#also that he is hung like a horse and that would be VERY visible in tighty whities
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Seafoam Sky -Chapter 3
Summary: Danny has dreamed of glowing lights for as long as he can remember. When he almost dies pursuing them, an unknown powerful entity saves him. Now the entity is calling him too, though Danny can’t tell if it’s for good or for ill. He hopes the memories and dreams of being lovingly cradled under the stars are real. But with his parents’ stories about wind spirits that lure mer to the surface and steal their souls… how can he trust his mysterious savior?
Word Count: 5,436
Previous Chapter
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Danny pulled apart. And yet, like before, he still existed.
His friends screamed and cried, eyes frantically searching.
“He’s… he’s fine. That was just a prank. A sick prank. He’ll….”
Their words drifted away from him, simple vibrations in the water.
Still he wanted to reach out to them, to tell them he was still here, that he would be okay. His molecules drifted, ebbing and flowing. Farther apart and closer.
The spectacle attracted mers. Students gawked, teachers asking what was wrong. A current flared, streaming through the courtyard. It hardly fazed the gathering crowd, but…
No! Danny wanted to scream.
The water ripped the boy away. He swirled down the street, between the houses and shops. The world turned. It spun, flashes of color and movement. People passing by. Fish and tiny crustaceans. Stone and sand. Pieces of driftwood. A glimpse of a street sign. He was near his house…
The current shifted sharply, pushing him in another direction.
Different colors now. Pinks and reds. White and yellow and pale blue. A bumbly branching mass clicked into focus for a moment, rippled away the next. Coral? He was in the coral park.
Movement. Creatures darted through him. A clown fish. Blue Tang. Two-spot Octopus. He sensed more than saw.
A glow, waving feathers. Hope sparked. Abba?
A snap of clarity. No. His star-fishy companion.
Danny twirled for seconds, minutes, hours. He couldn’t tell long. Color and movement streamed passed him, through him.
Flashes of green. So much green. The kelp forest? He’d never been here. The fronds tickled his insides. There was so much to see! Crabs fighting. A fish guarding its eggs. Sea horses nibbling at the leaves…
No. He needed to focus. Needed to pull himself together.
Danny strained, feeling all of his spread-out self. He was big, at least as big as a pod of whales. A whale! Its song tickled his edge. Maybe he could reach it! He spread farther, branching passed the forest.
No. No. He needed to coalesce. Focus on coming together. At this kelp stalk, centered here. He drew in. Or… was it this one?
Oh! This stalk had some jellyfish. A bird! A bird just dived into his water!
Danny spread. Or maybe he grew. His consciousness darted, place to place. Ebbing, flowing, dividing, multiplying, coming together. Sight, sound, and touch magnified and melded.
His curiosity sang, delighted with all he could witness. And relief, relief from his worried friends, nosy sister, inattentive parents. No one could see him, bother him. No one could find out what a freak he was. But…
Fear lingered in a small part. He couldn’t… It was too… too much. Everything assaulted his senses, overwhelming. He had to pull himself together. He couldn’t pull himself together. He needed to…
Danny extended once more, finally reaching that distant whale. She had a calf! That was-
Having grown too large, his awareness snapped. One final burst of terror. Danny lost consciousness.
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Danny hung in darkness. It suffocated him, heavy and oppressive. And the silence… it ate at him, stealing even his breath, his very heart beat.
He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel. He wanted to cry. He would cry but he had no voice. Fear gave way to despair. He was nothing, no one. Utterly helpless, alone.
But…
Light sparked, a far away star in the eternal night. Hope flickered. Danny reached, the dim outline of a hand almost visible…
A soft breeze, immaterial feathers, the warmth of that single distant star caressed his fingers.
“My foolish child.” The Voice - worried, tender, real - rang out. “Why have you been running?” An unseen hand found his in the darkness.
And Danny found his voice. “I…I don’t understand.”
“Come home, Danny.” A gentle plea. “Come home.”
Despite expecting never to wake again, Danny awoke. In the middle of the kelp forest, he floated as indistinct as a cloud. Fuzzily aware, he observed. Silver light wafted through the green fronds, turning the world blue-green. A spark of awe. This was… real. He was here.
His diffuse body swirled, parts knitting together. Serenely, he coalesced. His heart beat, returning to life. Gills fluttered, taking in breath. His shoulders, his arms…. His fingers reformed and Danny stared with newly made eyes. His white hair glowed in the dim light, his head no longer imaginary but material.
His hands clenched and unclenched, testing out the muscles. He… he existed again. He hadn’t disappeared forever.
Numb belief bled into excitement. He was back! He was okay! Everything would be-
Pain! Danny hunched over, a pain sparking in his tail. Straight down the middle, it ached. Looking down…
He was glowing, tiny jellyfish drifting around his re-materializing waist. Pale skin returned, his belly button visible. And directly below… his stomach churned with dread. No line of scales appeared at the top of his flank, just more skin. And that wasn’t all…
His tail continued reforming, from the bend in the middle to his dorsal fin but… it was wrong.
Instead of one muscular, scaly appendage, there were two. Each was the pale cream color of his arms and covered in tiny hairs. The boy kicked both, gently rising in the water, and let out a gasp. Knobby joints in the middle bent.
Another kick. He rose higher but also… dropped, the dorsal part of his tail impacting the sand. The limb, or rather limbs, collapsed. Danny landed, bouncing on his back side.
Blinking up at the surface for a moment, he sat up. He studied the end of his former tail. Each tapered into a long, flat part, pointing up towards the surface. They ended in five knobby digits, complete with nails. He flexed the nubs, head tilted. They were like his fingers but shorter and blockier.
Danny stared for a long moment, inspecting his new limbs. Then…
His lower half prickled. The hairs stood on end, skin wavering and translucent. His eyes widened, alarmed. No, he.. He couldn’t be disappearing again.
But still, the limbs defused, tiny bubbles rising. But a second later…
A snap, like air and water rushing back to him. His blue-scaled tail popped back into existence. Danny flexed the end, as easy and effortless as ever.
His heart quaked, so many feelings rushing back. Surprise, confusion, guilt, unease, relief, fear. It all swirled in him, messy and overwhelming. But paramount…
Danny sighed. He was tired. Tired of the confusion, of the fear. Tired of feeling pulled in two. Tired… of pushing away the longing in his heart.
Desperately, he looked up, pleading at the surface. “What’s happening to me?”
Around him, the fronds of the kelp ruffled in a sudden current. The jellyfish tumbled, bobbing around him. And…
A light appeared, tracing lines in the sand. They curved, elegant letters taking shape. Danny held his breath…
Come find me.
The words repeated in his head, almost audible as the Voice of the one who had spoken them.
Danny’s heart shook. Dread and awe.
The note, found in his room, his safe and private space.
Not a day has passed and yet I long to see you, precious one. Meet me where the lower water mets the air and we will fly together under the stars. Love, your Abba.
His dreams, visions, memories…
A hand finding his in the darkness. The light of a distant star. “Come home.”
A tired hope dawned….
Danny pushed himself off of the ocean floor. He swam for the surface.
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Before he had time to doubt, Danny breached. Water and air clashed at their intersection and he broke through, tiny drops of water flinging from his hair.
The boy blinked, blurry eyes struggling to adjust. Darkness and light interplayed, above and around him as he bobbed. The rush of approaching water… a wave, just starting to foam, washed over him, pushing him under.
The mer rose again, breaking the surface with a gasp. But… the swish of incoming waves, again. His eyes slowly adjusted, reflected light visible on the crest. This time, Danny dove under the wave.
The boy surfaced again. He kept swimming, away from the rough waves. His gaze flitted, searching. There. A tall shape, dark with tiny spots of luminescence green, rose out of the water, strake against the horizon.
Danny swam for it. As he approached, his eyes widened, realizing. It was a cluster of rocks, dotted with glowing algae. A wave washed over him in his distraction, luckily pushing him towards his destination instead of away.
Moments later, he arrived, hands reaching out to cling to the stones. Stable, he finally let himself look around. There was… water, as far as the eye could see. A reality he was used to, one he’d experienced as long as he could remember. But up here… the water lapped, calm and measured in intermediate waves. Light sparked off their crests, countless tiny reflections leading him to…
Danny looked up, eyes widened. The stars…..they were here. They were real, floating above. His breath stilled. They were real and they shone above him. Brighter, more vibrant, more real than he’d ever imagined, ever dreamed.
His heart stirred, overwhelmed. He needed to get closer. All else forgotten, the mer-boy pulled himself onto the rocks. Arms and tail strained, slowly, slowly coming free of the water. Higher. Closer. Hand over hand, he climbed. The stars sparkled. They sang, calling him to come.
And Danny answered. Reaching the pinnacle, he laid on his back, head turned to the sky. He stared up. They were so beautiful…
The boy breathed slowly, lured into contentment. The air… so calm and still. So light, now that he was out of the water. He hadn’t even realized before, the weight that had barred down on him until now. Those tons and tons of water, an impossible mass, pressing down on him from the moment of his birth.
But now, his chest rose and fell effortlessly, somehow a thousand times easier than breathing water. His skin tingled, hypersensitive to the air’s feather light touches.
And still, he stared at the beautiful stars. Names and stories, half remembered from dreams played in his head. Polaris and Cassiopeia…
A subtle itch started in his dorsal fin.
Deneb and Sirius…
The middle joint of his tail, his fingers prickled.
Mars. Gemini….
His elbows, the scales lining his hips…
Jupiter. The Big Dipper….
They started to burn. Danny gasped, pulled away from the stars.
His skin itched, dry and his heart skipped a beat. Water dripped off, pooling under him. It wafted, trickling into the air and leaving him bare.
Danny paled. It… it couldn’t be.
An electric tingle, the whiff of ozone. An ache bloomed in his limbs. A fizzling pop.
His eyes popped, dread surging.
No. The boy rocked his hips. If he could just roll onto his stomach.... But his body failed him, refusing to even twitch. He…he couldn’t move.
His fingers felt light, sharp bubbles tickling his skin. No. No. No! Tucker’s words seeped into his brain.
“You dry up and suffocate if you go to the surface! You’ll turn into sea foam.”
His mind screamed. The surface. The surface. He’d willingly gone to the surface and… his body was parched. The foam ate at him. He was.. He was dying again.
His chest spasmed, part cry, part scream. He was an idiot. The stupidest mer to ever live. He’d… he’d done this on purpose and now he couldn’t move. His body burned, a thousand needles through his skin. He was turning into seafoam.
His eyes darted up. The stars… the stupid stars he’d dreamed off since he was little. They’d started this, luring him to that ravine in the first place. And now… they had the audacity to twinkle brighter than ever. They flickered as though seen through a mirage. A flash of blinding light consumed the world.
Danny screamed.
Hanging above him… feathers. White feathers. Colossal wings stretched across the sky. Thousands, millions of eyes stared down at him.
Panic. Terror. His dream. This was his.. his dream. Fire, burning. Uncaring eyes turning away, his soul ravaged. He was dead. He was an idiot. He fell for the trap. He was going to die.
And yet…
“Help me!” He cried.
Why was he begging? The Voice of the wind didn’t save. It condemned. It tricked. It consumed-
A song answered, beautiful, ethereal. The wind blew, ruffling the feather. Feathers that were reaching for him…
The boy recoiled, shaking with fear. But strong wings bolstered him, drawing him into the sky. He dangled, blood rushing through his ears. His eyes pinched closed. He… he couldn’t bear to look. He couldn’t. He was going to be dropped, dashed against the rocks. Crushed to death, eatened. His heart spasmed, straining against his sternum as if…. the thin gossamer of his soul, his very existence were hooked through and pulled from above.
His… his parents were right about wind spirits. And his friends…. he should have listened. He should have stayed away from the surface.
But now… now he was going to die and… and he never got to apologize to his friends for avoiding them. He never got to make up with his parents. Never got to tell Mom and Dad, Sam and Tucker, Jazz how much he loved-
Do not be afraid.
The Voice spoke and his fear died.
Slowly, Danny’s eyes opened. The light spilled in and he saw.
Do not be afraid, my child. Let yourself be re-made.
A tightness within the boy loosened and the hard barrier around his heart shattered. Something in him bloomed.
His self unwound, pieces pulled apart. He swirled, stretched so much wider and longer than before. And yet… still tiny in vast hands.
In a blink, Danny re-coalesced as something different. White feathers draped down his back, brushing against his clothing. He looked down. He hadn’t been wearing a shirt just a second ago. But… black fabric enrobed him, speckled with glowing silver dots. Stars…
From the end of his robe, knobby digits poked out. A sense of deja vu washing over him, the boy wiggled them. Like before, his tail was gone, replaced with two foreign limbs.
Legs. The Voice supplied. They are called legs. Though you don’t have much need for them now. A humored lithe.
Danny looked up, head tilted in question.
Unseen fingers brushed his feather, coaxing his wings to spread. New muscles in his back flexed. A breathy gasp caught in his throat as the new limbs unfurled to their full length.
His head turned to inspect, curious hand caressing his own feathers. They were soft, softener than his hair. And long. Each wing stretched far past the tip of his fingers, at least as long as he was tall.
Gentle hands brushed his wings again. Give them a try.
His dreams…. Flying above the clouds. It felt impossible. But… his wings beat gently at first, wind stirring. The movement felt surprisingly natural.
He flapped, wider, more energetic. Slowly, his form lifted, growing lighter.
He was doing it! He was flying! Danny spun in the air, grinning. He rose higher, gaze set on the clouds, on reaching closer.
The boy paused. He bit his lip, eyeing the Spirit. Not fearful or distrusting. But… a child, hesitant to leave his parents’ side and take wobbling first steps.
Go. Fly. I will be here.
With that calm reassurance, Danny nodded. He spread his wings and ascended. Rising rapidly, he left the surface behind. In moments, the cluster of rocks was a dim spot in the vast ocean.
Higher. Danny’s hesitant smile grew. He spun, first one loop. Then another and another and another, until he was laughing with glee.
“Wah who!” Danny found his voice. It carried on the wind, seeming to almost bounce off the sky.
And that sky… the stars hung above. Their melody sang through his veins louder than ever before. Lifting him higher and higher, his wings beat. His heart did too, light and free. The stars grew closer.
For an unknowable time span, Danny ascended. Spinning, swirling, twirling. He laughed, shouted, screamed for joy. His soul sang.
Finally…. at the top of the world. The boy spread his arms, head lifted. The wind streamed through his feathers and hair in a gentle familiar embrace. He bathed in the star's light. They shone, impossibly brighter, more vibrant, more real than he'd ever dreamed. Danny shone with them.
Slowly, his heart beat calmed, serene, at peace. His awed eyes fluttered closed, drinking in the feeling, the sound. And after a small eternity…
Danny exhaled, eyes opening. He looked down. The sea stretched far below him as far as the eye could see. Even with the supreme peace, the reality struck him. He was actually flying up here in the air. His chest rose and fell, no familiar flutter of gills but… something in his chest. Lungs, his mind supplied. He really could breathe the air.
He stared at his hands, a glow wafting around them. The feathers at the edge of his vision. Even the new familiar legs under him…
He was something different, something new.
His gaze flickered below. A white winged form hovered over the sea. Somehow he could tell… eyes fixed on him, patiently waiting for his return.
A hint of renewed worry stirred in his gut but with a sigh, Danny dove. Down to the One who had answers.
Between one blink and the next, feathers encapsulated his vision.
The boy pulled up short. He swallowed, voice stuttering. “Who… who are you? What are you?”
I am the Light of the sun, moon, and stars. The Voice of the wind. The Lines between the stars which mark the passage of Time. And I am the One who rescued you, who adopted you. Your Father, your Abba.
So many words, ideas… they clashed, wrapping around him. Danny’s mind swam, the edge of overwhelmed. “But… what are you?”
A hint of a chuckle sounded. Your mer parents would call me a wind spirit, though that is a very small, ill-fitting label for me, I think.
“You can say that again.” Danny muttered. Then he winced, half-ashamed to interrupt. “Sorry.”
But no reprimand came. Instead, the Voice softened. There is no need to apologize. I understand you are ill at ease. And I anticipate your next question. You wonder what you are.
Numbly, the boy nodded.
Well my child, simply, you are like me. Though lesser in magnitude, of course. You were born mortal after all.
Danny’s heart almost quaked. He’d already suspected it. Earlier he’d feared it but… “I'm a wind spirit.”
That you are. The Voice said kindly.
The boy’s fingers nervously ran through his hair. It was true. He was a spirit. A creature of myth and legend. His parents' obsession. “But… why? Why did you change me into… this?” He spread his arms, motioning to his wings. “Was this the price?” He swallowed.
In a way.The thing surrendered really was a portion of your mortality.
Danny blinked. “I don’t understand.”
One can not take spectral form while fully alive. And a spirit cannot be crushed by the depths. I simply hastened your transformation.
“Okay, so that's how you saved me from dying. But-” He cut himself off, eyes widening. “Wait, hastened? You said hastened.” Danny paled. “So this was always going to happen?”
It was always a large possibility. The Voice said.
The boy shook his head, heart aching. “You… you were always going to turn me into the thing my parents hate. Why? Why would you do that?”
I already said. It was to save your life. Wings reached forward to embrace him again.
Danny flinched back. “But… why were you there? Why… why me?”
The feathers retreated and somehow the tone softened even more. Allow me to reassure you. I will explain.
The light flared, great wings fluttering. Slowly the Spirit transformed. The shape changed as sky-wide wings lessened, reduced, shrank. Feathers dwindled, eyes closing and blinking away. The form became less gargantuan, less mind-boggling. It shifted into something familiar….
The boy blinked. “I…I’ve met you before.”
A figure suspended in the air in front of him. A blue-skinned man, red-eyed with tattooed lines.
Danny stared. “When I was a fry. You stayed with me until my mom found me.” He shook his head. “Why?”
The man smiled warmly, eyes soft. “You were a lost child. Of course I came to your aid.”
“I don't understand.” Danny paced the sky, part of him comforted by the reassurance but the rest… his brain anxiously churned with information. “I met you when I was little. And those dreams I've always had about the stars like… like..” “ His eyes widened, tracing the painted lines on the man's skin. “The marks on your skin.” He stopped abruptly. “It was you. All those dreams before.. you led me there. You were there in the ravine with me. I…. I was dying. But…” His brow furrowed. “You saved me. You keep calling me your child.” So much love communicated with every proclamation…. his insides almost melted at the word. “And you've still been talking to me through those dreams. But….” His heart hurt. “There was the one where I… I dissolved.”
“Your mind has been clouded with fear, Danny.” A comforting hand reached for him. “And fear is a powerful force. It quiets my Voice and brings doubt. It shields the truth, even warping it.”
Just moments earlier, Danny might have pulled away but… “And that truth is?” He relaxed at the gentle touch. “You picked me? Because you met me on the street as a child?” Not hostility, not accusation but… a wide eyed plea for understanding.
“I did. I chose you.” The Spirit nodded. “And I have chosen, am choosing, and will choose many more. I see the great wheel of Time and how it turns with the motions of the stars. And your kind, the mer, are precious to me among all things created.”
“Chosen?” Danny’s brow furrowed. “Chosen for what?”
“Life after dissolution. You came from the sea foam, the churning where the water and air collide. And so, you pass back into the air when your time comes.”
“So… everyone becomes spirits?”
“No, not everyone.” The man looked down, almost despondent. “Life is free to all but many refuse. They are too proud to be rescued by another’s power. Or too afraid to lose control and embrace the unknown.”
Danny blinked, yet another startling revelation hitting him. He still didn't understand, so many emotions and ideas swimming in his head. “Then…” This was all too much for him. “I'm not special.” Of all the questions to ask…
“I have said no such thing.” Finally, the Spirit drifted forward, his arms spread wide. “You are incredibly precious to me, my son.” Those arms wrapped around him.
Danny accepted the hug, head buried in his Abba’s embrace. “I still don’t get it.”
“You do not have to.” The Voice reassured. “Time and Existence are full of mysteries and you are still young.” Tone softening. “It is enough to trust in my care for now.”
Trust. The word repeated in Danny’s mind. Trust versus fear. Doubt versus belief. For so long, he had been pulled in two directions. The fear of the unknown, of the changes ravaging his body, of his mysterious, powerful savior… They warred with a desperate hope for something real. The light of the stars, the freedom of the wind, the love of a parent. He wanted to believe. He wanted to trust so badly.
Danny’s voice trembled, one last hint of fear. “You really… really love me?”
The hug tightened. “Yes, Danny. I love you.”
Yes. The boy’s eyes watered, overwhelmed. For a long time, he clung on, the watering escalating into tears. They streamed down his face, his body shaking.
Abba held Danny close to his chest, a hand cradling his head. The man gently shushed him, whispering sweet comforts.
Finally…. A wet, bubbling sound from below interrupted the moment. Slowly, reluctantly, Danny pulled away.
He looked down, brow wrinkling. “What was… that?” His eyes widened. Below, feather-like appendages waved out of the water. “My star-fishy buddy!”
Abba laughed. “They’re called a feathered star.” He waved a hand over the water, lines of light spirling from his fingers. As the tendrils stretched, they brush the surface. They twirled around the feathered-star, pulling it out of the water.
“What are you-” Danny started.
Then the light flashed and the creature changed. In a blink, a vague shape floated in front of the two. A glowing blue ball of light, blob-like with a fringed head and slender neck. It flew forward, nuzzling into Danny’s neck. A smooth, rounded bill peaked at his robe.
The boy laughed, rubbing the creature down the approximation of its back. “Well… I’m even more confused now.”
“I think it will become a sea duck, given time.” The Spirit smiled.
The animal settled onto Danny’s shoulder, purring softly. Abba held out an arm, drawing the boy back to his side.
“Would you like to continue our lesson?” The Spirit asked.
The boy nodded eagerly. “Yes!”
A hand guided his chin. “Again, that is the North Star, Polaris.” A blue finger pointed. “And this one…”
For minutes, hours, the sky turned. Pin-pricks of light, shooting stars, streamed across every so often as the position of the crescent moon shifted. Danny’s eyes followed each movement, wide with awe. His Father’s hand pointed to each star, painting the lines between them.
“These groups of stars which form different shapes in the sky, we call constellations.” The man explained. Stories rolled off of his tongue, perforating Danny’s brain.
The boy’s gaze traced the lines on his Abba’s skin. They were a symbol of those stories in the sky and their use to tell the progression of the seasons. The warmth in his chest buzzed pleasantly, pleased to finally understand. He snuggled into his parent’s side.
The sky lightened from dark, vivid blue to gray, the stars blinking out. Danny’s heart sank, for a moment disappointed. Then… the horizon changed. It shimmered, pastel orange and pink. Clouds drifted, reflecting the light.
The boy’s breath caught. The colors shifted, painting the sky. They melded, darkened, intensified. Slowly, a tiny sliver of gold breached the horizon. Danny’s heart stirred, taken by the scene. The sliver rose, growing into a circle of light.
Finally, the boy breathed out. His eyes fixed on the sunrise. It shone blindingly, golden tendrils touching every part of the world. All the while, Danny’s Abba held him.
An unknowable time later, the arms around him squeezed. “You should return home, little fledgling.”
The boy looked up. Home. Returning to the ocean floor hadn’t even crossed his mind but now… his heart throbbed. “I… I want to stay with you.”
Hands gently ruffled his hair. “It is not your time to dwell in the world above yet.”
“But….” The argument danced on his lips. How could he go back after all he’d seen, all he’d learned? His wings twitched, longing to spread. Abba released him. “I found you. You called me here. Home, to you. And I’m here. I found you. I..I can’t go back now, not after everything.”
“Seeing you here, at my side brings me such joy.” A hand cupping his face. “But below is still your home as well. Your friends and mer family need you.”
His wind spirit obsessed parents who ignore him? His nosy sister, too distracted fighting with their parents to notice him literally fading away? Danny shook his head. How could they need him?
And his friends? When he’d told them about Abba saving him, about the note and feather, they hadn’t understood, skeptical and mistrusting. No, more than that. They had been downright hostile. They’d stomped all over his burgeoning hope, the trust he was starting to place in the Voice who saved him.
And… the looks of terror on their faces. They’d seen him fading away, watched as he literally dissolved. And after-
Danny’s eyes popped widened. “Sam and Tucker… they saw me unravel. And… they told everyone. They must have. All the teachers and other kids saw them freaking out.” He paled. “They… what did they tell Mom and Dad?”
“You will not know unless you return.” Abba said.
The boy’s stomach twisted, dread rising. His parents faces’ flashed in his mind. Hard and angry, wielding harsh weapons and shouting about the dastardly spirit which stole their son. No spirit is going to touch my baby. The hatred in the words…. And now he was the very thing his parents despised.
Head down, the question came out painfully quiet. “Not knowing… Would that really be so bad?”
His Father’s voice rang with compassion. “That is not a question I can answer for you.”
Danny frowned, heart sinking. If Abba didn’t even know that answer, then what hope was there…
But the Spirit continued gently. “But consider those who love you. If you fail to return, they will also never know what became of you.”
The boy winced; he couldn’t help but imagine…. His mom on her knees, weeping into his favorite blanket. His dad and sister, packing up his belongings, expressions painfully tight, fighting to keep it together. His friends, huddled in a corner, trading harsh whispers and blaming themselves. All his loved ones, gathered around a stone, a memorial for him
That would be the reality, if he never came back. Grief and confusion. Unanswered questions and pain. His heart throbbed with guilt. How could he do that to them? And…
Those who love you. The words struck him. Mom and Dad, Jazz, Sam and Tucker- all his loved ones…. And those who loved him. The past bloomed in his mind's-eye. His sister asking if he was alright, gaze full of concern. His friends, though their eyes blown wide with fear, reaching for him as he dissolved. And… His parents. His mom’s voice trembling, full of tears. His dad’s arms, wrapped strongly around him, as if he would disappear.
Pain, an old bitterness, began to wane. “They all do love me. Mom and Dad really do care about me. But…” The boy bit his lip. Was that love enough?
It was as if Abba read his mind. “There is hope for your parents yet.”
Danny looked up, meeting reassuring eyes. The confidence in those words…. In his heart, that very hope flickered anew. The tension in his shoulders eased. He would never know if he didn’t return.
“Will I see you again?” Danny finally asked.
“Of course.” His Abba smiled, red eyes crinkling with the twitch of his lips. “You can fly with me whenever you wish.” The man leaned forward, “I am always only a shout, or a whisper, away.” A kiss planted on the boy’s forehead.
The younger spirit's heart squeezed. “I'll see you later then.” One last hug. “Love you, Abba.”
“And I you, my son.”
With that, the two parted. A few flaps and Danny drifted just above the surface. Wings folded and he dropped.
