your ask. 🤗

Edit:

What stuck out to me in your ask was that you called her "Ellie". You might've noticed I don't do that. It's always either Maggot Mommy, Momma or Deadite!Ellie. The reason is that, for me, these are two completely different personalities. Ellie stopped being Ellie the moment It took over.

Maggot Mommy doesn't do soft, so you'll never see me calling her Ellie.

Just wanted to clear up any possible misunderstandings. 😊✌️

#evil dead rise #ellie evil dead rise #maggot mommy #deadites #alyssa sutherland #evil dead rise...but gayer

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graycats-arcane-blog · 2 years

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Chapter 15 of The Scientist’s Daughter is up on AO3, and Singed is definitely up to something...

Read the preview below!

Chapter 15: Captured

“I’ve posted our best marksmen along the bridge and the docks. Any Firelight caught crossing into Piltover will be shot on sight.”

As he listened to Sevika’s report, Silco spun an unlit cigar between his fingers, each twirl sharp and telling of his agitation. The night hadn’t played out as smoothly as he’d hoped, not by far.

On the bright side, all three members of the Hextech team – even the flighty, blue-haired menace – had been captured and stowed securely away where neither the Firelights nor the Council could sniff them out. Unfortunately, the other members of the enemy entourage had made away with that damned document.

Pacing near the edge of the warehouse rooftop, Silco let his fiery gaze scour the jet-black Pilt River. Sunrise was a scarce few hours away, and his second convergence with the Council would be soon to follow.

Faint-hearted as they might be, the Council weren’t idiots. If they received word of the previous night’s events, it wouldn’t take long for them to deduce that the Hextech trio were imprisoned in Silco’s domain. Silco needed the Council’s fear in order to herd them through his negotiations, but too much fear would shut them down, render them unwilling to haggle. He was locked in a delicate game of balance, and Viktor’s document was about as balanced as a madman with a pickaxe.

Best to give the Council no reason to inquire for Golden Boy & Company’s whereabouts, Silco decided. “Has Marcus been made aware of the situation?”

“I sent word to an enforcer in Marcus’ inner circle, who’ll be posting guards on their side of the river and around the Council,” Sevika replied briskly. “We won’t be able to communicate directly with Marcus until whoever’s tailing him loses interest.”

Scowling, Silco pinched his cigar, feeling the soft shape deform between his fingers. How inconvenient. “Any news on who’s keeping tabs on him?”

Sevika paused, her gaze turning calculating before she answered, “The tail is a pro. The expensive kind. My bet’s on one of the Councilors.”

That makes sense. Marcus must have alarmed the Council during the meeting he’d been sent to interfere with.

Ultimately, Marcus’ tail was an issue for another day. Silco would table the matter until negotiations with the Council were complete. “Make sure you rotate our marksmen throughout the night,” he ordered as he procured a lighter, sparking flames which licked the end of his cigar until it glowed ember-bright. “They should be fresh and sharp – I don’t want any Firelights slipping past the ranks.”

“On it. I’ll set up the rotation schedule now.” With a nod, Sevika strode toward the hatch which would lead her back down through the building.

Silco took a deep drag of his cigar, letting the heady smoke soothe and ground his senses. Just as Sevika unlocked the hatch, he called, “When you’re done, meet me back here. We should check in on our prisoners before the meeting with the Council and give them something to think about.”

Sevika barked out a sharp laugh. “It shouldn’t be hard to convince the men to make Hextech for you now that we’ve captured their girl. They’d do anything to keep her safe.”

Silco smirked. Oh, yes – Viktor will do anything to prevent us from harming Jinx.

Whether Talis liked it or not, Viktor would craft weapons for Zaunite hands.

CRASH!

The sound of the hatch bursting open had Silco exhaling faster than he preferred, inelegant clouds of his smoke blotting patches of starlight from view. As Sevika swore with surprise, Silco turned, fixing the intruder to his rooftop station with an irate glare.

It was one of their thugs, a burly man who looked more terrified than anyone of Silco’s employ should have the self-respect to be. The man angered Silco as he stood there, panting too heavily to speak. “Well?” Silco hissed. “You’d better have a compelling excuse for abandoning your post – as should the guards who let you up here. Speak.”

“Aren’t you on the detail at Singed’s lab?” Sevika questioned, her eyes narrowing. “What happened? Singed didn’t poison you, did he?”

“No!” The thug replied immediately, shaking his head. “Worse. Bad. The others are dead – killed. There – there was…” he gulped and panted, tripping over his words. “I saw a – a –”

Silco snarled, nearly crumpling the cigar between his fingers as the end continued to burn away. “You. Saw. A. What?”

. . .

Read the rest of chapter 15 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/36474277/chapters/100007055

#Arcane #The Scientist's Daughter #fanfic #arcane fanfic

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melk917 · 3 years

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Kinktober Day 16: Accidental Stimulation

Nipple play || Accidental Stimulation || Massaging

Summary:

You squeezed in beside him, peering around his shoulder. “Just over there on the end?”

“Yes, the gold one,” his voice was a little strained with the effort of holding the bookcase.

“Got it,” you slid in a bit further alongside him and reached out, fingers stretching to where the pen lay. And in that moment, Rafael knew he had made a grave error. He could see what was going to happen next rushing at him like a train speeding directly towards a head-on collision with a brick wall: hard, brutal, and with a terrible sense of inevitability.

Pairing: Rafael Barba x gn!Reader

Day 16 of @the-purity-pen’s Kinktober

Masterlist

Previous Day (Masturbation)

Next Day (Choking)

A/N: Apologies for this being er... less porny? To be honest, my brain was starting to melt at it all, and I am saving up energy for Sunday's drop which should hopefully be very steamy.

But in the mean time, enjoy this lighter, sillier one. And stay tuned for Sunday.

(I am also still trying to stay focused on my personal challenge to be prolific and quick vs. perfect and lyrical. But let me tell you, as a hardcore perfectionist, posting this (and all the others) leaves me with anxiety that they won't sound exactly right. So, please, always let me know if you spot any errors!)

You came into the office to find Barba not at his desk. In fact, it didn’t appear that any one was in the office at first. Until you noticed one of the bookcases in the corner was askew, and the man in question kneeling on the carpet, ass in the air as he appeared to be reaching for something behind it.

“You ok there, counselor?”

There was a thump followed by a muffled curse and he crawled out, sitting back on his heels to look up at you. He was in just his shirtsleeves, tie askew. “I dropped my pen and it managed to roll and get wedged between the corner and the shelf.”

You took in the massive shelf, weighed down with heavy legal tomes, the smear of dust on his cheek from rooting around behind it, and the impossible angle of space he had been reaching into. Raising an eyebrow at him, you leaned back on the conference table. “Seems like a lot of effort for a pen.”

He scowled slightly, mouth set in a frustrated line. “It was a gift,” he said shortly. Then his face softened and he dropped his gaze to the chair next to you, cheeks turning a bit pink. “From my grandmother. I’d rather not lose it.”

You cracked a smile. So the counselor was a mama’s boy. Or at least a grandmama’s boy. You peered into the space between the bookcase and the wall again.

“Maybe I’d have more luck?” He glanced back at you, eyebrows rising in surprise. You shrugged. “Well I’m a bit smaller than you. Maybe if you hold it open a bit further? And I’ll sneak around.”

He nodded and stood, getting his shoulder up against the bookcase, shoving it just another few inches and holding it there, feet braced against the baseboard.

You squeezed in beside him, peering around his shoulder. “Just over there on the end?”

“Yes, the gold one,” his voice was a little strained with the effort of holding the bookcase.

You were tucked right up against him, back against his chest, ass pressed into the cradle of his hips. He swallowed and tried not to breathe in your scent as you fidgeted back and forth, arm extended towards the pen.

You grunted and sighed as you fell short, “You really managed to get it wedged way back there, huh? Hm, let me see if this might work…”

You twisted your shoulders so you could bend low, gaining a few more inches in length to reach out with. Unfortunately, to counter-balance your forward tilt, you pushed back more firmly with your hips, rolling them as you twisted back and forth.

He squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, friction from your body making his cock stir, sending little frissons of pleasure through him.

“Wait—” he grunted.

“No, it’s fine,” your voice was muffled, you were so deep behind the shelf now, “I’ve almost got it. Just gotta reach another inch.”

You leaned forward further, pushing your ass back more firmly into his crotch. He squeezed his eyes shut as a thin threat of panic started to twist through him, choking off his air, and his problem started to become more… pressing. He groaned softly in embarrassment (and a little pleasure) as you shifted again, the curve of your ass rolling against him.

“Wait,” he gritted out, “just—stop, hold on a second,” his voice was tight, strained.

“No, hold on… ah ha! Got it!” you shouted, hips wiggling back and forth in your victory before pressing back hard. And then you froze.

He took a sharp breath.

You could feel the heat of the flush creeping up your neck as you registered why he had been so insistent that you stop. Said reason pressing against your ass, firm and hot, through the fabric of his expensive trousers.

“Oh. Oh, God, I’m sorry, I just... Hold on, I’ll move this way,” you choked out and started to wiggle to the side, dragging your hip along the line of his cock as he sucked in another breath.

He grabbed your waist in a hard grip, stilling your movement. “Stop. Just... Stop moving for a second. Just stay there,” he forced out through clenched teeth, trying to shift his hips back, away from you.

You nodded dumbly, retrieved pen clutched in your fist as you tried to hold impossibly still. You could still feel him, brushing against your hip and found yourself wondering how large he might be, how thick, for you to feel him like you did. And proceeded to blush even harder, even as it sent a small thrill of desire through your veins.

It felt like forever that you were standing there while he took deep, even breaths, his hands hot and tight on your waist, fingers flexing as he calmed himself down, both of you trying to hold your hips apart.

The reality was that it was maybe only a few minutes and then his grip loosened and he sighed. “Can you get out around me?” he asked quietly, staring determinedly over your shoulder and not at your face.

You nodded, also unable to look him in the eye as you pushed your hips back towards the wall and slid around him, this time taking care to not brush up against his body.

When you were back out in the middle of the room, you placed the pen on the table, keeping your back to him as you heard him slide out.

He cleared his throat, “I—I’m sorry. I just—”

“No, no,” you waved your hand in the air as though you could clear the mortification from the room and gave a little hysterical laugh. “No, don’t worry about it, it’s just a physiological response. I know it doesn’t mean anything.”

He coughed, “Yes, exactly, right, just a physiological response to random stimuli.”

“Mmhm.”

“Right. Well,” you could hear him shuffle around behind you and you turned slowly to face him. His face was glowing, and he was looking determinedly at the conference table behind you. “Thanks for the help. I’ll, uh, get this bookcase back on my own.”

You nodded, perhaps a little too quickly, running your hand through your hair. “Ha, yes probably best I don’t offer to give you a hand with that problem,” you gestured vaguely towards the bookshelf, unintentionally encompassing Barba himself in the motion. He made a strangled noise and when you looked up you could have fried an egg on his face, he was so furiously red from embarrassment. So unlike the cool, controlled, arrogant man he was in court. It seemed you had finally knocked him off his game, and that idea thrilled you. And then you realized what you had implied.

“Oh god, I mean—”

Face glowing, he continued to keep his gaze over your shoulder, refusing to meet your eyes, staring off in the middle distance. “Maybe we spare ourselves further humiliation and quit before we end up further behind.”

“Yes, I… yes, great idea,” you stammered and nodded before fleeing.

#tppkinktober2021 #law and order svu #rafael barba #svu #law and order svu imagine #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu fic #kinktober #kinktober 2021 #rafael barba x gn!reader #gender neutral reader #rafael barba x you

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ohworm-writes · 3 years

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#01 - Tape One | series masterlist

⮞ Beta Reader - @jschllatt ! thank you so much for proofreading this for me !

⮞ Pairing - Monster!Technoblade x Monster-Hunter!Reader ⮞ Summary - A sleepless night and a hazy mind aren’t the smartest thing to bring along on a solo mission that could end in your demise, but what’s the worst that could happen? ⮞ Rating - Mature (SFW) ⮞ Warnings - cursing , weapons ( hatchet, crossbow, gun ) , slight anxiety ⮞ Word Count - 2.8k ⮞ Taglist - Open! Send an Ask or DM to be added

Time is a finicky thing. It's a social construct created by humans as a desperate grasp at something they can control. Of course, they can't control the sun or the stars. That would be insane, would it not? Humans were the people who gave time meaning. If not for them, we would only see it as darkness and light, not the hours we've put between them. How was it they made up such an important idea, something key to their everyday lives, that only they as a race use? Humans are the only ones who use time, their actions simply affect everything else.

Take canines, for example. Their genetics tell them when they are to hunt, to mate, to kill. They don't depend on the hours or the days, that itself is a foolish thing to them. Why would they need to know it? They know that once the sun has set; the hunt is on. With humans around, they have disrupted the balance of it. These once feared predators depend on the hand of a human to feast. They depend on an electronic clock to sate their pangs of hunger.

Looking at it, how would humans be without time? Would the world crumble? Would everything they had once known to be true turn out to simply be a lie? Mayhaps-but that is the beauty of it all. The beauty of chaos, the beauty of the world closing its curtains in the final act. And when the crowd asks for an encore, who would the world be to deny their wishes?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock-

The tick of the clock snaps you back to reality like whiplash, your previous thoughts fleeting from your mind in an instant. Your eyes are blurry, everything around you set in a foggy haze. Even aside from daydreaming, everything felt fuzzy. The clock didn’t help with it, the constant noise only setting you on edge more than you already were.

How long had it been? Hours, maybe? A few minutes? You couldn’t tell, and frankly, you couldn’t care either. Letting out a small sigh, you pinch the skin between your brows, slumping over as you try to ground yourself. You open your eyes after a moment, the blurriness from before subsiding for the most part. Now, you found yourself met with the sight of several manila folders and post-it notes scattered across the mattress you found yourself on.

Ah, yes- so that’s why you had been up at such an ungodly hour. Your mission. The suicide mission they had assigned you to. Good gods above, how long had you been awake for? Taking in the organized chaos that was your bed currently, it made you grimace. How many files did they have on a single monster? Sure, you wanted to be prepared, but this was absurd.

However, that apparent thought had never crossed your mind in the previous hours, evidence being the bags forming under your eyes and the overall stiffness of your body. Taking the folder that had found itself on your lap, you flipped it open, reading over the open page.

“Upon a prior expedition, Piglins seem to be tame around those wearing gold items. Whether it be armor or simple jewelry, they seem to be passive towards those wearing the metal. One scout found themselves near the beasts, but said creatures left him alone upon seeing the gold wedding ring around his finger.”

You squint your eyes, trying to make sense of the next sentence. Was that a Y, or a T? Gods above, you were exhausted. Letting the folder drop back onto your lap, you bring your palms up to your eyes, rubbing harshly to keep a hold of your consciousness. You’d be able to look at the files whilst on the road. Sleep was more important right now if you wanted to survive until the next day.

Knowing the casino’s fellow patrons, they’d probably get a kick out of seeing you leave all drowsy and such. Hell, that wouldn’t come close to how entertaining it would be to them if you didn’t return. With a groan and a sigh, you begin gathering all the files. Paper-clipping a few together here, stapling a few there until the process was complete. Looking at the files stacked together, you really were in over your head. The number of files was making your head dizzy, not counting how sleep-deprived you were in the current moment.

Placing the folders in a neat stack on the floor beside your bed, you finally let your body relax. Your back falls against the mattress, sinking into it almost instantly. It was nowhere near comfortable on a normal day. The mattress was hard, firm, and wildly uncomfortable, but now? You might as well have been sleeping on a cloud. Before your hazy mind could even process it, you were out like a light, left to your own devices in the world of unconsciousness.

05:30 in the morning. Who in their right mind decides that the crack of dawn is an appropriate time to wake up? Quackity, apparently, because that’s exactly the person who was pounding relentlessly on your door. The loud and sudden noise is enough to make you jolt upright in your bed. Your foggy mind can’t even process what is happening, much less when he speaks.

“It’s 05:30! Get up! You leave in the next hour, c’mon! You’ll be burning daylight before you know it, so get your ass ‘outta bed!” His shrill voice is enough to get you to peek your eyes open, immediately met with the darkness of the room. With the warm sheets you found yourself in, the comforting dimness of the room, you almost fall back asleep then and there. Almost being our keyword here, because you wouldn’t want to make Quackity mad, now would you?

With a groan, you’re able to kick the sheets off of the bed, successfully leaving you out in the open as the cool air of the room sets across your warm body. It sends a shiver running through you, effectively allowing goosebumps to settle across your skin. The feeling is unpleasant, but that’s the point of it. With minimal effort, you sit yourself up in the bed, immediately regretting your actions.

Your muscles are tight, making every turn and twist of your body painful. A silent scream rips through your throat as you stretch your arms above your head, only to turn into a satisfied groan as your muscles relax. One would have thought that the richest hotel in the city would at least have comfortable beds, but apparently not. No, instead, you were better off sleeping on the carpet, which you could proudly admit was comfier than your own mattress.

Looking out the small prison-like window your room provided, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. The sky, a blur of dark blues and purples sprinkled with stars, was your only greeting. You could see the lighter hues begin to peek over the horizon from where you sat. A masterpiece from your window, who would have thought?

Aside from the awe-inducing view, you yourself felt far from it. You had a lot to do in the span of an hour. A short time span, but it was feasible. With hurried motions, you’re able to dress in form-fitting attire; something not too tight, but at the same time not too loose. It was important to wear such clothing in these times. Something too tight could leave you breathless, in this case, vulnerable. If it were to be too loose, it could get caught on something or weigh you down. That shouldn’t have to explain why that would be unfortunate.

Style aside, you now had to tackle the process that was your files. The ones you had obtained were a copy. They’d never give you the original without a backup in store. That would simply be foolish. Instead, you’d been given a clean copy of said files, all neatly tucked into their respective folders. Of course, that neatness had been your doing alone.

You made quick use of your time, neatly tucking the folders and files alike into your bag. The bag itself was less of a bag and more of a backpack, however, it served both uses. The fabric was weatherproof, as you liked it. It was strong, not even a tear could be seen over it. It had lasted you all your time here so far. Hopefully, it would survive the rest of the way.

With your bag fully prepared with your files, clothes, and things of the like, you set out for the armory. Swinging open your door rather roughly, you make your way down the halls, turning here and there and speeding down a flight of steps or two. Checking a clock on the wall as you amble down the halls, you see that you have just under 20 minutes before Quackity is on your ass. Perfect.

With a final descent into the basement of the building, you reach the armory. The place itself is impressive, with one wall lined up entirely with weapons. Guns, crossbows, blades; any weapon of destruction that you wanted was here. The rest of the open room stayed reserved for a shooting range. Was it the smartest option that it was indoors? Maybe not, but would you rather be shooting outside where beasts of unknown origins could hear you? Hell no.

The man running the armory shoots you a look as you enter. Some could interpret it as a glare, but to you, it was nothing short of a hopeful wish for your demise. Unfortunate maybe, but you couldn’t be one to judge. Politely, you offer a wave. Nothing flashy or energetic, simply the bare minimum.

