#i tried to write a little more descriptively but it just translated into more colors and adjectives than i usually write | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bloodynereid · 2 years

Text

Eye of Madness / Eye of Greatness - part 2

pairings: targaryen family x platonic! velaryon oc + implied aemond targaryen x oc

tw: blood, prophecies (?), character death, kind of dark idk, fix-it au, sword fighting, helaena is kind of ooc, daemon is somehow a good father, targcest (idk it just happened ok - my brain somehow conjured up chemistry between these two)

description: Years after the incident at Driftmark, Elaena and her family now live in Dragonstone. However, the family is called to arms in an effort to defend Lucerys' claim to the Driftmark throne. Elaena must now return to court to face her dying grandsire and the uncle whose price she had payed. An eye for an eye.

a/n: sorry this is so long... the words kind of ran away from me. anyways I would urge you read part 1 first if you haven't yet for the sake of context but I'm pretty sure you could just read this on it's own tbh. hope you enjoy part 2 as much as I enjoyed writing it :) Elaena is my little badass dreamer.

disclaimer: I unfortunately don't know High Valyrian (I am learning it on Duolingo) so the phrases and convos are a combination of different online translators and dictionaries - I tried to eliminate the English words that couldn't be translated so for the people who do know the language well, past tense stuff and some plural stuff is most definitely incorrect. If you all want to correct me on it feel free to.

part 1 / part 2

Years had passed since the incident at Driftmark and the Velaryon/Targaryen family now lived in Dragonstone, far away from the green poison that festered at the Red Keep. Even if Elaena had changed the fate of her brothers that night, the greens still thirsted for power. She was lonelier too… often exchanging ravens with Helaena but never finding that bond amongst the children of her age again. Her own brothers and cousins mostly left her alone and the younger ones were scared of the eye that was no longer there.

Her only companions that filled her formative years were her mother, Rhaenyra and her father figure/uncle, Daemon. He had taken up her Valyrian lessons after the maester had decided to try and make Elaena wear an eye patch, telling her it was disgusting to have to see that ugly thing every day. The man disappeared without a trace one day and Elaena came back the next day later smelling of smoke and fire. Daemon had also taken up her sword training when he found her practicing with a wooden stick one day, telling her that if she insisted on training at least it should be with steel and a worthy companion. Elaena was knocked on her back more than she could count that afternoon.

The sounds of the sea crashing against the rocks helped drown out the voices that had grown harsher over the years. Demanding that she would listen to them. The heated skin of Cannibal carefully enveloped me as I cuddled into his side, lightly stroking the coal colored scales. Green festers in the cut and the man will speak truth in accusations. Accusations given for power. Power that he will never grasp.

“Ziry vestragon hae iksi naejot henujagon Zaldrīzesdōron aderī, dōna valītsos.” I felt his rumble against my back and a little laugh escaped my lips. Cannibal was a sweet creature even if he did have some harsh tendencies. He reminded me a lot of the spiders that Hel and I would catch all those years ago. I can still remember the day when I bonded with him so clearly, like it had only happened yesterday. It seems like we are to leave Dragonstone soon, sweet boy.

The day had been occupied by a storm, none of the children had been allowed outside so Elaena and her family had spent the day by the fire, exchanging stories and playing little games. It had been a while since they had done anything similar to this and Elaena had been missing her two brothers, who had been unintentionally avoiding her due to their guilt about that night. That ordinary day however would eventually turn into one of the best in her life. This was the day that the Gods had been whispering about.

When all the castle was fast asleep, the young princess sneaked into the kitchens and grabbed a meager amount of food and a water jug before setting off to hike through the wilderness that surrounded the castle. The wind slashed and tore at her clothes while rain beat down from the heavens.

I had finally found him as the first rays of sunlight started to permeate the sky, the gray clouds dulling the usually colorful sunrise. Cannibal was resting on one of the highest points of the island and for a young girl with only half of normal hand-eye coordination, climbing had been a… task. Especially as the wet rocks slipped and tore at my hands as I ascended the cliffs.

“Rytsas zaldrīzes.” I said as I carefully approached the large mount and the dragon slowly opened his eyes and looked at me with curiosity instead of the expected fury, the Gods had been right. As always. Hello dragon.