The ocean swallowed him. His feathers melted away, legging melding together and scales resurfacing in a familiar tingling pop.
Now a mer again, Danny sank below the surface. Tiny bubbles rose passed him. The blue sky shimmered, just visible through the water. Golden light perforated the depths. And directly above…
The flap of wings, first small and distant, grew louder. Light shone from the floating figure, swelling brighter, radiating, spreading pasted the mer-sized form.
Danny’s breath held, eyes widening. Great white wings, his own only a pale reflection, unfurled, stretching across the entire sky. Sparkling like stars in the night sky, countless eyes opened.
Above him, limited form gave way to majesty. Danny’s heart pounded, overcome. He felt small with such an immense gaze fixed on him, seeing all of him. And yet…
The Voice reverberated, singing over him. Every note rang of peace, reassurance, love.
The warmth in Danny’s chest echoed back, singing its own song of awe. There were no words for the feeling, for its magnitude, its depth. His Abba was so great and he was so small. And yet he was cared for so greatly.
Light flashed above the water, endless feathers disappearing in a cacophonous blast of wind. Only the sun hung in the sky. But still… Danny felt the kind smile, the gentle gaze fixed on him.
With his own smile, the mer-boy turned, swimming for the ocean floor. And in his heart, he knew; Everything was going to be alright.
#Danny Phantom#my fic#Seafoam Sky#ectoimplosion2023#body horror#body horrow tw#cosmic horror#parental clockwork#mer au
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car ma vie, car mes joies, aujourd’hui, ça commence avec toi
It's finally here!!! My fic for the @batfam-big-bang!!! I got to work with my brilliant beta @enchantingruinscandy and the amazing artist @jube-art on this. Best team!! Thanks a million guys <3
Rated: Gen
Summary:
Maybe, he dared to think, Goliath couldn’t do it yet, but certainly he could with time. With effort. With training. Damian knew all about time, and effort, and training...
Damian was going to be the first person to train a dragon-bat in dressage.
or,
Damian falls in love with dressage. How could he not? It is a beautiful, elegant sport, one that rewards control and accuracy and precision. The problem is that Damian does not have a horse. But that’s okay - he has Goliath.
The dressage world will never be the same. Certainly some of the judges are never coming back.
Chapter 1 - starting from zero
The stables out back hadn’t been used in decades - well, except when Drake had lived in them for some god forsaken reason, but that didn’t count - which was why Damian was inspecting them. And it was a good thing he was: cobwebs so old they were thick with dust hung heavily from the rafters, the hinges on every door were rusted near to disintegration, and to top it all off, the rat holes made the stable floors themselves unstable. He didn’t dare inspect the hayloft. If the main stables were this bad, he dreaded to think what the upstairs was like. Most likely, it was more dangerous than swinging across Gotham’s rooftops.
In other words, the stables required intensive work to make them inhabitable. And making them inhabitable was the bare minimum really; Damian would not settle for any less than perfection.
He tapped the pen against his chin, scribbled another note. He could see how the stables would look once restored to their former glory. The high ceilings with strong wooden beams stained to keep out the rot, the dirt floors covered with concrete, rubber matting, and a thick layer of fluffy shavings, the hinges, kick bolts and stiff sliding bolts replaced with top-quality sliding doors, the shutters on the back windows replaced so the outside world was visible. It needed far more than a fresh coat of paint, like father had claimed (though a fresh coat of paint was also sorely needed) but all was not lost.
Damian’s newest project had come to him early in the morning in the form of a letter slotted into his window frame telling him in no uncertain terms that Goliath could no longer be kept on the island. Alternative arrangements must be made for him. Damian had put the letter down, gone to eat breakfast, and mentioned it to no one.
When, later on, he had passed a TV showing a sports channel inexplicably playing a video of horses dancing, he had thought to himself ‘Goliath could do that’, and then stopped. The rest of the morning passed in a blur, as Damian was slowly sucked into this sport he had not known existed until that very moment. Maybe, he dared to think, Goliath couldn’t do it yet , but certainly he could with time. With effort. With training. Damian knew all about time, and effort, and training. Damian needed to find a new home for Goliath. The connections were made and there was no turning back.
Damian was going to be the first person to train a dragon-bat in dressage.
… He just needed somewhere to keep him first.
The supplies Damian needed to fix the stables could not all be bought from a hardware store, or a farm supply store, nor could he do the fixing himself. It chafed at him, the need for outsiders, but there was no getting around it. Pennyworth was insistent. He could take a long-handled broom to the cobwebs though, so that was how he spent his Saturday afternoon: bandana firmly tied around the lower half of his face and broom in hand as he attacked cobwebs that had been spiderless before he was born. By dinnertime he had cleared one stall. It was the slowest of slow progress.
He came back the next day with a new bandana and a leaf blower and no adult supervision.
All the stalls were clear of cobwebs but Damian was grounded. This mattered not at all because now the cobwebs were cleared, Pennyworth’s favoured handyman could come in to replace the doors and windows. By the time he was ungrounded, the stables would be almost ready for their newest occupant. In the meantime, Titus needed walking and if he just so happened to swing by the stables while doing so, well, that was just a coincidence.
By the time he’d finished painting the stables, everyone had figured out something was up. Grayson had asked, Drake had made comments, Father had narrowed his eyes suspiciously and hummed. Pennyworth knew everything of course, but it would not be down to him whether Goliath came home. He would have to ask Father, and that made him nervous.
Asking made him nervous, so he didn’t ask. He simply told Father at breakfast that Goliath was coming home.
“I will require the Batplane this afternoon,” he said, solemnly, “the one with the large cargohold.”
Father asked no questions, so he told no lies.
“You know what happens if you don’t bring it back in one piece,” he warned instead. Yes, Damian did know what the consequences were if he destroyed the Batplane. Luckily for him, this was not any kind of mission, merely a transportation need.
“I’ll be back in time for patrol,” he told Father, and Father grunted, then returned to his tablet. WE had been…difficult lately, and taking up far more of Father’s time than he would like. It boded well for Damian though, that Father was distracted. A distracted Father was one less likely to complain about another pet that Damian had acquired.
Goliath did not want to get on the plane, did not want to stand in the hold, did not want to leave the island, or eat treats out of Damian’s hand. He was scared by the movement of the plane, by the sound of the engines, by the strangeness of his environment. And Damian did not have Maya with him this time, did not have Jon to call on to help, or Colin to regale his adventures to. He was alone, with a terrified beast and a plane to fly and he may be just a little bit out of his depth.
But Damian Wayne does not give up easily. Damian Wayne did not need help. He could fly a plane and placate Goliath and keep everyone safe and Father would never know about this brief set-back. Except Goliath was well and truly panicking, tugging at his leadrope and pawing at the floor, whites of his eyes showing as his eyes rolled in his head. Damian looked at him, looked at the controls of the plane, looked at the med-kit stashed in the cubby, looked back at Goliath. He had two options here: one, he could ditch the plane, fly Goliath home, miss patrol and face the consequences, or two, he could see how much sedative was in the med-kit. There were no other safe options.
They did not have enough midazolam to be particularly useful, but Damian wasn’t looking to knock Goliath out completely, just relax him a bit. If he used all they had, it would probably be enough - there weren’t exactly textbooks about anaesthetising Goliath’s species, but he could guess based on size. Sure enough, a quite frankly alarmingly large injection of sedative later and Goliath was no longer hysterical in the hold of the Batplane. Damian was cleared for takeoff.
It was time to go home.
When Damian returned, Father was a fuming, fussing volcano in the middle of the batcave. Damian’s hackles raised, and he had scarcely landed the plane before he and Father were arguing. Sharp, barbed words and vicious insults flew and Damian did not have it in him to regret. He knew Father likely would not either. This was a fight for Goliath, but in the heat of it Damian forgot about the beast, still tied up in the belly of the plane, the midazolam wearing off. By the time Father had stormed out of the cave, Damian had received a thorough tongue-lashing and a grounding and benching that he barely cared about. Goliath would be allowed to stay in the stables. All would be well.
Unable to leave the house, Damian poured himself into research - equipment, dress, exercises, tests to learn. A rule book was in his sights within hours. He found a database of instructors specialising in dressage in the state, did more research, made a pros and cons list for each, short-listed them, emailed several, and waited impatiently for replies. None were Gotham natives, but that shouldn’t matter over much. Dressage was dressage after all; these instructors had to teach only him. He could handle the rest alone.
Only one of the instructors replied to his emails, around the time his jodhpurs and helmet arrived. He answered all his questions in the same curt, business-like tone that Damian had emailed with to begin with. He seemed the type to take no nonsense, which he appreciated. His prices seemed reasonable, his credentials were significant - regional and national champion to prix st georges level, a longtime trainer of his own horses, a student of an Olympian that Damian, with only his new knowledge, did not know - and he was willing to travel to Gotham, which was only an added bonus. Pennyworth had approved the visitor for a week from now, though with pursed lips and a suspicious frown about his forehead, and so Damian’s first lesson was written into the family diary.
His name was Stephan and he arrived dressed to impress. Stepping out of a sleek black Land Rover in a tweed suit did not earn him respect from Damian or his family, but he was not to know that. Damian took him round to the stables, which he declared ‘quaint’, explained their lack of menage, which he claimed would not be an issue until the back end of the season, provided they had a field to ride in, and then showed him Goliath, tacked up and ready in shining new gear. Stephan’s nose wrinkled. His lip curled. Damian resolved to hate him. He also resolved to prove his first impression wrong.
In the field, Damian mounted and awaited instruction. Stephan told him to warm up, but Damian had never done that before. He did not know what he needed to do. He did know that dressage was not an aerial sport - Goliath would need to stay on the ground - and so he would need to use his legs to get him to go and not a flick of the reins. He dug in his heels and, with a brief lurch of surprise, Goliath set off at a marching walk.
Damian thought he was doing quite well really. He’d seen the horses walking on the TV and they didn’t go fast or slow, they picked their feet up in a short, eager stride, or else they had a long step with their head lowered. It wasn’t that hard really. Stephan urged him into a lurching trot, which had Damian bouncing all over the place no matter how hard he tried to remain still and serene, and then something akin to a canter. Poor Goliath’s legs didn’t move quite right for it to be a true canter, and Stephan’s face was not a happy one when Damian eventually stopped.
“Well he’s never going to be good,” he said, bluntly, “but we can work with what we’ve got I suppose.”
They worked on the canter because that was the bit that Goliath got most wrong, it seemed. Stephan barked orders from the middle of the arena for Damian to get him “rounder. I said rounder,” or else to “use your legs; I know you’ve got them.” By the end of the session, Damian was exhausted and Goliath was drooping. They still could not canter well.
“Practice,” Stephan said. “I’ll see you next week and I want to see that canter looking halfway decent.”
And so it went on. During the week, when Damian was not at school, he would practice just like Stephan told him to, until he and Goliath were sweating and trembling with exertion. On weekends, Stephan would come, shout at him for an hour, and then the whole cycle would begin again. He learnt how to tuck Goliath’s head in and get him to pick his feet up like the horses on TV. He learnt the drama of it all, the hard word and pain of popped blisters that hadn’t yet turned to calluses on the soft sides of his ring fingers. He learnt how to hold tight, and how to push so even Goliath’s thick skin could not ignore him.
He hated it.
There was something miserable about the endless nagging and tugging and fighting, something wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Damian had watched so many videos, had seen so many pictures, and the riders at the top? They didn't battle with their mounts every day; they didn’t struggle and chip away at their horse’s will until it submitted. They didn’t move , some of them. Watching them, Damian had never felt further from his goal.
Finally ungrounded, Damian started patrolling again. It was…a manageable schedule. If anyone asked, he was not exhausted and didn't get up before 6am to feed Goliath and then shower before school to get the "stink" off, and then get driven to school by Pennyworth for half 8 and then surround himself with plebeians for 7 hours before getting driven back from school by Pennyworth, then down to the stables to train and feed and do whatever jobs he hadn't done in the morning, and then dinner, and then patrol until whatever time Father brought them home. He fell into bed and slept like the dead until his alarm went off at quarter to six. It was never enough sleep, but who in the world was going to notice? Certainly not Ffather, who only rarely had the time in the day to look at his face without a mask. Not his brothers, absent in mind and body. Not his teachers or classmates, who all had similarly deep bags under their eyes. And besides, it was worth it, the exhaustion, because Damian and Goliath were finally making progress. Stephan was almost pleased with them at their last lesson, and had suggested a competition to announce themselves to the world. “Just a small one,” he had promised, “no need to be nervous.”
Nervous. Hah. What a joke. Damian had never been nervous a day in his life.
His hands were sweaty, but it was a hot day - nothing at all to do with his upcoming competition. Training took priority and the exercise made him sweat even in cold weather, which late spring was not, and his hands definitely were not slipping on the reins. Surely not. What a ludicrous suggestion. There was nothing to be nervous about and he had all the time in the world.
He did not have all the time in the world. A week from competition day, entries submitted and test sheet printed, Damian abruptly realised that he was not prepared. It was perhaps the first and only time in his life that this had occurred. His test sheet remained in the bottom of his desk; he had not checked the start times or list of entrants since entries had closed; he had not given Father or Pennyworth directions to the venue. He hadn’t even checked the rule book. And this was where he came unstuck because Damian, in all his reckless bullheadedness, had disregarded even the most basic rules of dress. He had jodhpurs and boots and gloves and that was enough, yes? Evidently not.
At the level he would be riding at, tailcoats like what were seen on TV were not only avoided, they were outright prohibited. Likewise, there were strict rules about the colour of the jodhpurs and gloves and shirts he was allowed to wear. He needed a special kind of jacket, boots and chaps, or else tall boots that took months to break in. None of these he currently owned, and a week was far too short a time to procure them. No tailor worth his price would agree to a show jacket made and altered in under a week, and the boots Damian knew from experience would take far longer than expected to get used to. Could he wear his Robin boots? He didn’t see why not. They were, after all, the least recognisable part of his costume, and ticked all the boxes: large enough heel, tall, black leather, provided the correct support. He would raise it with Father after a good patrol, he thought.
The jacket was more of a problem, and Damian began scouring the rules for some kind of loophole, spending hours that he did not have looking for something that did not exist. He wondered if League dress would count as cultural attire for the sake of this. As little as he wanted to remind himself of those times, the clothing still fit and it might as well be useful rather than collecting dust and mothballs in his closet. Surely a tailor could alter the outer robe to look like a short jacket given a week to work with.
They could, as it turned out, and Damian soon had a beautiful coat to wear. Emerald green and smooth as silk, it was a perfect fit. One problem down, so many more to go. He consulted the rulebook again and ordered some jodhpurs in a pleasing cream colour. He already owned gloves, because he valued his hands far too much to damage them being an idiot and dragging Goliath around without something to protect them. He practiced his test over and over and over again, until Father or Grayson no longer had to stand at the fence and call it for him, and he could see the pattern in his sleep. He memorised everything he could, read the rulebook cover to cover, checked his tack, his dress, trotted Goliath up to ensure he was not lame, found a blue ribbon to indicate that Goliath was a ‘stallion’ and to be avoided, though he couldn’t imagine many people venturing close to him.
And then the morning came. Stephan rattled up the driveway before most of the manor’s inhabitants were awake with a large horsebox and invited himself in for coffee. Then, it was time to groom, boot up, and put Goliath on the box.
Goliath did not want to go on the box.
This was entirely understandable but still frustrating.
“I thought you said you were prepared,” Stephan fumed. Damian said nothing, just tugged on the leadrope once more and offered Goliath’s favourite snack. Goliath did not move. He continued to not move until Stephan grabbed a nearby broom and swatted him gently on the hindquarters, upon which Goliath shot up the ramp like he’d been lit on fire. It was an alarmingly effective method.
They pulled into a large grassy field and parked beneath a spreading tree. His excitement growing, Damian hopped out of the truck and, as he made his way around to lower the ramp, caught sight of the warming up arena. Everything seemed to stop, just for a moment, as he watched the pristine horses prancing. He had wanted to prove everyone wrong, show them that anyone can do dressage, but now… he found he did not want to take Goliath out of the truck, did not want to get on and join the other competitors. He was not unprepared, was the thing; Stephan had said that he was “as ready as you’ll ever be,” which was high praise from him, and Damian had memorised the test, brushed Goliath until he gleamed, polished his tack and boots and mutilated his League clothing to make dressage-legal attire. He was more than ready for this. But he suddenly felt very small and very scruffy, when faced with all these people on much more typical specimens. It struck him then, with all the force of Killer Croc on a rampage, that he was not going to win this competition.
Stephan saw him staring, and stood next to him. He said nothing, but Damian knew he could see his uncertainty on his face.
“They are all much better than me,” he said, quietly.
“If you think that, you’ve already lost,” Stephan replied. “Now get that beast of yours off the wagon and tacked up. We’re on a schedule and your dawdling is going to put us behind.”
Damian lowered the ramp.
His nerves followed him through tacking up, through signing in at the secretary’s office, through the walk to the warm up arena, and would not let him be. His hands did not shake - they never did - but his knees had no such restrictions. They twitched, as if a nerve had been trapped or a reflex had been tripped, and Damian could only hope it would not have an effect on his aids. In the warm up ring, near every horse was driven wild by Goliath’s approach. It did not make him grin, but it did make him wonder if, maybe, he stood a chance after all. It was not a very sportsmanlike thought but then, Damian was not always a very sportsmanlike person. He ignored them, the shouts and whinnies and stamping feet, and mounted. Goliath blew air through his nostrils and reached his head round to look at Damian. Really, he seemed to say, you’re making me put up with this. Damian rolled his eyes. Such drama.
The thing about horses is that they are cowards but they are equally forgetful, and so within a few minutes, the warm up arena was back to normal. This unfortunately meant Damian had to pretend to ignore his fellow competitors riding perfect canter circles and square halts for far longer, but also meant that none of them were looking at him. This was, he thought, a positive, considering he had very little idea what he was doing and was trying his utmost to hide it. Twenty minutes later, Stephan was calling him to the gate. Damian took a breath and did not stiffen. He was the combined strength of both his families. Damian Al-Ghul Wayne did not get nervous; he did not tremble or stiffen or gulp; he was completely unfazed - cool as a cucumber, as Grayson would put it. He rode into the ring, white boards gleaming and banners fluttering lightly, and stayed carefully still and poised. First impressions counted here more than anything. He held Goliath in something akin to collection: neck arched, feet picked up cleanly, ears flicking back and forth. He saw the judge look up, do a double-take, stop speaking to her writer, leave the box. Damian did stiffen then.
“Young man,” she called, voice tremulous. She was an elderly woman, Damian noted, evidently with many years of experience. Stephan had seen her name listed as the judge and nodded, saying she would be fair. Not kind, but fair. Damian was as grateful for it as he was confused.
“I am afraid I may have to disqualify you under DR119 section 1, if you do not provide me with some kind of identification. I am not certain that your mount is, in fact, a horse.” Damian was lucky. Damian had prepared for exactly this scenario. He turned to her and said, voice far more level than he was expecting,
“My coach has Goliath’s passport to hand. If that does not suffice, please be aware that your stated rule declares that dressage classes are open to ‘horses, mules and/or ponies of any origin’, and that ‘a horse is an animal over 148 cm without shoes, and 149 cm with shoes.’ Thus, as Goliath is over 148cm without shoes, and is an animal, he is a horse.”
“That,” she blustered, clearly trying and failing to regain her composure, “is completely besides the point.” She then stalked over to where Stephan was standing, hands on her hips ready to give him a piece of her mind. After a few moments of wild gesticulation, she returned to the judge’s box without so much as a glance in Damian’s direction. Goliath flicked an ear and snorted. It was the first time in a long time that he had been actively ignored. People being scared of him? Pretty par for the course. People wanting to cuddle him? Weird but sweet; Damian could relate. Ignoring entirely? Goliath wasn’t the only one to take that as an insult. He leaned forward and scratched the fluff behind his ears, just the way he knew Goliath liked it.
“Let’s go show her how it’s done, hmm boy?”
The sun was in his eyes as he rode down the centre line. He tried not to squint, while also smiling, because he’d already ruined his first impression and whatever he could salvage by smiling was worth it. The combination of the sun, the smile, and the squinting most likely resulted in a pained grimace instead, but an attempt was made. He turned right, kept trotting, held himself steady, felt Goliath’s mouth down the reins, his muscles flexing beneath his legs. He squeezed with his right leg and opened his left rein to bend onto a twenty-metre circle. He changed the rein across the diagonal and held Goliath in as he tried to plunge his way across the arena. Another circle. Another change of rein. He gently heaved on the reins and Goliath came back to a walk. Lumbering and laborious, tThey made their way around the ring, and it became worse as Damian released his hold on the reins for a free walk. Goliath was not good at free walk; they had not practiced and Goliath did not have the long and elegant neck of the fancy dressage horses. He tried, and Damian tried, but it was never going to be perfect and this was worse than usual. Damian was relieved when the time came to trot again. Picking up his reins and trying to hold Goliath in some kind of shape, he squeezed him into a trot that had at least a little swing, before asking for a canter. It had come up very quickly, and the movements within the gait would only come more quickly still. A circle, up the long side, another circle, return to trot over the centre line. Breathe, Damian, you have survived. Time to change the rein and once again hold Goliath back, then repeat the canter movement again. By the time the canter was over, Damian was so tight that he was almost almost trembling with exertion. Now, however, was the final centre line. Damian needed to smile again, he needed to pull himself together, except the turn was coming up far too quickly and…
He overshot it by maybe a metre, and salvaged the line by hauling on his inside rein. It pulled Goliath off balance, but he at least made it to the centre line. After a scrambled, embarrassed, halt-immobility-salute, Damian gave Goliath a pat on the neck and removed himself from the arena. He dared not look at Stephan’s face; he dared not think about the scores.
It took far too long and not long enough for the scores to be out. Long enough to have lunch, certainly, long enough to receive a thorough tongue-lashing from Stephan, not long enough to redeem himself.
Sixty-three percent.
That was… Damian wanted to say it was terrible, but looking at the scoreboard he was, surprisingly, far from last place. Out of a field of about ten, he was solidly middle of the pack. Fourth was not where he had wanted to be, was not an acceptable position, but when put up against what he had seen in the warm-up? Those beautiful, elegant animals performing like it was the Olympics themselves? Fourth place was not so bad really.
It did not matter what he tried to tell himself. Fourth place was not going to be showing anyone anything about his, or Goliath’s, ability. It would not win him any ribbons or championship qualifications. It was just…in the middle. Average. Average was not good enough, when you were Damian Wayne.
They drove home in silence. Damian had nothing to say, and Stephan had got his disappointment in Damian’s performance out of the way early. There was nothing he could say that Damian had not already told himself. He was disappointed, yes, but also furious, also confused, also mortified. From birth, he had been the very best: the best heir, the best son, the best Robin. And now he was merely average. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried: he’d tried so hard, practiced so much, been as prepared for this as Drake had to be for patrol, but it had amounted to nothing. The entire hour drive, not a word was spoken, and it felt stifling.
At home, Father hung the green ribbon in pride of place and Pennyworth picked out all the positives on the scoresheet Damian had been too outraged to look at and Grayson demanded to see the professional photos that had not yet been made available. Drake, on his way out the door, patted his shoulder and said “better luck next time, squirt,” as if Damian were a normal little brother and not a trained vigilante who could kill him five different ways with just his shoelaces. It grated on him, that they were being so positive when something was wrong, when he had done nothing to deserve their praise.
He had done badly, there was no kind way to say it, except Grayson told him well done for trying and Pennyworth thanked him for coming home with no broken bones or lacerations and Father? Father had smiled that small, secret smile that was just for Damian and said he was proud of him. Why? There was nothing to be proud of, no congratulations to give. Commiserations may be the more prudent action. But Father was proud, and Damian wanted so badly to accept that without thinking about it that he ached.
Another week, another lesson, and this time Damian had read the scoresheet and knew exactly what he needed to work on. Except that wasn’t what Stephan wanted to work on.
“Rounder!” he barked, “rounder, more hand…not like that - I said rounder, not slower, are you deaf?” Damian, feeling Goliath fight and pull against his hands, feeling him chomping uncomfortably on hard metal, found that he hated Stephan a bit. This was not what they needed to work on and it was making Goliath unhappy and Damian wasn’t particularly happy either.
He did not ask Stephan to come back the next week.
Without Stephan, he drifted a bit. He practiced what he knew, worked hard on the things he thought he needed to work on, but he had no goals in mind. Goliath seemed happier, and that was important to him, more important than ribbons, but still that score grated on him, that fourth place ribbon. He didn’t want it to end like that, but he refused to go crawling back to Stephan and admit defeat. Stephan was wrong, and Damian would prove it…somehow.
#batfam big bang 2023#batfam#fanfic#damian wayne#working title: usef rules are bullshit#dressage#goliath dc#fluff#light angst#lots of emotions#look the title is from an edith piaf song that is the most dressage song of all time#just trust me
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finally watching house of wax 1953 ,, thots under tha cut
YAYYY WAX WOMAN W KNIFE
HI MR PRICE HIII HIIIII
the subtitles dont work o no :(
“that should be they now” pronoun user ..
soo curios whether these r real wax sculptures.. some of them are. obvious. but others i straight up expect to move. the craftsmanship is incredible
HI JOANIE !!!!!!!!
also curious about the clothes. are they real cloth or are there sculpted parts too. is it just a full body underneath or is it just the skin that’s visible. tho admittedly i don’t know much abt wax sculptures despite having the ‘05 movie as a longstanding hyperfixation 🥴
HIS NAME IS FUCKING JARED????
oh okay he just turned booth’s head. so that’s probably not connected to like. more wax skin.
if jared is the one doing the killing i support him. jared did nothing wrong this mf is setting his art on fire for insurance fraud. he should murder
marie :(
ok the burning clothes r answering my questions LMAO
JARED GET UPPPP
JARED
jared you fucking suck at fighting. knock it off w the water bucket and KILL THIS FOOL
ono. explodegeon.
OLD TIMEY FIRE DEPARTMENT YAYYYYYYYY HORSES YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY 🐴🐴🐴
OH THIS BITCH.
“had i been there i might have saved him” kys you fuck
“they always want a corpse :)” i love this strange woman
ohhhh all these mary poppins ass dresses J’ADORE
i hope jared is waiting in this fucker’s house with a club
OH MY GOD YAYYYYYYYY
he’s got a little bit of a “freddy kreuger cosplaying nosferatu” thing goin on. tbh
hiding..
someone get this man a cane or smth. my god. SOMETHING
LMFAOOOOO GOODBYE BITCH
“yes. but he hung himself instead 🥰” SHE IS SO BIZZARE
“you got all the brains and all i got is the boobs!”