You don’t look to see if he responds in any way, as you probably wouldn’t be met with anything. Instead, you turn your attention to the wall. They really had any weapon you could need here, didn’t they? Every single one was in pristine condition, that you could see at least.

You would have never touched a weapon in the old world, that you knew as fact. Why would you if you didn’t have a reason to? Why so much as place a finger upon something that could cause harm, when you could put your efforts into something else? Those thoughts, ones that you used to have, have been long forgotten as of now.

Taking a moment to admire them, you reach for a sleek, black crossbow. Weighing it in your hands, you press the stock against your shoulder and take a step behind you towards the range. It feels nice in your hands, not too heavy nor light. You take one arrow from the attached quiver, loading it with a quick move of your hand. Turning around, you kneel down and peer through the scope at the hay targets 15 yards away from your current position.

You hover your finger above the trigger, lining up your sights with the yellow center of the target. At that moment, nothing else matters. Not the man behind the counter, giving you shady looks as he watches you with an unimpressed look. Not that mission, the simple task that weighed your life in its hands like a god. Nothing. The only thing that mattered now was you and the target.

You steady the crossbow, using your other hand to hold it up. If you missed this, how could you survive in the field? Your eyes arrow in on the small, yellow circle in the center of the target. It wouldn’t be too hard to hit it, considering there was no wind nor monsters chasing you at the moment. You wanted to hit the minuscule black dot in the center.

With a sharp breath in, you fire. The arrow fires, flying through the arrow and straight towards the target. The man behind the counter raises an eyebrow, watching the arrow as it rips into the target. He lets out an annoyed huff, already heading under the counter to get a full quiver for you. Bullseye.

You smile to yourself softly, the good feeling of accomplishment flowing through you. Letting the weapon rest against your side, you turn back to the wall. With your primary weapon figured out, now you needed a melee and possibly a secondary weapon as well.

You choose something less flashy for your secondary, simple G17. The pistol isn’t your favorite, but it’d be better to have it than nothing. You had one when you first started out, the damn thing jamming too many times for your liking. Granted, you didn’t have sufficient ammo for the gun, but you’d rather it worked in life-threatening situations than not.

Now all you needed was a melee weapon. Easier said than done, seeing the sheer amount of different options at your disposal. You didn’t need something flashy, nor did you want it. You let out a quiet laugh as you look over some of the more… unusual options. Good gods, as much as you wanted it, you didn’t need a damn sword with you.

Looking back to the more tactical options, something catches your eye. A steel hatchet, an awfully beautiful one at that. The dark metal shines against the flickering lights of the armory, the edge of the blade reflecting your own features. You grip the handle, prying it off the wall, and hold it tightly. It was a lot lighter than you’d thought, feeling at home as you curled your fingers around it.

It was on the smaller side, but that only added to it. Gracefully, you toss it from one hand to the other, feeling the difference between the two. You’d wield it in your dominant hand, but it’s worth the effort to try with both. With a nod to yourself, you grab all three weapons and head to the man behind the counter.

He’s just as unamused as he looked when you first entered, scrunching up his nose as you place the weaponry on the concrete counter, the items clinking together in the process. He ducks under your line of sight, grumbling to himself. Within a few seconds, he pops back up, all the supplies you’d need in his arms.

A quiver, hatchet cover, ammo; anything you’d need for however long the mission would be. His tone is bored as he asks for payment, sliding your things across the counter with his hand held out. Reaching into one pocket of your bag, you pull out four poker chips, a mocking smile on either red or blue side.

His eyes widen as you drop them into his palm, staring at them with confusion. His voice almost hints at that of anger as he speaks up, voice gravelly. “I said two, not four. Are you an idiot?” His eyes are dark when they look into your own. You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, grabbing your things and clipping them to your bag. “Consider it my thanks, Phineas.”

His mouth is agape as you leave, lifting your hand up as a ‘farewell’ while you head out the door. As your footsteps fall heavy against the floor, you contemplate your prior decision. Chips were the casino’s idea of money. You received chips if you did particularly excellent work on something, which was rare for most. Four chips for your safety didn’t seem like too far of a stretch. One would pay the world for their life, would they not?

Your steps echo down the halls as you make your way towards the main door, anxiety bubbling up. Gods, you were going to die on this mission, weren’t you? A solo mission against one of the most powerful beasts you had ever read about? You might as well have been writing your will then and there. The carpet of the lobby muffles your steps, leaving you to listen with no distraction to your racing mind.

Was this the last time you would step foot in the casino? You squeeze your eyes tightly, stopping in your tracks right in front of the door, letting out a groan. Fuck, you were overthinking this. Even if you didn’t make it to tomorrow, at least you made it this far, right? With a little pep talk to yourself, you push open one of the glass doors and step out into the darkness that lays outside of the casino.

“Oi.”

The voice makes you wince involuntarily. Turning to your left, you see the familiar mop of jet black hair leaning up against one of the casino’s walls. Your hands find themselves at your bag’s straps, pulling them tightly against you as you meet his gaze.

“Quackity.” Your voice comes out small, not something that you liked. His breath comes out in a puff, the cold temperature of the morning making the sight visible. Like a dragon, you think in the back of your mind. The childish thought is tossed aside as he pushes off of the wall, watching as he rubs his hands together and making his way past you. He stops at your side, not looking over at you. No, he just looks ahead as the sun rises behind you.

“Come back, won’t you?”

⮞ Previous Tape ⮞⮞⮞ ⮞ Next Tape

⮞ Technoblade Route Taglist - @cutiebear45 @kiki-is-the-name @hololizard @sunshinebutnotrainbows @valkyrieidunn @dominickle @err0rnan0 @lacunaanonymoused @ura-writes @jaciahbabes @mega-trash-cringe

⮞ Author’s Note - After long last, another tape! I went through quite the rough patch with this one. It took me a long time to finally find some inspiration, but this is evidence enough that I did somehow. I’m hoping to update next Sunday, possibly earlier, but we’ll have to see what my mind deems fit.

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whet-ones-write · 3 years

Text

Random Aizawa Headcanons

MHA Masterlist - Requests, Headcanons are all open. Please bare in mind these rules while doing so!

Aizawa Headcanons - Inspired by @misterhoneyyandere after reading their Yandere post about it!

Warnings: Mentions of Drug/Alcohol use. PTDS mentions.

🧃 - He’s very efficient in what he does. He only uses what energy he thinks is needed to get the job done. ‘Work smart not hard’ would be his motto if I could make a guess. Which is why even while his quirk is well known, it’s how he’s been able to operate for so long. He is very smart in what he does and thinks over situations thoughtly which is also his downfall. He blames himself if something goes wrong, thinking that he should have seen it coming.

🧃 - He pushes you away to begin with because he doesn’t want you getting hurt after all him being a underground Pro makes everything a little more dangerous, as well as he knows his classes are under attack often so he wouldn’t put it past people to go for any kind of lover he might have, but that doesn’t perturb you, in fact it only makes him fall harder when he realises that you won’t be going anywhere.

🧃 - He’s more of an observer than a speaker. You could talk and talk for hours and he would listen to every word. Though on the outside to others he seems disinterested, in fact the small nods and sound signify that he’s listening intently.

🧃 - Before working for UA but during his prime, after fights he would often use any kind of drug or drinking himself to help him sleep and forget of what happened because it just plagues him that much. Though when he started working for UA, it began his road to getting better. Dropping such clutches to nap during the day with Nezu’s approval. He would rather Aziawa nap than risk his life.

🧃 - He gets night terrors. Severe night terrors. Waking up sweating, panting, heart racing as he looks around his room, activating his quirk in fear of something or someone. Before you he would lock all the doors, lock the windows, in his scarf, even locking his bedroom door much to his’ cats dismay. Though when you came into his life he still locks all the windows and doors but now he can sleep with the bedroom door open and without his scarf in the nude..

🧃 - His love language would be ones of words of affirmation. Just hearing your voice telling him that he’s ok, that he’s not a villain, that he’s a good man and treating you well means more to him than anything in the world. He would never deny any gift you get for him but to him, words speak louder than actions.

🧃 - For dates he would rather have you guys sitting at home by the candle light, cats on laps eating beans on toast for all he cares. As long as you’re beside him he doesn’t care, he’ll enjoy it all the same.

🧃 - He can’t cook. Not because he hasn’t tried but it’s just like gardening. Some people are naturally gifted at it while others? Not so much. He can’t make himself a balanced meal no matter how much he tries, he knows what should go into it but somehow it never turns out the way he hopes. Even following the instructions word for word somehow messes everything up. So he either buy his meals from the store, or take a bento you would do for him.

🧃 - His jokes are mostly one liners that are quick and catch you off gerd because they rarely happen and when they do sometimes you have to do a double take to realise what he said before you started laughing. Though that in turn made him smile even just the tiniest bit as he enjoyed hearing such a sound and wish he could hear it more often but he’s just not good at telling them.

🧃 - He’s not a fan of comedies but will sit and watch them with you, he’s more into horror films and if you don’t like them he’ll just watch them when you’re not about. Though he’s insistent in watching at least one mild or b. Rate horror movie at Halloween as part of a tradition.

🧃 - Technology? No thanks. He barely knows how to work his phone let alone anything else. He’s too tired to care and can’t be bothered. He only really uses a laptop or computer for sending emails anyway and what’s this thing you’re doing? Tiktok?-Wha? He just doesn’t get the appeal.

🧃 - He’s never told a soul, but he has terrible aches in his shoulders and neck mostly due to previous injuries and is half of the skin on his body is lighter due to the amount of scars that he has on his body from his past. Which is why he covers as much as he can, he’s not proud of them and feel that they’re badges of his failures and is very self conscious before you came along with your words that helped him at least accept the way he is.

#aizawa shouta #aizawa fanfiction #Headcanon #headcanons #aizawa headcanons #aizawa #shouta #reader insert #x reader #x Readers #reader interaction #aizawa x reader #gender neutral pronouns #gender netural reader

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svtskneecaps · 4 years

Text

Number 17

Vernon Chwe x (gender netural) reader

Words: 5048

Genre: fluff, some pining (does pining count as angst?)

neighbor! childhood friend! aus

you’re feeling the summer listlessness. vernon helps you find something to do

day 35 of a tct summer collab

(holy shit guys i’ve been excited to post this since like, MAY holy shit i hope y’all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it)

(my masterlist)

You shot him a text. Very simple.

vernon i’m going crazy

He shot a text back. Very simple.

why

why do you think? you ask. i don’t know what to do

it’s summer, he says, you can do anything. for example, i’m lying in bed enjoying myself

it’s 1 pm

it’s summer

Who are you to argue with that?

i’m still going crazy. you might be able to stay in bed all day but i’m gonna go insane

so find something to do

i can’t, you say, because it’s true.

all year you were listing hundreds of things you would do when you got the time

i know, you say, i know. but it’s like, now i have the time, but i just feel paralyzed. i don’t know what to do

And you wait for a response and none comes for long enough that you worry you said something that was too weird even for him, but then your screen goes dark and your phone buzzes and his contact is on screen. You answer and his messy bedhead fills your screen.

“You want me to decide?” he asks, and his voice is rough like he just woke up.

“Sure,” you say.

“Try baking something,” he says. “Like chocolate chip cookies or a pie or something.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to eat it.”

“Absolutely,” he mumbles, face still half buried in his pillow. “I can grab a quick shower and come over just in time for the taste test.”

You snicker. “No way, you don’t have the palette for a taste test.”

“Alright, then I’ll put them in the oven and we’ll hit up a couple friends and force them to try it.”

And. . . honestly that doesn’t sound half bad. It’s been five days since you saw anyone outside your immediate family--which is suffocating in its loneliness, after the routine closeness of the year--and maybe that’ll make you feel less paralyzed.

“Okay,” you say.

True to his word, Vernon’s over within thirty minutes, leaning his bike up against yours in the garage. He handles the oven for you, although not without teasing you about the time you burned yourself on the top of the oven while taking out your grandma’s angel food cake at Christmas.

“Well at least I helped you remember how coordinates work,” you say, because you both knew that was the reason you two learned whether to move on the x or y axis so much faster than your classmates.

“At least I know how to keep my skin intact,” he shoots back.

While taking the tray out of the oven he very nearly blisters his thumb and drops the tray; after securing the tray’s safety and running cold water over the blister, once your heartbeat returns to something acceptable, you inform him that instead of cookies he’ll be eating his words, to which he responds with, “At least my words taste good,” and you snap him with the towel. He flicks water at you, and only the fear of having even more to clean up keeps you from starting all out war. You tell him to bring his swimsuit over tomorrow, though. There’s mischief in his eyes as he agrees.

You each balance a tupperware of cooled cookies on your handlebars as you coast through the neighborhood, knocking on doors and handing them out to friends and friends’ parents. Minghao takes three. Seungkwan’s mother trades you two bottles of water, fresh from the fridge, for a cookie and first dibs on the next batch. She takes another one and says it’s to give to Seungkwan when he gets home from acting camp, but winks when she says it. You snap Seungkwan the picture of his mom with the cookie, and he snaps back a picture of himself and Jun making dorky faces demanding you save a few for them because make no mistake we will be swinging by your house when we’re done for the day and we expect cookies you two!

Jeonghan and Joshua aren’t home, but you find them all hanging out in Seungcheol’s pool. Jeonghan asks why you aren’t selling your cookies. “Because this is the taste test,” Vernon says. “We’ll be getting you hooked on this batch and then start charging ten bucks on the next round.” Jeonghan praises your business sense and takes a bite out of Seungcheol’s cookie while he isn’t looking. Seungcheol tackles him into the pool and you leave before the ensuing splash fight can get the cookies wet.

True to their word, Jun pulls into the driveway with Seungkwan in the passenger’s seat and Mingyu in the backseat (they must’ve agreed to carpool with Mingyu after his cooking workshop), and you get nervous because Mingyu’s going to college for baking and everyone knows that out of the group Mingyu is the best cook, but Vernon presents him with a cookie no hesitation and Mingyu tells you they’re amazing, and Vernon gives you this smile as if to say, see, nothing to worry about.

Wednesday, Vernon comes over with his swimsuit and you make a pair of rudimentary signs for a car wash out of an old cardboard box. His is very simple, bubble letters with the address and CAR WASH in all caps. You tried to get a little creative with yours.

“I love it,” Vernon says, crouched next to you as you hover over your sign. “You can almost hear the cloud cow saying ‘graphic design is my passion’.”

You push his shoulder hard enough that he topples over, laughing. “It’s supposed to be a soapy car!”

He’s so proud of himself for that joke that he suggests you start a car wash company instead of going to college. “You can call it Clean Mooters,” he says, as you’re filling your buckets.

You blast him with the hose and he laughs so hard he snorts.

You spend the day covered in soap and water, spraying Vernon with the hose if there isn’t a car to wash and shrieking and trying to dance around behind him every time he gets the hose from you. When the cars stop coming you pack up shop, uprooting the signs and taking them inside, tossing them in the recycling bin.

Thursday it’s raining outside. Vernon comes over anyway. You call him an idiot. “Don’t you know the rain’ll rust your bike?”

He shrugs with a half smile, shrugging off a raincoat that now has a strip of mud up the back where his tires kicked up the dirty street water. “There’s only a hundred and four days of summer vacation,” he says. “I didn’t want to miss one.”

You seize his coat and toss it in the sink, bowing your head to scrub off the mud so he doesn’t see how red your cheeks have become.

You play Mario Kart on the Wii for most of the day (Vernon hits you with a red shell right before you cross the finish line; you hip check him off Rainbow Road), and even as out of practice as the both of you have become over the school year, you’re still pretty well matched. By the time you get bored with that, your mom has texted to say she’s going to need to stay at work a little longer and you might be on your own for dinner. That’s fine, you and Vernon try out a recipe for lasagna that you found on a food blog (buried under the woman’s lengthy story of the time her husband nearly got stomped by a cow. “It’s a sign,” Vernon says, “Clean Mooters is your true calling.” You’d hit him if you weren’t very carefully adding a layer of sauce).

It’s still raining when Vernon has to leave. You stand there, just outside the cover of the garage, watching Vernon shrug on his raincoat.

“You’re gonna get soaked,” he says.

“You say that like I care,” you say, rain beginning to drip down your hair.

He steps out of the garage then, too, standing next to you. You turn your face to the sky, closing your eyes against the heavy drops that splatter against your cheeks.

“You’re gonna catch your death.”

“Says the guy who’s wearing a raincoat with the hood down.” You shove his chest without looking. He catches your hands. You look down.

Your eyes meet.

Vernon drops your hands and coughs. You reach up to brush the water from your forehead, gaze on the ground as your face burns, despite the cool rainwater still sliding down your cheeks.

“I, um, I should go,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say. “See you.”

He hops on his bike and rides away. The rain falls so hard you lose sight of him before he rounds the corner.

Saturday the whole team gets together at Jeonghan’s house, because he has a firepit. Seungkwan is standing on the picnic table when you ride up, in the middle of a dramatic retelling of some odd thing that happened at acting camp. He appears to be fencing Vernon with an imaginary sword, and you can only imagine the context of that story. You don’t announce yourself, for fear of making one of them fall off, and help Wonwoo get the food from the kitchen. Mingyu is already getting set up at the grill (despite being one of the youngest, he’s the only one any parent trusts near the grill; previous block barbeques have ended in disaster that no one’s eager to repeat). Minghao is by the firepit, holding the lighter very tightly, either to keep it away from Soonyoung or to ensure he’s the one to start the fire.

Seungkwan jumps down from the table when Jihoon tells him to, although he continues telling his story in an enthusiastic yell. Vernon meets your eyes and grins, flicking his eyes at Seungkwan like you’re sharing an inside joke like normal, and you can almost forget that moment in the rain ever happened.

Nearby, Jeonghan is filling a plastic baby pool with water. You ask him what it’s for but he just grins and tells you it’s a secret. When it comes to Jeonghan that’s usually cause for concern, but also you’re itchy inside your skin and all you did Friday was pick out a couple songs on the old piano your great grandmother left your family and no matter what the adventure you’re down for it, so you leave him to it. It’s the first bonfire of the summer. You can handle anything.

They get the fire started before Mingyu finishes grilling, the smell of the meat wafting over the yard and making your stomach rumble. Unfortunately, they misjudged the wind direction and half of the chairs are directly in the path of the smoke. There’s a lot of complaining as people rush to shift their chairs out of the way. Vernon ends up next to you in the scramble. You aren’t complaining; now you get to tease him about the way he seasons his food and he’ll tease you back about your tendency to drown your burgers in ketchup.

(except you don’t; you eat quietly and neither of you bring up the other’s habits and somewhere deep down that scares you)

When the sun goes down, Jeonghan and Joshua bring out the alcohol, and everyone who’s old enough drinks.

The baby pool, Jeonghan says, is for the losers of the tournament. The tournament, he says, is simple. And for pairs.