“Gīda… gīda.” I extended my hand over to his snout, the dragon’s warm breath instantly making me forget the bitter cold that had seemed to have permanently seeped into my bones during the hike. Steady… steady.

“Kessa ao rual nyke naejot sōvegon lēda ao?” Cannibal answered with a resounding huff, that sounded to me as an agreement so I gave the beast a large smile. “Kirimvose, ñuha jorrāelagon zaldrīzes.” Will you allow me to fly with you? Thank you, my dear dragon.

I leaned my forehead against his and carefully made my way over to his side. Sliding my fingers reassuringly across the black scales. Since he was a wild dragon and had basically killed all of the riders that had attempted to claim him - there were no ropes or saddle on his back. I would have to ride bareback then. As if he sensed my uneasiness, Cannibal turned his head to look into my eye, his head cocking before turning his snout and blowing steam at the ledge high up on the stone wall.

“Sȳz zaldrīzes.” I took off the pack and placed it on the floor before climbing up using the cracks in the wall until I was standing on the ledge. The whispers fill my ears and give me courage. Dragon of coal. Dragon of stone. Two souls entwined in only the way a dragon and rider can be. I jump off from the ledge and hold on tightly to Cannibal’s back. He lets out a loud roar and slowly spreads his wings, I give him a little pat on his side and I hold on tight. “Soves, Cannibal.” Good dragon. Fly, Cannibal.

He lets out an even louder roar that resounds against the stone and slowly ascends into the clouds. The rain had stopped and now only the morning dew sat heavily in the air. The sun had risen fully by now and the skies were painted a dull orange and pink. I let out a laugh as we suddenly dip down and twirl around in the air. I felt free, completely free. “Dracarys!” Dragonfire!

“Ahh I knew I would find you here.” My mind is wrenched out of its memories as I hear the familiar voice of my uncle Daemon. Cannibal rumbles menacingly but I give him a reassuring pat before getting up from my spot on the rough grass.

“Kepus, iksis ziry jēda syt ñuha gūrēñare?” Uncle, is it time for our training?

“Daor, aōha muña ēza jiōragon iā vōljes hen se Baela. Jaelza naejot ūndegon ao.” No, your mother has received a raven from Baela. She wants to see you.

“Sȳrje. Egros gūrēñare tolī?” Very well. Sword training after?

“Kessa, eman iderēbagon se vok dīnagon. Gōntan nyke ivestragon ao nūmāzma Syrax's arlie drōma?” Yes, I have chosen the perfect place. Did I tell you about Syrax’s new eggs?

We talked as we scaled up the rocks that surrounded Cannibal’s chosen resting place and Daemon excitedly spoke about the clutch of eggs he had found earlier that day. I had grown fond of the man people called Rogue Prince, he had become more of a father than Laenor and Harwin had ever been. Mother continuously joked that we were two sides of the same coin - both second-born and rogue. Father and daughter in every way that counted. Daemon entertained even my wildest mutterings and delusions. Comforting me, alongside my mother when the worst dreams came around.

The familiar bricks of the Red Keep came into view as I flew out of the clouds and descended into the Dragonpit. Letting Cannibal fly off into the wilderness after I slid off his back, he’s still a wild dragon at heart and has killed quite a few dragon keepers who tried to domesticate him over the years. Brushing off the black and red riding leathers, I took off my gloves and tightened the braids that were entwined in my hair. I had decided to come slightly later than the rest of my family - knowing the strange stares they usually attract whenever I joined them. Purple stone. Green blood spills. Against red bricks and red fire. Blood will be drawn by the knife of ire.

“Rytsas dārilaros, aōha muña ivestretan īlva naejot jiōragon ao. Konīr iksis iā anne rȳ se remȳti naejot gūrogon ao naejot se gaomagon.” One of the dragon keepers I knew well from childhood had approached me as I watched Cannibal become a speck in the sky, informing me about my mother’s instructions. Hello princess, your mother told us to receive you. There is a horse at the gates to take you to the Keep.