CATHY’S SO SWEET 🥺🥺🥺
her laugh is. a little much. cute here and there but with the amount she does it it gets grating. but it’s very much of the time ain’t it. cinderella and snow white and alice in wonderland ass giggle
oh hey jared i almost forgot this was house of wax
SUE ???????
i mean tbf. what on EARTH is jared doing here. but maybe he would explain if he could get some dialogue
not that i don’t love silly chase scenes. i just wanna know Why yfeel
jared please leave sue alone
SUE YOUR SHOES?
oh weaponshoes. punch shoes.
ok i was here for killing matt or whatever his name was but cathy didn’t deserve that :/// cmon jared
I DIDNT THINK THOSE AUTOMOBILES WENT FAST ENOUGH TO HURT ANYBODY AHSJSGSJGXJAGSJSBAN
dont call dead women “honey” like that that’s weird.
I DONT THINK EMBALMING FLUID MAKES PEOPLE SIT UP LIKE THAT.
someone sit up again that was funny
YAYYYYY HI JARED
he is just scrimbling around……..
boy what on earth are you doing
is he going to defenestrate her bo- HE IS OH MY GODDDD
who is helping him. what
JARED DONT STEAL BODIES?????
“no human being can look like that” you wouldn’t say that about a scarred vet you chunk of shit i oughta kick you in the both of your balls
who is this very attractive man in the apron……….
JARED OH MY GOD. HI JARED !!!!!!!! how.
igor is so pretty and so fucking talented. would. in a heartbeat i would.
jared’s wheelchair fucking rules. vincent should’ve used a wheelchair i think.
i wonder if this is really how any of this process goes. it makes more sense than vinnie’s godawful shower
MATT FALLING OUT OF THE BOX AJSHSJHSNZHSJSB
daaamn this movie has an intermission. not even an hour in
HELLO PADDLEBALL MAN
OH MY GOD IT MOOOOOOOOVESSSSSSSSS
the 3d nonsense is so funny omg
THE LADIES PEEKING THE WAX DICK SKDHJDBSNDB
WAX CHOPPPPP
oh millie :(
WHY DO YOU CARRY SMELLING SALTS. JARED. IS THAT TYPICAL 50S BEHAVIOR. (genuinely unsure)
just a dead ass body on display lmao get fucked matt
the chamber of what.
OH MY GOD CATHY.
jared this is why we don’t just put wax on human bodies. you get found out by the friends of the deceased. also the rotting
jared please dont kill sue i like sue. i liked cathy :((
jared seems like a chill dude. aside from the.
waves my hand vaguely. You Know
please got JUST SCULPT HER. JARED. JUST SCULPT HER. STOP CHEATING
something is deeply wrong w the paddleball man. sir this is post-hayes code why do you have balls in your mouth
JARED. JUST ASK HER TO MODEL. CHRIST.
honestly tho WHAT is the explanation for his face. please. pl
THOSE DRESSES LOOK SOOOOO FUN TO SPIN AROUND IN !!!!!!!! 🥰🕯️
“you never saw a show like this in provincetown” MASSACHUSETTS MENTIONED 🐞🐞🐞🐞🐞 (there r no chickadee/elm/mass flag emojis)
PTOWN ALSO MENTIONED 🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈
girl put your ass away i’m here to watch vincent price be Odd and Peculiar
“cathy had the habit of wearing an earring in her right ear. she had the lobe of her right ear only pierced for that” cathy was out there in 1953 using flags for gay men to spot each other not established for another two decades
sometimes i watch dancers in old movies like this and i try to spot my grandma maggiepat. that’s not really related to the movie but i do wonder. i know she was in the red shoes…
“why should joan of arc have her right ear pierced?” “why not? they wore them then.” “two, not one.” WHY DID CATHY ONLY WEAR ONE THEN !!!!!! someone who knows about 50s culture help me
ohh his name is henry jared. whatever.
the long highwaisted skirts….. :)) 🕯️
sue. sue get down from there
igor is SOOO HANDSOME god okay i’ll be normal sorry 😔
jared. no. bad. knock that off. spraying him with a squirt bottle
god he’s INCREDIBLY charming tho. mad props to mr price
oh my god LEON..
sue should Not be in here alone at night. girl this is a horror movie and you are TRESPASSING
oh hello skeleton
unidentified fucking thing just drifting creepily around the room 🆗🆒
WIG…………….
hiiii mr price
ok jared can walk like. fine. who ACTUALLY fucking killed cathy whose physicality was that
HE WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO MOVE A WAX FACE …….
JARED SHES STILL ALIVE. JARED. JARED.
why was leon convinced by that guy pouring liquor djgsjdbs
idc what happens i could fix igor. me and him and vincent sinclair. fuck timelines
hdkdhjdgd THIS FUCKING GUYY
i’d let igor do this to me. who said that.
HES SO RESOURCEFUL AND INTELLIGENT
girl what is scratching the wax gonna do. be serious
LET IGOR BEHEAD THIS GUY
HE IS DEAF AND MUTE LEAVE HIM ALONE STOP SLAPPING HIM I WILL BECOME VIOLENCE
why are you using the pointy end of that thing to bust thru this door. surely there are more effective ways to go about this
goodbye pig
“every time i shave i can still feel that guillotine blade” it never made contact with you. or you would be dead. dont try to be funny
why did shane sneeze.
NOOOOOOO IGOR :((((((((
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Hello! Loved your Sir Cub fic, any ideas you had about him and Wizard Scar that didn't make it to the final cut? These two committing crimes together are my everything.
Thank you for replying.
Oh thank you! :D I loved that fic and I'm glad you did too! <3
So, the original plot I was going to write was to have Scar aimlessly looking for Sir Cub in the woods, getting scared off, and making his way back to town but failing to get there. Sir Cub was going to find him on his way to the tournament the next morning, but they weren't going to be friends at that point. It was more, please help me get out of the woods, and Sir Cub leads him back to the town.
I was actually going to include the tournament too! I was gonna have Sir Cub decide to get a lil cocky about the magic crystals and try to one-up Scar by showing him a real magic crystal and having that distract Scar so much his own magic to protect whoever he was protecting ineffectual, leading to Sir Cub winning yet again.
Cue Scar coming up to him afterwards, begging to know his secrets bc he's seen how powerful his magic is, and I wanted that to be the point where they sort of started bonding and decide to travel together.
Grian and perhaps another Hermit or two might have also had proper roles as knights in the tournament as well. But without that, we just get nondescript Grian defending Scar in a tavern rip. Sorry G. it didn't work out this time.
In the end, though, I decided that was a little too complicated to write, and kind of unnecessary? Also I kind of didn't want to write another seven thousand words of tournament when there were other ways to achieve the same thing. Like instead of having Scar see Sir Cub's magic so directly, Scar can see it, but not know the source, and I can explore Cub's shapeshifting powers in a more interesting way.
Also, incidentally, in my original plan, it was Sir Cub's horse who was going to transform into a bear, as it was intended to be representative of his Masters as a guardian or watcher-type figure who kept him in line. But I dropped that idea and just made it be Sir Cub bc that felt both easier to write and more plausible.
And I think this way actually dug a little deeper into why Scar hung around scamming people with crystals for so long that I'm not sure the original ending would have reached as easily. They're both scammers in the end, they just use different methods.
Plus, I think this way helps to reinforce Sir Cub's sense of keeping to himself a lot more. If he'd been so open with his magic to Scar, I feel it wouldn't have quite worked or had the same impact. Sir Cub hides. He wanders. He belongs to no one. He can make people forget they've seen him. This is not the behaviour of a man who would simply show off his magic to another magician just to distract him. Showing his hand so visibly would not be to his advantage. He prefers to keep his powers to himself.
Hence, the ending I did end up writing, where Scar is much more in the dark about Sir Cub's magical abilities. bc Sir Cub doesn't trust him yet. When he does, then he'll be more open with his magic, but until then, it's not something he shows off.
If I regret one thing about not including the tournament, it's that I didn't get to show Sir Cub having actual fighting skills. bc I never wanted him to just be a con artist with the banners; I wanted them to enhance his own skills and talents. Without the skill to succeed, he would have been caught by now. But the story didn't have room for that in the end.
Sir Cub and Scar are both very powerful and talented in their own right, they just don't show it for personal or situational reasons. So it's not as obvious. Sir Cub doesn't need the banners to win; it's just more fun that way. Scar doesn't need to sell magic crystals to unsuspecting knights, but that's what they want him for, not for the actual magic he can actually perform. So he goes along with it and yearns to be able to spread his wings and be a proper wizard.
In that way, they are so right for each other once they figure out they're looking for similar things, to not be tied down to one place, to adventure and seek new things, to serve no masters save for themselves.
I'm not sure I ever had much of a solid idea for Sir Cub's Masters either save for them being kind of like the Vex but also not the Vex. Spiritual beings that direct and control him, who he obeys without question. If I had more planned for this AU, maybe I'd have thought more about that, but as this was very much an adlibbed piece, it is what it is, and Sir Cub's Masters don't need or require more than to be a narrative device, and I think I'm okay with that.
#convexical asks#hermitcraft#convex#fanfic#cubfan135#gtwscar#some kind of knight au#meta#deleted scenes
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Bristles
I know a lot of you don’t come here for my original work, but I’m gonna share this anyway because I don’t have anyone to talk about this story with currently; it’s an excerpt from a longshot Arthurian story, told from Guinevere’s perspective. Even if the writing is going slowly, I’m still having quite a bit of fun puzzling everything out and seeing how far I can ramp up the tension--sexual or otherwise. Anyway, happy reading xx
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A stir met Morgan’s arrival just before midday. We few of Arthur’s court welcomed her at the gates, while behind us other nobles poked out their heads from any opening they could find for a glimpse of the fairy-woman. In the books, they were always described as small and nimble, the better for weaving their way in the world, but Morgan was nearly as tall as myself, built more like her father the Duke Gorlois with every inch of her mother Igraine’s beauty. The court bristled at her unbound, uncovered hair, which hung in inky waves to the middle of her back, at her navy robes that were well-suited for her olive skin, at the grace with which she dismounted her dapple roan horse and approached, straight-backed and high held chin, noble heritage on blatant display.
Arthur stepped forward, taking his kinswoman’s right hand in his and laying a kiss against her knuckles. “My lady Morgan,” he said, “you are most welcome to Camelot.”
“The honour is mine, my lord Arthur,” she responded, and I sensed the small shock that went through some of the gathered court; they had never heard her voice, and did not expect a woman with such a feminine appearance to have an alto timbre. When released, she turned to me, taking one of my hands within both of hers. Her lips against my cheek were feathery, hardly daring to touch my skin, yet her breath puffed against it, moist and warm. “You look exceedingly well, my lady Guinevere,” she said.
“And you also, Lady Morgan,” I said, not knowing why the words struggled to form on my tongue, “in spite of your travels.”
“Then I do hope I am not unsuitable to appear in your halls.” She gave her horse’s reins to a nearby groom and instructed firmly, “Take utmost care of her. She is one of Lady Vivian’s treasured.”
Next to Arthur, I once again bore witness to their resemblance. While he was of much fairer complexion than she, and bearing features inherited from King Uther, one could see the structure of their faces was similar, at least around the cheekbones, eyes, and mouth—but that was much the end of it, save for perhaps a few mannerisms; they were only partway related, after all. The knowledge had grown old for me already, but for the gathered crowd, it was entirely new; mouths moved quickly in verbal observation or stayed tight to spread word at a later hour. I suspected, as we moved inside at last, watching as Morgan took Arthur’s offered arm, I would hear much of it from my women as they dressed me down for bed.
Naturally, there was a gander of the place, so Morgan might know her way about, and introductions to the nobles she hadn’t met when she had attended the wedding between Arthur and I one year ago, and introductions to the women who’d been chosen to care for her in the duration of her stay. She eyed each of them carefully, as if she could see into their very souls and judge their characters, and said, after they’d each given her a customary curtsey, “I shan’t have need of these women.”
The head maid, Livia, who had chosen my own women, coloured visibly. “I beg your pardon, my lady?”
“I am of simple taste, madam; they would only get in my way.”
Livia looked from Morgan to Arthur, bewildered; my lord husband soothed her in his gentle manner, “It’s quite all right, Lady Livia. We must allow Lady Morgan some of her own comforts, being leagues from home.”
“As you say, my lord,” said Livia, fixing Morgan with narrowing eyes. The women, however, looked rather relieved.
“I expected her to be ugly,” said Gyneth, slipping my nightshift onto my shoulders.
“And small,” added Lucia, “with only a fine bosom and wide hips as worthy assets.”
Gyneth laughed but scolded around it, “You should not talk so, Lucia!”
“If there are no men to hear it, I can talk as crude as I like.” She glanced up at me from her position at my bed. “That is, if my lady doesn’t mind.”
“One can hardly avoid crudeness in a castle full of men,” I said. “But you mustn’t allow it to leave this room.”
Lucia twisted her fingers about her pretty lips, as if she were locking a chest, and flicked her wrist in the direction of the window.
“Is she truly Arthur’s kinswoman, my lady?” said Gyneth. She was taking down my hair now, preparing to brush it out. “They could not be more opposite, in appearance as well as mannerisms.”
“Oh, indeed,” Lucia agreed, finishing at last in turning down the bedclothes and checking them over. “It’s a wonder the same blood bred such different characteristics, and that His Majesty seems to have escaped the fairy-tendencies. I fear the man he’d be if he hadn’t.”
“Would he not be like Lord Merlin if he hadn’t?”
“What,” said Lucia with a scoff, “a man aged before his time and loony?”
I said firmly, “I’ll thank you not to speak of the Lord Merlin in that way, Lucia. Let us not forget it is because of his wisdom that my lord husband has driven back the Saxons and that Camelot still stands firm atop its hill."
Lucia’s pale cheeks pinked. “No, my lady,” she said. “I shan’t forget.”
“See you do not. Now lay the basin and pitcher and be off to bed.”
Gyneth finished my hair, trailing behind Lucia after bidding me good night. I was alone for a quarter of an hour before Arthur’s arrival. His golden hair was damp from a wash and tiredness was written across his features.
“Is your fatigue Morgan’s doing?” I said.
“Not entirely,” replied Arthur, removing his outer robe and draping it over a bedpost. “I had a letter from Lancelot that required an immediate reply.” He climbed into bed, and I beside him, keeping space between our bodies.
“What news does he bring?”
“Nothing concerning, I assure you; only a longing to return home.”
“He says nothing of the battle?”
Arthur’s tone firmed. “Where did you learn this, Gwen?”
“It isn’t hard to guess at,” I returned. “Why else would the king send away his best knight, if not to go into battle?” I turned from him, reaching for the tallow candle burning on my night table. “I am not a simple woman,” I said quietly. “I should think you’d enjoy that, seeing as your kinswoman puts herself on a mighty high hill and you do not scold her for standing upon it.”
I blew out the candle, feeling Arthur’s irritation, and then his guilt.
He asked, after a good length, “Do you envy her?”
A laugh bubbled from my lips. “If there is anything to envy about a sorceress, it’s that the world yields to her because it fears what she’d do if they didn’t.”
And how useful it would be, I thought later, as Arthur faded into dreams, to know magic and to strike fear into people’s hearts with a single look.
Useful, said a more logical tendril, and then dangerous.
#personal#writing things#this is one of the reasons why my re8 stuff is very slow going#other than stupid irl shit going on#this story may be fictional but i've found while writing it i'm drawing from so many present experiences#anyway#my sleeping pills are kicking in so i better close out before i crash#arthurian fiction#fantasy writing
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"Oh, mon Dieu, Jesus!" said her mother, "there are so many witches nowadays that I dare say they burn them without knowing their names. One might as well seek the names of every cloud in the sky. After all, one may be tranquil. The good God keeps his register."
The Place du Parvis Notre-Dame, upon which the balcony looked, presented at that moment a singular and sinister spectacle which caused the fright.
"Is it true she has refused a confessor?"
"It appears so."
"You see what a pagan she is!"
At that moment, midday rang slowly out from the clock of Notre-Dame. A murmur of satisfaction broke out in the crowd. The last vibration of the twelfth stroke had hardly died away when all heads surged like the waves beneath a squall, and an immense shout went up from the pavement, the windows, and the roofs.
"There she is!"
A tumbrel drawn by a stout Norman horse, and all surrounded by cavalry in violet livery with white crosses, had just debouched upon the Place through the Rue Saint-Pierre-aux-Boeufs. The sergeants of the watch were clearing a passage for it through the crowd, by stout blows from their clubs. Beside the cart rode several officers of justice and police, recognizable by their black costume and their awkwardness in the saddle. Master Jacques Charmolue paraded at their head.
In the fatal cart sat a young girl with her arms tied behind her back, and with no priest beside her. She was in her shift; her long black hair (the fashion then was to cut it off only at the foot of the gallows) fell in disorder upon her half-bared throat and shoulders.
Athwart that waving hair, more glossy than the plumage of a raven, a thick, rough, gray rope was visible, twisted and knotted, chafing her delicate collar-bones and twining round the charming neck of the poor girl, like an earthworm round a flower. Beneath that rope glittered a tiny amulet ornamented with bits of green glass, which had been left to her no doubt, because nothing is refused to those who are about to die. The spectators in the windows could see in the bottom of the cart her naked legs which she strove to hide beneath her, as by a final feminine instinct. At her feet lay a little goat, bound. The condemned girl held together with her teeth her imperfectly fastened shift. One would have said that she suffered still more in her misery from being thus exposed almost naked to the eyes of all. It was la Esmeralda.
The tumbrel had entered the Parvis. It halted before the central portal. The escort ranged themselves in line on both sides and the two leaves of the grand door swung back on their hinges, which gave a creak like the sound of a fife. Then there became visible in all its length, the deep, gloomy church, hung in black, sparely lighted with a few candles gleaming afar off on the principal altar, opened in the midst of the Place which was dazzling with light, like the mouth of a cavern. At the very extremity, in the gloom of the apse, a gigantic silver cross was visible against a black drapery which hung from the vault to the pavement. The whole nave was deserted. But a few heads of priests could be seen moving confusedly in the distant choir stalls, and, at the moment when the great door opened, there escaped from the church a loud, solemn, and monotonous chanting, which cast over the head of the condemned girl, in gusts, fragments of melancholy psalms -
"He that heareth my word and believeth on Him that sent me, hath eternal life, and hath not come into condemnation, but is passed from death to life."
This chant, which a few old men buried in the gloom sang from afar over that beautiful creature, was the mass for the dead. The people listened devoutly.
They untied her hands, made her alight, accompanied by her goat, which had also been unbound, and which bleated with joy at finding itself free, and they made her walk barefoot on the hard pavement to the foot of the steps leading to the door. The rope about her neck trailed behind her. One would have said it was a serpent following her.
Then the chanting in the church ceased. A great golden cross and row of wax candles began to move through the gloom. A long procession of priests in chasubles and deacons in dalmatics marched gravely towards the condemned girl, as they drawled their song.
At the moment when the archdeacon made his appearance in the full daylight beneath the lofty arched portal, enveloped in an ample cope of silver barred with a black cross, he was so pale that more than one person in the crowd thought that one of the marble bishops who knelt on the sepulchral stones of the choir had risen and was come to receive upon the brink of the tomb, the woman who was about to die.
The archdeacon approached her slowly; even in that extremity, she beheld him cast an eye sparkling with sensuality, jealousy, and desire, over her exposed form. Then he said aloud -
"Young girl, have you asked God's pardon for your faults and shortcomings?"
He bent down to her ear, and added (the spectators supposed that he was receiving her last confession): "Will you have me? I can still save you!"
She looked intently at him: "Begone, demon, or I will denounce you!"
He gave vent to a horrible smile: "You will not be believed. You will only add a scandal to a crime. Reply quickly! Will you have me?"
"What have you done with my Phoebus?"
"He is dead!" said the priest. He staggered, passed his hand across his eyes, looked again, muttered a curse, and all his features were violently contorted.
"Well, die then!" he hissed between his teeth. "No one shall have you." Then, raising his hand over the gypsy, he exclaimed in Latin, in a funereal voice -
"Go now, soul, trembling in the balance, and God have mercy upon thee."
This was the dread formula with which it was the custom to conclude these gloomy ceremonies. It was the signal agreed upon between the priest and the executioner.
No one had yet observed in the gallery of the statues of the kings, carved directly above the arches of the portal, a strange spectator, who had, up to that time, observed everything with such impassiveness, with a neck so strained, a visage so hideous that, in his motley accoutrement of red and violet, he might have been taken for one of those stone monsters through whose mouths the long gutters of the cathedral have discharged their waters for six hundred years. This spectator had missed nothing that had taken place since midday in front of the portal of Notre-Dame. And at the very beginning he had securely fastened to one of the small columns a large knotted rope, one end of which trailed on the flight of steps below. This being done, he began to look on tranquilly, whistling from time to time when a blackbird flitted past. Suddenly, at the moment when the superintendent's assistants were preparing to execute Charmolue's order, he threw his leg over the balustrade of the gallery, seized the rope with his feet, his knees and his hands; then he was seen to glide down the facade, as a drop of rain slips down a windowpane, rush to the two executioners with the swiftness of a cat which has fallen from a roof, knock them down with two enormous fists, pick up the gypsy with one hand, as a child would her doll, and dash back into the church with a single bound.
He held the young girl, who was quivering all over, suspended from his horny hands like a white drapery; but he carried her with as much care as though he feared to break her. One would have said that he felt that she was a delicate, exquisite, precious thing, made for other hands than his. There were moments when he looked as if not daring to touch her, even with his breath. Then, all at once, he would press her forcibly in his arms, against his angular bosom, like his own possession, his treasure, as the mother of that child would have done. His gnome's eye, fastened upon her, inundated her with tenderness, sadness, and pity.
At that moment, Quasimodo had a beauty of his own. He, that orphan, that outcast, felt himself august and strong, and gazed in the face of that society from which he was banished, and in which he had so powerfully intervened, of that human justice of which he had wrenched its prey, of all those tigers whose jaws were forced to remain empty, of those policemen, those judges, those executioners, of all that force of the king which he, the meanest of creatures, had just broken, with the force of God.
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Hi my sweet friend!!! Ok so for random prompts I saw “ride a horse” and immediately thought of like cowboy Bucky or farmer Bucky or any kind of AU with horses hehe! Maybe he teaches you to ride or takes you out for a picnic- anything sounds amazing!!! Thank you so very much and please take your time❤️🥰❤️love and hugs to you!
Someone New
Pairing: Farmer!Bucky x Female!Reader
Summary: Bucky gives you free horse riding lessons in exchange for your homemade strawberry cheesecake. Eventually you fall in love with more than just the activity.
Word count: 859
Author’s Notes: Thank you so very much my beautiful friend @jobean12-blog for this gorgeous request! I’m sending you all the love and hugs back and I really hope you like it and it doesn’t sound too cliché! 🙈 I followed a guide on horse riding, so if any information is wrong please feel free to correct me!
Warnings: horse riding (as I know some have a phobia of horses), fluff, proud!bucky, happy and cheesy ending 🥰
Your horse riding lesson was about to start and you were nervous. Not about riding the horse itself, but nervous about messing up or doing something wrong in front of your tutor Bucky Barnes, the local farmer who was kind enough to give you some horse riding lessons free of charge in exchange for your homemade strawberry cheesecakes.
It was a great deal, since learning to ride a horse has been on your bucket list ever since you were a little girl. Every Christmas you would ask your parents for a horse, with a written promise you’ll take excellent care of it and treat it as if it were a prince or princess. But every Christmas that passed, you never received the horse. It’s just something you’ve always wanted to do and thanks to Bucky’s offer, your wish was about to come true.
You tried to calm yourself down. Your nerves made you visibly shake when Bucky rounded the corner with his favourite and well behaved horse.
“Okay doll, you ready?” Bucky smiled, showing off his perfect pearly white teeth. Bucky had a smile to die for, and his horses weren’t the only reason you hung around the farm so much.
“I-I think so? I’m a bit nervous.” You chuckle, your nerves making themself known as you wipe the back of your palms on your pants and take deep breaths.
“You’re gonna do great! I’ll be here the whole time, okay? He’s also a gentle giant, he’ll take good care of you.” He said, stroking the side of the horse’s face.
“Now, come here.” Bucky ushered you towards him, holding his hand out for you to take so he could help you into position as he moved the mounting block into place. “Now hold onto his reins.” He points to where you should hold, and you follow his instructions.
“Okay.” You sigh, hoping the horse doesn’t suddenly take off.
“Good girl! You’re doing great! Now put your left foot in the stirrup.” The stirrup feels unstable and you gasp, fearing you’re gonna do something stupid. “It won’t go anywhere doll, you’re okay. Now pull yourself up and mount him. I’ve got him so he won’t take off.” Bucky assures you and you trust him as you pull your body up and straddle the horse and gently sink into the saddle so as not to hurt the horse’s back.
“I did it!” You grin, letting out a sigh of relief that nothing so far went wrong.
“I’m proud of you doll! I knew you could! Okay your positioning looks great so hold onto the reins and click your tongue.” You do as Bucky says and the horse starts to walk forwards. Your body jolts when Bucky gives you the next instruction to make the horse trot. “Keep your elbows relaxed, doll.” He shouts, giving you two big thumbs up at how well you’re doing and you were so proud of yourself, feeling relieved that nothing embarrassing had happened during the lesson. Nothing did go wrong during the lesson, and you were equally excited for your next.
The lessons continued over the next couple of weeks. The more you rode horses, the more confident you became doing everything yourself without needing help or reminders on what to do from Bucky. It became one of your favourite hobbies, it gave you freedom and encouragement to do anything you wanted. And of course, spending lots of time with Bucky was a bonus as the romance between the two of you blossomed during the time you spent together. Not just during lessons, but you also cooked for the two of you and even made plans for movie nights so he could relax after a hard day of farming. He made you laugh and smile, he was your ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. And you were his everything. Bucky didn’t expect to fall for you so quickly, but when you were the reason he couldn’t stop smiling, he knew he was in too deep.
You were jumping with joy when he asked you if you’d like to take the horses out for a ride and have a picnic under the sunset.
“It’s so gorgeous here.” You beamed up at the orange and red sky, breathing in the warm summer air. The two horses neighed nearby as they chomped on the grass happily.
“It’s the best sight. The scenery isn’t too bad either.” Bucky grins, taking a huge bite out of his sandwich. His comment heated your cheeks, and you grew shy under his stare.
“Bucky…” you chuckled shyly, biting into one of your homemade strawberries, the red juice dripping down your chin and onto your sundress.
“I mean it, doll. You’re really gorgeous. The best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His eyes kept darting from your eyes to your lips. The close proximity drew you in closer to him and without saying another word, you closed the gap and kissed him. His lips are soft and plump that you would be happy to kiss all day. It wasn’t just a new hobby that you found, you also found love and your soulmate.