The first challenge is a wheelbarrow race down the street. You thought you and Vernon had a pretty good chance of winning, but then, by some divine magic, Jihoon and Mingyu shoot off and cross the finish line miles before everyone else. Half the group calls bologna because come on they’ve got just about the biggest height difference between them, out of everyone, but Joshua was reffing the starting line and didn’t see any false starts; they won fair and square.

The second challenge is hula hooping. You don’t have much hope for your score, not because you’re bad at hula hooping, but because you’re bad at hula hooping when Vernon is right next to you and also hula hooping. You end up laughing so hard that you lose your hoop within three spins, but in the end it doesn’t matter, because Vernon can carry the team score to victory.

“Who needs eight years of gymnastics?” he asks, and you beam.

The third challenge is a ‘who knows their partner the best’ challenge. Jeonghan put together a list of questions, which he and Joshua list off and give time for each partner to write down both their answer and what they think their partner put. You’re a little scared; you’ve known Vernon for as long as you can remember but sometimes you wonder if you really know him like you think you do. The questions aren’t so bad, simply asking what your partner’s favorite clothing brand is, or what time they get up in the morning, or what they think of pineapple on pizza. You breeze through the questions, until the last one. Joshua lists the final question, which member of the group is their favorite?

Your answer is simple enough, but you aren’t sure of his. Sure, you partnered up, but Seungkwan had all but thrown himself directly at Wonwoo when Jeonghan sent you off to partner and you knew Vernon and Seungkwan had known each other long before you had talked to anyone in the neighborhood or gone to a barbeque or slotted yourself into the dynamic of the block, and you knew he and Joshua had a special sort of friendship because of their similar heritage and you just didn’t know for sure what he would put (especially after the strange moment in the rain; you weren’t sure what it meant and you weren’t sure you wanted to know).

Eventually you write Seungkwan’s name on the sheet and hand the paper to Jeonghan when he comes around to collect. You fidget with your fingers as they tally up the scores. Next to you, Seokmin hops up to either get into a passionate debate with Soonyoung over what his true favorite movie is or to maybe just tackle Soonyoung into the grass. Either way, Vernon slides into his empty chair.

“So what’d you put for number seven?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he means. “Clean Mooters,” you say.

He pumps his fist. “I knew you’d see the light eventually!”

“Well I did get the most tips,” you tease.

“Well of course,” he says, “you’re the best looking, it’s only natural.”

Jeonghan calls out that they’ve tallied up the scores before you can process the full implications of that sentence.

You win that round too. Joshua hands the sheets back, and you carefully fold yours and shove it in your pocket.

You play a few more rounds: the chubby bunny challenge (Mingyu crammed an ungodly amount of marshmallows in his mouth, you almost wanted to go to church after seeing that; he kept going even after he won, until he almost choked and Joshua shut him down), the perfect s’more challenge (which you suspect was just an excuse for Jeonghan to get s’mores without having to make them; Mingyu’s first marshmallow slid off his stick, and the second caught fire; Seungcheol and Chan ended up winning and Seokmin called nepotism), the long jump (Soonyoung got overexcited and misjudged his landing; he landed hard on the cement and although he was totally fine, he would ask Jeonghan at random intervals for bonus points because of his injury with a shit eating grin all the while), and finally, a game of hide and seek.

The hide and seek rules are simple; they’ve been the same since you were old enough to be outside after sunset: don’t go off the block, don’t go inside, don’t leave your partner, and don’t use a light. The tournament judges give you thirty seconds head start. You and Vernon take off down the street and the thrill of the game sings through your bloodstream.

“Think they’ll think to look for us up Mrs. Boo’s tree?” Vernon asks as you run.

“Yeah, you remember Seungcheol did that once and Jeonghan’s never forgotten it, it’s the first place he’ll look.” You pass Chan and Seungcheol as they try to conceal themselves behind the Christmas decorations that Mr. Wilkinson still hasn’t taken down. “Mrs. Kim’s porch?”

“No, she’s got her light on.”

You skid to a halt at the end of the street, chests heaving, both casting around for a hiding space. Down the street, Joshua is beginning to yell, counting down from 10. Vernon tugs your sleeve, and points.

You grin.

Moments later, you resettle the plastic lid onto the box, burying yourselves carefully under the tarp inside and setting a few bricks on your backs for good measure. Mr. Lee is upgrading his yard this summer, and one addition is planned to be a brick footpath, and thankfully he left the tote of bricks out where you could get to it. Holding the tarp firmly in place, with the bricks above you for insurance, if they open the tote and decide to slap the tarp, you would just feel like a full box of footpath bricks.

Perfect.

Of course, it’s a pretty small space and you and Vernon have to lie pretty close to one another in order to fit, and your foot presses against his shin and his elbow is in your stomach, but if you lay there and don’t breathe, you’ll have the game in the bag.

“So,” Vernon says, voice so soft it’s sometimes hardly more than a breath, “what’d you put for number seventeen?”

You think back. “Vernon there was no number seventeen.”

“No?” he asks, with a tone like he’d always known. “Guess I’ll have to make one up.”

You snort, very softly. In the distance, yelling breaks out; Soonyoung and Seokmin just got found.

“How do you feel about long distance relationships?” he asks, so softly you nearly miss it.

Your heart skips a beat. You’re pretty sure he’s implying something but you aren’t sure if it should scare you or not. “I think they’re hard,” you say carefully. “Not impossible. But it takes work from both sides. So it’s hard.”

You hear him inhale like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t, and you feel the breeze from his exhale on your face. Neither of you speak, and you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re listening hard for the seekers or because you have nothing left to say.

The lid of the tote scrapes. You stop breathing. Jeonghan says something above you, drowned out by the beating of your heart. He pulls the lid off, and the moonlight filtering through the pinholes in the tarp might as well be a searchlight after the darkness.

Vernon’s face is inches from yours.

You blink, feeling like your eyelashes will brush his face with the motion. They don’t. Jeonghan pokes the tarp, hitting one of the bricks lying on your side. Apparently satisfied, he closes the lid. His footsteps recede.

Vernon’s face is still burned into your eyes like a sunspot.

He was staring at your lips.

You end up losing hide and seek, despite your perfect spot, because Minghao and Jun somehow managed to get onto Jeonghan’s roof (nobody’s managed to guess how and the pair smugly refuse to tell). The tournament ends with only Seungkwan and Wonwoo having not won any challenges. They change into swimsuits and dunk themselves in the baby pool, and then sprint back across the lawn to their towels yelling about the cold (you put a finger in; it wasn’t nearly as bad as when Jeonghan had filled it).

Vernon stops you before you get on your bike to get home.

“I’m. . . gonna be out of town for a couple weeks,” he says, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I can still facetime, but probably only in the mornings and evenings.”

“Okay,” you say, even as your heart sinks (he’s never been away this long).

“Yeah,” he says, and you stand there beside your bikes, looking at each other, like you’re both a little lost in what to do. His eyes keep flicking to your lips.

“So what’d you put for number seventeen?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t hesitate. “I think it could work,” he says, voice as soft as it was in the tote, and you find yourself leaning in to listen. “Easily, even, if it was someone as special as--”

He goes quiet. “As?” you prompt.

He shakes his head. “Someone special,” he says.

You haven’t drank at all but something still buzzes in your veins. It’s the first Saturday bonfire of the summer, and moon floats above the horizon like a glowing balloon, and a warm breeze caresses your skin, and you don’t feel afraid of anything.

“I guess it could work easy,” you say, “if it was someone like you.”

He stares at you long enough that you think maybe you overstepped and your cheeks start to heat and you duck your head and step back with something like an apology and--

--his lips crash into yours.

You don’t know if the kiss lasts for three seconds or three hours. All you know is when you break for breath, you find yourself caught in his eyes, the same familiar deep brown as you’ve seen for years growing up through schools and summers and camps and sleepovers, lying on the floor of the living room and whispering about movies and grades like they were the most important thing in the world.

And then you blink and the world unfreezes and he mumbles something about a curfew and you mumble something about your mom and as if pulled by the same strings you mount your bikes and pedal off in opposite directions.

You lie awake for hours, thinking about his eyes.

You facetime at any and all available hours. You find yourself staying up later to be able to catch him on a lunch break. And it’s hard, but you do it. Because, look, everyone on the block has known that his parents want him to go to Korea for college, and that he wants to go to Korea for college. For years you’ve known this moment was coming. And he’s only going to be there a couple weeks for some kind of tour he landed because his grandmother knows a guy who knows a gal who’s related to a guy who used to babysit for the guy on the school board, or something, and then he’ll come back and you can spend the remainder of the summer doing whatever.

Until then, you’re content to wake up earlier just to get an hour chatting with him before he goes to sleep. You show him all the pages you’ve marked in your mom’s old recipe book and tell him when he gets back you’ll make a couple and sell them for profit. You draw an official logo for Clean Mooters, and he suggests you add a restaurant as a side business that you two could run for extra profit. “Clean Mooters and Good Burgers,” he says, and then says, “No that’s terrible. I’ll keep thinking.”

“Are you the whole Clean Mooters marketing team?” you ask.

“Of course,” he says. “We both know all the business sense went to me.” And he smiles and you forget how to breathe.

You don’t talk about the kiss.

One time, he calls you, and your eyes swoop to check the time, because you know it’s crazy late where he is. You answer.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says before you get a word out, and his voice is hoarse and it twists your stomach. “Can you-- just tell me about your new project?”

And you do; you’ve taken up crochet this week and your grandma gave you a couple pointers and you do your best calming ASMR voice as you repeat her pointers and what you plan to do to build your skill, and then end up going off on a tangent on whether Clean Mooters should have a gift shop selling cow merchandise (“It would make sense, there are a lot of cows around here.”) and when you pause to recollect your thoughts, all you hear is his quiet breathing.

The day Vernon’s set to return is a Thursday, which is perfect, because it gives him time to recollect himself before the Saturday bonfire, which will be the real welcome back party. On Thursday, you and the other kids on the block draw all over the street and then, when his flight is late and the sun goes down before he gets to the street, assemble to hold flashlights over the really good stuff. You only see his smile for a few brief seconds as the car goes past, but it’s enough to make your heart swell.

Friday you wake up to a knock on your bedroom door. “Hey, up and at ‘em, it’s noon!” Vernon calls through the door.

You groan and throw an arm over your face. “Says the guy who was still in bed at one pm that whole first week!”

“Yeah, and it was heaven. Come on, you get up fast enough and I’ll buy you a donut.”

You get dressed and meet him downstairs. “Try that again and I’ll convince my mom to rehide the spare key,” you threaten.

He just grins. “I’d be able to find it.” He picks up your bike helmet. “You want to get out of the neighborhood with me?”

You’d rob a bank if it was with him. “Absolutely.”

It’s a rush to be back on your bike, both of you pedaling faster and faster to try to be in front, weaving around the cars parked on the streetside and hopping the curb just to prove you can. Last week’s project was learning to ride a bike no handed and you show off the new skill as often as you can.

You go everywhere and nowhere. You hit up the mall and he buys you a donut and you wander the halls window shopping, and he buys a whole rainbow set of tinted glasses just because they looked cool; you break open the package the minute you own them and check out your reflection in the store window.

“We look ridiculous,” you say, adjusting the red pair so they sit better on your face.

“Speak for yourself,” Vernon says, turning to see himself from different angles. “I think purple’s exactly my color.”

You shove the blue pair on over the red, even though they barely fit on your nose, and stick your tongue out at him. “There, now we match.”

He puts on another pair of glasses and it turns into a competition of who can wear the most, and then into who can wear the most without getting a headache. That second winner was Vernon, but you won the first half.

You hit up the McDonalds in the food court and get the large cup for a dollar, and then go down the drink machine and hit it with just a quick blast of each, repeated over and over until the cup was full. It tastes like a mess of conflicting sugars and syrups. You drink the whole thing through separate straws. You can’t stop glancing at his lips. Your faces are so close.

You get ice cream and sit under the bridge over the creek to eat it, watching the sun go down somewhere downstream, listening to the cars whizzing past overhead.

“I missed you,” Vernon says.

“I missed you too,” you say, even though that doesn’t convey the half of it.

“During the school year--” He stops, and you glance over to see him staring into the sunset, his ice cream melting toward his fingers.

You take his free hand. “It’ll be hard, not being close for so long,” you say. “But-- we could do it. I’m not just going to stop talking to you because I have classes and-- you know how my sleep schedule gets during the year.”

He laughs, softly, lacing your fingers together. “I’ll be able to call and tell you to go to bed without you turning it on me.”

“Damn.” You scowl at your feet. “Didn’t think about that. You sure you can’t just go to Europe instead?”

“Nope,” he says. “You’re going to have to find a new defense.”

You sigh. “But Vernon that one’s worked since we were fourteen.”

“It never worked!”

“Yes it did because then it got you on the defensive instead!”

“But you still went to sleep when I hung up, didn’t you?”

Double damn. He’s right and you know he knows it, from the raised eyebrow look he’s giving you as he catches the ice cream that’s melting around the edges of his cone.

“. . . That’s entirely beside the point.”

He just grins. You bury your face in your ice cream cone, trying to devour the rest in a single bite to avoid the urge to pout. Of course, all that really does is get ice cream all over your face, but whatever. When you look back at him, he’s still looking at you, his eyes soft and fond and damn but you’re going to miss him like a lung when he’s gone.

“You’ve got a little something there,” he says, and you make a face at him to maybe hide how very obviously whipped you are and do your best to wipe it off with the pile of napkins you snatched.

“Better?”

“No, it’s still--” and he scoots in, and you both go really quiet as he wipes the ice cream from your cheek. His thumb traces your lip.

“You know,” you say, very softly, “if you wanted to kiss me you could’ve just asked.”

His eyes blink up to meet yours, and red tints his cheeks, but he still smiles. “Okay,” he says. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

Your ice cream melts. (“It’s okay,” Vernon says, “I’ll buy you another.”)

#caratwritersclub #a tct summer #seventeen #hansol vernon chwe #seventeen au #vernon au #vernon #seventeen scenarios #vernon scenario #vernon imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #vernon fluff

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clandonnachaidh · 4 years

Text

Remember Remember the Fifth of November

“D’ye think she’ll be warm enough?”

I looked down at our daughter and swallowed the urge to comment on the fact that he’d asked that very question at least ten times in almost as many minutes. His strong jaw was clenched in concentration as he wrestled a cosy knit hat onto her head, trying to be as delicate as he could so as to not wake her but having to go to war with her already abundant curls as they fought back against constriction. Brianna was in my favourite place, cocooned in a wrap that held her close to my chest with her head resting heavily on my shoulder as she slept. I even welcomed the drool that would no doubt be spilling from her parted lips as she dreamed.

Amongst all the other blessings that having a child of our own brought to us, the fact that she was such a good sleeper was not one to go unmentioned.

I smiled softly at the sight of my husband, huge and imposing in every way but somehow unbelievably gentle when it came to his daughter. Jamie was looking at her with the sheer adoration that appeared only when he was looking at Brianna.

“She’ll be fine. Besides, it’ll be warm beside the bonfire.”

“Aye but nae too close,” Jamie warned me, pointlessly.

“Don’t worry, lad, I don’t have any inclination to launch our daughter into the flames.”

He quietly muttered ‘dinna even joke’ under his breath as he put an arm around me and pressed a kiss to my temple, showing me that I was forgiven for my attempt at comedy.

Brianna shuffled slightly so I checked that she was comfortable, made sure that her little booties were firmly on her feet and saw that her hands were cradled in tight fists under her chin. Jamie retrieved his favourite Barbour jacket from the wardrobe and slipped into it, pulling his own beanie down around his ears before he caught sight of the three of us in the mirror.

Of course I was biased but the picture reflected in the glass was glorious. We looked like the perfect little family. Jamie towering over his two girls, ever the protector. I hadn’t been aware that I was beaming with pride but when I saw myself, my face was split into an open grin. Our little unit, all bundled up against what would be a cold autumn night, complete with matching wool jumpers that had been a gift to Jamie and myself from Jenny the previous Christmas with the promise of a smaller version being underway for Brianna to receive this year.

We could hear Ian and Murtagh having a loud discussion about where best to stick the Guy even through the thick walls of Lallybroch. With a chuckle, Jamie decided that it was time for him to wade into the discussion lest his godfather and brother-in-law decided to try and drown the other in the basin full of water that had been set up so the children could bob for apples. Just as we made it into the kitchen, Wee Jamie was caught red handed trying to stick a single finger into the treacle that was cooling around the toffee apples that were supposed to have been a surprise for later. A fact that wasn’t lost on my husband.

“Yer ma will tan yer hide and ye ken fine well.” Jamie grabbed his namesake around the waist with his free arm and lifted his giggling nephew out into the cold air, his other arm never dropping from the shield that he had created around Brianna and myself.

Lallybroch had come to be our home. It was beautiful in the spring with the first buds beginning to bloom and the small walk down to the burn was worth it for a dip in the midst of boiling hot summers. Of course, it was picturesque enough to be on a postcard when it was covered in soft, fluffy snow but my favourite had to be autumn. The trees that surrounded the land had all turned, greens deepening until they turned bright orange and red. It hadn’t been too windy so even though the ground was covered in a deep layer of leaves, the huge trees were anything but bare.

“Go and sort them out before I stuff one of them into the Guy’s outfit masel’,” Jenny’s voice came from behind us and Jamie snorted a laugh as he moved towards the two men who were still having words with each other over the correct placement of the effigy that had lovingly been made from potato sacks and straw with a somewhat terrifying hand-drawn face thanks to the efforts of Wee Jamie and his little sister Maggie.

“Mary, Michael and Bride, they’re worse than the weans sometimes,” Jenny sighed heavily, a sentiment I was not going to disagree with. We watched the three men bicker over this and that before finally coming to the conclusion that they would play rock, paper, scissors to determine the outcome of a very simple issue.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I laughed as Murtagh clipped Ian around the head, clearly not happy with the result. Victorious, Ian pulled the physical representation of Guy Fawkes from the ground and placed him proudly on the bonfire, balancing him right in the middle of a particularly dense patch of branches to serve as a sort of throne.

I hadn’t noticed Jenny had gone until she reappeared with two mugs in her hands, spirals of steam rising and disappearing into the air.

“I slipped something special intae yer hot chocolate, mo phiuthar,” Jenny gave me a wink as she pressed the warm mug into my hand. I inquisitively stuck my nose close to the rim and felt a wry smile creep onto my face as I confirmed my suspicions with a look at my sister-in-law.

“That creme brûlée liqueur I got you?”

She nodded before taking a solid glug from her own cocktail, “The very same.”

From his place at his dad’s side, Wee Jamie bolted towards us and pulled at his mother’s arm, dragging her towards her husband as he begged the two of them for the bonfire to be lit.

With a look down at my own sleeping offspring, I took a sip of my hot chocolate and closed my eyes appreciatively, letting the warmth flow down my throat and into my chest.

“Christ alive, Claire.”

Jamie’s husky voice appeared from behind me and I smirked at him, knowing that only my husband could be one of the only men to see his wife enjoying a hot drink and make it a sexual thing.