“Kirimvose.” I flashed him a smile before walking over to the gates, seeing a beautiful chestnut mare tied to one of the posts with one of the members of the Kingsguard sitting on a white one next to it. Thank you.

“It seems that my mother still believes me incapable of protecting myself.” I say as I untie the rope and slip onto the saddle, my sword clanging against my hip. The sound of my voice makes the guard snap out of his trance and look at me, his eyes widening. Clearing his throat in discomfort, he answers my quip:

“Sorry princess but it was actually the Queen who insisted.” My eyebrows shoot up.

“The Queen hmm? Well I sure hope you can keep up.” I knock my feet and set off into the streets of Flea Bottom as fast as I can, leaving him cursing behind me and starting up his horse as well. The small folk shout insults at me as they try to move out of the way. A laugh escapes me. It’s not like riding a dragon but at least it’s close to it. Plus it’s fun to toy with guards, especially those sent by the Queen.

I arrived at the Red Keep, with a very disgruntled guard coming in mere moments after me. I told one of the servants to inform my mother that I had arrived, giving the excuse that I wanted to go explore before seeing her.

The first place I found myself in was the training grounds. The whispers I had accompany me in the halls were downright cruel, but I had heard worse and what was I going to do - pop my eye back in? I saved my brothers and all these people care about is vanity.

Standing off to the side I leaned against one of the pillars, watching my uncle Aemond spar with Ser Crist- no that didn’t seem right, Crispin? It must be Ser Crispin. I eyed my two brothers who looked at the man in mild disgust and also slight awe. Aemond had become a skillful swordsman. Eye of sapphire. Eye of amethyst. Two souls tied together by their shared sacrifice.

“Nephews… have you come to train?”

“Now, now, Kepus, we wouldn’t want you to lose another eye. I don’t think I’d like to go blind, do you?” I spoke up which made everyone gathered in the training ground turn to look at my previously unnoticed presence. Uncle.

My brothers looked at me with quizzical looks as I pushed off the wall and walked over to stand in front of the much taller man. I fiddled with the hilt of my sword and a smirk started to rise on my face. Eye to eye. Jem to eyepatch.

“Princess, we didn’t expect you to arrive so early.” Crispin piped up from behind Aemond, I tilted my head and gave him a little nod.

“Well the guard that you sent would most probably agree with you, Ser Crispin. Now, uncle, you called for a spar. Think you could take on your favorite niece?”

“Well dear Elaena, the offer was only extended to your brothers but I would gladly take you on. Think you can beat me?” I scoffed.

“Oh I do.” I pull the sword out of its sheath. The steel singing as I adjusted my grip on the hilt and walked back a few paces, aiming the blade at his throat.

“We shall see about that.” His eye sparked dangerously and I smirked. Let the games begin.

He brought up his blade and tapped the sword away from his throat before lunging. The dancing of metal went on for a short time until I started to pick up his tells. Even after all these years he still favored his right foot. The idiot Crispin probably didn’t want to correct his darling prince. I side-stepped his next lunge and pivoted my foot to the side before landing a well-aimed sweep. He was on the ground a second later, sword abandoned and mine aimed at his throat.

“Gaomagon ao obūljarion?” I ask with a sharp smile, tilting my head to the side. Aemond glances at my scarred eye and lets out a laugh. Do you surrender?

“Mērī naejot ao Elaena.” Only to you, Elaena.

I shake my head at him with an answering laugh before drawing my blade away from his throat and putting it back into its sheath. I offer my hand which he graciously takes and I help pull him up out of the dirt. I turn to my brothers who look at me with proud looks. Jace even offers a slow clap.

“I’m sure your sister misses me as much as I miss her so I shall see you at the inquisition. Brothers. Uncle.” They all nod towards me as I walk away from the training grounds, loud chatter erupting behind me as I slip through the doors.

I knock on the wooden doors as the guard looks at with suspicion painted across his face but it quickly eases when Helaena throws open the door and envelops me in a hug that has me staggering back before I can start to return it.

“El! Oh how I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too, Hel. You look absolutely beautiful as ever.” She offers me a wide smile before pulling me into her chambers and shutting the door behind her.