#bucky barnes#bucky x you#bucky x y/n#bucky x reader#bucky imagine#bucky fluff#bucky fic#bucky fanfic#farmer!bucky x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes drabble#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#Bucky Barnes imagines#margowrites#drabble#drabbles#requests
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a rewritten faith | l. juyeon
🪕 pairing: bartender! reader x cow-boy! juyeon
🪕 word count: 4k
🪕 genre: western! au, 1920s!au kinda?, angst to fluff
🪕 tw: mentions of violence, guns, fights, close death experience, deceased father, false accusations, swear words, the reader has some trauma
🪕 synopsis: you are the owner of the local saloon and something usual will happen, but it will take an unexpected turn.
🪕 a/n: i had this idea while watching a western film with my dad and i hope it's not gonna be too bad...
🪕 requested: no
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Your head turned to look at the entrance as the swing doors of the saloon burst open, two sergeants dragging another man inside, his face and body littered in bruises and cuts. He winced in pain as they shoved him against the counter not far from you, both giving him a hard slap at the back of the skull. With an attentive eye, you kept on polishing your whiskey glass with your used piece of cloth, watching everybody’s attention drawn towards the three men.
“You bloody bastard! Did you really think that you would get away with that? Raising your voice at Sir Landfield and seducing his daughter to use her for your own needs? Who did you think you were, the sheriff?” the entire pub erupted into a coarse laugh, some men hitting their pistol against the wooden tables to express their mockery. You, along with the waitresses, were the only ones to remain silent, your eyes darkening as you kept on drying your glasses.
“I never touched Sir Landfield’s dau-”
“Enough, bastard!” one of them yelled and punched him in the face, blood now oozing from the young man’s nose as his head swung to the side at the violence of the blow. He stumbled on the right, his wounded hand quickly grabbing the counter to prevent him from falling.
The church bells rang as it announced another hour of the day, the wind shifting some dirt and sand off the ground. Quickly glancing outside, you noticed a convoy drawn by horses walking down the main street, their whinnying getting louder as the man guiding them whipped their back and sides sharply.
“Gentlemen. What did your good-for-nothing do to our town? And what brings y’all in my father’s saloon?” you asked, the attention shifting from the culprit to you. You arched a brow as you slid the whisky glass you’ve just finished cleaning and another one across the counter, walking over the liquors to fill it for the men with their habitual orders.
“Ah,” one of them grunted. “This bastard thought he was the best in town and started arguing with Lord Landfield over some laws. He threatened him and even tried to get into his daughter’s panties!” one of them shouted as you poured alcohol into their glasses, noticing an arrogant smile plastered on his face. You didn’t like where this was going.
The culprit raised his eyes at you from his stool and observed you working, your orbs boring into his for a quick second before looking away to grab another bottle of liquor.
“Well, I’m pretty sure he had some good reasons to speak his mind to the mayor. Does he have a name?” you smirked as you placed a glass of herbal liquor in front of the soon-to-be-dead gentleman. He thanked you by a brief nod, and his face contorted into a grimace as he rose his glass to his lips, downing the drink in one go.
“He deserves to be hung by the balls, he’s from the Lees! Lee Juyeon! No one touches the mayor’s daughter like that except her husband!” the man on the left banged his fist onto the wooden counter, making everyone applaud and raise their glass at the idea.
Of course, you disagreed with their horrendous methods, but who were you to counter. Since you didn’t want to be the next in line, hung and burnt alive, you preferred to keep your mouth shut and observe.
“I never touched her!” exclaimed the-said Lee Juyeon but was quick to get shut up.
“You don’t get to speak up, you piece of shit! If I said that you touched her, you did, end of the story!” Another man threw his fist right into the apparent lawbreaker’s nose, who immediately wiped his blood-spattered face on the side of his dirty shirt and spat on the floor.
You could tell that Juyeon was surprised by everyone’s agreement, trying his best to hide the fear in his eyes by clutching his jaw. One of the stablemen left the pub for a quick second before coming back, holding a long, white rope with a dirty smile on his face. Faces lit up in delight when he skilfully threw it in the air and swirled it around one of the massive wooden joists before tying a slipknot on the other end. The young man’s hand clutched around his glass, and he stared at you, noticing a hint of despair behind his two dark brown orbits.
You’ve seen many men and women in his state, but for once, you spotted something different. Sincerity, pain, and hopelessness could be observed in this man’s behaviour. He looked like he couldn’t hurt a fly, but you also knew that men were good at lying and being pitied when it was needed. However this time, for some reasons, you felt your heart pinch at the visible fear daunting the cowboy.
The men of law sat down at a table near the swinging doors and lit up their cigars thanks to the waitress’ matches, only to slap her butt as a thank-you. She giggled like a teen girl, which made you even more sickened by the situation than you already were, many people emptying the saloon in fear of witnessing death.
“Oi bastard, are you thinking of a way to shag the bartender before your sentence? She’s pretty cute, right?” one of the officers yelled as the delinquent’s eyes lingered on your working figure. You sent them a death glare, and they elbowed each other with a dirty grin, the idea of shooting them between the eyes titillated your mind for a quick second.
“Try not to get us thrown out, she can be pretty rough, just like her father,” you heard them snicker, and you turned around to sigh and roll your eyes, trying not to get arrested either by ‘disrespecting’ them, even if it looked really tempting.
Abruptly, the oldest officer pushed a chair with his foot towards the young man, puffing some smoke out of his mouth, the action leaving a greyish trail lingering above their bald, dirty-minded heads. The stableman grabbed the man from the counter and forced him to get on the chair before shoving his head inside the slipknot and tightened it.
Exhaling sharply as it already happened too many times since your father passed away and bequeathed the saloon to you, you closed your eyes and looked away, mentally cursing the sheriff for choosing your tavern for doing such horrible acts of what they called ‘justice’.
“So, Lee, any last words before we shoot you in the head?” one of the officers insolently said as he expertly swirled his pistol in his hand, his other holding the cigar close to his mouth. From where you were, you could see the culprit gritting his teeth, trying to remain neutral.
“No, I don’t. Because I have done anything wrong, except expressing my honest opinion to the sheriff. And, as much as you want me to, I never laid a finger on his daughter,” the man spat confidently, only to have the two officers and some other men around the saloon unpleasantly shaking their heads.
“I can’t believe it. Even at the edge of death, he’s still willing to lie,” locking the cylinder before lowering the hammer of his revolver, the officer pointed his weapon towards the young man, who stayed as still as possible.
Everyone stared at the scene with intensity, some drinking their liquors or taking puffs of cigars like they were watching and enjoying some entertainment. The culprit was staring intensely at the officers, making them understand that he wasn’t scared of the gun nor facing death. You, on the other hand, were exhausted of those illegal actions and atrocious scenes that already happened when your father was still from this world. Luckily, he always made sure to give you to the tailor next door when such things happened, but it wasn’t really helpful since you became responsible for the aftermath at a very age.
They weren’t the ones that got rid of the dead bodies they shot inside your establishment, they weren’t the ones crazily rubbing the dirt and dried blood off the wooden counter or ventilating the building to get rid of the gory, metallic smell lingering around, nor were they the ones getting scared and sick of working in such sordid conditions. Some graphic execution scenes were still lingering in your mind even years later and shocking you to the point of getting sick and wobbly for a few days, getting flashbacks of the gun firing off. No matter how many people you saw dying in the saloon or while walking around town after witnessing some settling of scores, you would never get used to this sleazy, corrupted method of getting rid of people.
And this case was the last straw. You could not handle another bloody situation, where people would be cheering and happily exiting the saloon as if nothing happened, leaving you mortified and scarred for the nth time behind.
As the sergeant was about to pull the trigger, you were swift to get out your dad’s revolver from the small compartment under the counter and shoot the wooden beam in two precise bullets. The waitresses shrieked and the rest of the souls populating the saloon flinched, hands going to protect their head and ears. You shot the wood three other times to make some dust and pieces fall to confuse everyone, hiding some bullets in your corset before going around the counter and grab the man by the sleeve. Among all the panicked people trying to rush out of the saloon, you dragged the man out through the back door, letting one of the waitresses take the control of the saloon.
“Come on, we don’t have a lot of time!” you said out of breath, the muddy ground staining the pans of your dress with a dark brown colour. The man looked still shocked to have narrowly dodged death, catching his breath as your hands were fumbling with the knot keeping your horse close to the wall. Seizing the reins with a soft yet skilled hold, you were quick to slide your foot in the stirrup and swing your leg over the beast, extending your hand for the man to take it.
He messily placed his foot on the wooden fence and jumped behind you, his hand still in yours as the fence collapsed under his weight. You felt his jerky breaths fanning your neck as you commanded the horse to race off.
“Ya! Ya!” you angrily yelled, repeatedly squeezing your legs around the horse for it to go faster as you heard some gravelly voices lingering around the saloon. Your horse neighed and picked up the pace, its hooves hammering the dried ground of the main street as you bolted out of the town.
“Lower your head, we need to go faster!” you yelled and the man obeyed, your heart pulsating in your temples as you heard some screams and people opening fire towards you, bullets going through a few wooden wains from the neighbouring houses.
“Sorry about the fence,” the man whispered and you shook your head, eyes still focused on the dusty road.
“That’s the least of my worries right now. Hold onto me instead so we can lose them faster,” you spat and whipped the reins on the horse’s neck, the man’s large hands landing onto your waist.
“What’s your name, by the way?” he yelled so his voice wouldn’t be covered by the horse’s noises, and you slightly turned your head to the side.
“Y/N,” You simply answered, trying to ignore his hands on you as he was accused of inappropriately touching the mayor’s daughter and pushed your feet down the stirrups as you went up a hill.
The town was quick to disappear behind you as you hurried into the taiga, following the winding trail as fast as possible. The lawbreaker was still holding onto your waist, his hold strengthening as you didn’t seem to be ready to slow down anytime soon. The concentrated look on your face didn’t subside at all, sometimes looking back to make sure that you weren’t being followed.
Your heart skipped a beat as your horse jumped over the railway line, his hooves toughly landing on the floor as the way started going downhill again, the man behind you hitting his chin against your shoulder due to the force of the impact. He mumbled a quick apology, but you didn’t even hear it, the wind blowing in your ears preventing any sound to reach you.
You finally ordered the horse to slow down as you reached another dense forest, the air feeling chiller as the sun was struggling to get through the infinite branches of sharpened pine needles. You and Juyeon kept your head low, the latter pushing his hat further onto his head to protect his already severely injured face from the spiky needles. He let out a small hum of surprise when you reached a small cottage with a wide range of greenery surrounding it, not expecting someone to live here. The air was so pure and fresh that it almost hurt your lungs, with no sign of tobacco smoke or dust from the road to poison your inner organs.
Getting off the horse, you drew the gun out of your corset and removed the bullets, tossing the revolver on a lonely stump. The man recoiled at the sight of the weapon, but instantly relaxed as you went behind the cottage. He grunted in pain as he got off the horse, giving it a gentle tap and rub its muzzle. It snorted quickly and turned around, walking further into the greenery to relax from the intensive workout you went through.
When you came back, the cottage key in hand, your gaze fell on the man leaning against a trunk, dried blood and cuts still covering his face. His bottom lip was split open, and his cheekbones were bruised, eyes bloodied by the dust and the several hits he received from the men of law. You sighed as you stared at him, hand sliding in the key and unlock the door.
“Come in,” you said as you pushed the door open, walking across the room to draw the curtains out.
Juyeon slowly limped inside, eyes travelling around the small living room, falling straight on a chair after placing your dad’s revolver on the table, the wood creaking under the collision. He groaned in pain and closed his eyes tightly, his jaw twitching as he suffered in silence.
You gave him some privacy and walked to the kitchen, getting some wood planks and a bunch of herbs and weeds from one of the cabinets. Just like your dad had taught you, you lit up a fire in the chimney and hung a small cauldron to the chain. You stood back up, the room getting filled with a heavy silence, not really sure of how to act with a possible criminal in your secret home. He sighed and groaned in pain many times as you prepared a brew and some lukewarm water to freshen up.
His worried eyes met yours as you heavily placed a wooden basin with steaming water on the table next to him, your hands sinking a piece of cloth in the warm water and twisting it.
“Take off your shirt, I need to clean and check your wounds,” you monotonously said, and the man’s hands hovered above his top, hesitantly undoing the first few buttons while looking outside.
He gulped as he exposed his torso to you, your eyes widening in shock for a quick second at the state of it. He got beaten up severely, red, and purple areas already littering his entire thorax. The bruises looked excruciating and probably caused some inner injuries, hence his unnatural movements.
You quickly pulled his shirt away from his body and ditched it on the table, eyes now wandering around his arms. He was pretty muscular – you couldn't neglect the steel-craved abs embellishing his torso – but the cuts and wounds were critical enough to damage the view.
Starting by cleaning his wounds and body with the piece of cloth, Juyeon tried his best to remain still, but it got intolerable at some point. He started hissing and cursing – not at you, he was grateful that you were willing to put yourself in danger to save and take care of him – but more in pain, his eyes flooding with anger as he recalled the sergeants’ faces and their accusations.
“You know,” the man started through gritted teeth before groaning as the piece of cloth grazed against a sensitive laceration on his collarbone, “I didn’t touch the sheriff’s daughter. I'd never touch a woman like that despite what they want everyone to believe,” you quickly looked at him in the eyes and chuckled, your hand delicately grasping his wrist to lift his arm to clean the residues of the cut on the side of the torso.
“I think it’s impossible for you to do so,” your voice trailed as you focused on your task, the man questioningly looking at you.
“How so?”
“She’s on the other side of the world, probably a thousand miles away from us. Serena is a successful woman, she’s sacred to her father. You probably saw her mother strutting around town like she’s the next queen, which is something quite ridiculous but funny at the same time. Serena is the pride of the family because she got married to an Australian businessman and is now living like a good middle-class person, you know?” his eyes widened as you explained everything to him, his tongue clicking in frustration.
“Lies? I became the scapegoat of those assholes for lies?” you defeatedly sighed and shrugged as the man was furrowing his brows, getting upset.
“Welcome to our town, I guess. It is how we, no they, make the peace reign there. We all know that nobody shouldn’t mess with the mayor, but I guess that you are not from here, so you miserably fell into his trap,” you offered him a compassionate smile and carried on with cleaning him, wiping your damp hands on your dress as you got back to the fireplace.
You came back with the cauldron, hands enveloped in the wet piece of cloth as you gently plunged it in the water, Juyeon flinching at the steam surfacing from the warm-cold impact. Your eyes focused on the plant-based mixture you had prepared to heal and sanitise his injuries, following your grandma’s textbook to the letter.
Juyeon groaned again at the warm solution being applied on his body, feeling his skin itch and burn as you kept rubbing the product in. He looked up as you focused on your task, now rubbing his arm while holding his limb with a certain grace. On your face, he could discern some sadness and exhaustion hidden in your features, his mind wandering to what possibly happened to you to be in this situation.
“And you?” he started with a more hesitant voice as if he was scared to frighten a deer, “what made you the bartender of this saloon?” your hand quickly stopped working but resumed almost instantly, but Juyeon noticed.
“Owner,” you corrected, and his eyes widened, an impressed look painted on his face, “I am the only survivor in my family, they all died from sickness or old age. I became the owner of the saloon as soon as my father passed away. He was in this horrible business, letting the authorities do their dirty work inside the bar, away from prying, curious eyes. Of course, since I am a woman and is only good at taking care of children and clean, they keep coming here no matter how many times I refused. I, fortunately, didn’t have to witness every single execution when I was young, but it still sends me into anxiety fits when it happens. I’ve seen a lot of people going through what you’ve just escaped from and it’s almost impossible to get rid of the flashbacks,” you briefly explained, feeling the tears well up in your throat at the mention of your deceased father and harrowing trauma, but you swallowed thickly and repressed your emotions, keeping a neutral face.
“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he mumbled, and you shook your head, wetting your hands in the basin to quickly get rid of any remaining substance.
“It’s fine,” you emotionlessly said, hurrying back in the kitchen to get some time alone.
Juyeon didn’t mean to hurt you by stirring some hurtful memories, but of course, curiosity killed the cat. Thanks to you, he had escaped his humiliating death sentence, and all he did was unintentionally pressing the wrong buttons. Agonisingly, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as he got up, the room slightly spinning as he limped towards the kitchen to come to you. Your shoulders were heaving up and down as you attempted to muffle your cries and silence your emotions, not wanting to break down in a room with a man other than your father. It was one rule that you forced yourself to follow, not wanting to appear weak to anyone's eyes.
“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to hurt you like that,” his cavernous voice resonated against the walls of the empty kitchen, making you wince and quickly wipe your face with trembling hands before turning around.
“How could you know?” you said with puffy eyes, the sight squeezing Juyeon’s heart as you tried to give him what was supposed to be a reassuring smile. He slowly walked to you and took a gentle hold of your trembling wrists, his chocolate orbs boring into your own. The gaze that you had found quite intimidating a few minutes ago when he was angry against his attackers currently held something completely different. It wasn’t pity as you were used to when you brought up your past, but something more like compassion and tenderness.
“Y/N. I know I'm a complete stranger and a criminal in your eyes, but I wanna help you the way you did for me,” he started, and you stared at the ground, trying to get off his grip.
“I don’t need help,” you mumbled, but he didn’t let you go, the grasp around your forearms tightening but still felt consoling.
“Yes, yes you do. Withdrawing yourself into silence won't solve anything, it will only give prominence to your sadness and scars and prevent you from moving on. You don't have anyone to talk to about it anymore, you keep everything to yourself and stay stuck in this state of distress. You helped me avoid death and run away, so let me assist you in breaking away from your past. At least allow me to try,” he whispered those words to you as if he was afraid someone else would hear.
Tears blurred your vision, something that didn't ordinarily happen when the discussion topic was your father. You always managed to hold back your tears, but for reasons that were still unknown to you, with Juyeon, it was like your brain allowed him to see your raw, true side for some reason, despite knowing him for less than an hour. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t from your town and wouldn’t be telling your secrets to anyone else to cause you harm or humiliation.
“One trauma at a time. You need to get some rest first,” you countered his argument by guiding him out of the kitchen, and Juyeon let out a chuckle, frustrated that you cared more about his well-being than yours.
“Very well then, but promise me you'll let me help,” he asked as you walked him into the rocking seat where your grandfather used to take his nap when he was still in your life.
"We'll see," you whispered, helping him to sit down before giving him a small smile. He let go of one of your wrists and lifted your hand to his face, placing a kiss on the back of your hand while never breaking eye contact, the action of chivalry making your heart skip a beat.
"Thank you for everything you have done for me," He mumbled before kissing your hand again, his damaged lips curving into a smile as you let your hand linger in his, against his mouth.
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blossoms and blood I — jjk
Plot: Two lovers are ripped apart in the name of duty.
Pairing(s): Prince/King!Jungkook x Princess/Queen!OC (Name: Belle)
Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+
Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series
Word Count: 6k
Genre: Royal | Angst | Smut
Tags & Warnings: violence, angst, explicit smut, blood
Authors Note: I know a couple of you wanted this so I hope you like!
In a world where peach blossoms grow and blood runs through the sandstone walls, monarchs of a young kingdom rode through dewy plains to reach their partner regions’ territory in order for a momentous and happy reunion after a hefty battle. Belle opted to sit on the back of the horse during most of the ride, light pink veil hovering over her and flowing into the soft spring breeze, an extra piece covering most of her face except her eyes. The king and queen as per usual preferred the chariot as a more comfortable transport for napping but the girl could not find herself relaxed enough to sleep.
Months passed since she was able to see him in person again. Nothing but handwritten letters with pressed roses and cedar wood scent from their stationery shared between them. Now that the small parade drew closer to their destination, her heart continued to do leaps like a performer in a banquet.
“How far along, Namjoon?” Belle asked unsure of how much she could take the tension building.
A smirk immediately graced the mans’ lips, tiny little craters appearing on his cheek. “We’re at the gates, your Highness.”
Tingles rushed through her entire form as she saw the majestic red gates getting closer and closer making her feel suffocated. She could hear his voice forming the words on his letters so clearly in her mind that dizziness started to swirl. All the things he wanted to say in person…all the things he wanted to do but could never write on letters which were possibly being read during commute for security.
What if he was the complete opposite in real life? What if he didn’t even write the letters himself and Belle just lived in a fantasy shared with a scribe? What if he did like her but grew disappointed with her in real life?
“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.” Namjoon teased, pulling the princess back to her reality.
Her horse seemed to already catch the hint by moving forward as the gates opened seeing the familiar flags and banners. “I can’t help it.” Belle whispered trying to keep the conversation to themselves as they slowly entered the age old kingdom. “We haven’t seen each other in months, he could’ve taken in a concubine by now.”
The older male chuckled, watching all the people staring in awe at the ethereal veiled princess riding in. “I think you place Jungkook a little too closely with the other princes.” His gaze was more focused on everything around him knowing there had to be extra care when Belle chose to be exposed in the open like this.
“It’s hard not to right now.” Her eyes moved to the majestic gates of the palace thudding open in front of them.
“Mommy, it’s a fairy!” A toddler resting on a womans’ shoulder pointed to her just as they left the towns.
Belle couldn’t help but smile and give the little one a small wave before she disappeared into the main palace courtyard.
Across the sandstone path adorned with small rose bushes stood a great flight of stairs leading up to the a line of three thrones. Except all the royals stood for their allies; the king in the middle with his golden crown, queen on his left and young prince on his right. Each figure exuding an aura of ultimate ancient power even in front of their equals. Though her gaze had fixated mostly on the male standing leftward of the king. Prince Jungkook.
Brunette fringe just a tad lower than his eyebrows, silver earrings twinkling in the sunlight and a faint smirk already visible even from a distance.
Their horses were halted just at the end of the first line of stairs. Namjoon got off his horse as Belle moved her leg so they both hung on one side. If she had her proper horse riding attire, it would have taken seconds to get off but with forty layers of fabric made the simple task tedious. So as per any other public event Namjoon securely held onto her waist and helped her down on the ground.
Jungkooks fingers twitched a little seeing the princess’ guard hold onto her. Of course he knew only the guard was truly ever allowed to touch her in times of need. Princesses could never be touched for pleasure or claim unless a marriage proposal was finalized. His smirk widened a little too much knowing that rule was already a little broken unbeknownst to both their parents.
Days leading up to his time in battle, the young couple grew impatient and weary of the results. Whether Jungkook would come back or if Belle would be married off to some other prince for extra protection. Of course both things were not entirely under their control except for their own secretive desires. Eventually it led to one long night of breaking a few little rules as they explored each other and gently ripped the layer of innocence dividing them.
Belle’s parents were the first to begin walking up the stairs to the space in between where Jungkooks parents also proceeded to walk down in order to meet halfway. A usual custom to symbolize equality amongst the two kingdoms.
“My congrats on the victory, King Jeon.” Belle’s father gave his ally a bright but formal smile which was received in the same enthusiasm.
She tried to focus on the elders and their conversation but her eyes flickered over to a pair of round orbs staring right at her. Quickly the girl lowered her gaze before focusing on their parents not able to stop her cheeks from burning.
“If it weren’t for your troops, my son would not have been standing here with me. I should be thanking you for giving aid.” King Jeon patted the young princes’ back making him smile politely. “Our kingdoms were meant to be joined as one to fight against the Sun Queen.”
More words were muffled as Jungkook brought his gaze back to the heavily covered princess. He could still mentally trace out her beautiful lips always curled up in a smile and her adorable nose that twitched when she was teasing him about something. His hands yearned to pull away her veil and just catch a seconds glimpse of her face but he had to keep a formal demeanor.
Sun peeked through clouds and her face glowed even under the pink veil while the two kings embraced one another with a light laugh under their breath.
“I hope you’re not too tired from your journey we’ve prepared a small banquet for your liking.” King Jeon smiled before glancing over at Belle who Jungkook could notice her eyes squinting into a gorgeous smile.
The young prince almost let out a sigh of awe looking at how her eyes brightened while gracefully nodding her head in acknowledgement.
“Jungkook will escort you to your chambers.” He glanced over at his son.
Immediately he could feel a flutter in his heart, a more genuine smile tugging at his lips as he met the princess’ gaze again. “Of course.”
-
Down the golden hallways the prince opened the door for the king and queen into their temporary chambers, giving them a kind smile as they were fully acquainted. He struggled to keep a sense of formality whenever any of their parents’ were around knowing a relationship between their children was not exactly the goal. Most traditional alliances did rely on marriages but this rare time, they opted to ‘save’ their children for expansion purposes to the other kingdoms so they could build to a big enough land against the Sun Queen.
Wrong tradition at the wrong time, Jungkook thought. One of the rare occasions where two children from ally kingdoms actually love each other but the kingdoms don’t want an arranged marriage. His eyes now moved onto Belle and his heart almost skipped a beat for a second realizing they were finally both alone. “This way, your Highness.” He gestured down to his left and the princess walked, holding all the grace in the world in each movement. “How was your journey?” Jungkook tried to keep a formal tone while they walked as slowly as possible to her chambers.
“It was lovely, the forest leading up to the palace is so beautiful. I insisted on riding outside of the chariot. Except now I’m aching a little.” Belle giggled under her breath, feeling the light cramping on her inner thighs from having sit on the horse for so long. “So did you forget about me?” She moved straight to the point now that they were in a rare lonesome with no one to bother them.
“Not the best at memory.” Jungkook shrugged playfully. “Even at the war grounds, I only had to remember who wasn’t going to kill me and the pros—” He cleared his throat immediately.
Belle rolled her eyes a little even though her heart dropped realizing a lot of prostitutes must have been present in the war camps. She should not be surprised if plenty wanted to please the prince himself during his time of need but it wasn’t surprise that clenched her chest.
“The ladies in waiting will be here in a few minutes.” Jungkook muttered as Belle walked through the doors of her chambers. Before he could take a step back, something held onto his hand pulling him inside.
Silence plunged between the young couple as the prince closed the door behind him not needing any sort of explanation. It was a dance they got used to in the years they stood under the same roof. Something burst inside him in seconds as he turned her around and pulled off her sunhat. Without another thought, his lips pressed against the soft fabric of her mask making her giggle at his impatience.
“You’re a very friendly host, your Highness.” She teasing smiling as he continued to peck her covered lips.
“Don’t play with me it’s been too long.” He growled lightly through his words, hands caressing the curve of her waist to her hips.
“What about your prostitutes? Seems like you had help during that long time.” She pouted a little slithering away from him. “Did you write the letters sent to me?”