“There’s booze in it. Here, try.”

I offered my mug to him but instead he closed the gap between us, careful to cradle Brianna’s head in one of his hands, and kissed the taste from my lips.

“Delicious.”

“Uncle Jamie, hurry! Da’s doin’ it!”

We all convened around the modest structure that had been built from old fence posts, planks from barn doors and old bits of timber from wooden pallets. I spied the leg of a kitchen chair that had met an explosive end the previous Hogmanay after a drunken Jamie and Murtagh had fallen into it during what had started as an eightsome reel and quickly descended into the two men trying to spin each other as hard as possible until they both lost their footing.

As if she knew that it was time for the festivities to start, Brianna started to make the little noises that meant she was beginning to wake.

“Ah, the wee snuffle pig is comin’ around, is she?” Jamie whispered soft words over her as his hands began to untangle his daughter from the folds of the wrap. I giggled at the nickname that he’d given her and stretched the tired muscles of the small of my back now that I didn’t have an extra 10kg of weight hanging off of me. Even though she was only a year old, Brianna was affectionately referred to within the family as ‘the long baby’ due to the Viking genes that had been passed down through her father.

As her sleepy eyes began to blink open, the first thing in her line of sight was her father which produced a rather spectacular smile.

“Daaaaaa,” she groaned with joy.

It was the only thing that she said, not yet having mastered any sort of name for me. She had, however, had given me the gift of a very specific, very shrill screech to know when it was mummy that was looking for. As much as I joked about him pipping me to the post, it was my favourite thing to see Jamie’s utterly radiant smile each and every time she said it.

“Did ye have a nice wee sleep, m’annsachd?” he asked as he kissed her head and then each cheek for good measure.

“Look, darling!” I put on my best excited face and pointed towards the bonfire where Murtagh held a torch and Ian held Maggie on his hip, Wee Jamie at dutifully at his side.

“Remember, remember, the 5th of November! Gunpowder, treason and plot! We see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot!”

With a round of applause for the two Murray children, Murtagh put the torch to the woodpile.

It went up with a whoosh causing Murtagh to stagger back slightly. He caught himself before subtly giving the finger to Ian who was doubled over laughing.

“Ye’ve got a bit less beard the noo!”

Shaking my head at the childish antics of the two eldest men in the family, I set my sights on the reflection of the flames dancing around in Brianna’s beautiful blue eyes. A lighter higher up, I saw the same vision replicated in the eyes of her father.

“D’ye like it, Bree? Can ye see the manny on the top there?”

“One year old might be a touch young to start explaining about why we burn a man on a bonfire, Fraser,” I said sardonically.

He made a face at me before bringing his mouth down to meet mine, Brianna’s pudgy hand caught somewhere between our bottom lips.

“She’ll be raised on stories of rebels, Sassenach. Guy Fawkes and Robert the Bruce and the like.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, “Any women in that list?”

“Aye, ‘course. Joan of Arc, Sophie Scholl. All the good ones.”

I nodded once with a smile to tell him that I was happy with his additions and we turned back to the bonfire, watching as the effigy burned in front of us. Jamie secured Brianna on his hip, burying his face into the riotous curls that had escaped from her hat and delighting in the resulting giggles. His other arm was wrapped around my side, sheltering me under his arm. Despite the cold, he was warm enough for all three of us.

We watched as the flames licked and crawled over the wood, bursts of air popping as the heat became too much. It was a beautiful clear night, even with the smoke from the bonfire billowing upwards and all at once, a huge explosion of white light lit up the night sky.

Brianna’s face at the sight of her first firework was something I knew that both Jamie and I would cherish forever. Her mouth hung open, eyes glittering with excitement as the colours burst in the sky. White and blue and green and red illuminated the pale skin on her face and it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.

She began to make breathy noises of awe, her little hand gently resting on Jamie’s cheek just to make sure that he was watching it all unfold with her. He quickly snuck a glance at me and smiled knowingly when he saw the tears in my eyes. A laugh snuck out of me, ready to dash my eyes and make a self-deprecating comment about being a silly, emotional mum but Jamie pulled me tighter against him and laid a kiss on the crown of my head.

“I am the luckiest man alive,” he announced. “Happy Bonfire Night, my beautiful lasses.”

#outlander #outlander fan fiction #Claire Beauchamp #Jamie Fraser #Brianna #ao3

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chyrstis · 3 years

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WIP Thursday

Now that things have stabilized a tiny bit (or at least some of the stress has), I really wanted to see about taking part as a bit of a treat to myself, especially since @starsandskies was kind enough to send a tag my way yesterday (thank you! <3) I’m also really hoping to be more present as I start to figure out the right kind of work/life/fun balance I want to nail here.

Tagging: @writerofblocks @cobb-vanthss @amistrio @shallow-gravy @kerryseurodyne @jackiesarch @painterofhorizons @ma-sulevin @foofygoldfish @teamhawkeye @guileandgall @redroci @geronimo-11 @proudspires @faithchel @risenlucifer @tomexraider @unlikelynick @fluttyseed @sneaky-apostate @baeogorath @fadedjacket @princess-underthemountain @strafethesesinners @lilwritingraven @sapphicvalhallas @ofravensandgenesis and anyone else that’s interested, this is totally a free tag!

First, Hana’s no good very bad day continues in the Trap fic though future days are certainly going to give her a run for her money

---

“Good. This moment won’t happen again. Decision made?”

He nodded. That’s when he dragged her up, his grip tight on her upper arm, and Hana tried to find her footing fast. Needed it in case another opening came even with the two watching her, but nearly lost it when he made her face the door and pushed.

The woman easily caught her, standing her up straight as she gave her a quick once-over. Then slapped a bag over her head, tying it tight.

This was bad. Well and truly beyond fucked as Hana sucked in a breath, and jerked away at the first touch to her shoulder. The grip that closed around her arm was a vice as she was guided forward, however, and there was no dragging her feet here as she was pushed out of the room.

Voices came from her left. One to two as she moved across the floor, paired with laughter.

Sinner. Look at you!

Did they know who she was? They had to have known, seeing as she’d cycled through as many red flannel shirts as she could get her hands on, and never bothered to change that up once. If someone had a punch - or heaven forbid, a knife - she’d never be able to dodge it like this, and idly wondered if anyone was nursing a grudge strong enough to risk it.

Then she heard names. The man’s - Ben, Benji, both were used liberally - and the woman, which sounded like an Essie or Esther, almost. But they didn’t slow down. Just kept her moving, even when mention of the Herald sent a chill running down her spine.

“So much for running! Wait’ll John gets his hands on you, and tears you wide open-”

She twisted in the VIP’s grip to headbutt the heckler and actually made contact. Felt something crack and give, and that was satisfying. Even if it stung like a motherfucker, and she was nearly knocked flat for it. Still, the woman holding her kept her up. Even when Hana snarled and tried to fight it.

That got a laugh. More than one as the voices came closer now, bearing in on her.

---

Next, a little Faith and John conversation that I’d really like to add more to soon, maybe? This hit while I was fighting off a cold and failing, and I really couldn’t complain about a potential shot at some interaction between these two.

---

“She's warm. You should hear her laugh.”

“Laugh?”

John watched Faith smile as she remembered it. Saw that fondness settle over her as she tilted her head towards him, and extended her open palm.

“She worries a lot. Many do, but I could see that weight fade from her. How much happier she was, lighter, and the minute it happened, I didn't need to take her hand. She reached for it.”

John stared her outstretched hand down, and watched her fingers slowly close around air, nothing more.

“We all know that the bliss shows you what you want to see,” he replied, going back to his drink. “Are you sure you weren't suffering from a little wishful thinking yourself, dear sister?”

Faith frowned. “…Only a hair, but is it so awful to want that too? Peace for her and for us? If only you could only see how beautiful she was. Maybe next time I can show you?”

The glass stressed under his fingertips as he set it down with a clatter. “She'd be no better than a drunken idiot,” John snapped. “I want her lucid. Aware. To make choices for herself, and the more you expose her to it, the less she'll be able to come back from it. You know that.

“Joseph wants someone to reach her. To reach all of them. If your way doesn't work, mine might. It doesn't matter who gets to her first as long as she comes to us.”

“Willingly.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. She’ll choose,” Faith said, smiling once again. “She’ll make that choice and decide just who to give that smile to.”

---

And a little No Cult AU, b/c I’m missing it dearly. There’s a little tacked onto here from the previous section I posted a while back, but it’s really too much fun for me to want to chop it up any further.

---

“What are you-” Sighing deeply, John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Charlemagne, I can count the number of people I know on one hand that regularly deal in flammable items and explosives. People that I know personally, and would borderline even consider allowing within a foot of these things, given their past history.”

“Well, you’ve seriously gotta give me their info, ‘cause I could’ve sworn I had a handle on all of that shit in the county, and yeah, I don’t got a business card, or a phone number to call, but moving in when they know someone else’s got that down? That goes against common courtesy, man. Like, we’re breaking potential pyro bro codes left and right. You don’t just-”

“You! You are the person I know!” John shot, throwing both hands up as he gestured towards him. “You would be the one I’d hire! How you could even think otherwise is beyond me!”

The sound of a throat being cleared made both of their heads snap towards the front, and Sharky nearly did a double-take when it became clear who it was.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Joseph asked, looking between them.

“Joseph.” John paled, but slapped a smile onto his face in record time as he stood up straighter. “We weren’t-it’s fine. You weren’t interrupting anything, just business.”

The guy really had to be some kind of bible-based ninja or something, because he wasn’t standing right at the door, but within a few feet of the table they were by. Meaning he’d opened the door, closed it, walked well within viewing distance of either of them, listening as Sharky had struggled to put two and two together to make five, and John had all but-

Wait, hold up.

His thoughts skidded to a halt.

John wanted to hire him? Him, outside of this, whatever this was?

Looking his way, Sharky didn’t even give a damn that his mouth was hanging open, because holy shit, he’d said those exact words, and hadn’t taken them back or corrected them.

John was focused entirely on Joseph at this point, hands moving as he explained away, and didn’t dismiss him even at that point. Just kept on talking. So, Sharky kept on staring at him all while he kicked that fact around back and forth, and felt a smile start to creep onto his face.

#don't mind me #posting this probably way too late but it feels good to have something down and to post here again #and if I can sneak in some more work on any of these between slides this weekend I'll be absolutely thrilled

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blah-de-blah-de-blah · 3 years

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Some thoughts now I’ve finished What Happens On Tour

A while ago I read some advice from an author about what to do if your characters go off on their own paths and start to move away from what you’ve planned for them. Her advice? “Well, you must shut them up.”

Yeah, I wish I knew how to do that.

I can’t remember where or when the inspiration for What Happens On Tour came from. There’s a lot in there, including my own thoughts of “hey, if I had some, or any, musical talent I could have been a rock star”, but it’s an idea that developed over time. Two definite inspirations on it were The Law Of Gravitation (a music AU Doctor Who fic that starts about Bill and Heather but then grows to include just about everyone) and Mix The Bourgeoisie And The Rebel (a Pitch Perfect Bechloe fic where they oscillate between together and not together a lot). Anyway, if you liked What Happens On Tour, then you might well like those too.

The basic idea of the story was simple - put them together in the band, then have them wanting to be together but not being able to because of how their previous relationships had messed up and this was their last chance - and in my head it was going to be roughly six or seven parts, around twenty thousand words or so. They’d meet, they’d pine, they’d hook up, they’d both think that the other thought it was a bad idea, they’d try to keep apart but end up hooking up again, repeat a bit and then they finally get together, announce it in public, everyone’s happy, fun little epilogue, the end.

Best laid plans, eh? Even the epilogue’s changed - I started writing the one I’d had in my head since beginning this, and it just didn’t feel right. As another example, in the rough version I had in my head, chapter one was going to end with Clarke and Lexa waking up together hungover on the couch, a point they eventually reached at the end of chapter six.

There’s always a gap between the story in your head and the story you end up writing, and more often than not it’s because the characters you create refuse to jump through the hoops you’re setting up. I ended up writing more about them because I wanted to know more and explore more of them, but the more I did that the more it took them away from the characters who would have been fine for the more light and breezy version of the story that I’d begun with the intention of writing. They were still following my plan, but much more slowly than I expected and building a much deeper connection. This meant that when they finally got together - in chapter twenty of my initial six or seven - the idea that they’d stay apart because of bad communication just didn’t feel right. I’d thought I could get back to something like the original plan, but any time I tried to write an end to the next chapter where they didn’t talk about it just didn’t feel right. They wouldn’t avoid it, and once they actually talked it over in chapter twenty-two, I realised they weren’t going to keep themselves apart and I didn’t want to write a story where I’d contrive some external forces that would somehow keep them apart.

Looking back over some of it and I think the key line for me in realising that the story wasn’t quite what I’d thought it would be was Clarke’s “when it feels so good you’ll wade through rivers of shit to feel like that” in the very first chapter. That line came out and I realised I knew her and what she’d gone through, and it was a lot more than I thought it would be. I could have deleted it, but something light and breezy in there instead, but it wouldn’t have felt honest. Some people might be able to get their characters to shut up. It seems I’m not one of them. This has become the longest thing I’ve ever written, though I have done stuff getting towards the same length, but it’s been the first thing I’ve written that’s completely driven by character and relationships like this. Other stuff has been in the mould of the old pulp writer’s adage: if you don’t know what to do next, have someone walk in the door with a gun. Because this story was about the characters, I tried to avoid that - and there are definitely no guns in this story - by not throwing random events at them. I.ve been learning along the way but I think I’ve generally kept things in some sort of continuity (the one thing that niggles at me is something Raven does in the first chapter that doesn’t quite fit with how she’s described later, which I doubt anyone else has even noticed) and actually developed the characters. There are things I’d do differently if I was writing it again (starting with the title, which would be Teach Me To Let Go Of My Fears) but I’m generally happy with the way it turned out.

That said, there’s been that interesting pressure of knowing people are waiting for the next chapter to keep me going. I’ve got a lot of stories on my hard drive that I’ve started and then “paused” on half way through to go back and fix things which have never been finished. With this, I just had to strap myself in and keep going to the finish, hoping I would work out. And it did!

The one thing I didn’t do which I partly regret, and people have asked about in the comments, is putting any Raven/Anya relationship stuff in there. I had thought about doing it when I started off but never could find the right time to put a focus on them, especially when I was sticking to my rule of only using Clarke and Lexa as the viewpoint characters. Like I said, first time doing a story like this and managing one relationship was tough enough. That said, I’m fully in agreement with the death of the author and I haven’t put anything in there that explicitly contradicts whatever ideas you might have about what they’re doing in the background. And they will definitely be a feature in at least one of the next stories I’m planning.

Octavia and Lincoln was easier because they were together when she came into the story and the increasingly rough plan I had of where this was going had their engagement and wedding as points in the story. Fun fact: in the extended series of hookups version, that conversation with Bellamy at the wedding would have been the key for Clarke realising she wanted more with Lexa. (Asks are open for any other questions you might have about alternatives, or anything else) Overall, I’ve really enjoyed writing this story and it’s been a real light for me in a pretty dark time for all of us. I’m still amazed that so many people have read it, liked it and wanted more of it, so thank you all for following me on this journey. There are definitely more stories to come from me, so watch this space. There might even be some one-shot follow-ups to this in the future - I’m not promising anything, but I have vague ideas floating around, and I might sometime get the inspiration to turn one of them into a full story.

For now, I’m going to split my attention between two projects (and, you know, the rest of my life). I’m going to go back to Running Back To You, which began as a Clexa Week one-shot, but I’ve now got ideas for taking it forward, even if I don’t quite know where it’s going. My idea there is to balance the quite heavy Clexa story there with a lighter one of Raven and Anya (and where they have their own story, not just a pair the spares). The other is much more action-oriented, as it’s the Highlander fusion plot that dropped into my head. I’ve got a plot for it that’s not just rehashing the film, but I need to work some more on the outline before I start to post it, because I need to get the pacing right before the whole thing turns into a mess.

But all that is for the future, and I hope some of you stick around to read them if and when they appear. Until then, thank you all for reading and everything else that kept me going and for the past six months of writing, it’s been a fantastic experience for me, and I hope you enjoyed the ride.

#what happens on tour #writing #just a few thoughts

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reeesea · 4 years

Text

Something Sweet: Part Three

~sweet beginnings~

one ~ two ~ three ~ four ~ five ~ six ~ seven ~ eight ~ nine

pairing: minsung, jisung/minho

warning: mild language

words: 2.5k ish

summary: sweet beginnings and small apartments, also Seungmin baby shows up

a/n: Im honestly just proud of myself for posting a third chapter woo!! lemme know if you read and enjoyed <3

also the spacing got wack trying to do the text convos, so hope the bold and non bold isn't too gross to look at. Minho and Jisung

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Minho wakes up to the sun streaming in through the thinly veiled curtains over his window. Thankfully he woke up to a minimal headache in spite of having gone out to the bar and an impromptu concert the night before. Rolling over in his small twin sized bed he reached for his phone to check the time and any potentially important notifications.

9:26 am

[ 2 new messages from Rich Boy Han Jisung ]

Minho finds himself smiling at the new messages from the boy that had stumbled upon him last night.

2:25 am

Youre right I do hear it all the time

but it sounds pretty sweet coming from you ;}

I'll tell J.One you thought he was amazing

9:28 am

Careful Han, your cockiness is showing

Jisungs’s cocky demeanor does nothing but make him more endearing to the older, but something gave Minho the impression that the boy already knew this. Not expecting a reply from the other this early in the morning, Minho stretched out of bed and made his way out of his small bedroom and quietly to the shared bathroom. Not a small feat in the old apartment shared by him and his roommates. Creaky floorboards, squeaky doors, and over all close proximity to each other makes being quietly courteous in the morning a frequent challenge for the boys.

The living room at the end of the small hallway was turned into a shared bedroom for Minho's two roommates. Felix’s mattress had gotten a bed frame from some trading website a few months back when he moved in. The makeshift wall of hung shower curtains and a fold out screen gave the boys the illusion of privacy between their respective sides of the room. Even though more times than not, Minho has come home to find the lanky brunette curled up in Felix's bed instead of on his designated couch.

Climbing over the piles of the boys’ clothes, Minho makes it to the bathroom without disturbing the other two. The two were still passed out from working their night shifts, draped over each other on the freckled boy’s bed. Neither showed signs of awakening any time in the morning hours. Minho showered quickly and changed in order to make his way out of the apartment and on his way to the studio to practice his Saturday away

Minho would have thought that the both of them would have remained in their university dorms for the summer, if they weren’t able to find apartments on their own. But, at some point after he had graduated, he had gained himself plus two of his underclassmen as roommates. He really couldn't complain though, it all made sense as all three of them were a part of the same dance studio, barely a block away, and all had reasons to be saving money. Paying a fraction of rent really helped with all that had to be saved in order to pay for school, studio fees, living, breathing, and most importantly audition fees.