“I like your eye. Aemond doesn’t like showing his eye so he uses an eyepatch but I’m glad you don’t wear one. Come, I must show you the new additions to my collection.” And that is how we spent the next hour before the Queen walks into the room and takes a seat next to us.

“Hello girls. Elaena, your mother is requesting your presence before you join us at court.”

“Of course, your Grace.” I say as I turn to look at her and bow my head. The amethyst obviously sparkling in the light as I hear her sharp intake of breath. I give Helaena’s shoulder a squeeze and walk out of the room and into the halls. Taking off into a sprint towards mother’s assigned chambers once out of sight of the guard.

“The Queen told me that you need to see me.” I say as I burst through the doors, causing mother to look up from her book.

“Yes, my darling. How was your time with Helaena? I know you’ve been missing her.” Mother said as I enveloped her in a hug while she sat on the sofa in her joint room with Daemon. Said man was sitting next to the fire with a large and very old-looking book.

“It was wonderful. The bugs she has collected are absolutely incredible. It’s too bad I couldn’t bring any of my collection over to show her.”

“Indeed.”

“We heard about your little spar with Aemond in the training yard.” There was a teasing lilt in Daemon’s voice as he didn’t even bother to look up from the pages. I cringed as I sat down next to mother on the couch, laying my head in her lap as she stroked her fingers through the free curls that weren’t tied up in braids.

“We also heard you beat him. Seems like all your lessons with Daemon paid off.” Mother says in an admonishing tone, clearly directed towards Daemon.

“He was making jests about Jace and Luke so I had to remind him who he was talking to. Ser Crispin also never taught him not to favor his feet it seems. Aemond was completely off balance.” Daemon laughs and finally looks up from his book to give me his signature smile. I hear mother let out a breathy laugh above me and she leans down to give me a kiss over the raised skin of my scar.

“I do believe it was Daemon who first made that joke about Ser Criston Cole.”

“His name is Criston? You know that doesn’t suit him at all, I still believe Crispin makes more sense.” It was said that the laugh that Daemon let out that day was heard across the streets of Flea Bottom.

After mother insisted I wear a dress for court, I picked out one of my mother’s old red dresses that was left in the wardrobe and paired it with an equally long embroidered coat that Daemon had gifted me on one of my name days. I now stood in the large hall that surrounded the Iron Throne, periodically tapping my knee against the sheath of the sword - a small act that calmed me against the strangely loud torrent of whispers and the anxiety of the whole situation. They had been suspiciously silent for the past day but had returned at full force once I came into viewing range of the Iron Throne. A rather uncomfortable looking seat for all the troubles it had and will cause. Snow. Men of the dead rise and thirst for blood. Prince that was promised clothed in the deception of a bastard.

The beginning of the accusations went along as smoothly as one could imagine, that was until the great doors burst open and in came the King. Hunched over his cane and with a gold mask covering half of his face. The man I remember from all those years ago had become a shell of himself and pang went through my heart. Great men subjected to rot and poison by inadequate and greedy hands.

The proceedings continued as normal with grandsire quickly rebuffing the threats to Luke’s succession and then well… Vaemond decided to insult my mother.

“And she is…”

“Say it.” I hear Daemon say from somewhere behind me. My hand slips under my coat and grasps the hilt of the sword. The metal slightly hisses as I begin to pull it out of its sheath.

“A whore.”

“I will have your tongue for that.” I hear the King say and out of my peripheral I see him stand up quickly, pulling out a dagger. I look back at Daemon for a split second as he has his hand on Dark Sister. I raise my eyebrows at him and he nods, letting the hilt fall and giving me a wink. I draw the steel completely out of its sheath and in one fell swoop half of Vaemond’s head is lying on the floor in front of me.

“Well he did once say that he would show us how his blood runs true.”

The entire family now sat at the large dining table awaiting the King’s arrival. Alicent and my mother kept trading glances as I traced Valyrian letters into the wood, looking up periodically to catch Helaena’s or Jace’s eyes from my seat at Daemon’s side. A few more minutes passed before grandsire finally appeared - being carried in by four guards. We quickly rose out of chairs, the wood scraping against the stone floor. He was slumped over and looked on the edge of death. We all sat back down when the guards had carried him over to his place in between Alicent and mother.