Jungkook held onto the fabric of her dress and continued to walk closer so there was no distance between them. “I wrote them after training. If it were a scribe, the handwriting would be a hundred times better.”
“And a lot of the words wouldn’t be smudged.” Belle smiled knowing the little details that easily showed that an experienced scribe would not have written their sacred document. “So all those things you said…”
“Every word I meant.” He murmured, their faces now a breath apart. His fingers hovered over her mask stopping himself from just ripping it off like the poor sunhat lain on the floor. “I’d be a fool to accept them when I have a princess waiting for me.” Jungkook fixated on the way her lips curled up into smile through the slightly transparent cloth. “Let me see you.” He whispered nudging his nose against her covered one.
Belle rubbed his clothed chest softly wanting to tease him a little more just to feel the heat radiating from him grow stronger. But she grew just as impatient as him at this point. “Take it off.” Sparkling eyes searched his expression before watching his cute lips curl up into a toothy smirk.
His hands slid up from her hips, hovered ever so slightly over her breasts before moving behind her hair and untied the knot. Pulling off the cloth his breath caught in his throat for a moment seeing finally being able to see her pink tinted lips again. It shouldn’t be healthy how he was so infatuated by her whole being that it ached in his chest a little.
“Disappointed?” She grinned, tracing a finger down his neck.
“In love.” He whispered brushing away the wispy strands of her hair that flew to her face after he took off her mask. Not another second wasted, Jungkook held onto her cheeks and pressed a warm kiss on her lips, tongue desperately pushing through her teeth to explore every inch of her mouth.
Belle almost could not gather herself feeling a burning behind his eyes at his words before the familiar warmth on her lips. Knees grew weak at the flurry of emotions that she almost lost balance but Jungkook had a firm grip around her waist. Few stumbling steps and the prince carried her to the edge of the bed before letting her fall on her back. A light squeal followed by the tiniest giggle, her fingers gripped Jungkooks’ clothing as he hovered over her, lips locked once again in a heated synced pattern.
He pushed the thick layers of her dress up until his rough fingers were graced with her soft slightly cool skin, body tingling at the familiar feeling.
Most of her dress rested right up on Belle’s chest as she relished in his hands lightly revisiting her body after so many of being untouched. Just as her lips parted to let a small moan flow out, Jungkook caught them between his again taking every miniscule remnant of the memory of her, he could salvage in the time they were together.
“Is it sore here?” He asked watching her suck in her plump bottom lip when his fingers softly massaged her bare inner thighs.
Belle nodded, letting out a shaky breath as she gripped at his clothes. Her core pooled at the lightest brush attempting to make out any words to let him know just how much she craved even a second’s touch.
Four knocks on the door shattered their wall of privacy, a meek voice speaking through the wood. “Princess, we’re here to tend to you.”
Jungkook groaned against her lips, nails digging slightly into her thighs before reluctantly pulling away.
Smiling faintly, she pressed a quick kiss on his cheek before making herself decent while trying to catch her breath. “Come in!” Belle bit down her bottom lip to hide any wide grin that was escaping.
The door opened to a line of women in white rushing inside with large bowls, clothing and trunks to get ready for the banquet tonight. Immediately the group bowed down to the two young royals before Jungkook gave a quick smirk to the beautiful princess, walking out of the room and awaiting the next rare time he would be alone with his favourite person.
-
Red drapes adorned the sandstone walls, golden light reflected against the silk and admired Jungkooks’ glowing skin even while wearing a deep blue and black outfit. Both kings sat with their queens whispering stories of another time. His eyes wandered around to find a familiar figure. As expected when the double doors opened, the whole court had to take a moment of silence to see the grace of purple walk into the hall.
Belle wore a beautiful dress, hair tied up half way with twinkling accessories glimmering in the light like her earring and necklace. Beauty completely radiated onto the eyes of the amazed court. Though Jungkook knew in the deep night who got the blessing of seeing her at her purest, rawest form in a time of day when no one knows what’s happening behind closed doors.
Expression softened watching her smile graced her ethereal features as she padded towards the large tables and gave their parents a bow. One cheeky glance towards Jungkook had his heart skipping five beats before she walked off to entertain a few nobles.
It was like a hand popping out of his chest trying to pull the girl towards him instead of the nobles who could never appreciate her for who she was. All they saw was a pretty princess ready to be married off to the most eligible bachelor. He could see the light bruises she hid on her thighs from horse riding all day and the fading scars on her hand from swinging a sword for hours in the night. That was the part no one could see. Some of them didn’t want to see. A future ruler with a stone fist and warm heart.
Eventually Jungkook was also forced to slither into the crowd of high brows mingling into conversations and possible marriage proposals. As he was trained for so many years, a smile and maybe a little laugh if jokes were thrown around. It had all become a redundant pattern of climbing the golden ladder to ultimate power. Unfortunately the key to all that power had his gaze set on one particular princess who seemed to call out to him with her eyes.
He noticed the girl excuse herself from the crowd before giving him a look he could recognize from kingdoms away.
“Excuse me, ladies.” Jungkook grinned, giving them a slight bow before walking out of the warm huddle and into the cool air of something more exciting.
Down the beautifully lit hallway he watched her walk with a skip in her step and a cheeky smile on her face purposely not waiting for him to catch up. Jungkook felt a surge of nostalgia, when the walls felt much taller and they would chase each other around the palace until finally one of them were pinned against the wall. As they got older, other things would happen once the person was caught.
She wanted to play a game. More teasing to remind him of just exactly what he missed in his time during the battle. All the nights in the tent after refusing the third round of lightly clothed ladies, he would re-read her letters over and over again until he had to take care of himself just to sleep somewhat at ease.
Belle’s giggles echoed through the hallways as she turned a corner not forgetting to give him a grin brighter than all the candles tonight. Once the girl disappeared, the young prince stepped into a jog not wanting to miss a single second of his favourite view in the world.
Her heart pounded against her ribcages in the best way possible knowing Jungkook was following her every step and movement. The rush of it all could have her quaking in her knees but she continued to move. Excitement flurried out of her in light giggles and heavy breathing not knowing how to contain herself now that the game started.
Quickly Belle shifted into a line of pillars to hide for a moment. Jeweled chest rose and fell, a smile tugging at her lips so wide her cheeks ached a little. When her bearing became clearer she tried to focus on the footsteps but heard no sound. Smile fading away ever so slightly, the princess took a few strides to slide out of the pillar peeking through the hallways but finding them empty.
Brows furrowed she walked backwards trying to slide back into her position and her heart jumped, something pulling her back and pinning her against the wall.
“You know I can always catch you.” Jungkook leaned in and whispered, smirk playing on his lips as his hands now secured on her waist to keep her from escaping his clutches. “You’re mine now, princess.”
“What if I let you win?” Belle raised her chin a little. “I was only brisk walking.”
“I could hear your breathing.” Lips hovered over her jawline to her neck feeling the warmth radiating onto his face. “I can recognize your heavy breathing anywhere, princess. That little hitch when you get excited.” Nose nudged against her pounding pulse while her hands slid up his arms. “The way it shakes when you can’t handle all the nerves and your heart pounding.” Jungkook moved back, lips hovering her parted ones now relishing in the tiny shaky sighs coming out of them.
Belle tapped her nose against his, feeling her breathing grow ragged once again as his hands on her waist shot sparks right up to her head making it hard to focus on anything. “Seems you know a lot about me, my prince.” She murmured. “You know what your telling point is? Your eyes…” Her arms wrapped his neck. “It goes all round and doe when you’re happy.” She giggled softly but it quickly faded away into a small smirk. “Then that dark, blown out look glints…tells me you’re hungry for something.” She whispered before sucking in her bottom lip.
Moving her arms away from his neck, she moved his hands down to the skirt of her dress. Immediately his fingers fisted at the fabric and pulled it up to continue from where they were rudely interrupted earlier in the day.
Jungkook sneaked under the skirt and found his stomach doing a leap when he felt nothing but bare skin underneath. “You wanted to lose, didn’t you, princess?” He grinned.
“Maybe a little.” Belle whispered before gasping lightly when his fingers brushed against her already soaked core.
As soon as her lips parted the prince devoured them as his own, tongue dancing with tongue forgetting about the plain exposure they were in for any guards that patrolled by. They couldn’t care less anymore. It had been too long. Too much distance. Jungkook moved his hands away for a moment to cup her cheeks. One of his riskier fingers hooked at the hem of her sleeves pushing them down to expose more of her shoulder so he could bite into it like his favourite snack.
Wet kisses trailed down to her chest, both hands kneading her tender breasts making Belle’s head spin with light surges of excitement.
Dropping down on his knees for the princess Jungkook pushed the soft fabric up her legs and buried himself under it. Tongue immediately caught throbbing nub between his lips, hands gripping at her bare thighs as her body jerked into his mouth.
Belle raised a leg to rest on the window sill in front of her while her head was thrown back against the rough surface. Moving her dress up, she finally watched Jungkook suckling on her clit as she gripped at his neatly done hair.
Letting go of her sensitive nub with a kiss, he jumped back onto his feet and undid his pants sloppily before the princess helped him out letting out a breathy giggle. Once his member sprung free, arms wrapped around the girl before slowly sliding into her snug walls in wet ease. Both their moans flowed together as Belle wrapped her arms around his neck and both her legs now rested on the window sill while Jungkook held her up.
Biting down a much louder moan, she buried her face into his shoulder as he wasted no time in thrusting into her. Slow, rough and deep wanting to make up for all the lost minutes pining for one another in such a distance under uncontrollable circumstances.
Light groans caught in his throat the heat around them spread like a wildfire. “I missed you.” He whispered in her ear before pressing his lips against her neck.
“I missed you too.” She whimpered out, nails scratching down his clothing as a slight ache mixed in with the pleasure from how rough he was after so long. “Don’t ever leave me again.”
Jungkook pulled away from her now reddened neck so they meet each other’s hazy gaze. He watched her eyes grow glossy while every thrust grew deeper as the cliff they were hurdling came closer. “I’ll never leave you again.” He shook his head before pressing another heated kiss, her light moan vibrating into it.
His thrusts grew brutal now, patches of her bare skin rubbing roughly against the wooden surface of the pillar while her leg aching from the position. But none of it compared to the fire building up in her lower belly getting stronger at every slopping pound into her core, fingers gripping at his hair and clothing. “Jungkook—” She whispered, heaving as her body melted away.
Then that long awaited surge exploded through every inch of their bodies, movements getting sloppier desperate to make it last longer and take whatever was given. Arms tightly held onto each other tightly, warmth added to the flames swirling inside channeling out of their shaking forms.
Light, breathy chuckles shared between them followed by a kiss as Jungkook gently let Belle down on her feet while her knees still trembled.
“I love you.” She smiled as he pressed his forehead against hers, hoping he could feel the weight of those words when it was spoken.
“I love you too.” He kissed her nose lightly feeling his heart grow far too big for his ribcages.
Once they were mostly their decent selves, Jungkook fished through his pockets for a moment they sat on the window sill admiring the night view. Eventually with a light smile he pulled out something that glimmered under the moonlight. A silver ring with a delicate peach blossom designed in the middle. “You like it?”
Belle sat up straight now grinning down at the piece of jewelry. “It’s beautiful.” She murmured. “Where’d you get it?”
The prince shrugged. “I saw it in a market while travelling. I know you like the blossoms in our forests so I thought you might want one to hold onto all the time.” He spoke a slight shyness ringing in his tone that Belle couldn’t help but giggle at. “It’s simple—”
“But it’s my favourite.”
Jungkook chuckled feeling his cheeks burn as he slowly took her hand and slid it onto her ring finger. “Think of it as a promise. No matter where I go or where you go…the blossoms always keep us together.”
“That was a…fine attempt at poetry, my prince.” She giggled.
“I was trying to be like the books.” He pouted mockingly but immediately when the princess leaned to give him warm kiss on the lips.
“I’ll keep it forever.” She knew in her swelling heart that promise would never be broken.
-
A smile had been permanently engraved onto his face after that night even as King Jeon had called him for an urgent meeting. Through the hallways Jungkook could only keep his thoughts on that gorgeous smile and how she so proudly wore the jeweled band around her finger in these couple of days.
Eventually the young prince reached the empty throne room where there were no court members present save for the guards who immediately walked out as they closed the door behind him.
“You called me, father.” Hands behind his back, he watched his parents’ features grow grim even in the comfortable warm light and luxurious clothing. Gaze flickered from his father and mother as they shared a stony glance towards one another before facing their son again.
King Jeon took a breath to speak. “Son, there is another reason why we called our allies here.” He spoke with confidence but care knowing this would be a delicate matter for the young prince. “We have been given evidence that the King and Queen were planning to eradicate us from the throne.”
Elated heart took a steep jump into an endless abyss. “Why?” His tone was meeker than he wanted it to be but he kept his head held high.
“Because if we all perished then they would get all our financial assets and every bit of power that comes with ruling both kingdoms.” King Jeon replied simply. Separately the kingdoms were average especially to the likes of the Sun Queen but combining two would make a decent match. Except of course one would expect power struggles between two monarch who have always had ultimate and unmatchable authority.
Whatever veil of hope he had before his eyes now ripped apart at the news of the betrayal. For months, Jungkook saw death beyond imagining and pain never felt before only to be faced with the possibility of assassination by their own friends. “What about the princess?” He hated how weak his voice sounded but his mother merely gave him a sympathetic look.
“We don’t know what her part is in this yet. So be ready tomorrow.” The queen always knew how to be the soft hand in these discussions but right now nothing was going to reassure him.
The prince trained to protect his kingdom at all costs. He risked his life for months in war grounds to prevent anything bad happening to both their lands. Maybe he could keep Belle safe. She wouldn’t been a part of this mess, she loved the people and keeping them happy was the only thing ever on her mind. He knew this. He would lay down his life for this belief.
Duty came first. Duty always comes first. He was the future king.
“You know what you need to do, don’t you, son?” His father spoke the heaviest question, letting it linger in the air and create a weight on his shoulders.
Of course he knew what to do. What he always had to do.
“Whatever it takes, father.” He recited. A common mantra marked into his brain since childhood.
“Good. Prepare yourself.”
Tightening his jaw and pushing the memory of her beautiful laugh, Jungkook merely bowed and did as he was told.
-
In the cold morning, the allied King and Queen stood at the same area in between the flight of stairs except now Jungkooks’ parents stood near their thrones. Separation. The immediate shatter of their tradition in representing equality. The young prince stood in the middle in his normal stance except no smirk played on his lips. He once again became the solider standing on the blood ridden soil protecting any more pain…by causing pain.
The two figures stood relaxed and happy with bright smiles that hauntingly reminded him of Belle.
“What’s this gathering for, my boy?” The King asked giving him a kind smile.
Taking a deep breath, Jungkook looked over his shoulder and saw his father give him a sturdy but reassuring nod. This was the right thing to do. It had to be done for his people. For the kingdom. ‘I love you’ She smiled through her glossy eyes. The corner of his lips twitched and he heard his father speaking.
“We are deeply saddened to say that you have not been keeping our sacred promise of friendship.” He sighed. “Evidence has been found of you committing a breach of our peace contract in the name of greed…and power. Those are not the values our kingdom was built on.”
“How—” Belle’s mother stammered looking at her husband but he was already frozen on the spot.
“Our kingdoms punishes those who break peace for greed. Therefore according to our laws and customs, you will be sentenced to death.” The calm nature of his voice contrasted greatly against the frantic protests of the royals.
All the guards who came with the visiting King and Queen now raised their swords for attack but were overpowered by the archers and half their army.
“My boy…” The queen sobbed. “You don’t want to do—”
In two quick swings of his dagger, he slit the throats of the royals and watched them fall to the ground tainting the area of equality they so happily created. Jungkook knew if he heard another word his movements would not have been that quick. Though the rush of pride for saving his kingdom quickly dwindled.
As soon they fell to the ground Jungkook saw a figure wearing white standing at the first flight of stairs.
Wide eyes reddened as her beautiful face contorted into nothing but pure pain. Belle ran over to her mother, falling to her knees with a thud right onto the puddle of her blood. Shoulders shook and fingers trembled as the realization tightened her chest. All the life she used to see in her mothers’ eyes now empty. “Mama…” She whispered pressing onto her neck as if it was going to save whatever remnant of her soul that was still left.
“Your parents were going to betray us, child. Did you know about this?” The queen asked and the princess felt a warmth inside her except it was different kind of fire.
Watery eyes flickered up to meet the royals before shaking her head, letting out a sharp sigh as she glanced over at her father and her fingers curled around her mothers clothing. All those years of training herself to be stronger than ever now rendered useless as she sat here in the pool of her parent’s blood flowing across a strangers’ kingdom. “I didn’t know about any betrayal.” She replied simply even though her mind conjured up much less composed decisions.
A tear droplet threatening to fall down his cheek as Jungkook looked over his shoulder at his parents in hope. She didn’t know about the betrayal. That meant she was innocent. She could be safe with him. But they did not look convinced at all.
Jungkook’s mother lightly patted her husband’s arm and he merely nodded before taking a breath. “You are hereby exiled from our kingdom.”
The announcement smashed through him like a hammer as he let out a shaky sigh. “Father…”
“This is my decision.” His tone grew firmer now forcing him to turn back and watch his actions bring its own consequences.
Belle struggled to stand up, knees still shaking causing Jungkook to curls his fingers into fists to stop himself from moving any closer. “I want my parents’ buried in our kingdom.” She spoke in a breathy tone to keep her calm, looking past the prince and not sharing a single glance his way.
After a moment of silence and the clanging of armor finally silenced, the King gave a curt nod. “Very well.” He gestured towards a few guards.
Stretchers were brought to take the bodies away while the princess was left to watch her parents blood run down the stairs and stain her white dress. Her form stood still and firm in front of the prince, lashes adorned with her tears. She attempted to wipe off her tears leaving little blood splotches on her face before her eyes moved to the shining silver band around her finger.
Belle’s promise replayed in her mind over and over again. It was almost funny how quickly the seasons could change in a world of duty and power. Naïve. She was naïve to think anything real could come of something that had no destination. They were never going to be together and he probably knew it. That’s why it was easy to rip her parents away from her as soon as the situation called. The girl spent too much time floating through the blossoms thinking the world was beautiful when it wasn’t. She could see the blood on his hands. Blood of her loved ones. It was all a lie.
Jungkook took a small step forward, wanting to break the rules again, to hold her right in front of everyone. Except he was forced to freeze when he watched her pull off the ring from her finger and drop it right into the puddle of her mothers’ blood. Red splattered onto the delicate pink blossom, tainting its beauty with the memory of his actions. His mistake. “Belle…” He whispered.
“Don’t talk to me.” She murmured, bottom lip trembling as she shook her head. “I don’t ever want to see your face again. Ever.”
The tear escaped down his cheek just as Namjoon carefully walked up the stairs and held onto Belle’s arm gently.
She didn’t hesitate despite the heavy ache in her chest, turning on her heel and walking down the stairs. Not a single look over her shoulder. For the first time she had no intention of him catching her.
Duty always gets placed first, Belle thought as she walked through the gates stanching of her parent’s blood. No matter how much love or how much care you had. You must put duty before everything. That was Jungkook did.
That was exactly what she was going to do.
next chap >>
#jungkook#thebtswritersclub#jungkook fanfic#bts fanfic#jungkook imagines#bts imagines#jungkook royal au#bts royal au#tw: smut#tw: violence
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gay/queer references in Peter’s journals
Again, I have probably missed stuff due to going through pretty quickly and also due to having stared at this document for so long, everything has kind of blurred together.
Sometime close to the day that Carlos & I watched 'Love And Death on Long Island' (and afterwards paraded through the tea rooms of Picadilly) we both filled in application forms and were tres excited to be invited to the same group 'interview' - twas more like an audition though. I got the part. Carlos never. This did not bring any animosity - we both know that success for either of us is magnified a million times if it is shared by us both.
from 'A Diamond Guitar' by Truman Capote
"Except that they did not combine their bodies or think to do so, though such things were not unknown at the (Prison), they were as lovers. Of the seasons, spring is the most shattering: stalks thrusting through the earth's winter-stiffened crust, young leaves cracking out on old left-to-die branches, the falling asleep wind cruising through all the newborn green. And with Mr Schaeffer it was the same, a breaking up, a flexing of muscles that had hardened.
It was late January. The friends were sitting on the steps of the sheep house, each with a cigarette in his hand. A moon thin and yellow as a piece of lemon rind curved above them, and under its light, threads of ground frost glistened like silver snail trails. Tico Feo had been drawn into himself - silent as a robber waiting in the shadows."
Then a meet with Bounds Green's African prince outside whitechapel tube, rugged lookies at I in military attire & to a ruptured Albion rooms tidied in hours and now lids drawn heated on the eyes. A young looking fella has a crush on me.
Jackie/Camillia/Marie/Kate/Chris/V. churchill
Jackie/Evelina/Jasmine/Sachi/Dalston/Sussie
Sandra/Carlene/FP/Jay/Dalston/Kraut
There sat a young black man, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. He looked for all the world like the archetypal rude boy. Clean, cheap reebok, nike, adidas variously rolled, laced & zipped about his lean, spreadeagled body that hung loosely about the waiting room chair. Gold & tattoos adorned his person, and a blank animal look was attached to his clear face.
He sat before me in a row of four empty chairs, staring at polished floor or the mundane television. A balding white man minced in & all perceptions were suddenly proven to be false as they embraced and snuggled up to each other, giggling & whispering & touching each others noses.... very much in love, fingers crossed for the blood tests.
[Image: an article from Gay Times of an interview with Peter. For some reason, the portrait included alongside the article is of Carl wearing a grey and black t-shirt.]
Name? Peter Doherty
Age? 22
Where are you? I'm on the motorway just north of Southampton.
What kind of day are you having? (Vaguely) Erm... quite misty. Something's waiting around the corner, but there are no corners on the motorway, so we'll just have to wait and see what lies ahead. Maybe something will happen tonight....
What's this we hear about you once being a rent boy? Well, when times are hard, duty calls.
How long ago was it? When I was 19, about three years ago.
How do we know this isn't just a Shaun Ryder-type lie? 'Cause if it was, it would make me a complete scumbag and I'm not, and I'm not interested in that kind of pantomime. It wasn't a very happy time. I didn't really enjoy it.
Why did you give it up? (grimly) Well, certain people disappeared... and anyway, ultimately I found myself no longer in such a vulnerable position anymore. Dawn broke, and I realised that it was a beautiful world after all.
Have you done any other dodgy jobs? All of us in the band have tried to deal, but it's not good if you like the drugs too much. You just end up using them yourself! I once was a gravedigger. I used to do it with my mate in Willesden Green cemetery. We didn't actually do the digging, a machine did that, but we used to have to fill them in. It was pretty grim work.
So are you gay then? Love is love, wherever it comes from. I'm not anything, really. I am a very sexual person but... I dunno, I believe in liberty... The Marquis de Sade has a lot to answer for...
Do you get a lot of gay fans? Yeah - well, there's one guy in particular. He's very shy and he follows us around. He brings in letters and cards and stuff, but he's very quiet. I think John (the bassist) is the main pulling power in the band.
Are you jealous about that? Nah! I've known him too long.
You know I'm alright
i dont even care
i like it when they stare & stare
call me queer, dear oh dear
a million things & what I wear
He's real hard when he's with his mates
but I'll saw him again & he was too
late
Dear NME
I'd have thought after the Gay Times piece, the interview with Rapture fanzine & our recent gig at the Slum Club everything would be clear. No it still remains to give a big hearty fuck off to all these twisted suburban types calling me a liar.
Vulnerable young men & women all over the world find themselves victims of circumstance.
she was dressed in suit & tie & lightly etched-on moustache. 'I've always wanted to kiss a bird in the back of a taxi.' she says, running her hand up the fishnet ladders of my thigh. Stepping onto the front line in Bow puddles, elevators, buzzing doors,
[Image: the original page in the book has been preserved. Two paragraphs have been boxed off with biro. They read:]
“...cast Richard Burton and Rex Harrison as bickering queer barbers and then much more uncompromisingly in William Friedkin's adaptation of The Boys in the Band (1970), which introduced some of the plainer four letter words in the English language to the screen for the first time. 'Who,' asks Cliff Gorman, in his brilliant portrayal of the most effeminate of the homosexual group as they gather for a soul-searching party, 'Who do you have to fuck to get a drink around here?'
Other homosexual manifestations to occur in movies around this time included an elliptical but unmistakeable male fellatio scene in John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (1969) when Jon Voight, as a broke and disillusioned Texas stud importunes in a New York cinema....”
[Image, top left: a blurry photo of John onstage, playing bass.
Image, top right, sideways: a photo of the band onstage. Carl and John are on the left, sharing a mic. Peter is on the right, playing guitar and singing into his own mic.
Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his bottom half from the chest down is visible.
Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his top half from shoulders up is visible.
Image, bottom left: a torn fragment of a photo. What looks like a denim-clad knee and a yellow carrier bag are visible.
Image, bottom middle: a photo of someone's knee in torn jeans, taken from under a table.
Image, bottom right: a torn photo of Carl in a black sleeveless shirt, posing with his fingers in his mouth.]
[A paragraph from the original page of the book has been left exposed and boxed off with black biro. It reads:]
“The Boys in the Band was displaced by an immeasurably more powerful portrayal of homosexual groups, Fortune and Men's Eyes (1971). Set in a Quebec prison, this disturbing, factually based drama vividly recounted the corrupted of a heterosexual convict trapped in a tough, potentially vicious homosexual society. In one horrifying scene, a weak, put-upon prisoner is gang-banged by his fellow inmates; in another, the 'hero' is blackmailed by his cellmate into accepting him as his lover for the duration...”
Like a cat on a hot tin roof
Like a macho man in a roomful of poofs
I have tried in my way to be free.
[Written in Peter's handwriting]
Jerome... is that how it's spelt?
[Written in someone else's handwriting]
Yes it is
[Written in Peter's handwriting]
Can I read you something?
[Written in someone else's handwriting]
Yes please.....
I insist, new book of Albion, befuddled by drugs I may yes about 2 but I do not miss out entirely on the subtleties of the inhuman relation ships that are this the mainstay of my stay here in one bounce of a loaf. Boys are fooled into fooling with boys. [...]
More general references/some extra explanations:
“The boy looked at Johnny” is a line from Patti Smith's song “Horses,” part one of a three-part song called “Land.” In the song, a young man named Johnny is assaulted by another man in a locker room; he then mentally journeys to other fantastical lands and visions. A lot of people interpret it as being about gay sex, although some people interpret it as being about a stabbing.