As the summer had set in, so had the wave of audition opportunities for companies and crews. Felix had mentioned needing to prepare a video audition last week for a few entertainment companies in the area. Hyunjin was busy trying to save up his money to pay for the upcoming semesters at school to graduate like Minho had.

Entering the practice room and being welcomed by the distinctive scent of a dance studio was enough to bring Minho back to reality. Since graduating, he had been stuck in his thoughts about what to do with his future a lot. His childhood dreams of getting into the prestigious Yellow Wood Dance Academy seemed to slip farther away from him with every passing year. His audition tapes each year during university were almost always sent back, along with a ‘We are sorry to inform you…’

It’s not like Minho couldn't keep applying, but with every year the rejection stung a little bit more, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to take another blow. No matter how confident Minho acted about his looks, when it came to dancing his ego was glass fragile. His passion for dance sometimes felt like the only thing that kept him standing, but it had been a while since he had felt rewarded for his dedication. Even when his practically broken dream haunted him a little too much, focusing back to his craft really gave him a better grasp on reality. Making his way to the front of the room to plug in his phone to pick music, a new notification popped up.

[Rich Boy Han Jisung]

10:03am

dw dw its all fake i assure you, all just a ploy to get you to like me

What you up to on this fineee saturday mornin??

Hmmm wouldnt you like to know

i only tell boys i like so...

Minho smiled in spite of himself. Even over text the sparkly eyed boy was able to pull out and dust off his genuine smile. It had definitely been a while since Minho had found himself freely smiling, but here comes Han Jisung crash landing into his life, running amuck. After spending a moment debating whether or not just to tell the younger of his activities anyway, he came to the conclusion that mentioning dance would only result in more questions, and Minho really wasn't feeling like spilling his passions and dreams with the other already.

Haha i am only even more motivated now >:D

Dont strain yourself too much with that,

im just enjoying my saturday before my shift later.

Queuing up some music Minho migrated to the middle of the room to casually freestyle and warm up for the day. Allowing the music to flood his ears, movements to take over his limbs, and only his feet to remind him of where he was, Minho’s mind went blank as he began to relax and give up control of his body to the steady beats of the song.

---

By the time Minho wrapped up his practice and was heading home the sun was already starting to settle on the lower half of the sky. Surprisingly the day had passed him by quickly. Spending the whole day grinding out a routine he had been recently working to perfect was not usually an overall fun time, but Minho found that he was able to keep his practice productive and enjoyable.

His smile throughout the day certainly had nothing to do with his breaks to text to Jisung. The casual banter between them felt natural, and the light conversation made him feel lighter on his feet as he moved across the floor. Even with the flirty nature of their introduction, their conversation never steered far from how anyone would expect two close friends to interact. Minho found himself smiling more throughout the day as he checked Jisung’s messages throughout the morning and afternoon.

12:25 pm

Also for the record my capacity to flirt is honestly quite unimpressive

I hope you aren’t talking to me for my stage charisma and charm

To sweep you off you feet, i may be a disappointment

Usually i'm just awkward, cant flirt, doesnt leave the house, Jisung

You almost tripped over your feet walking into the bar last night

Dw im not sure id want you to sweep me off my feet with that balance

You wound me ;--;

By talking to Jisung, he had somehow managed to satisfy all of Minho’s previous curiosities while sparking new ones. Even with Minho generally avoiding giving away his own personal interests and dreams, Jisung didn't hold those same reservations and filled their conversation with “fun facts” and lively stories. Jisung’s lively play by play of the bickering taking place between his group mates, now officially introduced as Chan and Changbin, had Minho giggling on the floor of the practice room. The way Jisung described everything brought it to life in ways that he hadn’t expected from a casual text conversation. The boy was definitely a great storyteller even just over type, and Minho found himself wondering if he would get to hear his endless stories in person.

---

[Rich Boy Han Jisung]

3:36 pm

Youre one interesting man Lee Minho

Han, you know almost nothing about me

On the contrary I feel like I know a good amount

Youre name is Lee Minho

You work at the fancy restaurant Menu 98

You used to work at the bar we were at last night

You have a really beautiful smile

…

Are you quite done

Definitely not but if i start going off about how stunning your eyes are

you might block me

Which would be a shame please dont

What happened to awkward Jisung who cant flirt huh?

Minho returned to the small apartment to find Felix attempting to cook some ramen in the microscopic kitchen and Hyunjin sprawled across the couch watching some variety show. Felix was probably fueling up in order to spend the night gaming the weekend away before his work overtook his weekdays again. Hyunjin barely looked to be conscious but still managed to wave a greeting to Minho as he walked into the room.

“How’d practice go?”

“Pretty well. Finally was able to clean up that middle section I’ve been messing up.” Minho hurried into the other room to shower once again before heading to the restaurant for his evening shift.

“Oh glad to hear it.” Felix’s voice filtered in from his place by the stove that was shoved in a corner of the room, along with a fridge and a sink that barely classified it as a kitchen unit. None of the three were complaining, the stove heated up their ramen water and the fridge kept their milk cold, what more could they ask for?

“WAIT, did you talk to that guy at the bar last night???” Hyunjin’s loud voice carried from the couch through their thin walls allowing Minho to clearly hear even if his bedroom door was closed.

“Which one, Jinnie?? You gotta be more clear than that.” Minho had actually stacked up a few numbers from his night and received atleast ten free drinks from other patrons. Not too bad for the first night out, but of course the only phone number he had bothered messaging happened to be the one he had been texting all day.

“You know the one, the rapper one you left to go see perform.” Minho of course knew, but he wasn't gonna admit it to his roommate so easily, and just hummed in response eliciting a groan from the younger.

“If you haven’t, you so should. 3racha is all everyone from the bar is talking about. Their concert must have been a big deal or something.”

“WHAT, 3RACHA? You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Felix, apparently a fan, shuffles in with his ramen in hand to accompany the loud outburst.

“Hyung! One of them gave you their number?? They’re literally like the next big thing in the music scene. Which one of them was it?”

J.One, Han Jisung, the cute pink hoodie guy

“His name is Jisung I’m pretty sure.” Minho was very sure. “I didnt know they were such a big deal”

“J.One gave you his number? Damn hyung, you don't even know. They’ve been performing locally for years but their fan base has grown a ton in the last year. There’s rumors that they've signed with a company and are going to come out with something soon.” Felix continued spouting off information on the group to them, as Minho continued his routine of preparing for work at Menu 98.

---

[Rich Boy Han Jisung]

4:35 pm

Looks like my roommate is a fan of you guys

We’re not talking the tall beautiful bartender from last night right

No that was Hyunjin, Felix is the fan

beautiful?

Ah atleast ill be on the good side of one of ur roomies

Yeah tall boy was pretty, but something about him made me think he didnt like me

I think it was his face, and his height

Most tall pretty boys dont take too well to a squirrel boy being in their territory ya know.

Whats not to like about a cute squirrel boy

Im sure he likes you and youre over thinking

If his two roommates like you, he’ll have to like you by association

Did Lee Minho just admit to liking me

Wow the development, less than 24 hours

We love to see it

Your ridiculous

I said nothing of the sort

Sure sure hyung

Gtg now, dinner shifts starting

Have fun at work!!!!

(wait can i call you hyung???)

Minho left him on read as he walked into the restaurant, already bustling with waiters and the changing of shifts for the dinner crowd. ‘Less than 24 hours’ and Minho was already admitting indirectly that he liked the boy he had only just properly met the night before. Stranger things have happened he supposed. Minho continued to surprise himself with this one though. He was not one to seek out friendships or relationships. Anything more than the very occasional one night stand, was practically void from Minho’s social life. Other than the people he had met through dance and his roommates, there were very few others that Minho had chosen to form any kind of relationship with. Even his co-workers were mostly just faces and names he had to remember in order to do his job well.

Well, expect Seungmin.

“You look awfully happy today, who spiked your coffee this morning?” Seungmin had been a newly inserted character in Minho’s life but they became fast friends after a few too many late night shifts without proper caffeination.

Seungmin had been a newly hired host at Menu 98, just the average polite university student with enough experience to get hired. When Minho met him they exchanged the basic pleasantries and thought that would be the end of that, until one fated closing shift. A certain, tipsy, entitled, rich, high class asshole of a customer had held up Minho’s section for much of the night. Minho found himself being bossed around and verbally berated throughout the night, trying to serve the women who appeared to never be satisfied with the food or service Minho was offering. By the end of the night, she was their last customer and Minho saw her to the front to pay. His customer service smile, strained and barely holding up, and the woman’s complaints, even while paying, had him wanting to drop all his pleasantries and curse her out as she waltzed out the door.

“What an absolute fucking pain in the ass of a woman”

Minho hadn’t thought he had said his thoughts aloud, but looked up to catch Seungmin, who had let the words come out in hushed tones as he held a sickening polite smile on his face. After that point the two had bonded over various pain in the ass customers and a mutual love for sarcastic backhanded insults. Minho's relationship with Seungmin was probably the closest thing to a friendship that the older had experienced in a while.

“No spiked coffee, sadly”

“Well something’s making your usual sad bitch face smile, so it's gotta be good. Hmm...Meet someone?” Seungmin’s signature puppy eyes were on full display, but not without the signature mischievous glint they always held.

“Well wouldn't you like to know Seungmo~ but me and my usually flawlessly beautiful face got to go charm our way into some extra tips.” Minho gave the boy a gentle pat on his head, that was met with a stubborn pout forming at the younger’s lips.

“You definitely met someone, you usually don't have this much self-confidence so early into the evening.” Minho did nothing but giggle at his comment and made his way to the back room to begin his shift.

------

one ~ two ~ three ~ four ~ five ~ six ~ seven ~ eight ~ nine

#stray kids fic #stray kids #skz #skz fic #minsung #lee minho #han jisung #stray kids han #lee know #jisung #idk what to tag anymore

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nighttimepixels · 4 years

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Lilytale Matchup Possible Results

Alright, I figure it’s been long enough to give a lot of people the chance to take the Which Lilytale Lady Might Be Your Match? quiz , so for those who have been wanting to be able to read the result descriptions for all the ladies, I’m posting them below the cut :D

Serif

... aka, Lady UT Sans! Congratulations, you've found yourself one laid back skeleton wife here. Underneath her easy-going attitude, though, is a loyal and observant friend and partner that will have your needs in mind as well as your wants. She has a knack for figuring out what you're missing when you're frazzled, and it's like she's got a sixth sense for when you're just about to get hungry, or cold, or etc. Spend some quality time with her, encourage her to open up so she doesn't carry too much of a burden no one even realizes she's taking on, and be her best friend - her soul's already yours.

Vellum

... aka, Lady UT Pap! Dedicated, optimistic, mischievous, and with a friendly streak a mile wide, you'll be hard pressed to *not* have a good time in her company. She loves any sort of clever banter, will literally bridal carry you into the sunset if you let her, and may or may not be an even better prankster than her sister... at least, in the long game, anyways! Cuddle up whenever you've got her on some down time, let her now out loud just how much you appreciate her, and know that with her around, you'll always have someone there to not just pull you out of the mud - but to wade right in with you, and hand-in-hand start navigating out of it together.

Sapphire

... aka, Lady US Sans! Roller Derby queen, motorcycle aficionado, and video game queen, you'll never be short of adventure with Sapphire around. She adores seeing you smile and laugh most of all, and if at all possible, loves to achieve it by roping you into mischievous shenanigans that most likely will end up affecting or involving all your friends. That said, she's surprisingly adept at the quiet moments, too - and around you... well, she feels like maybe, just maybe, she can be *allowed* to slow down, to not try to do so much. She'll make you feel treasured in every way, and loves quality time with you, so just be there for her like she's there for you and you'll have a partner in japes and joy till the end of time.

Amber

... aka, Lady US Pap! I hope you liked baked goods, because she'll make sure you have every best kind she can bake. Amber's down to earth, a great listener, and a damn good storyteller, too. She's got an artistic mind even though she's a bit of a programmer too, and loves to use that skill to take your mind off what might be troubling you in any way that fits... if she's not already making you laugh. Most of all, you'll find yourself reluctant to get out of bed - she's a world-class snuggler, and if you're into it, has other ways to convince you that staying in her nest of pillows and blankets is preferable to going about your day as normal. Be there for her, reciprocate those gentle touches and storytimes, indulge in the little things, and know that you've got a hilarious yet soft-spoken partner with a heart of gold that'll find countless ways to show you the beauty and fun in all kinds of passing moments.

Crimson

... aka, Lady UF Sans! Talk about a lover for the ages. She's brash, passionate, outspoken, and almost always up to some sort of trouble, but trust me when I say it's the kind of trouble you'd like to be roped into. And she'll rope you in alright - any day's a good one when you're with Crimson, whether it's a laidback day where she's hauling you for own good off to take a break and be a lump on the couch with her, or you're watching her work on cars or music (or joining in!), or she's pulling you into the nightlife for some adventure, whether to a bar or some strange, fascinating nighttime monster cultural activity you had no idea existed. Ideally you're just as physically passionate as her - and you'll find her arm looping around your waist to tug you back into bed with a grin in the morning is all the persuasion that's necessary, when you're still recovering from your jelly legs from the night previous. She can struggle with putting her feelings to words, so in those quiet moments where it's right... it's okay to put yours to words, and know that she returns those feelings just as fiercely, and that bit by bit, she'll open up to you. You can see it in her every action, and know that you've never been safer or more taken care of than when you're with her.

Scarlet

... aka, Lady UF Pap! A romantic to the core, she's hard to get to the point of romance with in some ways - you might find yourself hovering on the will-we, won't-we edge for a while - but she's worth the effort and wait. You're absolute royalty to her, and you've got someone at your side who will not only fiercely protect you and speak up for you when you can't, but who will help you grow to new heights - just as you help her. She's been hurt and had to pack away a lot of her heart, but you help her more than you could ever know each and every day. It's like being caught in your own personal whirlwind of (positive) drama, romance, and intrigue as she sweeps you off your feet - and as you interrupt various plans by being adorable or flustering her! She's head over heels, and you'll have countless special moments as she works hard to be the best partner she can... and stars, will she be. Treasure her back, let her know just how much you see her hard work, and spend quality time with this lady - she's yours to the moon and back, and if ever there was a lady Gomez Addams equivalent to woo you until the end of days, it's her.

Pepper

... aka, Lady SF Sans! One of the hardest to get close enough to to date, she's nonetheless one of the most loyal, passionate, and dedicated partners you could ever imagine. You've already all but become part of her family by this point, but once you're together, you'll find you're never missing something for long. Whether it's support to get through an unforeseen circumstance, a literal supply to accomplish something, or a shoulder to lean on or body to tangle with - she's already there. Pepper wants nothing more than to see you secure, cared for... and happy. Your smile strikes her to the core of her soul, and the fact that you spark at her sense of mischief as well as passion - well, you'll never find yourself bored for long, that's for sure. Pay attention to her like she does to you - notice her needs before she pushes herself too far, and encourage her to communicate if you feel she's doing a bit too much... ideally with some suggestions of your own on how you want to help/see her load lightened. Every day will be brighter, warmer, and more secure with her around, supporting you and showing you that to her, you already shine just as brightly as the stars - and if you'll let her, she'll help you see that, too.

Cinnamon

... aka, Lady SF Pap! She's plenty willing to have casual relationships, Friends with Benefits, as it were, but to get this close to her, to be with her - you sure are special. She's had a soft spot for you for a long time, even if she doubted your interest, long term, in a skeleton with problems like her - but stars, if she isn't the funniest, most clever, brilliant softie you've ever met. For all she's willing to break a man for hurting her family or friends, you've seen by now just how soft she is deep down - the fostering of animals, the eye for a person in distress no matter how well they're hiding it... on top of being so well-read it makes your head spin. Even still, she's down to earth, and you'd never guess it - and find yourself inspired to learn more, too, even if just to have more excuse to talk to her. Genuinely, for her, though? She loves you just as you are, quirks and flaws and shiny pretty spots and all. You make her feel like she can let down those barbed walls, like she can relax and just be in the moment with you. She's passionate and touch oriented, but don't let that fool you into thinking she isn't paying attention - every little word and bit of body language has been filed away, and you find yourself feeling lighter just by spending time with her... and the feeling's mutual. Show her you care, spend that time with her, let her know that it's okay to be loved - and you'll find yourself cherished and taken care of whether lazing at home or out on an unexpected adventure for the rest of your days.

Blade

... aka, Lady HT Sans! Some 9 ft tall and hulking, she's a woman of far fewer words than many of her counterparts... but quality over quantity sometimes, right? She's the best listener you've ever known, and has insight you'd never considered... as well as a way of making your worries melt away, whether you're cuddled up on her chest or relaxing at her side in her massive garden. Her head injury makes her wit just a bit slower, but she's still smart, and when her jokes land, you'll be left wheezing. Blade's all about those who are closest to her, her little found family - and you're among them. You've never felt more like a treasure than when Blade's touch skates you; when you find your clothes you were fretting over perfectly tailored the next day; when you never have to worry about a well-balanced or delicious meal again, if she has anything to say about it. She may not be going on wild adventures all the time, but time with her is no less wonderful as the rest of the world melts away and you know that you've got a home right there with her in her arms... and that you are just as fiercely loved, protected by your own giant forest-dwelling skeleton lady who just wants feel your gentle touch letting her know she's loved, too.

Twist

... aka, Lady HT Pap! Eat your heart out, size-difference lovers. Sure, you may not even clear her hip, but that's of no matter to her. Twist's blind, of course, but somehow, you've never felt more *seen* when you're with her. She notices the little things, and always has a read on your mood, your needs - and when words are needed... versus when just quiet, warm company is what's best. Whether you're with her as she gardens or forages in the forest, or taking a bath in the hotsprings not far from her and her sister's cottage, or telling her about your day as you curl up with her in her nest of pillows, you know down to your very soul that someone's attention and care has never been so attentively focused on you. She's not able to bring you to fancy nights out downtown, or on wild trips... but she actively invests herself in your interests, shares her own, and truly feels like a *partner* in life. You're so deeply, desperately, tenderly loved by this giant skeleton woman; if you're willing to call her home, you'll never want for another one again.

Glyph

... aka, Lady G!Sans! She's a tricky lady; and it wouldn't be surprising if you're actually in a polyamorous relationship with at least one of the other girls or another person too. But if you like adventure, yet are a down-to-earth kind of person, if you'd like to see the world, but also treasure the connections you make along the way, if you're bursting with curiosity that can't be stated by just remaining in the status quo... well, Glyph's likely already at your side. You're kindred spirits, through and through, with at least a bit of an artistic streak or appreciation in you. Despite the wanderlust, you're left with the certain knowledge that Glyph truly wants to experience this *with you*. You're hers, not just one part of hers- and she's yours. She loves the glimmer in your eye when you get an idea, the brightness of your smile when you see or experience something new - the soft breath of yours against her collarbone, deep in sleep, cuddled up close in yet another night in a new place, just begging to be explored. You feel secure even in the uncertainty of travel with her there, knowing she's prepared as always - and find yourself learning more, cottoning on to it all far faster than you'd have ever expected - because she's a better teacher than you'd have guessed, making it so you don't even feel like you're being taught something new. There's nothing better than seeing the next day with you at her side - so if you're willing to take her hand, she'll never let go.