“How good it is to see you all tonight, together.” The Queen then proceeded to say a prayer to the Seven and I clasp my hands across my lap and listen intently as I scan the faces of my kin.

“... and to Vaemond Velaryon, may the Gods give him rest.” Daemon turns to me at that and we exchange smiles, accompanied by the lowest of scoffs from my part.

I continue tracing patterns and listening to the whispers in my mind as the toasts and speeches continue, taking small sips of my wine as I see others doing so. After Jace’s rather taunting toast, I lift myself out of the seat and raise my wine glass.

“I would also like to raise my glass. To my dearest aunt, you were one of my most treasured childhood companions and I have been missing you greatly throughout these years apart. You have truly grown into a wonderful young woman and it is an honor to call you my friend, as well as my kin.” Mother gives me a warm smile as she takes a sip of her wine and Daemon gives my arm a little squeeze as I sit back down, flashing me one of his rare, genuine smiles.

“Thank you, dear niece. As my brothers can probably account for, I have missed you a great deal as well. Now… I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.” Daemon laughs at my side and I add some of my own laughter as well, but not before giving my aunt a reassuring smile.

I start digging into the food and periodically take sips of wine as I converse with Daemon and my mother, watching Jace and Helaena happily dancing. An idea materializes into my mind and I excuse myself before walking over to Aemond’s chair. He turned to look at me with a peculiar expression on his face as I extended my hand.

“Would you like to dance, uncle?” He wordlessly takes my offered hand and we sweep off into the hall to begin dancing. We mirror each other's movements as the music progresses, going slower and more cautiously than Jace and Helaena. He danced similarly to how he sparred, precise, elegant and sharp.

The merry dancing stopped however when the King slumped over and was carried out of the room, groaning. Aemond and I parted ways and we all started to go back to sit at our places, when a large pig was about to be set down in front of Aemond’s place. Knowing the consequences of this, I popped out my foot and the servant tripped, the pig falling onto the floor and the loud clatter of the silver plate reverberated throughout the dining hall. I slip back over to my seat and Daemon tilts his head with a small smile.

“What was that for you? You know I’m all for your tympir.” He whispers as I sit down. Games.

“Se māzīlarion.” I answer with a wink. The future.

I slipped into grandsire’s room after everyone had dispersed. Mother had decided we would go back to Dragonstone come morning so the servants were busying themselves packing things away and everyone else had already retired.

I had to make sure that the Queen did not put Aegon on the throne and that meant having to prevent grandsire from telling her about the song. And so I sat on the edge of the great bed and carefully took one of his hands between mine.

“Grandsire?”

“I’m sorry. But you wanted to know if I believe it to be true.”

“Grandsire? Is this about the song of ice and fire? Aegon’s dream?”

“Yes. Yes, my dear. It is true. What he saw in the North. The Prince That Was Promised.”

“I know. I know.”

“He will unite the realm, against the cold and the dark. It is you.”

“Grandsire?”

“You are the one.”

Press blade against flesh. Flesh to ice. And let the shadows guide the dragon. I carefully lift up grandsire’s hand and give him a kiss on the knuckles before straightening up and walking over to the blade of prophecy. Picking it up and placing it under my cloak I slip out of the room, making my way to the tower that I knew housed the Hand of the King. Blade against flesh.

Entering the rooms of the man who would basically single-handedly destroy my family, I take out the dagger and find the Hand sleeping with a great pile of documents next to him. The Gods had granted me another change of fate and so I placed the blade against his neck and started to cut away at the flesh, causing his eyes to burst open as he tried to push away from my grip. I held him in place as more of the dark red liquid slid down my hands.

A few moments later he lies there in a pool of his blood, dead. I wipe the dagger clean and step back admiring the sight. Then I methodically start to throw things around the room and sneak away the valuables, making it seem more of a robbery than a planned assassination.