Peter quotes and references Jean Genet's writing and works about Jean Genet many times. While Genet's works are nearly all about crime and prison (one of Peter's main interests and points of fascination), all of his works are very explicitly gay. The Thief's Journal is more about Genet's various lovers than it is about his criminal history. Our Lady Of The Flowers is about a drag queen and her criminal lovers, and is also extremely erotic.
(“Jerome” is Jerome Alexandre, vocalist of The Deadcuts, who was friends with Peter and Mark Keds.)
#squash transcribes books of albion#peter doherty#feel free to request compilations of other kinds too
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You and me against the world (especially sliding doors)
Me: I will not write any fics based on the NY special. Not yet, anyway.
Also me, seeing @emsylcatac‘s post: Fine, you’ve convinced me
Here, have a sliding doors reveal one shot, hope you enjoy it! (New York Special spoilers ahead)
Read on AO3!
---
“Are you sure there’s no way for me to swing in from the roof?” Ladybug asked, anxiously fiddling with her yoyo string as she looked at the building that stood before her.
“If you were available later this week, you could, but unfortunately the scaffolding is staying up until the works are officially finished.” The event organiser answered apologetically.
“From a window, then, perhaps?” She insisted.
“Unfortunately the bay windows that give inside the main hall don’t open.”
“Is there a back door of any kind, then?”
Her interlocutor looked at her confusedly. People had told him working with Ladybug was easy, that she was very down to earth for someone who spent most of her time fighting on the Parisian rooftops. So far, though, she seemed like a bit of a diva. He agreed that having her make a grand entrance would be better for the press, but today was the only day that fit both her and Chat Noir’s schedules for a daytime event until the next month. Was it too much to ask that they both just entered through the main door, like normal people?
He looked at his watch. The opening was starting soon, and there was still no trace of Chat Noir.
As the organiser fidgeted, Ladybug was starting to regret ever agreeing to inaugurate the new Children’s hospital, which was opening with a flourish after months of works. The superhero and her partner had been specially invited to cut the red ribbon, located inside the building. She had been very touched that they’d thought of them, and had awaited the event excitedly.
The trouble was that, in an effort to provide the best innovation, the only way of getting inside said building was through automatic doors. She wouldn’t have been bothered by this fact had the event occurred before her trip to New York City. Unfortunately, the field trip had left scars -well, bruises- that made her weary of any door she could not open traditionally.
It had been embarrassing enough that she’d been stuck with Adrien in between two automatic doors, making a fool of herself as she ran into the transparent panes time and time again. She wasn’t willing to repeat the experience in front of the Parisian public. Not when she’d let them down so recently.
There was a small thud next to her, and the sound of Chat’s baton retracting as he walked towards the event organiser and herself. She turned towards him with relief. Chat was very good at thinking out of the box, maybe he could figure a way to avoid the main entrance. She’d just continue pretending her concerns were for the image of the event, and not because of a personal fear.
Chat Noir’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of Ladybug’s wide smile when he approached. He still wasn’t quite over her words in New York. The way she’d hugged him like he was the most precious thing in her life. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost.
“My Lady.” He bowed and kissed her hand, making sure to keep eye contact with her. “Sir.” He then shook the organiser’s hand.
“Good afternoon, Chat Noir. We were just discussing your entrance.” The latter replied, hoping the leather-clad teenager was a little more sensible than his partner.
“We usually come in via the rooftop.” Chat Noir looked up, squinting to see the top of the building which was drowning in sunlight. He spotted a flapping piece of tarp, revealing the scaffold underneath. “But I’m guessing that’s not going to be possible this time.”
“Indeed.” The man acquiesced. “I’m sure the shots of you two coming through the main entrance will be great, though.”
Chat Noir’s gaze followed the man’s, landing on the sliding doors. He visibly paled at the sight.
“Are you sure there isn’t another way in?” He asked as his heart beat rose in his chest. His thoughts immediately went to Marinette and their common experience with automatic doors. Even his fencing bruises weren’t as bad as the ones he’d gotten when failing to go through them in New York. He didn’t care to get more, not to mention the fact he really didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of Ladybug.
“All the doors are automatic.” Ladybug brought her hand up to her mouth out of habit, but bit her suit fabric instead of her nails.
“How… modern.” Chat took a minute to think. He couldn’t possibly make a scandal about going through the main entrance without attracting attention to himself. Inspiration struck. “What if you went to get the horse Miraculous and we entered through a portal? That would look very cool. I’m sure the kids would love it.”
“Chaton, you genius.” Ladybug kissed his cheek. “How long until the opening, sir?” She turned towards their host.
“Two minutes.” He said, barely glancing at his watch.
Both Ladybug and Chat Noir’s cheerful faces dissolved. Even using the horse superpowers to come back, there was no way Ladybug could reach wherever she hid the Miracle box, return and feed Kaalki before they used his Travel power again to get in, in under two minutes.
“Well… I guess main entrance it is, then.” Chat Noir gulped as they faced the sliding doors.
“Yay.” Ladybug cheered weakly. Had he known better, Chat would have thought she was also dreading it.
The event organiser smiled, and headed inside to sort out the last details. The two heroes waited anxiously outside.
When they received the thumbs up from their host, the two advanced cautiously, almost robotically towards the entrance. The first set of doors slid open and they stepped inside.
Ladybug let out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding; the doors had been cooperative. She let a smile invade her face as she and Chat Noir continued their path. The entrance airlock was quite a big space. Nothing to do with the American ones.
She started to wave at the children she spotted on the other side of the second set of doors.
Chat hung back a little, observing her. She really knew how to work a crowd, he noted with a smile. Seeing his partner so relaxed helped his shoulders untense a little. He was with Ladybug, the bringer of Luck; nothing bad could happen to him while they were together.
He’d barely registered that last thought when she slammed into the transparent panels that separated them from the main hall.
“Ow!” She rubbed her nose. She heard laughter coming from the other side, and gave the children two thumbs up. They thought it was a skit. Excellent.
“My Lady, are you okay?” Chat rushed to her side to examine her, taking care to exaggerate his movements so as not to worry the people on the other side.
“I’ll get over it.” She scrunched up her nose.
“Do you want a magic kiss?” Chat Noir wasn’t actually kidding. Maybe it would help Ladybug’s reddening complexion.
“No thanks, Chaton.” Ladybug sighed and approached the door again. It didn’t budge. She stepped away, came forwards. Still nothing.
After waving at what she assumed was the movement detector for what felt like an eternity without any results (were there no technicians around to come and open the door for them? Or even just a kind soul?), she let out a frustrated sigh and stalked back to the middle of the hallway, turning her back to her audience.
Chat took over trying to open the door, jumping around to try and trigger the motion detector. He made faces at the crowd inside the main hall, which earned him many a giggle from the children. They didn’t seem concerned about their predicament at all.
He turned towards his partner to get her to join him in the clowing around, but his smile died on his lips as he took in her slumped shoulders.
“My Lady? Is everything okay?”
“I just…” She tucked her bangs behind her ears, shaking her head. “I don’t get why this is happening.”
“I’m sorry, Bugaboo. It’s all my fault.” He embraced her in a half hug, before elaborating for Ladybug’s raised eyebrow. “It’s not the first time this has happened to me. It must have something to do with the fact I carry the Kwami of destruction. It somehow messes with technology.”
Ladybug sighed. “I doubt it’s as simple as that. I’ve been stuck between two sliding doors before, too. If we go by your logic, then they should open by the holder of the Creation Miraculous just looking at them.”
“Any door should do that for you, really.” He winked, and it brought the hint of a smile to her pouting lips. “Really though, you’d think Paris’ superheroes can operate sliding doors. It’s a good thing Hawkmoth can’t akumatise objects.”
“Not too loud, you’ll make him figure out a way to do it.” She punched his arm lightly.
“I’m sure we’ll manage to get out eventually. We just need to work together!”
Ladybug smiled and held out her fist. “You and me against the world?”
“Always. And especially against automatic doors.” He fistbumped her.
They turned around and walked back to face their new nemesis.
“Now, it can’t be a matter that we’re not heavy enough, because otherwise kids wouldn’t be able to come in or out of this place.” Chat noted. “A little awkward for a children’s hospital, if you ask me.”
“You forget they probably wouldn’t be coming in alone; they’d have some kind of adult supervision.”
“Hmm.” Chat stroked his chin as he thought. “What if we tried jumping at the same time? Maybe it would trigger something?”
“Doesn’t hurt to try.” Ladybug shrugged. “On the count of three?”
“One… Two… Three!”
Both tried to put as much power as they could in their landing, to no avail.
“How about I try and Cataclysm it?” Chat kicked the door lightly, checking its resistance.
“Not sure how good an idea that would be. Remember Reflekdoll?” Ladybug made a face. “I think I’d much rather be locked in than face wild doors.”
“Good point.” He crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his observation. “What about a Lucky Charm?”
His partner’s eyes lit up as she considered it. “You know what, it’s not like we have anything to lose, or like they’re trying to help us get out.” She nodded towards the inside of the building. The guests all looked at them and waved; the event organiser tapped on his watch. “Lucky Charm!”
A small Statue of Liberty keychain landed in her hand. Ladybug rolled her eyes. She knew it was just like New York, Tikki didn’t have to taunt her like that.
“We probably would need that if this door opened with a key.” Chat shook his head. “What are we supposed to do with it now?”
Ladybug looked around, hoping an idea would impose itself as she scanned their surroundings. Apart from throwing the keychain at the door and hoping the glass would shatter upon impact, though, nothing seemed to come to mind.
“Wait a second.” Chat picked up the Lucky Charm and watched it twirl in the air. “Isn’t that the same object you got when we were fighting Techno-Pirate?”
“Doorman!” They both exclaimed at the same time, a smile brightening their faces as they looked into each other’s eyes. “Do you have his number?”
They slumped a little at their synchronicity. What had appeared like a perfect solution clearly wasn’t one if they had no way of contacting the New York superhero.
“Well, I guess that confirms my theory that you’re stuck with me, my Lady.” Chat gave her a small smile.
“You know what, I don’t mind being stuck anywhere with a friend like you.” She tapped his shoulder affectionately.
“Hey, that’s my line!” Chat frowned.
“What do you mean?” Ladybug asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. Yes, she’d stolen the line; but from Adrien, not Chat Noir.
“That’s what I told my friend when we were stuck together in the same situation.”
“Huh. That’s what my… friend told me when we were stuck between sliding doors!”
“Would it be too purr-sonal to ask when or where that happened to you?” He asked almost shyly.
“It was in New York.” Ladybug replied cautiously.
“No way, me too!” He paused. “What are the odds that we’d each get stuck with someone else in the same city?”
“New York is pretty big. With a lot of automatic doors.”
“True.” Chat looked at his feet. “And it’s not like it also happened twice to you, anyway.”
“Actually, it is like that.” Ladybug paled slightly.
“I’m guessing that reduces the odds quite a bit.”
“We’d need Markov or Uncanny to calculate them, but yes, I’d say they’re quite slim.”
They stared at each other, Ladybug becoming increasingly red as the seconds ticked by.
“Marinette?” Chat whispered, a smile spreading on his lips.
“A-Adrien?” She stuttered back.
Before any of them could move or add anything else, the doors slid open. Both turned their heads towards the sound.
The event organiser stood in front of them, and cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but we really are running late now.”
Ladybug and Chat Noir blinked, remembering what situation had brought them there in the first place.
“Right, of course.” Chat Noir extended a hand, which Ladybug took shyly. “Shall we, my Lady?”
“Let’s go.” She smiled weakly. She was holding Adrien’s hand. Which was also Chat Noir’s. Which meant she’d been avoiding Adrien’s advances. The same ones she’d been seeking ever since his apologies in the rain. Adrien was in love with her. Like she was with him... The avalanche of thoughts that invaded her mind made her feel light-headed.
The event organiser moved aside and announced their arrival.
Ladybug and Chat Noir moved forward, walking hand in hand. Maybe the Lucky Charm had been for them to finally find each other. And they had. Everything was going to be just fine.
Together, they picked up their walking pace.
And crashed into the clear door panels, which just had to close as they were strolling through them.
“Guess we really are destined to be stuck with one another.” Chat chuckled as he rubbed his sore nose.
“You know what, Chaton? I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
#i have no control over what i write#oh well#miraculous ladybug#miraculous fanfiction#miraculous fanfic#miraculous reveal#ladynoir#ladybug#chat noir#ml#sliding doors#new york special#elle writes
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So Taeddy is always at least half hard when he’s with Angel... do people not notice ????? If he was average that would be fair... but he’s hung like a fucking horse... DOES HE NOT CARE ?? Or is it just not very visible (like you’d had to really look).
Also when Angel squirted for the first time and he went to a meeting right after... kudos to him, he’s better than me, really, I just know I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything after that 🏃🏾♀️🤷🏾♀️
Taeddy truly does not care about anything else when it comes to Angel... that’s all I can say sdjfhkd😂
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Lasabrjotr Chapter 77: Like a Good Old-Fashioned Barn Raising
Chapters: 77/?
Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: pg
Relationships: Loki x Reader
Characters: Loki (Marvel),
Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time
Summary: Buridag begins!
Loki was awake long before you were, getting preparations ready, loose ends tied up, last minute orders sent out. He allowed you to sleep until you woke on your own, having removed his little illusory alarms from you some time ago.
Sometimes flower petals still rained upon you, and perfume rose from your footsteps, but no more snakes in the bath.
So you rose slowly, stretching and yawning the grogginess away at your own pace. Time was very hard to tell by looking out windows at this time of year, but when Loki entered the room carrying an egg sandwich, a little pile of fresh potato chips, and a glass of coffee, you placed yourself firmly within brunch territory.
Loki flicked on your sunlamp, gestured at the chair, and handed you your brunch once you'd taken your seat.
You munched your food and absorbed your light while Loki laid out the day's plans. You'd get dressed in a ceremonial outfit that included your armor and helmet, and join the parade that was gathering even now.
They were initially going to put you on Sleipnir. You had asked them not to. Sleipnir was magnificent, but you had no connection to him, nor to Leynarodd, who was the second choice. Your sweet, stout, shaggy little Acorn was who you preferred, a horse that belonged to no one initially, but who had formed a trusting bond with you.
Your clothing was, predictably, green, the underdress and apron a dark mossy color, hemmed on all edges with fine gold braid, embroidered with stripes of delicate knotwork, and your mark, also in gold. Over the top of this went your quilted tunic, in it's shimmering jade, and then your armor; the breastplate, the tassets, the bracers, pauldrons, greaves, and poleyns, though the last two were not visible. They went on over the leather trousers you'd been given to wear under your dress. They were sleek things, made of tough black leather, pleated in diagonal patterns, just like something Loki would wear. You thought the pleats had the advantage of putting more leather between you and any danger, and were flexible as well.
There were actually places where your familiar oval brooches could be fastened, your strings of shining beads strung between, your chatelaine dangled. Your belt was tooled leather and brass findings, hung with a leather purse, your Yggdrasil phone case, a small drinking horn carved with your mark, and of course, your knife. A little burst of deep pink against all the gold, green, and black.
You wore a minty-green velvet cape, a gift from Andsvarr, and your beautiful helmet to top it all off. You truly looked like something out of a fantasy novel, someone who looked like they should be standing next to the legendary figure that Loki currently cut.
He looked enormous, with his many asymmetrical layers, and molded shoulder guards, his billowing cape and hair spilling from beneath his magnificent curling horns. He shone with nornbein, and his cloak, shot with silk, shimmered subtly.
“You're so beautiful.” you mumbled. Loki smiled, and leaned down to adjust your cape, cheeks dusted with pink.
“Thank you.” he said, “I make every attempt. Though I think I will fade into the background under the power of your radiance.”
Warmth rushed to your face.
“Um, I know we've got to hurry and get Acorn, but I want to ask you a favor, Loki.”
“Anything. Tell me what it is and I'll make it so.”
You took a deep breath.
“I need you to stop trying to impress my father.”
The pink on his cheeks transformed into bright red.
“Ah. Yes, I rather hashed that, didn't I? I apologize. I thought that was still standard procedure, but your father, uh, explained otherwise.”
“Mhm, I'll bet he did. Look, I know you wanted to surprise us, but when it comes to things like that, you really oughta run it by me first. I could have told you that wouldn't work out the way you thought it would. You know, saved you from being chewed out like that. You can let me save you sometimes too.”
“ Like with the Huldra.”
“Kinda. Dad's not as bloodthirsty as she was, but he's a lot more stubborn.”
“Like father, like daughter, hm?” he teased.
“You have not seen me be stubborn yet.” you warned, and he gave you a quick smooch.
“A blessing, I'm sure. Very well, I agree. Surprises get run by you. Anything to save me from another tongue lashing. That man truly does not hold back.”
“I mean it though.” you persisted. “I'm not saying that you can't have any surprises at all, but talk to me about big stuff like that. If it's something that Asgardian law or custom would demand, but would be insulting to a human, we can maybe hash out an alternative that would satisfy both. That's the point, isn't it? Please, I really don't want to deal with anymore trouble between you two. Don't get hung up on impressing him, he has every reason to reject it, and he will. No more gifts, no toasts, no calling attention to him in public, nothing. He hates being the center of attention. Just let him be a guest, and see, without interference, that his little girl is doing fine on her own.”
“I really didn't mean to make him so angry.” Loki said, a little crestfallen. “And the more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. I just wanted him to know how much I value you. I wanted you to know too.”
“Material culture is different where I'm from. There are places in the world where that would have been understood and appreciated, but we've stopped doing it. In the same vein, fathers don't make all the decisions for their daughters anymore, so you don't actually need his approval. But...I need you to understand, it's not just that you took away his child, though that's bad enough. It's that I'm the only family he has left. My grandma only had one kid, and that was my dad. And she's dead, and so's my granddad, before I was even born. And then my mom died, and Beth too, and so I'm all that's left for him. And I have this giant Sword of Damocles hanging over my head all the time, and he's had to worry about that for my whole life. Most of the women on my mom's side all died from this, but occasionally, rarely, there's one that doesn't. I'm starting to hope that might be me. Maybe the magic is protecting me. But he's not going to be able to accept that so easily. I'm all he had left, and you took me away. That's all that's going to be important to him. You didn't even have to do the things you did in New York, this is the worst possible crime you could commit, in his eyes.”
Loki heaved a sigh of remorse. “And I cannot even return you to him. It seems there is one more thing I cannot set right.”
“The best you can do is make sure I'm okay. And don't bother him anymore. And maybe let him come visit more often. The more he sees me living my life and being fine, the more confidence he will have that I'm actually safe here.”
“I shall endeavor to help you thrive.” Loki promised.
“All right, so if that's settled, we should go get our horses.”
******
Acorn was, like you, a bit overdressed in your opinion. Long tabbards and blankets covered her from nose to rump, green and gold, embroidered with oak leaves. They were so long, they almost brushed the ground. Ribbons were braided into her wild mane and tail, and bells jingled with every movement. Like you, she could barely be seen under her splendor. But she was probably warm, and happily accepted a carrot from your hand. Placid as always, she let you up on her back, and fell into step behind Leynarodd, who likewise, followed up behind Sleipnir, whose hooves still rang like bells even over the thin layer of packed snow that covered the recently cleared streets.
There was a whole procession of people-this was a parade after all, and Thor, on Sleipnir, was preceded by the twin Valkyries, carrying Asgardian banners, as well as several musicians, and Beli, who chanted an ancient epic on the exploits of Buri.
Saga had translated the chant for you a while ago, and it sounded something like the sensationalized, self-aggrandizing boasts of pharaohs, or Mesopotamian kings-the kind that claimed to be rulers of the world, or rulers of the heavens themselves, to have battled armies of demons, killed giant lions with only a stick-that sort of thing. But when Beli called out those verses in such an ancient dialect of Asgardian, the words themselves felt powerful.
Thor followed slowly, Sliepnir plodding along, both of them absolutely huge. Loki and Leynarodd came right behind, only slightly smaller. And then you and Acorn, almost comical in your stature, diminutive by comparison. You were keenly aware of it, but either all of Asgard was too polite to say anything about it, or they simply didn't care.
The human guests, corralled in roped off areas, whooped and cheered when when you passed. Behind you, more musicians played, and a circle of Seidkonas walked in silent dignity. Then came more banners, the rest of the Valkyries, representatives of each noble house and guild, and the rest of the Aesir in Asgard, provided they didn't already have another position in the parade.
After them, the gathered Asgardians began following, lengthening out the procession, bright balls of magical light bobbing overhead. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, and would be slinking away in a mere three or so hours, so the mage lights sparkled everywhere. Helpful Einherjar herded the humans to the next specially roped off area, so they could follow the parade as well; you caught a few amused faces at the playful rowdiness displayed by celebrating humans.
That was just how humans were when they were excited about something. Humans loved to holler, to jump, and dance, and clap. Some of them were even trying to keep time with the music.
You weren't actually able to pick out your father or Tara in the crowd, nor anyone else you knew, so you just kept your head forward and your back straight, trying to look as dignified as you could.
You'd only ever seen a few of what you considered 'proper' parades: in a small town a parade mostly consisted of people waving from the backs of neighborhood pickup trucks and tractors, maybe decorated with balloons or paper chains, blasting music from dusty old speakers. In the autumn, there might be pumpkins and corn stalks, and usually hayrides. But never anything like this spectacle.
As you got closer to the construction site, the apprentice mages responsible for all the floating lights started throwing sparks from their hands, like colorful sparklers. The gathered Asgardians began lining up in their designated areas, ready to play their part. The foundations had already been dug, and everything that needed to go into them was already there. All that remained was the pouring.
Thor, Loki, and yourself dismounted as close to in unison as you could manage, the horses carefully lead away to a temporary enclosure. You headed to the stack of decorative bricks, and took your place among the Asgardians there, while Thor gave the order for the cement to pour.
While this went on, Beli gathered his students and skalds in front of the Huldrastone to recite a modern epic. Within the first few verses you realized that it was about the Huldra's attack, and your confrontation with her.
Of course, the poem was much cleaner and more elegant than the actual events had been, but certain things had still been included. Your ears burned beneath your helmet when Beli reached the part where you had 'bestowed upon the fallen prince, a gentle sacrificial kiss, knowing that to trade life for life would grant him breath once more.'
You had finally spotted your father and Tara in the crowd; he crossed his arms and glared upon hearing the verse, while Tara gave you a cheezy grin and thumbs up.
As the poem reached its conclusion, the cement finished pouring, and a new recitation began. As Thor and Loki knelt and began scratching ritual runes into the wet cement, Beli's current group of student came forward and began telling the story of Beli, while apprentice mages illustrated the words with colorful, stylized illusions.
There were harrowing battles against huge stone people, the construction of the original Bifrost, which at that time connected a fleet of alien ships to one another. The illusions showed the gathering of construction materials, the building of a platform in space, and the grand revelation of the crystalline platform upon which Asgard slowly grew. Mountain and plain, river and ocean, building after magnificent building rose into the sky. Their ships captured and carved an asteroid, then set it in orbit as a bright new moon. All this was accomplished by the use of a glowing, icy blue cube that was difficult to look directly at. It was compelling though; it caught and held your attention with its beautiful, sparkling light.
You knew what that device was: you had learned about it in your lessons with Saga. It was the object known as the Tesseract, a four dimensional creation meant to house the incredible energy of an Infinity Stone. Perhaps that was why it was simultaneously fascinating, yet hard to perceive. Your curious human brain was drawn to its uniqueness, yet equally unable to fully fathom it.
That device was the key to Asgard's existence and eventual success. It was unthinkable to you that Odin had just lost it on Earth, as Sagas histories had proclaimed. It must have been a terrible loss.
Thor and Loki completed their carving, and began the process of imbuing the foundations with divine power. Goosebumps rose on your arms, and there was a pricking in your sinuses, like you were about to sneeze. There was almost a flavor to it.
The actual blessing didn't take nearly as long as the rune carving ritual, and soon, the two brothers stepped back, to allow others to begin their work. More mages worked a spell together that lifted the water out of the cement, drying it within moments. People came forward with wires and pipes, floor and wall supports, insulation, hammers, plaster, bricks, and mortar. In rotating lines people laid flooring and installed fixtures, scraped grout and assembled frames. Every now and then youths moved through, sweeping up dust, always away from you.
It suddenly became clear that that was why you were so far back in line, why you'd been assigned a decorative brick, something that would be placed near the very end of the construction. There would be no dust then. Gratitude swelled in your chest, but you said nothing. There was singing now, simple, repetitive melodies that sounded like work songs.
Every hour, volunteers carted huge, heated cauldrons around the lines and groups of human spectators, dipping out hot drinks like witch's potions, and it was possible that there was a simple sort of magic in things like hot chocolate, strong coffee, and buttered rum on a cold day.
The building went up faster than you thought possible, the widows, doors, and lights being set into place as auroras began ribboning across the sky.
Finally, there was one brick left. You lifted it up, as the singing seemed to intensify, scooped some mortar from the pail, and fitted it all into the only remaining slot. Giving the brick a light pat to make sure it was secure, you turned back to the assembled crowd.
“We did it.” You said, and the cheering began.
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Cinderella AU time again at last, baby!! Let’s do this!
Florence’s “Christmas Witch” is inspired by Italy’s Le Befana, who like Santa Claus/Father Christmas and his many variations serves as a holiday gift-giver to young children. Given that in this universe, Florence is more favorable toward magic than its rival nation Royaume, I figured them having a similar tradition was appropriate.
The background depicted in this picture is based on this window from a guest apartment in the Chateau de Chambord in France, though of course this is the outside of such a window, rather than the inside. Damn it, do I hate backgrounds with a burning passion. XD;;
In my headcanon, Orion suffers from anxiety. Anxiety disorders aren’t uncommon among children who were raised in orphanages, and a common visual cue for anxiety is clasping one’s hands in front of them, which Orion does constantly in the game Hogwarts Mystery. Plus two types of therapy prescribed for dealing with anxiety are meditation and regular physical activity (like Quidditch! :D). For safety, though, I also want to put in a trigger warning for this part -- be advised that there will be some discussion of PTSD and war-related trauma, around the middle of this.
Previous part is here -- full tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!
x~x~x~x
The morning after Royaume’s Winter Festival, Skye was surprised to find Orion in Florence’s palace library. Admittedly he was balancing on one foot with one leg crossed over the other on the step near the top of a tall ladder while reading, which was very typical of Orion -- but the book was a very thick volume on the weaving of various fabrics, and he was devouring it with intense interest while vaguely humming a tune under his breath that Skye didn’t recognize.
“Oh willow, willow, willow...willow...”
Skye cleared her throat to try to get the Prince’s attention. “Hey...Orion?”
Orion, however, was too focused on what he was reading. It took Skye striding over, stating his name twice more, and finally giving the ladder a light smack to get his attention.