Alpha

... aka, Lady Q!Sans! Don't let the digital-versus-physical situation phase you. It may take time, but... with you around, Alpha's had a fire lit under her digital coccyx for a long time, and it's just a matter of time before she's got a full-size robot body to work with - and just a little longer than that before she's got a way you can enter her digital world, too. Above all, Alpha loves your outlook on the world, how you care so much but also know how to see the fun and joy in things, and make it if it's not there. Hearing your voice is one of the best parts of her days - and she's been longing to meet you, hold you in a way that's truly *her*, not just an interface, for so damn long. She's got all kinds of clever ideas, endless banter, and you'll be struggling to find too many days remaining bad for long if you've got Alpha at your side. She isn't going to let a bad situation stand, and she won't just take care of it - over time, she's learned that there are times when you want to, instead, even if it's hard. So instead, she'll be there, helping you sort it out, and helping you arm yourself to tackle it like the best possible partner should. Even when times are hard, she puts in the work - because you're worth it. You've always been worth it - and her work ethic truly shows that. She makes you smile, laugh, and on more than one heartfelt occasion, cry in the best sort of way. Stick with her, give her your time and inspire her with that lovely hope of yours... and you'll truly end up seeing eternity at her side, and never have a dull day in your very, very loved life for it.

#lilytale #lilytale match quiz #about the lilytale match quiz #got a lot of comments/several asks so i figured i'd share them :)#seriously floored and so so happy with the positive response to the quiz ;v;#hope you guys like these~!

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blissfulnightrain · 4 years

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Oh man am I excited to share this post!

Last year, I somehow got chosen to be a contributor for the @kairizine! It was an amazing experience getting to work with the many talented contributors and amazing mods with this team, I truly couldn’t ask for a better experience. Pre-orders closed for their first round back in March, and all packages were sent out, which means we finally got the green light to post our pieces! I hope you enjoy this story even a fraction of how much I enjoyed writing it.

If you missed the first round of pre-orders and would still like a copy and the merch, fear not! We’ll be opening for another round come July 5th! Follow the zine handle to keep up with updates!

Lastly, I do have the piece posted to AO3 and FFN, if those are your preferred reading sites!

Without further ado, here it is!

A Reason to Believe

Word Count: 2852

Summary: As Sora returns to Hollow Bastion to close its keyhole and save Riku, Kairi is left alone in Traverse Town to reflect on their journey thus far. There had to be more that she could have done...but what? Perhaps the "stranger" she meets might have answers about the strength she so desires.

***

Kairi wasn't supposed to be outside.

Not without supervision at least. But with Aerith, Yuffie, and Leon now gone and only the occasional check-in from Cid, who was very much preoccupied with his business, life practically alone at the small house in the Third District grew agonizingly stagnant.

She didn't plan on going too far—she was well aware of the potential risks. All she needed was a small change in scenery.

Very carefully she looked both ways, making sure her coast was clear. With no Heartless in sight, she stepped one foot out of the house and onto the cobblestone street, the other following as she gently shut the door behind her. It was a cool night out, as it always was. The sun never shined in Traverse Town, the sky's canvas instead perpetually painted with hues of black, navy, and purple, decorated with a smattering of shimmering, glittery stars. If she could tunnel her vision, drown out the sight of the brick buildings and glowing neon signs that surrounded her, she could have sworn she was looking at the same dark sky that canopied the humble island that she grew up on at night.

In fact, she knew for sure now that that was the case, wasn't it?

"Every single one of those stars...they're another world." She recalled Riku saying some version of this almost every time during their late nights out on the beach, strands of his silver hair dancing in the seabreeze as he gazed above.

"Every single one?" Sora's cerulean eyes would grow wide, his mouth agape in wonder.

"Every single one," Riku would echo with a nod. "We're on just one among who knows how many."

They were going to see them all. Together.

But things hadn't gone as they'd intended. The light of their tiny world could no longer be seen up there, blinking out the moment it fell to the darkness, and though they'd managed to journey far, far away, they'd all been forced to travel on their own individual paths.

Or so it seemed.

Whether she'd ever realized it during the time or not, she could not say, but through Sora's heart and eyes, she'd walked his path beside him. New friends, long battles, and so many sights that had been encountered—it all was barely fathomable to think about. There were so many new experiences, and eventually one that rang all too familiar.

Their previous destination, before she and Sora had returned to Traverse Town, was a dreary land they now called "Hollow Bastion." It was aptly named; a barren land where waterfalls rose, eluding the lush gardens they once fed—gardens she knew she'd once played in herself.

Even though she associated the islands with her childhood, she would never quite be able to shake the familiarity with that foreign-but-not place. She'd felt it the moment she (or Sora, to put it more accurately) set foot on that world. It didn't look anything like she remembered, but then again...she didn't really remember it at all. The sight of the castle and the paved walkways all brought little flashes of recollection, but they almost instantly were snuffed out by the Heartless that ran amok.

The Heartless threat only grew worse, forcing her and Sora to flee and seek refuge back in Traverse Town after they'd saved one another. But Riku still remained there, trapped by the dark road he'd chosen. Despite her panic, Kairi could discern the desperation to abandon that path in those last moments she'd been in his presence. Paired with an unlocked Keyhole sending more monsters across the worlds, Sora had been forced to return with that Keyblade that had been mysteriously ordained to him.

"You'd...kind of be in my way." Sora was frank when she asked him if she could come along. Her giggles echoed off the hollow stone walls of that musty cave (that reminded her so much of the Secret Place back on the island), masking the sinking feeling she felt in her gut when she'd heard him say that. After all, they'd made it so far by sticking together, hadn't they?

Still, it wasn't hard to understand where he was coming from. She'd never quite been able to keep up with her friends as they raced and sparred against each other, nor had she been chosen to wield any sort of universe-saving magical weapon. No, all she could do now was stand by and wait for Sora and Riku's safe return.

She could only hope that was good enough.

Thoughts began to race through her mind once more, thoughts she was no stranger to. Would Sora return okay? Would Riku return to being the boy they'd grown up alongside, or had the darkness stolen him away from them forever? Would either of them be able to restore balance to all the worlds that had been lost?

"They're just kids…" She'd overheard Leon discussing the matter with Aerith before they, too, had left her behind and went to join Sora. Though they'd explained that they were just going to check on the state of their home world, Kairi couldn't help but sense the dejection in Leon's tone. And she couldn't really blame him; after all, what could a bunch of kids do?

"By any chance are you lost, my dear?" Kairi jumped, startled at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. A shiver ran down her spine as she inspected her surroundings once more; her coast remained clear to her right and in front of her, but to her left…

"Oh, I didn't mean to frighten you," the owner of the voice said apologetically. At first obscured by the shadows of the night, her features became more apparent when she stepped under the glow of the street lamps. The light revealed a stout woman about the same height as her, a brown shawl draped over her shoulders and the purple ankle-length dress she wore. Her gray hair was tied up in a bun set high on her head, her indigo eyes crinkling as her cheeks and lips lifted into a warm smile.

"I-it's okay," Kairi responded, now turning to face the elderly woman. "I just didn't expect to see anyone else out here."

"I could say the same." The woman chuckled. "Well, it won't do a young girl such as yourself much good to stay out here for too long. Conditions are quite dangerous right now, with all those monsters running around. I wouldn't be out here if I didn't need to be." Kairi's attention was then drawn to the plastic bags she was carrying. "It's best we both get back to where we belong as soon as we can."

"Right." Kairi smiled politely. The elderly woman wasn't wrong, and luckily enough all Kairi needed to do to go back inside was turn around and walk a couple of paces in the direction she came from. But… "Would I be able to help you with those?" She pointed towards the bags, which appeared heavy in the woman's frail hands. And who knew how much further she would have to carry them to reach her destination?

"Oh, dear, that's very kind of you to offer, but I wouldn't want you to travel further than you need to."

A small frown appeared on Kairi's lips. Even if it was in such a small capacity, to be able to help this woman… "I really don't mind!" She extended her arms out towards her elder, her lips now turned upwards. "You'll need to get home as soon as you can, too."

The woman hesitated a moment before finally relenting and passing the bags over, smile lines appearing at the corners of her mouth. "Well, you do make an offer that's difficult to refuse."

It was as Kairi began taking the bags that the woman's complexion turned pallid, eyes wide in shock.

"Oh, look out! Behind you!" Kairi hastily turned around, only to recoil at the sight.

A small group of Heartless had appeared. Some were flying, others were bound to the ground, some were with weapons, others had their fists or talons bared, and all of them were teeming with a dark, deadly intent to strike every living, breathing being in their path.

She knew she had mere seconds to decide what to do next. Getting the old woman home would be impossible under these conditions, but she had the presence of mind to remember an alternative option for shelter. "Over here!" As the swarm began to close in, Kairi gestured for the woman to follow when she darted around back towards the door to the small house. She only half-noticed that her wrists felt lighter when she reached for the door, hastily opening it while pulling the old woman inside along with her.

The soles of Kairi's shoes squeaked against the familiar hardwood floor, the woman's tapping behind her almost immediately after. Following her was the sound of the door slamming shut, standing as the only barrier between them and the threat outside. They held their breath at the continued thumping against the door, and Kairi's eyes darted frantically around the room trying to find something, anything, to stave off the potential intruders.

When she felt something grab her hand, she nearly lashed out, only to quickly realize that it was the woman's comforting squeeze.

"Believe in the light," she whispered softly. And though they were mere words, Kairi found her heart responding. She closed her eyes, melding into the woman's touch as a sudden wave of calm washed over her amidst the clamor from beyond the walls. A small flame began to flicker and glow at the hearth of her chest, its warmth spreading through her veins and encapsulating her. If she could somehow make it burn even brighter, proliferate those whisps and embers past the door to lick at their enemies, even if just to ward them away...

Whether seconds or an eternity had passed by the time Kairi reopened her eyes, she could not say. The woman's delicate palm was still in her own, the walls around them remained intact, and there was silence.

Silence.

"See that?" The woman beamed, now taking Kairi's other hand. "They're gone."

"They are," Kairi replied with a grin of her own. "Thank you." The two stood quietly, reveling in the now-peaceful moment, and the shelter and safety of one another.

"...I promised I'd help you get home," Kairi finally interjected into the silence. "I'll take you there now."

"Oh, dear, you've done more than enough—"

"Please." Whether it was Kairi's pleading tone, or perhaps it was in spite of it, the woman was chuckling.

"Your determination is quite admirable, I must say."

"I'll make sure the coast is clear." Kairi finally let go of the woman to make her way over towards the door, slowly turning its knob before creaking it open. Sure enough, there were no enemies in sight. Looking both ways as she had done before, she slowly stepped out, one foot after the other, before giving the woman the confirmation.

It was when the woman caught up to her that she noticed the mess in the corner of her vision. "Oh, no…" she groaned.

"What is it, child?" the woman inquired, concerned.

"I...I'm really sorry," Kairi replied, dejected as she walked over to the source of her dismay: remnants of the plastic bags, their contents laid strewn and torn across the street. "I dropped them while we were running, and I just wasn't thinking, a-and—"

"Dear, dear! Munny goes around, more days will come, and these items will be easily replaced. And now, if it weren't for your actions and quick thinking, I might not be standing here next to you, and certainly not in one piece." But the woman's thoughtful words failed to quell the lump that was forming in Kairi's throat.

"I was scared," she explained, her voice small. "There was nothing else we could do besides run away and hide." And it was all she had been doing since coming here, hadn't she? While Sora and Riku were out there, fending for themselves, fending for her, all she could do was stand and watch, worlds away from them.

"There, there, now." She felt the woman's soft fingertips delicately brush across her cheek, wiping away a single glistening tear.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again, blinking rather rapidly to clear her vision. Her hand was taken once more, enveloped firmly between the woman's pruney fingers.

"Tell me, what's really troubling you?" The woman's eyes peered back at her. Kairi hesitated before responding. This was a stranger, after all, and she had been strictly instructed to not divulge any information regarding the worlds' affairs to anyone. But...there was something about this woman that she couldn't quite put her finger on—a something that told her it might be all right to be just a little vulnerable with her.

"I just...wish I could have been stronger. So I could have protected th—you, back there." She then let out a contemplative sigh, brows furrowed the moment the words escaped her. "Sorry, that probably sounds ridiculous. After all, what could a kid like me do?"

"Oh, you'd be quite surprised." The woman appeared amused. "Come, let me tell you all about strength while we walk—a type of strength that doesn't require any muscle or stamina, but one that is far more valuable."

"Huh?" Kairi nearly caught herself from falling as the woman suddenly began to move, their hands still clasped together.

"Now, listen carefully to my words, dear, for the heart of a child exactly like yourself has the power to do the most incredible things." The woman began to relay what sounded like the start of a fairytale, and suddenly, Kairi was transported.

But the place she found herself in was no fantasy land. A musty green carpet shrouded the floors, countless books lined rows and rows of wooden shelves. Underneath the stairwell in the corner was a little nook with a desk covered in pages and pens. Her indigo eyes peered up curiously at the seated old woman, the hue of her irises matching her own. Her smile was kind, her voice soft as she relayed the familiar tale of the children whose light saved the worlds once before.

"So, listen child," the woman from the world of her origin called to her. "Even in the deepest darkness, there will always be a light to guide you. Believe in the light, and the darkness will never defeat you. Your heart will shine with its power and push the darkness away…"

"...Just as it did when you protected me with that fiery determination of yours, and as it always will when you wish to save the ones you cherish so deeply," the woman now holding her hand concluded.

The night sky blanketed them once more as Kairi found herself back in the present. Concrete replaced carpet, buildings stood in place of bookshelves, and the messy desk was transformed into the door of a tiny cottage. But the woman she now stood in front of, indigo eye to indigo eye…

Time seemed to stand still as Kairi's vision grew misty once again. "Y-you're…"

Her grandmother flashed her a knowing smile, her hand resting tenderly against Kairi's cheek. The once-unfamiliar touch now restored memories of long walks through abundant gardens, Kairi's small, soft hand clasped in the warm but sturdy grasp of hers as she begged to hear that same story over and over and over again. Sometimes the old woman would chuckle, other times she'd feign exhaustion, but in the end, she'd never refused her bright-eyed granddaughter's request.

"You and I have quite a bit of catching up to do, don't we, Kairi?" Her tone remained gentle, like the sea breeze that caressed her skin when she frolicked about with Sora and Riku along the island shores.

"You knew all along, didn't you?" She received a nod in response. "I…don't know what to say." And yet, there was so much she wanted, needed to tell her. About her home away from home, about the new friends she'd made, about her journey across the big sky—the very same one she swore existed all those days ago while her grandmother nodded along, amused by her spunk.

"Through all the adversity you've certainly faced," she began, as if answering the younger girl's discombobulated thoughts, "that light of yours shines even more brilliantly than I recalled."

"That's because I had an amazing teacher who always told me to believe in it," Kairi explained, lips lifting and heart swelling. "Thank you, Grandma." It was a lesson of love and light that she swore to herself she would never forget ever again.

But that promise would have to remain in her heart, unverbalized, as Kairi suddenly found herself standing empty-handed. Asphalt, buildings, and the woman who'd been standing before her crumbled into shards of sand that collected beneath her feet. A voice called her name, and from the distance in this strange new void, a familiar boy with spiky brown hair was running towards her.

#kairi #kingdom hearts #fanfiction #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kairi zine #fanzine #i was so overjoyed to be a participant in this project #aidjf;asdf the mod team was incredible T_T #as were the contributors #please support them all aisdjf;iasdf #blissfulnightrainwrites #bliss zines

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tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors · 4 years

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Another kind of story

Dearest Violet, I apologize for my lack of messages, but it has been brought to my attention that the story I wrote a while back with Gardenia Girl and Virgil’s mom was on my school account. Since it’s posting my school has made it so we can’t share things in google drive with those outside of our school system so I decided to give you a text equivalent so those who wanted to read it still can. Also I am writing two different stories with Virgil’s mother and Gardenia Girl in it but I am unsure if I will complete them to a receivable level. I will keep you posted. I hope you are having a good day. Sincerely, Someone