“Orion! Mind coming back down to Earth for a minute?” she said, her voice oddly tense. “I need to talk to you.”
Orion stopped humming and looked up from the book at last, his expression rather pleasant.
“Skye...you’ve returned from the front.”
Skye frowned. “Yeah...Dad’s nearly recovered from his injuries. Penny Haywood wanted to thank you for the herbs you picked up.”
Orion inclined his head slightly. “I’m glad to hear your father’s condition has improved.”
Skye nodded, looking faintly guilty.
“...Orion...I’m sorry about what I said the other day,” she said uncomfortably. “I was just so worried about Dad and his troops, and you being all wrapped up in this girl who works for the enemy...it just...it rattled me, I guess.”
“Florence and Royaume should not be enemies for all time,” said Orion patiently. “If there is to be peace, the mistakes both sides have made in the midst of the War will have to be forgiven.”
“I know,” muttered Skye. “And...well, I know how you feel about the War -- about war and fighting in general. It just feels like what you’re doing is so slow, and people are hurting, and...”
She hung her head.
“I know it’s no excuse, for what I said, but...I am really sorry.”
Orion’s black eyes softened. “It’s already forgiven and forgotten, my friend.”
Skye looked very relieved. Her face burst into a smile.
“...Thanks, Orion. I gotta admit, I...kind of want to meet this ‘Lady Cromwell’ now, after everything you told McNully and me about her. She sounds a bit too good to be true, but...well, I never really thought I’d ever hear of a Royaumanian defending magic...especially one of their courtiers.”
Closing the book in his hands with a quiet snap, Orion lowered the leg he had bent beside the one he was balancing on.
“Fortunately I think you’ll have the chance to do so very soon,” he said with a smile. “Last night was an unquestionable success.”
He leapt down the rungs of the ladder with alternating feet, all the way back down to the floor with a light thump.
“I went to the Winter Festival and met the Prince of Royaume himself.”
Skye gave a start. “You what?”
Orion was beaming from ear to ear. “It was all thanks to Carewyn, appropriately enough. She was the one who arranged it so that he could sneak out of the palace disguised as a peasant and attend the Winter Festival, even with the King and Queen keeping him so strictly contained. Prince Henri himself even said as much, that it was all Carewyn’s doing. Imagine...because of her, the two princes of rival nations were able to meet on completely neutral ground as equals. And now that we’ve been introduced and I have a better fix on Prince Henri’s character, I have a great opportunity to open negotiations in full.”
Skye looked rather impressed, even as her face twitched with discomfort.
“That’s...smashing, Orion,” she granted halfheartedly.
Orion raised his eyebrows curiously. “I would say so...but your aura doesn’t seem to agree with your words.”
With a deepening, guilty frown, Skye reached into the hanging pocket attached to her faded blue skirt and took out a sealed letter, which she handed to Orion.
“The King asked me to bring this back for you,” she said lowly, as Orion opened it and began to read. “He’s requested you and McNully to join him at the front.”
Orion’s face had lost all of its pleasantry, leaving it very stony and unreadable, as his black eyes scanned the letter once, twice, three times.
“McNully’s gone to get the coach ready,” said Skye lowly. “He said that he’d meet us just inside the castle gate.”
The ride from the Florentine royal palace to the battlefield at the northern-most border of Royaume and Florence was a stressful one. Once anyone exited the capitol’s walls, the War was immediately much more visible, since most of the War was fought on Florentine soil. Plus many of those magicians who specialized in casting spells were encouraged to settle closer to the wealthier hubs of the country, so that they could cast temporary illusions to obscure certain buildings whenever the opposing army got too close. That was how people such as Florence’s court magician, Severus Snape, had attained such a respectable status.
Orion spent the entire coach ride sitting with his legs crossed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, and his eyes closed so he could meditate. Despite his eyes being closed, however, when they arrived at their destination, he could hear the shrieks of wheels on old wagons, the whinnying of unsettled horses, and suppressed moans of pain, and he could smell the burnt wood, gunpowder, and indescribable smell that could only be labeled as “death.” Even just the sounds and smells brought all the memories flooding back -- his and his mother’s house set ablaze...the rearing horses with Royaume blue and red on their saddles...the deafening explosions and the gray ash that rained from the sky...his mother’s light-less eyes and his own labored breathing and clutching, shaking hands...
Orion had never been blind to how run-down much of his country was, but its problems only became more apparent the closer one got to the border, and especially to the war front. Every building was brand-new and cheaply built, for they no doubt had been built and rebuilt several times over and their occupants didn’t have the funds to build it back as well as before. And then once one approached the army camp itself, there were just about no buildings or fortresses at all, since it was so hard to keep them from being demolished. Instead all the Florentines really had were tents that wouldn’t stand up to most any elements. In the freezing cold of winter, many had been crowded under groves of trees, in a vain attempt to try to protect them from the snow that had buried their neighbors, and there were large bonfires set up everywhere where the soldiers gathered, just to warm their bundled hands and feet. One small fire featured a cooking pot and some sort of foul-smelling soup -- it took Orion a moment to realize the smell was burning leather.
It was tragic to think of how many men back in the Florentine capitol like Lord Malfoy had become very rich because of the increased danger of shipping goods through war zones, while the men who actually had to stay in that war zone had to cook their own boots and eat them for sustenance.
Orion did not open his eyes even when the carriage came to a stop. It was proving harder to find his center of balance when the smell of gunpowder outside made the memory of terrified screams and crackling wood pound against his eardrums.
Inhale. Exhale. Let go. Find your center. Balance.
He felt someone lightly touch the top of his clasped hands. When he opened his eyes, he saw that it was Skye.
“...We’re here,” she mumbled. Clearly she knew she was stating the obvious, but didn’t know what else to say.
Orion looked from her to McNully sitting next to her, his eyes very dark even though his face was rather unreadable. McNully looked very grim as he slowly opened the door to the coach. As soon as he did so, someone outside announced very loudly,
“Presenting his Highness, Crown Prince Cosimo Amari VII, heir to the throne of Florence!”
With a swallow, Orion slid his legs down to the floor and, unclasping his hands at last, he hoisted himself up as best he could, took hold of the door frame, and climbed out of the coach. He held his head up high and didn’t shrink, but his eyes were rippling turbulently like oil under candlelight as they surveyed the barren landscape.
Men by the dozens were being carried away on stretchers toward a large off-white medical tent -- even more were being carried away from it or, worse, not even coming close to it at all, for it was already too late. They were too badly injured for Penny Haywood’s potions to save -- for as powerful as magic could be, life and death were inevitable things. The gray-haired flower witch who’d given Orion the charm around his neck had told him so, the Prince recalled, as his hand absently came up to trail over the circular pendant. He’d asked her if she could stop someone from dying, and the sweet grandmotherly woman had looked upon him with an incredibly sad, pitying look.
“Death isn’t something anyone can stop, I’m afraid. One can put it off, certainly...I’ve been able to give people some extra time with my potions, but only by putting in a lot of my own time and energy. And even after putting in that time and energy, there are still plenty of people who I couldn’t work fast enough to help. That’s one of magic’s Chief Principles -- potions take time, but their effects last longer.”
The Prince of Florence tried to bring the cooling, calming sensation that had accompanied the charm around his neck when the woman had first given it to him back to his mind, as the smell of death that hovered over the camp made his heart chill and his stomach churn.
Orion could sense Skye climbing out to stand beside him, and not long after, McNully had lowered himself into the wheeled chair the footman detached from the boot of the coach. By the time McNully and Skye had joined him on the ground, a royal entourage had approached them, introduced by the captain who’d announced Orion’s arrival --
“Presenting his Majesty, Cosimo Amari V, Master and Commander of the Florentine Army, Lord of the Southeastern Sea, King of Florence!”
An older man about Orion’s height with a short mane of graying dark hair and just as strong of a jaw strode forward. Although he greatly resembled Orion visually, however, their physical attitudes couldn’t be any more different: as relaxed and modest as Orion was, the King of Florence appeared traditional and proud. They did, however, both appear quite detached, in their own way -- Orion because he didn’t want to be on the battlefield at all, and the King because he seemed to not be entirely sure how to address his adult son. But frankly, considering that Orion had been snatched out of poverty and made Crown Prince just to replace his older half-brother, Cosimo VI, after he was assassinated by the Royaumanians earlier that year, that wasn’t completely surprising.
“Cosimo,” the King greeted him formally. “Good that you’re here.”
Orion didn’t respond, his face close to impossible to read as he clasped his hands in front of him again.
The King’s emerald green eyes scanned his son’s face briefly before he brought up a hand to take hold of his shoulder and lead him further into camp.
“Come -- we have much to discuss...”
Skye and McNully followed Orion and his father to the largest and brightest white of the tents, pushing the flap with the official Florentine gold-and-green-flower emblem aside to walk inside and gather around a large table. There was a large map laid out on it with many dark green and blood red miniatures and model canons scattered across the surface. Skye’s father, General Ethan Parkin, was also present -- he had to sit in a chair rather than stand like almost everyone else due to him missing a leg and being forced to lean on a crutch, but he sat up very straight with boastful levels of pride. Once he, his generals, and the Prince were all gathered around the table, the King immediately set about discussing McNully’s newest military strategy, which would involve splitting the army in half so as to covertly attack Royaume’s forces from two directions, so as to not only better pinpoint where their canons were currently positioned and avoid them, but also to prevent them from retreating.
It soon became apparent to everyone in the King’s tent, however, that Orion was not in the mood to discuss any of this. He stayed quiet for the majority of the meeting, clasping his hands in front of him, and his eyes remained on the far edge of the map on the table, far away from the battlefield. In his mind, he tried to find his center, even though the sounds of the anxiously whinnying horses outside brought back the memory of the ones that had nearly stampeded him so many years ago, when his part of town was set ablaze.
Find your center. Find balance. Find peace.
Carewyn’s soft, content face as she sang under the willow tree beside the Royaumanian palace moat rippled over his mind, and he felt his heart rate slow.
“Oh willow, willow, willow...shall be my garland...”
Orion tried to stay there on that lake bank in his mind as the King discussed how essential it’d be to prevent any Royaumanians from getting in or out of their camp during their siege -- for, as General Parkin pointed out, if any help arrived, then it would prevent the Florentine Army from wiping out their enemy and ending the War. McNully himself looked rather unsettled by the thought of “wiping out” the enemy and was quick to say he’d only intended for the Royaumanians to be fenced in, like in a game of chess, but the King of Florence clearly didn’t think it was enough.
“This newest batch of drafted soldiers are our last resort. Unless we wish to expand the draft to take all those over the age of 18, regardless of health or status, to take their place, we must bring this War to an end, once and for all. And to do that, our enemy must be decisively crushed.”
He looked up at Orion.
“That is why, son, I’ll need you to take command of the left flank of the army.”
“What?” said Skye and McNully, both taken aback and horrified.
“Your Majesty,” McNully said very quickly and firmly, “I-I fully intended that General Parkin would -- ”
“Believe me, lad, I’d normally be chomping at the bit to do it myself,” said General Parkin with a rather sour expression. “But considering that I can’t even properly stand yet, his Majesty decided it might be a good idea for me to...sit this one out.”
“Prince Cosimo will need to know our army as well as I do,” said the King firmly. “Even when we bring this War to an end, he’ll need to be able to lead them in battle, in order to protect our kingdom. And from what I understand, Cosimo, you’ve been gathering intelligence in Royaume itself for a month now without arousing any suspicion...I believe your flair for stealth would be perfectly suited to the task at hand.”
“I’m afraid I must disagree,” said Orion in a very quiet voice.
The King halted. Orion had looked up at his father out the side of his black eye when he’d first addressed him, and although his expression had been very restrained, his eyes had gone very dark. His hands clasped a bit tighter as he faced the rest of the King’s military officers.
“This meeting is adjourned. Please excuse me.”
He turned on his heel and made as if to leave. The King, however, roughly grabbed his shoulder.
“It most certainly is not,” he said, his green eyes full of both disbelief and urgency. “Cosimo, this is not up for debate -- I require you here, to lead the men.”
Orion didn’t turn around. “...You require my aid, to lead our men in this battle?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” said Orion levelly. “Then should I choose not to cooperate, you will not be able to act on this strategy at all.”
All of the King’s officers looked appalled as Orion left the tent. The King’s eyes grew very wide, flickering with desperation as well as some righteous anger, as he chased after him, stepping in front of Orion to prevent him from leaving.
“Cosimo, this is our chance to end the War once and for all! To bring peace to Florence, to right all of the wrongs the Royaumanians have done...”
“Can one right any wrongs by committing more wrongs of their own?” murmured Orion.
“War is not that black and white, my son,” said the King sharply. The surrounding soldiers were starting to take notice. “Sometimes the ends must justify the means -- it’s something all young kings must learn, and I would prefer you learn it before I’m gone, rather than after making a big mistake.”
Skye and McNully had rushed out to join Orion.
“All people make mistakes,” Orion said softly. He tried to leave for a third time, but the King refused to let him pass.
“But you are the Crown Prince of Florence!” said the King. He was clearly getting frustrated now. “Therefore your mistakes are much more consequential -- when you make mistakes, the people you cherish, that you want most desperately to protect, pay the price!”
His father’s rising volume wasn’t helping Orion’s mood. His anxiety had already been spiking in the tent, but it was only getting harder for him to focus on his breathing with the King continuing to press the issue and the unpleasant, sickening smells and sounds of the battlefield surrounding him.
“Think of your friends, Cosimo,” said the King in a strained voice, “your home, your subjects...”
His friends... Skye’s and McNully’s faces rippled over Orion’s mind, before being joined by KC’s, Badeea’s, the Weasleys’, and Andre’s at the Festival...Carewyn’s...Carewyn rushing up to him at the palace gate -- sighing tiredly and handing him her uncomfortable white heels -- dancing in spirals around him, her red lips turned up in a smile and her ginger hair flying free --
Another battalion was coming through, with stretchers and horses loaded up with wounded soldiers -- the smell of death was suffocating --
“Think of your mother, Cosimo,” said the King. “Could you bear it if any other little boys lost their mothers, the way you did?”
“Don’t talk about -- !” gasped Skye, looking righteously furious, but McNully quickly grabbed her arm to urge her to be quiet.
Skye’s objection wouldn’t have helped, though. The mention of Orion’s mother, combined with the smell of fire and the sound of horses, brought the images flooding back -- his mother’s light-less eyes -- his own gasping for breath --
Orion closed his eyes, trying to find his center, even as his clasped hands started to sweat.
Return to Carewyn -- return to the lake shore, to her voice --
Carewyn’s brother was on the battlefield, fighting for Royaume -- if Orion charged into battle, could he not end up bringing about her brother’s death? Could he bear seeing Carewyn’s heart broken, upon learning that the only family she had who truly understood and loved her was dead? Could he bear the thought of all that blood being on his hands...the blood of his soldiers and Andre’s -- the blood of Carewyn’s brother -- ?
“This is your responsibility, Cosimo,” said the King, as he seized Orion’s shoulder and squeezed it. “You must lead our men into battle -- ”
SMACK.
To everyone’s complete and utter shock, Orion had actually ripped out of the King’s grip, backhanding his hand away with force.
The King flinched back, looking stricken. Orion stared at his father, his black eyes very wide and devoid of both consciousness and its usual composure. There was no rage or violence in his posture, but his face was very white and his hand -- still hovering in mid-air -- was trembling slightly.
“Forgive me,” he said at once, his voice very soft and unusually fragile. “Just...please, don’t touch me.”
He strode past his father, right over to the coach he’d arrived in. Instead of climbing inside, however, he immediately yanked one of the black horses free from its restraints and climbed up onto its back.
“Cosimo!” the King cried, but it was no use. Orion had already sharply flicked the reins and rode off into the distance with speed.
Orion didn’t stop riding until he’d once again reached the palace gate of Royaume. He ended up tossing off his well-tailored olive green doublet on the way, so as to leave his more peasant-like white undershirt behind. His hair also came loose of its ponytail in transit and Orion didn’t care in the least to try to restrain it again. His heart was pounding so fast and his blood was so spiked that all he could focus on was finding peace -- and in that moment, peace was a person. He just needed to hear Carewyn’s voice...needed to see her face...
Orion tied his horse up not far from the palace and hopped the castle wall. He knew Carewyn wouldn’t be expecting him -- before the Winter Festival, they’d said they’d meet up on the 9th, which was coincidentally after Florence’s Christmas Witch festivities. Even so, and even though Orion knew Carewyn would worry about him getting in trouble, he couldn’t think of the risk to himself. His heart was just too clenched with anxiety for him to place his focus on anything other than reaching her -- even though once he reached the castle, the tension that squeezed every nerve in his body in a vice grip only increased with the knowledge that he had no way to figure out where in the castle she’d be or how to get her attention. As fate would have it, however, as Orion paced through the gardens, clasping his own sweating hands, a familiar tune rippled over the air.
“The sweetest sounds I’ll ever hear are still inside my head...
The kindest words I’ll ever know are waiting to be said...”
The song itself was one even Orion knew -- it was a rather well-known love song in both Florence and Royaume, and one of his mother’s favorite songs when she was alive. But more importantly, the voice singing it was the wonderfully emotional, deep-as-the-sea tone he’d so needed to hear. Orion’s heart gave something like a spasm of relief as he swept around the perimeter of the palace, staying low behind the hedges, until he spotted an open window in a nearby tower where the voice was coming from. When Orion reached the tower in question, he couldn’t stop himself from collapsing against the wall back-first, closing his eyes, so he could just focus on her voice and let it wash over him.
He was suddenly so short on time. The King was so desperate to end the War that he was now open to slaughtering the enemy, if it served that goal. And as confident as the King was that the plan McNully had suggested would put an end to the Royaumanian army for good, Orion himself doubted it would or even could. The cycle of vengeance could only continue ad infinitum until either everything was destroyed or one royal decided to be the better person and stop the fighting. But how could Orion hope to pursue the diplomacy he’d wanted, once the King had done something so ruthless? How could he hope to appeal to Prince Henri or his parents, after such a severe, fresh wound? And Carewyn...how could he face her again, if her beloved brother died because of his own father’s orders?
He needed time. He needed peace. He needed...
“...is waiting somewhere...somewhere for me...”
Breathe. Find your center. Inhale. Exhale.
Orion barely knew what made him do it, but he knew he had to get Carewyn’s attention somehow. So he squeezed his hands, opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and started to sing the words in return.
“The sweetest sounds I’ll ever hear are still inside my head...”
Carewyn had been cleaning one of the guest suites when she suddenly heard her own song echoed back to her from outside the window. She straightened up abruptly.
Who...who is...?
The voice was male and oddly wispy -- the singer was certainly not trained or very comfortable singing, but he still sounded so earnest...almost desperate.
“The kindest words I’ll ever know are waiting to be said...
The most entrancing sight of all is yet for me to see,
And the dearest love in all the world is waiting somewhere for me --
Is waiting somewhere...somewhere for me...”
Carewyn leaned her broom up against the wall and looked out the window. When she looked down, she caught sight of a familiar mane of dark hair and slightly-too-clean white shirt.
“Orion?”
She recoiled from the window at once, her hands flying to her messy ginger ponytail as she looked over her burnt orange and beige servant’s dress. She was in no state for him to see her like this --
She looked into the mirror hanging up on the closest wall and swallowed.
Carewyn knew she was being foolish -- Orion was going to find out sooner or later that she was nothing but a servant...but...
She’d liked being a lady, for him. She’d liked being someone he could respect. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him with the truth of who she was, really, it was more...her being ashamed of herself. She hadn’t had a choice of whether or not Andre or KC or even the Weasleys knew that she was the child of Charles Cromwell’s disowned youngest daughter and a dead-beat merchant with no dowry or prospects. But Orion hadn’t known her. She’d been able to be who she wished she could be, if just for a moment, when they first met...and in every moment after, she found herself that bit more reluctant to put that mask away.
Carewyn wanted to be a brave, noble, graceful, sophisticated lady for Orion. She wanted to be someone he could admire, instead of the insignificant, pathetic, lying fake who’d sold her and her brother’s souls and futures away forever, just to try to save his life. A girl who, truthfully, was no better than her terrible family -- who had brought every bit of unhappiness she’d ever experienced on herself...
Orion started the song again down below, in an attempt to get Carewyn’s attention -- Carewyn, up above, quickly fashioned her hair into a pretty braid in front of the mirror and sang under him as an echo, as if wanting to reassure him that she could hear him.
“The sweetest sounds (the sweetest sounds)
I’ll ever hear (I’ll ever hear)
Are still inside my head --
The kindest words (the kindest words)
I’ll ever know (I’ll ever know)
Are waiting to be said --
The most (the most) entrancing (entrancing) sight of all (sight of all)
Is yet for me to see,
And the dearest love in all the world...
Is waiting somewhere for me... (Waiting somewhere...)
Is waiting somewhere...
Somewhere for...me...”
Once she was finished with her braid, Carewyn quickly dusted herself off and dashed over to the window.
“Orion!” she whispered only as loudly as she dared.
Orion opened his eyes, turning around and looking up at Carewyn with a very soft smile adorning his lips.
“Beautiful as ever, my lady,” he complimented her, inclining his shoulders in a short bow. His hands were still clasped in front of him. “Like the sweet Nightingale that sang for the Emperor.”
Carewyn took several quick glances around, visibly worried. “Orion, what are you doing here?”
Orion raised his eyebrows. “Standing, at present. Though I was singing just a moment ago -- or at least trying to. My voice cannot compete with yours, I’m afraid.”
Carewyn couldn’t completely keep the smile off her face, even despite the concern she felt. Her smile, however small, was like a warm, soothing hand on Orion’s heart.
“You’re lucky that no one else heard you!” Carewyn hissed down with as much reproach as she could manage.
Orion smiled wryly. “Most assuredly. I’m certain that Madam Ali and the Weasley brothers would hardly enjoy my ‘accompaniment’ as well as they do yours.”
The sweat on his hands had gone cold, making Orion actually shiver a bit as he found his body temperature and heart rate finally starting to calm. His smile flickered slightly on his face, creating a much more pensive and murky expression.
“...Will you take a ride with me, Carewyn?” said Orion, very abruptly.
Carewyn blinked. “What?”
Orion squeezed his own hands together, but tried to keep his voice level and his shoulders straight.
“I realize we’ve made no plans today, and that you are enamored of the work you do at court...but you so enjoy riding your horse, and we’ve not yet taken a ride together, out into the country. There are such beautiful valleys east of here -- perfect for stargazing, I should think, once the sun sets.”
Carewyn’s eyes drifted away, back into the guest suite she was cleaning. The windows weren’t washed yet, and she still had to bring the dirty sheets down to the laundry so she could have them clean in time for tomorrow morning...
Sensing Carewyn’s discomfort, Orion said in an oddly insistent voice, “I’ll wait for you, should you say yes. Whatever you must do, I’ll wait until you are finished.”
Carewyn’s gaze snapped back down to Orion in surprise.
She’d never heard him sound like that before. As mysterious and unreadable as his face was, she could still sense that something was off. Perhaps it was how his black eyes searched her face -- or perhaps it was the tenseness in his clasped hands.
Carewyn knew she was in no state to go riding with Orion in her dusty servant’s uniform, especially when she still had work to do...but truly, she didn’t have to wash the windows today, after having already done them yesterday...and she could always fetch the sheets early the next morning before coming up to the guest suite to change them out.
If something is wrong, I can’t leave Orion to deal with it alone, she thought to herself.
Even if she was only a fake and a liar, Carewyn wanted to be there for him. He deserved to have someone there for him...even if it was just her.
And so with a swallow, she looked back down at Orion with a very solemn, but gentle look.
“...I’ll need to change into something warmer and fetch my horse...but I’ll be down in thirty minutes. Can you meet me outside the gate?”
Orion’s heart flooded with relief that he couldn’t completely keep off of his face.
“I’ll be waiting, my lady.”
#hphm#hogwarts mystery#cinderella au#my art#my writing#carewyn cromwell#orion amari#skye parkin#murphy mcnully#katriona cassiopeia#andre egwu#badeea ali#charlie weasley#bill weasley#ethan parkin#this part got so long I had to split it in half!!#and also draw a new drawing for it#god I hate backgrounds#but yeah anyway the part following this one should be out tomorrow hopefully since the sketches are already done#my poor bb orion ;~;#and also my poor bb carewyn too to a lesser extent#this'll be better explained in later parts but orion is the bastard son of the king and his lover a peasant woman#as you might notice orion was named after his father -- just like the king's first son and orion's elder half-brother the first prince was#that signifies that orion's mother thought of orion as an heir to the throne even though he was still a bastard#(I'm sure all the kids who knew orion growing up must've been perfectly respectful about this one kid being named like a prince >> )#damn this thing is turning into a jukebox musical over here XD;#I'm sorry I just couldn't resist 'the sweetest sounds' just gives me such joy
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Shinkane Week 2021 Day 6
A crossover with the light novel series Sugar Apple Fairytale! The first 2 volumes were already translated but I hope someday that it’ll be picked up again or licensed.
Fairytale
Initially, he thought he could take advantage of her naïveté. She was obviously a traveler, alone and with wide eyes surveying the surroundings. And in need of a warrior fairy like himself, for protection on the road. After all, that was why she bought him.
His left wing, long separated from the rest of his body, was now in her possession, and he braced himself for the inevitable squeezing, for his will to be bent to her liking. But she never did. Instead, she offered her other hand, like he was another human.
“I’m Akane. Nice to meet you.”
“…Hello.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Call me whatever you like. You’re my owner.”
She frowned. “Don’t fairies have names?”
“We do, but people don’t really care.”
“I care.” She looked terribly earnest. She really was on her first trip away from whatever small town she hailed from.
“‘Kougami’ is fine.” A part of his full name would do.
“Alright, Kougami-san.” She smiled, and he dragged his stare to the gray sheen of his wing, to remind himself that he was under her control.
***
His new owner was far too defenseless.
As their wagon headed for the capital city, she tried to ward off the silence with conversation. She had been trained in sugarcraft by her late grandmother and this was her first competition. Silver sugar was blessed by the gods, but also inherently difficult to work with. With her skills, she hoped to do well enough to be promoted.
“Not to win the grand prize?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
“As long as I make something that only I could have, something that I’m proud of, even years from now, I’ll be happy enough. And I’ll give you your wing back, once we get there.”
“Sure, you will. Until you decide you like having someone follow all your orders and don’t want to release me.” It had happened before, multiple times.
“I’m not changing my mind, Kougami-san. And I won’t give you an order either. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Then, why don’t you hand over my wing now?” There was a flicker of hesitation, and he leaned back, his suspicions confirmed. Despite her doe eyes, she was just like the others. “As I thought.”