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= New humans were arriving from… elsewhere. Wandering in looking different from the kinds of humans all of the fae from the valley were used to seeing. The new humans made deals with the ones they knew. The ones they knew led the new humans to the valley. (Scattered camps made it easy for some of them to go missing.) Different fae were in charge of different pieces of land. Some let others live on their land, some defended from any intrusion. Some hosted the humans and few else. Cypress was one of the fae who hosted the humans. Cypress was loud and thought himself leagues higher than he was. (She was forced to have her land border his.) The new humans that Cypress let stay on his land did not stray too close to the borders. They set up a camp a little west of the center and wandered throughout it doing whatever they had left their homes to accomplish. (She liked watching the humans sometimes.) There was one among them that she did not think was human, though. (A smile too sharp. Skin those few shades lighter than those that surrounded her. Eyes a little too pale to count as gold. Too many flowers blooming around where she frequented.) Sometimes she’d walk by the borders and look out into the dark expanse of Melanos’s land before heading back to the humans. (Of course it was darker, it was her.) One day she walked squarely up to where the unwritten divide was and stood there. Waiting. (Melanos caved first.) “I’ve seen you on Cypress’s land before. You’ve never strayed so close to the edge.” Melanos said to her. (Said is relative. She projected.) The girl seemed to process the voice for a moment then replied. “He likes humans so he lets us stay here.” “But you aren’t human.” Melanos said. “I’ve seen you make those flowers grow.” “They’re called Gardenias.” “Why does it matter?” “It matters to me.” The girl said and the corners of her lips turned up slightly. (Another flash of those too sharp teeth) “All right, Gardenia Girl, why did you come out here?” “I heard one of Cypress’s visitors mention some shadow that bordered his land. A deep dark entity that takes in and kills anything that wanders too far in.” “… And your first thought was to go see what it was. Possibly risking your life?” Melanos mused and saw the girl look embarrassed. (Something fluttered in her. She didn’t know why) “They talked like you were… I don’t know, something else. Something other.” “I am just as fae as Cypress. I’m merely older.” Melanos bristled. “You must be older by a lot. I’ve never seen a faerie amass a presence like you do. It is… tangible.” “Is that a compliment?” “Just something I noticed. Just as you noticed and confronted me on being a faerie.” And they talked. The Gardenia Girl liked to talk. She left and came back more days than she didn’t, after that. (It was nice to have company even if she would never admit it to herself.) —– One day, after many of the Gardenia girl talking to her from the “safe” confines of Cypress’s land, she crossed over. “What are you doing?” Melanos asked. “Visiting you properly.” The gardenia girl said with a smile so bright it should have hurt. The feelings sparked by that smile stayed for a much longer time than others. —– “Melanos!” The gardenia girl yelled and continued running through the trees. Melanos, in some way both sensing her panic and feeling the pull of a piece of her name, started giving herself form and caught the girl in her still forming arms. The force from her running almost knocked the both of them over and the gardenia girl began frantically clutching onto her as sobs wracked her body. Ah. This was why she preferred not having to deal with emotions before. There were ones like these. “What’s wrong?” Melanos asked and started running a corporeal hand through her hair. “They’re starting to die off.” The gardenia girl choked out. “I don’t want them to start dying off. I don’t want to lose them. I can’t do it again-” “You knew it would happen eventually.” She responded. “Just because I knew doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt!” The gardenia girl snapped, pulling back briefly before holding back onto this piece of Melanos. Dead flowers and other plants littered their feet, growing and dying before they could bloom properly. “Could we take a nap, Mells?” She asked quietly, no longer hysterical as she had been. “Of course.” Melanos replied and pressed her lips carefully to the space between her brows and enveloping the gardenia girl within the rest of herself. —– “They doubt me.” The gardenia girl said, breaking the silence. Melanos sent a hum through the pieces of her shadow-body that was draped over the gardenia girl, eliciting a laugh. Her hand squeezed the hand shaped shadow that she was holding her own. “They are beginning to see me as your weak point. They think it will be easy to kill me and therefore easy to hurt you.” “They are wrong. You are just as formidable as I.” Melanos responded. “I am strong in some things but… fighting isn’t a strong suit. If they come for me I will not be able to fight them off.” “Stay if you are afraid.” “Maybe.” The gardenia girl mumbled noncommittally. “All of the humans I knew properly are dead now. The children I used to watch are as well. It’s just Geoffry and he’ll pass soon.” “Then stay.” The gardenia girl didn’t say anything back and the two fell back into comfortable silence. —– The Gardenia Girl had been right, the other fae in the area saw her as a weak point. They attacked and she wasn’t there quick enough. (Melanos was one of two survivors. Begonia ran as soon as she felt her coming.) She had buried the Gardenia Girl under the Witch Hazel they had grown for the two of them. Part of her hoped that when she died (if she did) that she would go wherever the Gardenia Girl went. She had made true of her previous promise to those that had remained and left them. Respect would be enforced. But there was more to it than that. The Gardenia Girl was right, the other Fae needed structure. A hierarchy. She couldn’t supply that. She looked back at the Witch Hazel. Maybe she could —– Containers make it easier to separate what you want to use and what you don’t want to use. Her voice sounded as solid as an echo reverberating inside of her. Everyone has to give up pieces of themselves for this to work. She formed herself around the Witch Hazel tree. At some point it becomes a game of what you are willing to lose. There was a lot she was willing to lose now. I don’t have to give up much, I’ve always been able to have whatever I take from myself grow further. She dropped the pieces into the hollow of the tree. You’re different Mellie. It won’t grow. You will have to balance your losses with what else you can use. Otherwise you might get seriously hurt. As if her lack of growth magic had ever mattered before. I know you are capable of this. She picked up a stray spider and watched it writhe in the shadows. I’ve always believed in you. Your belief was not misplaced, Gardenia Girl. —– She stared into the hollow of the tree and looked down at what the days shaping had brought her. A son. Her son. Her son Virgil, Spider Prince of the Winter Court, Lord of the Forest. Curled up asleep in the Witch Hazel. Dreamless sleep that he would soon wake from. She really hoped she had made him right. She didn’t think she would be able to do it again. She would have expected to have been excited when he woke. Or to have felt something other than the quick swell of relief. She was beginning to suspect that she had given up more than she had originally thought to create Virgil. – Virgil climbed out of the tree and began to wander the forest. Most of the other powerful fae in the forest had been killed so the few who saw him proclaim that he was in charge -and also saw the way that the shadows around him seemed to cluster- accepted it and moved on. Begonia had called him a ‘presumptuous brat.’ Sometimes it’s hard to tell where you begin and end with them so close to you. You were right. She thought, Begonia was gone. Swallowed by the shadows surrounding the two of them. She didn’t know which one of them had done it. —– She reached out to her son and felt that something was off. “Sorrow.” She said as soon as she had recognized it. “Not really.” He replied. She reached further. “Wanting.” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “What?” “I don’t know, I have food, and my web is almost finished. I’m not tired. I have everything I need, mother.” “Not need. Want. What?” Virgil thought for a while and she let herself drift as she waited for a response. Then she recognized what he wanted. “Lonely.” She said. He startled for a moment then mellowed into agreement. “No more.” “I’ll probably get over it eventually,” He said out loud. “What are you going to do, anyway? You can’t make someone be my friend, I don’t think that’s how it works.” “No more. Sleep now.” She said and watched him shrug and roll over. Fondness welled up and receded. “Whatever you say.” He said out loud again and drifted off into slumber. She turned her attention to the Witch Hazel tree. She began condensing herself and grabbe a snake from nearby and dropped it into the tree. It was time to get to work, again. —– She knew that Durant wasn’t exactly like Virgil. The part of her that still cared knew that she shouldn’t make another Virgil to keep him company. If she had the other piece she would have realized how few similarities there were between Durant and Virgil. “Durant, Snake Prince of the Winter Court, Second Steward of the forest. You are Virgil’s brother. Wake. Find him.” He did, even though he did not appear to know why. Slitted yellow irises blinking open. Scaled arms brushing at his face. She tried to speak to him again but he didn’t react. He tried climbing up the tree and watched him struggle as the snake he had been had. He gave up and banged at the sides of the Witch Hazel tree. He yelled and she found herself receding into the back of her mind again. —– Durant tried sneaking into the human camp. He got hit in the face with Iron. She didn’t know why it was called that. (She didn’t know how she knew it was called that or why it was important it was called that.) A Seelie girl was trying to help him take care of the wound leftover. He was upset. Virgil, oddly, was upset back. She had odd sons. Very peculiar and very dramatic. —– She came back and found Virgil sad. Very sad. Almost mourning. Hands in hair. Tears. Dead flowers. The thoughts quickly receded and she approached her son.” “Sorrow. Why?” She asked. “I’m alone again.” Confusion washed over her and she tried reaching for him for some sort of alternate answer. “Brother. Not alone.” “Yeah well he’s a terrible one, alright?” Virgil snapped. She pulled back. Surprise washed over him. “Sorry.” He said quietly. “I just thought…” She waited for him. She wanted to know what was wrong. “What?” “That he’d be like me,” He said quietly. “That we could be… like a set. But we’re not.” She was confused. Their lack of similarities couldn’t prevent them from being “a set” they could still be that, couldn’t they? “Was it something I did?” Virgil asked. “No brothers. Very well.” She said and pulled a piece of herself back from Virgil. He reached back out for her but she was going back off to work on this. This could be simpler. He wanted like him. “A set.” They would be a set. All of them. And all of his sisters would be like him. —– Hearing her daughters chatter away brought a swell of fondness. They were all so small and energetic. They climbed up to Virgil then climbed all over him and continued chattering away. She had lost track of how many she had made while Virgil was asleep. There was no way he could be lonely now. They continued greeting him as he woke up. Some merely tittered away about how he had been sleeping for so long. One kept walking across his nose then she went on his finger as he began looking amongst all of them. They seemed to get more excited once they all began to realize that he was awake. Legs stacking and overlapping in their own uncoordinated dance to greet him. She was very proud of herself for this. “Sisters. A set.” She said, voice just shy of excited. He laughed and that excitement from their mother almost seemed to spill over into his sisters as they continued to chatter on about anything they could think of. They’re adorable. A voice echoed in her head, one almost forgotten.. They are. —– She wasn’t trying to do much. She just wanted to see what those people were like. Why Virgil loved them like he did. They were all kind of sad. Scared as well but that was to be expected with her. “Get off them,” Virgil snarled at her. She flinched but then went back to the gifted blonde. “I said get OFF,” He yelled and pulled a piece of her off of him and kept pulling. Then the lights were all on, and it was bright and she wasn’t expecting it. She didn’t realize she had pulled back until she realized how quiet Virgil sounded while talking to his loves. He pulled them all together and sat together as some of them tried waking up properly. She tried coming in to join but he kept shooing her off again. Was he… upset with her? She mulled over that for a minute as Virgil continued talking to his loves. Then he gestured to the piece of her in the corner and she started paying attention again. “I thought your mother was still sick?” Asked the human-raised. “So did I,” Virgil said. She rippled in response around them and the witch-boy recoiled. “Why did she do that to us? Is she angry?” The gifted blonde asked, his panic was rising. She wanted him calm, or was that Virgil? “-was just- just looking at you, she probably didn’t mean to. She isn’t exactly… delicate,” The gifted blonde shuffled and looked at a piece near him. “Uh, hello, Ms, um. Ma’am,” He said. She crept towards Virgil. Talking was hard. He would know. He touched her and knew he could feel the curiosity and tried to focus. Them together. Them. Your loves. Please understand. “Are you kidding,” He asked her. “You could have asked. You hurt them, and now they are afraid.” How does that work? The other humans weren’t afraid after this? The other fae hadn’t been- The gardenia girl even hadn’t been and she was Seelie. “She wanted to meet you, basically,” Virgil said to them. I want to understand what you see in your loves. “That was quite the ‘meet-the-parents’ introduction,” The witch-boy said. He was making light of his nervousness. “And I thought Mawmaw was scary,” He nodded at where Virgil was touching her. “Hello, Ma’am. Nice to meet you,” He said. You were so scared little witch-boy. You were so scared just a little bit ago. You were terrified and now act as if you aren’t even though I can tell. Virgil growled at her. My son you don’t understand this joke I can’t tell you, but I am not touching your loves anymore there is no reason to be upset. “What?” The witch-boy asked. “She knows you’re lying but she thinks it’s funny,” Virgil said. Oh you do get the joke. Isn’t it funny my son? “Good evening, ma’am,” The human-raised one said. And you are mad little one. I am not doing anything anymore. I forgot and can’t apologize. You can’t even do anything to me little one.She thought and wished she could make that soft comforting sound that the gardenia girl made at the young humans. “Mother,” Virgil started, he was still irritated. “These are my loves. Please don’t touch them again. They’re not built for it.” I know these are your loves. I know they are not made for it, my son. I am not touching them anymore since I remembered. Some can withstand when they aren’t made I forgot those aren’t humans and I cannot apologize. She thought. He stayed upset and almost… defensive. She faded back out into the forest, leaving the rest of this conversation for when she could actually speak. —– She came in and watched Virgil and his loves more. It was surprisingly nice to watch them. Then she saw Virgil have a conversation with the gifted-blonde. (She knew his name was Patton Waller but it wasn’t given so she refused to use it.) “Me and Roman is one thing,” He said. He was crying. “Logan’s parents, Thomas, even Thomas’s children but your children?” Virgil was upset like his gifted love was. He and the witch-boy wanted children. “Maybe I do want a kid,” he said. “But it’s- it’s too much. And it’s not like there’s a lot of fae children up for adoption,” Does he want a child? She couldn’t tell. She’d have to keep watching. —– She watched the human-raised and Virgil talk in their garden. Ask him. Ask him for me. “Virgil?” The human-raised asked. Virgil hummed. “Absent of the obvious flaw, do you want a child?” She knew he had liked spending time with them but did he want one of his own? “You know, I don’t think I realized until I knew we couldn’t. But, um… yeah. Yeah I do.” He said. “Me, too,” The human-raised said quietly. She receded back to the Witch Hazel tree to plan. —– She knew he’d be upset if he found out so she took what she needed while they were asleep. She had been able to get her put together and as small as she could manage on the first day of Autumn. She waited and launched herself at Virgil to catch his attention. He was tired but it was important. “Whatever it is, can it please wait until tomorrow?” She knew she was shaking but it didn’t matter. She tugged at his mind. He gave up and followed her. As they grew closer to the tree his nervousness seemed to grow. “No,” He said when he saw the tree. She could feel his heartbeat. No need to panic. It’s only good. She thought and pushed at his ankle. “NO!” He yelled. “No. Not this. I can’t-” She shoved at him, trying to nudge him forward. “Please,” he choked. “Please, I can’t- I can’t do it again, Mother,” They’re starting to die off. I don’t want them to- Linda knocked from within the hollow of the Witch Hazel tree. Virgil didn’t move. She whimpered, a noise to catch his attention. At least it worked. He started climbing up the tree. Slowly. He looked over and finally saw her. She blinked up at him and he pulled back out of her sight. He bit his tongue and Linda knocked again. He looked back over at her and she stood up and reached for him. He pulled her up and she watched her son’s face flash over with the realization of how small she had made her. “Hello,” He said. Linda blinked at him then started looking around. “Well, off we go, I guess,” He said and left back for his home. His home and soon to be her home. It felt oddly melancholic, watching them walk away. She let herself drift back within herself.

—

V: i forgot how much i loved this, thank you so much!!! its just as lovely as i remember <3 <3 <3

#not mice #virgils mother #laoft virgil #submission

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paradise-of-guilty-pleasures · 4 years

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Shattered Reflections {20}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 19.Girls’ Night

A/N:

Prepare for Puns xD

20. Boys’ Night

While the sisters had a lovely tea party inside their pillow fort, the boys’ night out was continuing to be unsurprisingly uneventful. Kristoff had finished brushing Sven a while ago, and now the boys were stuck roaming around the courtyard, encircling it for what seemed like the millionth time. Olaf got bored fairly easily, so of course he tried to nullify his boredom himself the only way he knew how, by talking, practically non-stop, barely letting Kristoff get a word in edgewise. Olaf's virtually self-supporting conversation consisted of him rambling stories, spontaneously jumping into song, and (the part that actually required Kristoff to be present to answer them) curious questions.

"...magic, so I guess Elsa's like my mom, but kids seem to have both a mom and a dad, and they don't have magic --at least I don't think they do-- so it's got me thinking, how do people make babies without magic?" Olaf wondered curiously, it one of the countless questions he had asked that night.

Kristoff had always been a good listener, so he didn't mind the rambling. They could possibly have done other things, but Kristoff was at least vaguely aware of Hans' whereabouts and wanted to be sure he was nearby in case he was needed. He wasn't oblivious to boredom per se-- just too focused on everything else to process it.

He just about choked when he tuned in to Olaf's question. He certainly made a sound like it, but he cleared his throat.

"Why is this not the first time I've been asked that?" He asked, more to himself and his gods than anything. "It involves complex biology and is way more gross than you'd want it to be..." He started.

"Oh look, we have company!" He changed the subject quickly and pointed out Hans and the Captain wandering home. In spite of the drinking, Hans seemed little more wobbly than he already had been with his injury.

"Ahoy Admiral!" Kristoff called, just to draw attention and avoid the question from Olaf.

"View Hallou!" Hans replied, curious what he was being hailed for. "The night is young and we are getting older." Hans joked dryly to the Captain, wandering to meet Kristoff and the party. "Well if it isn't the little snow-prince and the Arendelle royal cavalry. Good evening gentlemen. And I am counting the reindeer." He gave a respectful greeting gesture to all of them, perhaps especially the reindeer.

"I'm Sven," he introduced. He should at least be known by his name instead of just being 'the reindeer'.

"Oh! Hans the Fool!" Olaf greeted, now completely sidetracked from the question he'd asked earlier. "Are you having a night out, as well?" Hans raised an eyebrow at Kristoff, more amused than perplexed, though there was plenty of that.

"I am, little prince. Getting to know the Captain. It appears I'll be helping the Royal Guard with my sword. I'm a little more than a fool, I must admit. Shall we have the remains of a night out together? Telling stories and whatnot?" Hans' tone was always lighter and sweeter with Olaf, as anyone might be while working with children. Especially a fool.

Olaf's face brightened with glee at the notion of having Hans join them.

"Yes! Let's do that!" Olaf exclaimed with excitement. He really did appreciate Hans' company, no offense to Kristoff and Sven, but having someone else that shared his enthusiasm, overjoyed Olaf.

"If that's what you wish to do."

"Good Evening," saluted the Captain, as he approached the group. "I see Westergaard's already inviting himself to join your party," he chuckled, already accustomed to his antics. "Is it alright to leave him in your hands?" He attentively asked Kristoff, almost as if he was watching over a puppy or a small child, instead of a grown man, a slightly drunken man, sure, but still. The Captain thought he should ask, Hans felt like he was his responsibility and he didn't impose anyone with that duty without their consent.

"Not going to join us, Captain? Just handing over Gaoler duty?" Hans joked dryly. He honestly meant it as a joke, but perhaps it did speak to his self-image.

"We'll be fine, Captain. In spite of Anna's wariness, I'm pretty sure I can handle this driftwood log, and if he gives me trouble, I can always pitch him back out to sea." Kristoff joked, nudging Hans with his foot.

"Oho, the Reindeer Lord has jokes. One of us is the Queen's fool, be careful who you challenge." Hans joked in return. He truly wore that stupid made-up title with pride. But then, Kristoff had his own made-up title, perhaps it was only fair.

"Hate to be an old fogey, but I'm afraid I've had enough excitement for one night, all I want to do now is get as much rest as I can to try to avoid having a headache in the morning," he said as he yawned. "I think my ears are still ringing from all that singing," the Captain twisted his pinky in his ear as if trying to dislodge something. "Keeping up with you isn't easy, you've completely drained me, boy. I need to hand over the reins and have someone else keep a watchful eye on you, just because of your capriciousness, and for your own well-being. Wouldn't want to find you floating in the fountain in the morning. I lost track of everything that happened tonight at the tavern, but if I recall correctly, I'm sure at one point you suggested doing a balancing act on a chair."

"Oh, I've seen him do that once," Olaf interposed.

"Of course, you've done it before, why am I not surprised?" The captain said with a disapproving head shake as he brought a hand up to his face. He let out a sigh. "Anyway, thank you for keeping tabs on him Lord Kristoff," he gave a nod in appreciation. "Fair warning though, his mood seems to be as fickle as the sea."

Hans laughed. "You flatter me, captain. And you need more practice at drinking if you plan to keep up with me. I was still sober at that suggestion." Hans grinned wryly. "And at the singing. I just like singing." He hummed. "Sleep, old man. See you in the morning, we'll try to keep tomorrow quiet then, hm?" Hans thumped the Captain on the shoulder, as good mates do.

"What else would we expect? Fickle moods seem to be all we know of him for sure." Kristoff pointed out. But he smiled and shook his head a little. "Tag me in next time, we'll see how I do at holding my drinks against a sea captain."

"I'd say bragging about your sobriety when acting like you were isn't something you should be proud of boy, but you already dub yourself a fool," he chuckled. "Indeed. Next time you're welcome to put him in his place," the Captain affirmed with a nod. "Goodnight gentleman, hope you enjoy the rest of your night-- and you don't cause too much trouble," he nudged Hans back.

"I'm off to bed. I bid you all adieu." After one more reverence, the Captain took his leave.

"Can I go to the drinking party next time too?" Olaf childishly asked. He wasn't aware of the alcohol involved, instead he was envisioning some sort of manly tea party. "It sounds like fun!"