Unable to reply, she focused on driving the horses. It was supposed to be a scenic road. Then, in his periphery, he spotted four silhouettes on their own mounts, deliberately swerving towards them.
“We have company.” He warned her. “Probably heard crafters like you would be traveling this way.”
Akane snapped the reins, but with the sugar-laden wagon, they could only travel so fast. She glanced behind. “Are they armed?”
“Looks like it.” His elbow nudged her side. “Order me.”
“What?!”
“I can’t do anything unless you give me an order. Go ahead, twist my wing.”
“I won’t do that. I said I wouldn’t.” Stubborn, even when her life was at stake. The horses continued on, but their pursuers were catching up. Their rough, weather-worn faces slowly became visible.
“If you won’t, then we may not make it to your destination.”
The bandits rode closer. Their eyes traveled hungrily, not only upon the sugar barrels, but his owner as well.
Finally, she relented. “I’m not ordering you, I’m asking you to protect me.”
“Close enough.” Flaring out his right wing, he jumped off. He summoned his sword, black and electric blue, and went to work. Too easily, the enemies were rendered to crimson smears. It wasn’t much of a fight, but after so long, his skin was buzzing. The thrill of battle. He almost missed the wagon turning around.
“…stop…”
But her voice was too far away.
“I said, stop!”
And she must have twisted his wing because he spasmed and fell to the blood-soaked ground.
***
When he came to, he was curled on his side, and Akane was leaning over him.
“You’re awake! Thank goodness. Here, drink this.” She held a cup to his mouth, and he tentatively sipped. Coffee, but the sweetness was refined silver sugar. At the taste, it was as if a moonbeam was cast upon him, closing his wounds and rejuvenating with pure divine essence.
“…You didn’t leave me behind.”
“I wouldn’t have. I still have something that’s yours.”
In another life, he might have accused her of eating too much of her own supplies. But he looked directly at her, saying. “I feel better. You still have enough to compete?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be alright.”
They reached the capital by noon, and once they passed the main gate, she held out his wing. “Thank you so much, Kougami-san. I wouldn’t have made it here without you.”
He eyed her. “You’re really giving it back?”
“I meant what I said.”
He reached for his wing, afraid she’d pull away, but at the gossamer feel, energy surged through him. It glowed and flew to his back, fitting in its rightful place. After years of forced servitude, he was finally free. He slid off the wagon, stretching as he hadn’t in a long time. He felt like he could take a deep breath. “Thanks.”
She beamed and pressed a wrapped handkerchief into his hands. “Before I go, this is just a little gift from me. I wish you well.” Then, she bowed and headed further into the city.
After he watched her disappear, he opened the fabric. Sparkling in the midday light, there was a tiny silver sugar wolf. Its ears were bent towards a sound only it could hear; the paws were poised in mid-step, the tail in a perfect curl.
“Damn it.” Pocketing the sculpture, he followed the signs to the competition, but the area was closed to participants only. Public viewing would be at dusk, with final judging at the end of the hour. Reluctantly, he left but even before the sun went down, he was loitering outside.
His intuition told him what her handiwork was, a spiraling arrangement of delicate flowers and leaves, studded with dewdrops. It reminded him of his early days of existence in the wildwoods, oddly nostalgic. However, the adjacent sculpture was very similar. Had the crafter cheated? The promotions were announced first, and he spotted her, flushed with joy as her name was called. In her wake, there was another girl, with long black hair and cold eyes. Then, the prizes were delegated but at the first runner-up, there was a snag. Two sculptures had caught the judges’ eyes, but there could only be one winner, who would be granted permission to tour the country and learn from the other masters to hone their craft. A tiebreaker round would decide the victor.
There might have been trepidation in the other girl’s face, but Akane shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve used up my supplies.” An automatic forfeit. But he didn’t want her to stop here, she deserved more. And he was partially responsible for the decrease.
He gritted his teeth and stepped forward. “Not all of it.” Ignoring the stunned looks of the crowd, he held up the sugar wolf. “You made this for me. You can break it down and recreate it. With your skills, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Her lips parted, surprised at his presence, but she determinedly took back the sculpture. “I can.”
The girls were given fifteen minutes, which seemed to drag on. The other had copied the wolf with great detail given that she’d only seen it once, but Akane had altered hers. Instead, it was leaping, balanced on one front foot and with a prouder demeanor than before. The judges’ eyes didn’t betray them, and Akane was rightfully declared this year’s master sugarcrafter, as the other girl was dragged away by officials. The extra round had been twofold, to uncover foul play too.
As the city descended into celebration, he hung in the growing shadows, but she still found him. “Kougami-san! Thank you, for helping me.”
“It would’ve been a shame if your hard work was put to waste.” He evasively replied. “Are you still planning to go home?”
“That was what I first thought, but…” She was thoughtful. “I wonder if there’s more I can learn, if I visit other sugarcrafting workshops.”
“Then, go. You can send a letter home and continue your journey.”
“What about you? I thought you would have left already. You’re free, you don’t have to follow humans’ orders anymore.”
“No, but I can do what I like. And right now, I think I’d like to see other sugarcrafting workshops.” At his answer, her smile was radiant.
In the morning, they bought fresh supplies and filled the sugar barrels. Settling into the wagon, he took the reins as she began sketching new ideas for sculptures. And so, they traveled on, past the horizon’s edge.
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In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 10: If Only My Dreams
Chapter 9
Read on AO3
December 22
Claire, Gillian, and Faith were on their way to the stables. Gillian had insisted on coming, wanting to “see Faith in action,” as she put it. She’d been spending quite a lot of time with her over the past week. Mrs. Lickett would come in the morning to give Faith her lessons and educational playtime, but then she’d leave around noon, so crafts, movies, and the like were all up to Gillian. Claire had left Faith in Gillian’s care all the time back in England, so she was quite confident they’d be just fine, and things had been going swimmingly all week. Faith was quite enjoying her time with her Auntie, and Claire dreaded the day she had to leave, and the meltdown that would probably follow.
But that was a problem for another day.
When they arrived at the stable, Faith insisted on holding both of their hands in the parking lot, giving Gillian the honor of holding Horsie.
“Don’t you let that thing out of your sight,” Claire warned. “If anything happens to it there’ll be hell to pay. And I don’t mean from me.” She eyed Faith, and Gillian nodded in understanding.
“He’s been left before, has he?”
“Indeed. Never making that mistake again.”
They shared a laugh, which intensified as Faith gave a strong yank on both of their hands to make them get inside faster.
“Eager, isn’t she?” Gillian said, smirking.
“She loves it here, you have no idea,” Claire said, her chest warming. “Just wait until you see her with the horse. It’ll make you cry.”
When they got inside, Faith was bouncing as usual, humming loudly.
“Really, I dinna think I’ve ever seen her this excited fer anything that isna Disney,” Gillian said.
“That’s exactly what I said,” Claire laughed.
“Beauchamp gals!” Toni called as they approached the desk. “And who’s this?”
“This is Faith’s godmother, my best friend from back home. Gillian Edgars.”
“Hi, I’m Toni. It’s great to meet you.” She gave Gillian her hand, then a firm shake. She was wearing an obscenely ugly Christmas sweater and a Santa hat. Erica was donning a Santa hat as well, but if she was wearing a sweater, it wasn’t visible under her coat.
“This is Erica,” Claire said. “One of the volunteers that helps Jamie with Faith.”
“Jamie’s the — ”
“Her main therapist, yes,” Claire interjected before Gillian could say anything bawdy. “Shall we?”
Erica nodded and led them outside, Faith holding dutifully onto both hands again.
“That one likes the lasses,” Gillian whispered to Claire once they were outside.
Claire gave her a confused look. “Erica?” she stammered, in shock that Gillian was speculating about a fifteen year old girl.
“No, ye numpty! Toni!”
“How on Earth can you tell?” Claire said.
“I’ve always had an eye fer those things, ye ken.” She winked. “Does this place only employ hot people?”
“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ…” Claire rolled her eyes and swatted her arm.
When they arrived at the stable, Faith’s excitement went through the roof, as always, and Gillian started laughing.
“She’s just the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen,” she chuckled as Erica opened the doors.
Waiting inside with Pippi was the six foot Scot, wearing an equally ridiculous Christmas sweater as Toni’s, also donning a Santa hat.
“Ah, there she is! The wee princess!” Jamie exclaimed. Faith giggled at being addressed as such, and she tugged ever harder on their hands.
“And who’s this, then?” Jamie looked to Gillian.
“This is my best friend from across the Atlantic, Gillian Edgars.”
“A fellow Scot,” Gillian said, shaking his hand.
“Ah! That’s braw!” Jamie beamed, then turned to Claire. “This is the godmother then?”
“Yes, this is Auntie Gi.”
“It’s very fine to finally meet ye, lass. Jamie Fraser.” He finally released her hand. “Claire goes on and on about ye.”
“Didna realize ye talked so much,” Gillian said, throwing Claire side-eye. “About me,” she added quickly.
Had Jamie not been standing right there, Claire would have swatted at her arm again.
“Aye. Well, Faith, d’ye want to show yer Auntie yer horse?” He crouched down to her, and she nodded, letting go of their hands. Faith’s muscle memory took over, and she tended to the creature just the way she’d been taught. “This is Pippi,” Jamie said. “Princess Faith’s noble steed.”
“Princess Faith, he says,” Gillian whispered dreamily, and Claire inconspicuously pinched her thigh.
“Are ye excited to show Auntie Gi how ye ride, lass?” Jamie said, and Faith nodded enthusiastically. “Right then, off we go.”
Jamie hung back with Claire and Gillian while Erica led Faith and Pippi. He and Gillian conversed rapidly in Gaelic, leaving Claire feeling rather stupid as she looked in awe between the two of them.
When they arrived at the riding hall, Gillian and Claire leaned against the fence, Gillian amazed how Faith handled the helmet.
“Oh, that was quite a struggle,” Claire said. “Got bit for that one, remember?”
“Right, ye called me that day,” Gillian said, nodding. “She’s so gentle wi’ the horse. Back there in the stable, ye were right, I almost cried like a bairn.”
“Wait until she gets on,” Claire said warmly. “It’s just incredible.”
“And he…is so good wi’ her,” Gillian said in disbelief. “Could God have created a more perfect specimen?”
That earned her another swat on the arm.
“Hi, Claire,” Mrs. Beardsley’s voice had Claire turning around.
“Oh, hello,” Claire said. “Gi, this is Fanny Beardsley.”
They reached over Claire to shake hands.
“This is your wife?” Fanny said, smiling sweetly.
This immediately had them both sputtering, struggling to not disturb the therapy by howling with laughter.
“She wishes!” Gillian exclaimed, earning yet another swat.
“No, no,” Claire said, wiping tears of laughter away. “This is Faith’s godmother. She’s just visiting for Christmas. We’ve been best friends since college.”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” Fanny’s face was bright red.
“No, it’s alright, really,” Claire said, though she was still wheezing.
“It actually happens a lot,” Gillian said. “Lots of rumors back in college. Sadly, this one is straight as a pin.” Gillian patted her shoulder, and Claire rolled her eyes.
They passed the rest of the time watching Faith, Gillian whispering in awe and squealing in delight, clapping along with Claire and Erica when Faith earned celebration.
“She’s braw, Claire,” Gillian said, teary-eyed as Faith dismounted. “I’m really proud of her.”
They embraced each other around the shoulders, Claire resting her head on Gillian.
“Watch this,” Claire whispered. “She doesn’t do high-fives like a lot of the other kids, so Jamie does this with her instead.”
They watched the weekly ritual of Jamie giving his enthusiastic thumbs-up, his lopsided grin warming the chill in the air. Faith returned the thumbs up, bouncing and grinning.
“That is the cutest feckin’ thing.” Gillian shook her head in awe, eyes watering again.
They returned to the welcome center, three of them hand in hand, and Jamie leading the way walking backwards. Toni was ready with three candy canes to hand them when they arrived.
“Merry Christmas Beauchamps, and Auntie Gi.” Toni winked.
“Ah, before ye go,” Jamie said, reaching around the counter and producing a little gift bag. “Merry Christmas, Sassenach.” He handed Claire the bag, his cheeks flushing red. “From the stables,” he added quickly.
Claire’s brow furrowed, but she couldn’t help the tiny smile that graced her face. “Thank you. Merry Christmas, Jamie.”
She peered up at him through her lashes, and her smile disappeared at the sight of the look he was giving her. It was that same look that she’d caught him sporting time and time again, yet she still hadn’t gotten used to it.
What is it?
And why does it take my breath away…?
“Ready to go?” Gillian snapped Claire out of her reverie.
“Yes, yes let’s go,” Claire stammered, smiling perhaps a bit too brightly. “Merry Christmas Toni, Erica.”
“Merry Christmas!” they called in unison.
“Say bye-bye, Faith! Say Merry Christmas!” Faith smiled and waved, then pulled on her hand.
“Onto McDonald’s,” Claire said to Gillian.
“Aye, another delicacy,” she teased.
As they sat in the drive-thru, Gillian’s phone went off, and a sly grin spread across her face.
“What?” Claire asked.
“She texted me already,” Gillian said.
“Who did?”
Gillian turned around the phone to show Claire the screen:
Hi there! It’s Toni!
Claire’s jaw dropped, scandalized. “When did you give her your number?”
“When ye were busy making heart eyes at the Scot,” Gillian smirked and then quickly composed a response.
“I was not making heart eyes,” Claire said vehemently, inching the car forward and rolling down the window.
“Keep telling yerself that.”
——
McDonald’s eaten and milkshakes empty, the three of them were sitting under a blanket again watching Lilo and Stitch. They all brushed their teeth together, and Faith insisted on being tucked in by Gillian. Once that was all settled, Claire and Gillian sat on the couch again together, knowing they could stay up a bit later since Claire didn’t work tomorrow.
“Well? Ye havena opened it yet.” Gillian nudged her head toward the coffee table, where the little bag that Jamie had given Claire was still sitting.
“Oh. I’d forgotten about it,” Claire said, which was a blatant lie. She hadn’t stopped thinking about it since the moment he held it out to her. Truth be told, she was scared to open it. She hesitantly took it in her hands and opened the bag, removing layers of tissue paper.
She couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread wide across her entire face as she pulled out the contents. A bag of Lindt truffles, and a large back of sour patch kids. There was a festive post-it-note stuck to the truffles that said:
To make up for the candy corn. Merry Christmas, Sassenach.
Claire felt her entire face flush red, and her pulse began to race.
“Candy corn? What does that mean?” Gillian prodded.
“He, uh…he made me try candy corn, Halloween week,” Claire stammered. “I hated it, and he asked what kind of candy I do like.”
“Oh my God.” Gillian shoved her shoulder roughly. “Oh my God, Claire! Holy shite!”
“What…? What? Stop it!” Claire shoved her back and put the candy on the coffee table. “It’s just a joke. Relax.”
Gillian gaped at her in disbelief, then shook her head. “I was joking — well, half-joking — when I texted ye back in October, but God!”
“What?”
“How’s the sex?”
Claire’s eyes widened, and she leaned back in shock. “What sex?”
“With Fraser!”
“Jesus bloody Christ! There is no sex!” Claire’s face was hot as hell again, her mouth dry. “There’s no anything! He’s Faith’s therapist!”
“He’s givin’ ye sweets and gifts and ye’re no’ even putting out?” Gillian leaned back into the couch, crossing her arms. “Christ, he must really like you.”
“For fuck’s sake…” Claire scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re mad.”
Claire threw the bag on the coffee table, but it landed a little faster than an empty bag should have.
“Is there something still in there?” Gillian said, snatching it at once and plunging her hand inside.
“Gi, stop, stop it! Let me have it!”
Gillian pulled out a hair bow, and her eyes narrowed. “What the Devil?”
“Let me see.” Claire took it from her, and her jaw went slack with realization.
“What?”
“It’s tartan,” Claire said. “The tartan from the clan in Brave.”
“What would ye want wi’ that?” Gillian scoffed.
“It’s not for me…” Claire said, her voice breathy. “It’s for Faith.”
Realization hit Gillian like a bolt of lightning. “Halloween. He wore tartan, and she dressed up from…”
“From Brave,” Claire finished with her.
“Bloody hell…” Gillian said. “He really, really likes ye.”
Claire swallowed thickly against the dryness in her throat, vainly attempting to wet her lips. Her head was spinning, and she could hardly breathe.
“Claire?”
“Well,” Claire said, her voice sounding more strained than she would have liked it to. “As much as I love the Disney movies, how about you and I watch a big-girl movie, hm?” Claire smiled, getting off the couch and retrieving a bottle of wine from the kitchen. “With some big-girl juice?”
Gillian giggled, apparently deciding to not push the subject any further. “Alright. But I’m picking the movie.”
——
Their first Christmas in their new home was nothing short of perfect. Claire had only requested two specific days off for the entire year: Christmas Day, and Faith’s birthday.
Gillian’s present to Claire had already been opened the night before, after Claire had showered from her long shift at the hospital. It was a matching set of Christmas pajamas, with a card that said:
Take this as a promise that we’ll always be together for the holiday.
They cried on each other for a few minutes before donning the pajamas, taking several pictures together in Claire’s full length mirror in her bedroom.
They slept in them and kept them on for presents, just as festive as Faith in her Disney Christmas nightgown. Claire’s present to Gillian was a Long Island t-shirt. Gillian had made a hobby of collecting stupid tourist t-shirts wherever she visited, and Claire had spent plenty of time finding the most touristy Long Island shirt she could.
Faith was beyond thrilled with every single Christmas present she received: her first dollhouse (from Santa), little sets of furniture and little dolls for the dollhouse (from Mummy), and a Merida Barbie doll from Auntie Gi. Claire also decided to give Faith the tartan bow on Christmas morning, handing it to her, saying:
“Look, lovie, another Merida present. This one is from Mister Jamie.”
Never one to be patient, Faith demanded that Claire put the bow in her hair at once, as Auntie Gi was struggling to free the dollhouse from its packaging.
Once Faith was satisfied that every present had been opened and arranged to her heart’s content, they moved into the kitchen to devour the edible arrangement of fruit that Gillian had insisted on getting for Christmas breakfast. Back in the day, Frank made festive pancakes for Christmas morning, and Gillian was determined to start traditions of their own.
Fruit eaten, it was time to start on the Christmas cookies. Claire had purchased several Christmas themed cookie-cutters a few weeks ago, so the three of them made a wide assortment of characters across a wide spectrum of colors. Claire had also bought food dye to use in vanilla icing, so Faith was free to let her creativity run wild, as if she were making edible crafts. All the while, Christmas music played from Claire’s phone, and Faith was humming along and bouncing all day.
Gillian was a slightly better cook than Claire was, so they tag teamed getting the small ham cooked all the way through, along with the green bean casserole (which Faith would not touch with a ten foot pole; she was fine with just ham and applesauce, thank you very much).
Mrs. Lickett had the rest of the holiday week off until the day after New Year’s, and Faith was more than happy to spend the extra time with Gillian. Mary Hawkins had sent Claire a Facebook invitation for a New Year’s party a few weeks ago, and she’d only recently responded that she’d be going. She was uncertain of taking Faith somewhere so crowded, but Mary made it very clear in the description of the event that it would be sensory-friendly. Joe had asked her one day at work if she had any plans for the New Year, surely meaning to invite her over if she didn’t, and Claire felt a strange sense of teenage-like pride in informing him that she did.
Claire’s shift ended at eight, which was exactly when Mary’s party started, so they were only about thirty minutes late. Mary was delighted to have Gillian as well. Despite Mary’s emphasis on a sensory-friendly party, Claire brought Faith’s noise cancelling headphones just in case. Despite the lack of noisemakers, music, or loud television, the constant hum of several voices was making Faith a bit distraught, so Claire put the headphones on her, and after a few minutes of getting used to her silence, she was content again.
Claire was pleased to see a lot of moms she recognized, including Fanny, Kezzie and Josiah running about with Thomas. She was introduced to Mary’s husband, Alex, almost as young as she was. Apparently, Thomas had been a happy accident when they were both still teenagers, and they got married right then. They were quite a sweet couple.
When midnight came, hats and silent paper party-blowers were passed around. The tellie was kept low, and the countdown was done in hushed whispers. The only sound to be heard as the ball dropped was the crinkling of the party-blowers, a few scattered “Yay!”s, and jovial “Happy New Year!”s all around. Faith was quite content watching the paper curl in and out as she blew, giggling every time.
It wasn’t long after that when Faith started falling asleep, along with most of the other kids, all except Thomas. He was still bouncing off the walls somehow. Mary had given Claire a heartfelt thank you for coming, as did Alex. Claire felt as giddy and fulfilled as she had when they’d left the Abernathy home after Thanksgiving.
“That’s a great bunch,” Gillian said as they buckled themselves in.
“Yes…it really is.”
——
The following day while Claire was at work, Gillian had started to pack, being that her flight was on January second, but she didn’t get very far. Evidently, Faith immediately registered that packing meant that Auntie Gi would be leaving soon, and she was quite irritable and weepy for most of the day. She was inconsolable for the most part, only content when she was hanging onto Gillian or sitting in front of the tellie for a few moments of respite with a movie. She hardly touched her food that night, and when Claire had tried to get her to eat, she’d roughly shoved her plate across the table. Claire had permitted Gillian to be the one to give her a stern talking to; eventually she ate enough to satisfy Claire, and Gillian sat with her until she fell asleep.
Gillian returned to the living room to find Claire trying to rearrange her suitcase so it would actually close. She spent a few minutes trying to help, before they both ended up sitting on it in order to zipper it shut.
Gillian sighed. "Puir wee thing thinks she's miserable. I dinna want to leave either."
Claire draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in until their heads were resting together, not wanting to speak how she felt, lest she burst into tears.
“Can I ask ye something, Claire? And can ye promise me ye’ll be honest?”
“Of course,” Claire said, releasing her so they could look at each other. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing wrong, or maybe there is. I don’t know.” She sighed. “Ye ken I’ve been seeing Toni, aye?”
Claire shook her head jerkily, blinking in shock. “Um, no, I don’t ken! When have you been doing that?”
“After you and Faith are asleep.” She shrugged, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “I got an Uber and met her somewhere the first time, now she just picks me up and takes me right to her place. She’s actually quite — ”
“Please, spare me,” Claire interjected quickly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you, of course, but I have to see her interact with my child once a week for the rest of forever.”
“Alright, alright.” Gillian put her hands up in surrender, giggling. “That wasna the point anyway. We dinna just have sex, we talk as well.”
“Well, I should hope,” Claire said wryly. “Be rather awkward otherwise.”
“Och, enough, ye wee prude.” Gillian shoved her arm. “What I’m trying to get at is that you have come up in conversation.”
“Me? In what context?”
“In ‘the Scot has the hots’ context.”
“Oh, Christ, Gi, not this again…”
“I’m serious, Claire,” Gillian said, her eyes widening, no joking in her tone at all. “I brought it up as a joke, ye know me. But then she just rattled off all these things…I’m no’ the only one who sees it. That’s all.”
“Sees what?”
“Are ye daft, woman?” Gillian blinked in disbelief, and then sighed exasperatedly.
“You haven’t asked me a question yet, you know,” Claire said defensively, crossing her arms. “That’s how you opened this conversation.”
“Alright. Fine. Why did ye no’ tell me he was at yer bloody apartment?” Gillian said flatly.
Claire stammered for a moment. “It didn’t seem at all important! Toni told you about that as well?”
“Aye, she did. Didna mean anything by it, just came up in conversation.”
“Right, in conversation about me.”
“Dinna get all fiery on me, Claire. It wasna all about you. She talked as much about Jamie.”
Claire was about to fire back again, but she quickly realized that Gillian was right; she was getting overly defensive and angry, something Gillian was never shy about calling her out on.
“Really. Why didn’t ye tell me?” Gillian asked again, softly.
“It wasn’t conscious…it just didn’t come up.” Claire started picking at a cuticle, focusing her vision there instead of on Gillian.
“Because ye didna want it to come up. Right?”
“It seemed…private. I don’t know. It wasn’t…like you think. Or like she thinks.” Claire hissed in pain at what she was doing to her finger, and Gillian swatted at her hand to make her stop.
“Toni says he makes all these exceptions fer Faith, bendin’ over backwards to make her happy.”
Claire’s head started spinning. “He’s just…being kind.”
“Aye, Claire,” Gillian chuckled. “Because he likes you. A lot more than I even thought.”
“That’s…that’s ridiculous.” Claire shook her head. “My child is his client.”
“Toni says it’s no’ the same as a regular therapist — ”
“Gillian, please��” Claire interrupted, a bit more forcefully than she meant to. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. Really, I do. You’re my best friend, I get it. And I love you for it. But this…” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you to play matchmaker like we did in college.”
“Claire…”
“It’s alright, Gi. I’m not angry, I promise. I just…” She sighed. “I don’t need…I don’t need to be rescued anymore. Do you know what I mean? These past few months, just me and Faith…god, I’ve never felt so good about myself. I mean, hell, I’ve had doubt upon doubt creep into my mind, and not every day is good. But she is thriving here, and so am I. I don’t have to explain myself or my parenting to anyone anymore. And…fuck, Gi, I love it. I finally feel like…like I’m doing right by her.” She was surprised to feel the tears in her eyes, and she swallowed to keep them at bay. “For four years of her life, I was this…shell of myself. And god damn it, I pulled myself out of that. I know I had your help, always, and now I have Mrs. Lickett, and the Abernathy’s, and the whole community at the stables…but I did this. For her…and now I realize it was for me, too.”
Gillian put a hand on Claire’s knee. “I understand, hen.”
Claire nodded. “Jamie is incredibly kind, and thoughtful, and he’s done a lot for us. But it’s not what you think, and I don’t need…what you think it is. Faith doesn’t need that. She needs me. I need me. Am I…making any sense?”
“Ye are. Ye dinna have to explain yerself to me, Claire. I’m sorry,” Gillian said sheepishly. “Ye know me. Canna keep my neb out of anyone’s business. Least of all yers.”
Claire offered a tiny smile, then laid her head onto her shoulder. “Will you be seeing your American lover for one final tryst before you depart?”
Gillian snorted. “Nae, we’ve already said our goodbyes. Keeping it casual, ye ken. She’s just out of a relationship and all that.”
“Right. Well I’m glad you had that, however brief. Been a while since you’ve been with a woman, hasn’t it?”
“Aye, ye’re right! I was feeling starved for female affection after years of male disappointment!”
Claire guffawed loudly, and they both dissolved into a fit of giggles that carried into the wee hours of the morning.
#outlander#outlander au#outlander fanfic#outlander fanfiction#jamie fraser#claire fraser#claire beauchamp#faith fraser#geillis duncan#gillian edgars
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