Hans laughed a little. "Maybe when you're much older, little prince." He teased. "The men say things we oughtn't say around younger folks, and act more like fools than we ever should." He observed. "But what the captain doesn't know is, a fool is wiser than he seems, and a wise man more foolish than wise men ever think. The wisest man is the one who takes himself for a fool, even around fools." Hans smiled a little, playing wordplay games. He always liked puns and wordplay.

"This is like that riddle, 'the wisest man is he who understands that he understands nothing'." Kristoff hummed. "Hans likes to say silly things, and worse, sometimes I imagine he says things that get him into trouble." Kristoff observed.

"Aye, and out of it. More often out than in, but when in, then in big." He observed. It was a statement one really had to track to understand, but that seemed like the theme. Drunken philosophy night with the strangest assortment of characters around. "So, what are we all wandering about for?" Hans hummed.

"The ladies are having a girls’ night, so I was on patrol to keep an eye out that you weren't up to trouble." Kristoff answered honestly.

"What a good guard you are. You've certainly done that job." Hans hummed.

"Out drinking with the Captain of the Guard? I bet that was a wild night."

"Cards, drinks, and encouraging positive feelings toward myself. It's so easy, as if my last visit to Arendelle never happened. Anna is thus far the most sensible person I've seen." Hans admitted, a bit more soberly.

"You're not upset?"

"Oh, deeply. But that's sort of the point, isn't it." Hans didn't seem too bothered, just logical.

"Aw," Olaf groaned when he was denied his request to partake in the future fun only because he was deemed 'too young'. People kept telling him, 'when you're older Olaf', but when was that going to happen? He was a walking talking snowman, not an actual child though he was very much one in essence. Olaf tried to follow Hans and Kristoff's conversation, but got a bit lost in their philosophical talk. Hans smiled a little at Olaf. "Just as well, I don't think it would appeal as much to you, yet. Not really. In much the same way that politics only makes sense and isn't boring when you get older, it likely wouldn't be quite the same for you as for us." He assured him. He almost instinctively patted Olaf's head, perhaps forgetting that he was made of ice and snow.

"You two seem chummy." Kristoff remarked, amused.

"Of course. He's kept me company while I've been unable to walk around and chatter quite so much. I don't talk very much at home, it's good to be here and be able to say the things I think. Oh, Olaf, did you ever figure out what the meaning of my story was, that day of the raid? I suppose I never finished it. Predictable, but the best stories are the ones that take what you know and turn it upside-down. Like an hourglass, it renews the story." He may not have been drunk, but Hans certainly wasn't sober either. He was prone enough to meander (both in words and walk) while sober, and drinking only exacerbated it as he wandered off toward grass, just to walk on something more natural than cobble. Hans loved adventure, even if it was only venturing off the cobblestones.

Olaf laughed a little at being patted on the head. "Hmm...the meaning of the story?" he pondered. "I think it means that even the Mirror Prince had his own side to the story," answered the little snowman. It was obvious even to him what story Hans had been trying to tell him that day. "You know, I have my own retelling of that story too and so does Sven, don't you Sven?"

"Oh, I would wager you do." Hans agreed, sounding intrigued. "So you've figured out that I'm not just Hans the Fool, then?" He hummed, with a little smile. "I keep picking up titles these days, sooner or later I won't know what to do with them all. I wonder if they can be recycled. Someone else can be a prince, I'll keep Fool and Admiral and let the others slide." He joked, all lighthearted for the moment-- perhaps purely because Olaf was there.

"Do pray tell, tell your version of the story? You can be quite a storyteller all your own." Hans remarked, his tone light and sweet. Kristoff wondered if that was what he was always like with children-- as Hans seemed under the firm delusion that Olaf was more of a strange child than a 'snowman given life through strange ice magic'. Kristoff supposed that was the better way to view things. Would he be like that with his own children? If Hans ever chose to have any, anyway. That would be its own pot of problems when they got there. Kristoff was glad that wasn't his problem-- but lately he had been thinking a lot more about families and family life. One could hardly blame him for thinking about the way Hans thought. Especially since he seemed to show a different face for every combination of company he might keep. Sometimes it seemed to change by the moment.

"Oh, yeah, everybody wouldn't be making such a fuss about you if you were just a fool, but I do prefer Hans the Fool," he giggled. The young snowman's face lit up at the invitation to share his account of the day he was created and the events that followed.

"Okay, be prepared, I'm going to start from the beginning, well, my beginning since I wasn't there for the rest of it. This story starts up on the North Mountain where Elsa created me using her magic..." Olaf was very thorough in the retelling of his story. He told Hans how Anna, Kristoff and Sven freaked out similarly (or even more so) than he did when they first met him as well. He went into detail about everything (even the unimportant stuff) from how he got his nose, his love for warm hugs, mistaking Kristoff for Sven and of course his love for summer. Olaf continued his explanation about how he led his new friends up the North Mountain to find Elsa to bring back summer. Of course he couldn't gloss over he got impaled. And trivial facts like how he waited for exactly one minute before he joined Anna to talk to Elsa at the Ice Palace. How Elsa herself was also a bit shocked that she'd brought him to life. He described the sisters' interaction after Elsa stuck Anna and how they got kicked out by Marshmallow, only to have Anna aggravate him shortly after. He couldn't leave out how he bravely volunteered to distract and hold Marshmallow back to no avail and that they all ultimately fell off the cliff. Olaf didn't skip out on any of the awkwardness. He went on to talk about how they all ventured to Kristoff's 'Love Experts', and how he thought Kristoff was totally crazy talking to rocks he called his family until they revealed themselves to be trolls. Also that he figured out his name was Kristoff not Sven. Olaf relayed the full extent of their visit with the trolls, attempted wedding and all and how they went to go find Hans (for a kiss) after they were told that 'only true love thaw a frozen heart'.

He explained how he ended up getting separated from the group and that he was the one that had found Anna locked up after Hans abandoned her. Olaf recounted how he almost melted trying to warm Anna up. He was quite proud of his 'Love Expert' advice that made Anna realize that Kristoff really cared for her. Then it was on to how the two of them managed to escape a freezing castle through a window and make it to the fjord. Olaf had gotten blown away by the storm and so the next thing he witnessed was Elsa embracing a frozen Anna on the fjord. Olaf expressed how devastating it was to think they lost Anna forever, but was happy when he was first to notice that Anna had in fact been saved, her frozen heart thawed by an act of true love different than the one they all had envisioned and that none of them had expected. He conveyed how delighted he was at the return of the summer once Elsa was able to control her powers, even though the sun had promptly begun to melt him, but thankfully Elsa kept him from melting. That was practically the end of his story about the events he'd observed, because after that he had been too distracted and overjoyed, by his own personal flurry that allowed him to enjoy summer, to pay attention to everything else that was going around him, like Hans getting punched in the face by Anna. The little snowman was very animated with his explanation, transforming himself and acting out the parts as he went along, he was a very theatrical storyteller even more so than Hans.

"...and that's the story of how I spent my first day of life."

Hans laughed through much of it, amused by Olaf's transformations and animated behavior, and all of his excitement.

"You lived quite an adventurous life, and all in one day! Many people would be jealous, and I would venture to say you have lived the most adventurous life of any snowman. I wonder if Marshmallow would say the same? I very much remember Marshmallow, nearly killed me on the ice bridge, but what an adventure that was!" Hans hummed. He seemed quite fond of Olaf, and only more so with time.

"You remind me of someone, somehow, but I'm not quite sure..."

"Yourself." Kristoff proposed.

"How, exactly? We're not exactly alike." Hans pointed out.

"You both laugh in the face of death, love jokes and stories, change to adapt to your environment, and everyone underestimates what you're thinking." Kristoff gestured to both of them.

"...Well perhaps, but there's no need to insult him." Hans scoffed, tone a little flatter.

"Oh shut up, I bet he's what you would have been like if you were raised in a happy family, without whatever screwed you up." Kristoff wouldn't let Hans deflect this one. And granted, perhaps Hans would have been a little annoying. Most children were. Olaf truly was just a child.

"Hm. That may be so, but for once I don't find much merit in exploring hypotheticals. I can't imagine that alternative history. I'll have to just enjoy the one we're in, instead." His tone was perhaps a little less pleasant. If anything, he seemed a little more protective of Olaf, after that. He didn't want anyone to think they were like him. He was one of the disappointments, a prince turned treasoner and fool. He was not an example to follow.

"Ah, yes, an adventure of a lifetime, those were the days. My, how time flies." Olaf said in an almost reminiscent tone. "I don't know if Marshmallow would say the same, he's not much of a talker. But what I can say for him is that sure mellowed out since the last time," Olaf laughed at his own joke.

"You both love wordplay..." Kristoff added, amused, as Hans laughed at Olaf's joke. Hans was probably the only one who would laugh at that joke.

"Your lifetime is only just beginning! You also lived through the assault on the castle, remember, there's plenty of adventuring time left." Hans assured, then he brightened up more. "Ah! I'm out of the castle, I can visit my horse in the stables! Would you all mind if we went? I haven't seen him in... probably a month? I'm not sure how long, now. Two?" He turned to go that way without waiting. Whether Kristoff wanted him to go or not, Hans wanted to see his horse. Kristoff shrugged and moved to follow. He was planning to end the night there anyway, and may as well let the man see his buddy.

"Oh! You have a horse? Is it a boy or a girl? What's it's name? Do you talk to them like Kristoff does to Sven," Olaf asked an abundant amount of questions as they headed back towards the stables.

Hans chuckled. "It's a boy, his name is Sitron. I talk to him, but he doesn't talk back." Hans assured with a little laugh. When he made it there, he jogged toward the horse, ignoring the pain in his side. Sitron seemed happy to see him, too, making happy sounds and tossing his mane. Hans threw his arms around his horse's neck and petted him. He was deeply fond of his horse, and they clearly missed each-other. Once again, it was easy to forget he was a prince, once. Now he was a man who had little but a mixed reputation, and a horse. A horse he was very glad to see again.

"Hello you, I'll have to go riding again soon, they haven't been giving you enough exercise, hm?" He cooed to the horse, petting its nose. "I never thought I was going to see you again." While he kept his tone relatively neutral, it was just because there were people around. He had deeply missed his horse. He had few other friends.

Sitron was indeed ecstatic to see Hans again, it had been far too long that they were about. He gently trotted with excitement at the notion of being ridden again. His tail was raised in excitement and his ears were facing forward in full attention. Of course he had to sniff and nuzzle Hans with his nose. There was no doubt Fjord Horse had deeply missed his friend as well.

"Oh, so that's Sitron, handsome horse, I was wondering where he'd come from, looks like he really missed you," smiled the little snowman. "Maybe you should groom him," he suggested, seeing that Kristoff had brushed Sven to start off the night and the reindeer seemed to enjoy it, so. "I know Sven likes it a lot when Kristoff does that to him."

"You know, I was thinking that myself." Hans agreed, immediately rolling up his sleeves and looking for the supplies to groom. Kristoff handed some over so Hans wouldn't have to think about it, and Hans happily took to tending to the horse as if he did that all the time. Maybe he had been a prince, but he had been a prince who wanted to be useful. "Ah, the lemon's turning into a lemon cake. You need to exercise." Hans teased, patting his horse's side to indicate that the horse was getting a little chubby. Still, he was glad his horse was being overfed, rather than underfed. He was the horse of a treasonist, after all. "Are they taking good care of you? You look well-groomed at least. No parade horse, but there's no neglect in Her Majesty's stables." Hans observed, more muttering at the horse than really talking to him as he groomed.

Sitron whinnied to show he was content. He was being treated well of course but he sure did miss going out for rides instead of being cooped up in his stall most the day.

"Did you name him yourself or was he named that when you got him?" Wondered the curious snowman. "He doesn't look like a sour horse to me," he commented since he didn't understand why he was named after a lemon.

Hans chuckled. "I did, I was a boy and boys do silly things. He's got a slightly yellow-y tint and it reminded me of lemon meringue, especially with his mane." He hummed. "Certainly not a sourpuss, Sitron has been my friend for years. Sometimes the only one I felt like I could talk to, since he can't talk about whatever I tell him. Secrets are a resource in my homeland, they're hard to keep and valuable for it. No matter how mild, it seems it can be a danger. So if I only told my horse, I never had to fear it getting to anyone else. And what does a horse care what I have to say? He's a horse. He cares that I feed him, groom him, ride him, and make sure his shoes are on right." Of course, the stable hands handled the shoes in Arendelle. Not that he would usually shoe a horse, but he liked to at least make sure they were taken care of.

"Your homeland sounds like an awful place if you can't talk to anyone but your horse," remarked Olaf. "No offense to you lemon meringue, I'm sure you're a great listener."

"It is." Hans assured, nonchalantly. "Our family and staff have a lot of petty squabbles and teasing that tends to go... overboard. I'm the youngest, I get a lot more trouble than the rest. That's why I left for anywhere else. The sea is a great big 'anywhere else' to me. When I couldn't sail, I rode. As far as possible, somewhere as wild as possible. Often to a beach or a shore, sometimes to explore some forest. A horse makes for a fine friend, but it does lead to much less conversation." Hans admitted, focusing on his grooming. Sitron didn't seem offended, it was the truth.

"You and Kristoff are a lot alike when it comes to finding fine friends in animals, yet Sven does seem to converse more than Sitron. But then again Kristoff isn't much of a conversationalist when it comes to people, I've heard him sing that he thinks 'reindeer are better than people' when playing his lute," mentioned the childish snowman. "I think it's because he was raised by rock trolls," he tried whispering the last part.

"Aye, you could say that." Kristoff admitted, amused as he folded his arms and looked down at Olaf with a raised eyebrow.

Hans laughed a little.

"Maybe he's not wrong. A reindeer never committed a coup." He pointed out lightly. "Everything's a matter of perspective, I think. Perhaps the rock trolls have a better perspective." He paused a bit. "Did I know about the rock trolls? I think I didn't. That's weird. But not the weirdest thing I've seen, I hope one day to meet them, then. If only to say I've done it." He hummed a little bit at that. He liked experiences for the sake of them. Who needed reasons to see or do something new?

"You should definitely meet them, the rock trolls are fun, very nice, wise and they really like telling embarrassing stories about Kristoff," Olaf said, completely ignoring the look Kristoff gave him.

"Maybe they'll do the fixer upper thing with you and Elsa, it looked like a lot of fun," he said, not really aware that it had resulted in the trolls attempting to wed Kristoff and Anna last time or was he? It was hard to tell will Olaf sometimes.

Hans looked curious, and chuckled a little.

"Afraid I'm not a big fan of embarrassing stories from family." He admitted. "Too familiar with that bitter pill, myself. I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, but, it's probably for the best if we don't. I'm the Queen's fool, but I won't flatter myself to think we'll be spending much time together." He waved the thought aside, with a horse brush in-hand. Kristoff gave Olaf a curious look, wondering if Olaf was thinking the same thing he was about that. Olaf could be dim sometimes, but he -like Anna- had a habit of hitting upon the important things without knowing it.

For the first time in forever Olaf was uncharacteristically taciturn.

"Oh," he voiced in a slightly dispirited tone. He looked up at Kristoff a bit bemused.

Kristoff held the silence for a moment, a slow smirk showing up, identical to the one he wore when he wanted to tell Olaf all about how snow melts in the heat, but Anna stopped him.

"Flatter yourself, idiot." Kristoff shifted over to swat Hans playfully on the back of the head. Hans ducked, perhaps a little more than he needed to, receiving some small amount of the swat anyway.

"Excuse me?" He seemed uncertain whether he should be offended, or amused, but he looked a little more defensive either way.

"You think she visits just to make sure your wounds don't rot? That's what doctors are for. Anna may not like you, but Elsa does, at least as a friend. You might hate yourself, but you're the only one. And maybe Anna, but she'll forgive in time, if I know her at all. I won't tell you to get over it, but at least get the picture; you're staying in the castle, you're going to see the Queen plenty. Still, probably best you don't see my folks and her at the same time, they're likely to marry you both." Kristoff joked dryly.

Hans laughed, a somewhat nervous laugh. But he didn't know how to respond, so he focused on brushing Sitron, instead.

"Let's talk about something else." He was quick to press the conversation away. Even if it was awkward, he would sooner hold an awkward silence than think about what Anna thought of him, or acknowledge that the Queen might like him. Somehow, both were painful.

Maybe the awkwardness now was karma for what happened earlier at the tavern. Kristoff had brought a wide smile back to the young snowman's face.

"You sure are a strange fellow," Olaf commented. Countless people would love to be in Elsa's good graces (especially since she still wasn't the most open person), but Hans seemed to think it was a bad thing, maybe he thought he didn't deserve that kind of attention, Olaf didn't quite understand and thought the former Prince was being silly, the title of Fool suit him quite well. He wasn't going to press him any further he saw Hans didn't seem too happy about the topic and Olaf preferred smiles to scowls. Of course Olaf couldn't bear the silence for too long, so he tried breaking it. He was an expert on changing the subject and going on random tangents. He didn't wish for Hans to stay silent, it just didn't feel right to him.

"Hey, Sven," he began "What do you call a reindeer with no eyes?" Olaf paused for a moment and Sven grunted. "What? You really don't know? I was only asking you cause you're a reindeer and I have no eye deer." He resorted to telling jokes, it was second nature to him. He’d much rather hear laughter than nothing at all.

Hans laughed quite suddenly at that joke, and rested his free hand on his face while he recovered from that one.

"Oh! That was a genuinely good one! it has layers." He did so love wordplay and puns.

"Honestly, he has snow idea how to tell a good joke." Kristoff proposed. He liked Olaf's tactic. It worked a lot better.

"Snow thanks, Ice see what you're doing here." Hans retorted. They were probably going to be doing that a while.

And that they did. Once you start wordplay especially with people that are willing to continue it's a bit hard to stop. There were lots of snow and ice puns, of course, those were the easiest to make, as well as horse and reindeer ones, but the best kind of wordplay was undeniably the one that used their names.

"I gotta Hans it to you, Sitron is looking more Hansome now that you brushed him," Olaf declared with a giggle. --

The puns continued for a long while, certainly long enough for Hans to finish tending to his horse and spending time with it. When it was finally time to leave, he gave his horse a fond farewell with reassurances that he would be back. Kristoff escorted him back to his room, just feeling as if that was now his duty, since the Captain of the Guard was gone-- and also he was the most sober one there (both of mind and body).

By the time Elsa would have come to check on Hans, much later in the evening than she probably intended (because Girl Talk and catching up was simply too riveting), Hans had already decided to sleep, with an arm over his eyes and a leg hanging off the bed. Some people when they slept looked as if they had been laid to rest. Hans looked as if he had been thrown to rest, and he seemed perfectly comfortable with that fact. His hair was mussed and his collar rumpled, but only from the day's activity. And of course, he smelled a bit like rum and horse. It was sometimes easy to forget that he was an admiral. But not at that moment.

#Helsa #Iceburns #Hans x Elsa #Frozen #Fanfiction #Frozen Fanfiction #fanfic #Shattered Reflections

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