Taking one last look at the room, I sneak back out through one of the hidden tunnels and walk through the shadows of the castle. Placing the blade of prophecy back into its rightful place, fulfilling its call of blood. I get back to my rooms and scrub my hands of the blood and make sure to get rid of the tainted cloak and valuables before slipping under the covers and letting my ancestors' dreams quickly envelop me.

and... that's the end of part 2. hope you all enjoyed it - ik it had a kind of different vibe than part 1 but I wanted to show how El had grown and matured during those years ig. some random thoughts I had during the writing of this:

Elaena's braided hair was totally inspired by Dany's - like she saw that in her visions and randomly decided to adopt it. It probably looks like this but with her curly brunette locks.

2. Otto's death randomly came to me as I was outlining this out and it was totally self-indulgent. I just really wanted to see that man dead.

3. This wasn't the og ending I had planned out tbh but it fit better than what I had been thinking about so it ended up way more open-ended than originally intended.

4. I like to think that El understands and can speak Valyrian because it's kind of like a Percy Jackson situation where the whispers that she gets are all in Valyrian so she naturally can just understand it.

5. Her bond with Cannibal !!! This was one of those things that first popped into my mind when I first started thinking about writing a part 2. I was reminded a lot about Vhagar and Aemond's bond cause I wanted to do something that was the complete opposite. As Dany once said: Dragons are not slaves. El's bond with Cannibal is one of mutual love and trust - they are basically one person. Think about it like soulmates.

6. El is like a year-ish younger than Jace but I don't have a specific age because we don't have any specific age for Jace in the tv show so sorry about that.

7. Daemon and her have this weird father-daughter bond that was also completely self-indulgent. I like to think that he kind of saw a lot of himself in her and Rhaenyra was like go be the father that she never had. Also El calls him uncle cause it was just easier for me to put that in - like calling him father would just be weird for her and technically he is her uncle due to his marriage to Laena.

8. Last one I promise, El doesn't wear an eyepatch due to the fact that she's proud of her sacrifice and because I personally found Aemond incredibly hot when he showed his sapphire eye in ep 10.

taglist: @alexandra-001 . @chevelledahuman

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #hotd x oc #house of the dragon fanfiction #helaena x oc #helaena the dreamer #team rhaenyra #rhaenyra is a great mom #jacaerys velaryon #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #my ocs <3

412 notes · View notes

nasubeenwithcat · 10 months

Note

What if conductor and dj groove switch bodh??

A Golden Holiday in the Hell

DJ Grooves certainly likes the color golden. But not so much that he wants to be a bird with golden feathers. Nonetheless, he became the Conductor one morning. Where is that noisy bird? ＿＿＿＿How cruel is the golden sun without sunglasses?

words:19,000 over (It consists of a total of 8 sections.) Attention:Some grotesque descriptions/vomiting(if you don't like dark descriptions, I recommend skipping section 4)/Machine translation(checked as much as possible, but not perfect.)

What an interesting idea!!! So this is my answer. Sorry, trying to write about them always makes it heavy and dark. But I promise you a happy ending.

1. It was the most violent morning he had ever seen.

DJ Grooves woke up among many blankets. All of the colorful blankets were heavy, thick, fluffy, and had a good to bad feel. He felt suffocated and unconsciously kicked them all off and dropped them all on the floor. He was also sweating. His winter loungewear, which was as thick as the blankets, was deathly hot and annoying.

Winter loungewear? He put his words in his beak again. Winter loungewear. He asked himself if he would have had such a thing, even though there are no seasons on a sunless moon. He thought as he fingered the fluffy fabric. If he thought about it, this mass of blankets, the crazy heat, and the intermittent shaking sensation he'd been experiencing since a few minutes ago were all strange. It's as if he's riding in a car. But the wind doesn't seem to be blowing much. ＿＿＿＿Grooves looked away from the loungewear, and it was only there that he noticed something unusual about the situation.

His perspective was larger than usual.

There were many things that should have been more strange, but that was the first thing he noticed. The blanket seemed bigger and his senses were narrower than usual. Anyway, everything was so big that for a moment he thought he might be wearing glasses or contacts that were too strong for him.

The room, as seen from his position just a little higher than the floor, was filled with all sorts of strange things. There were movie posters in bad taste, stacks of illustrated books, model trains, a small closet, an old TV, a tired one-person sofa, and a few pieces of plain furniture. The strong light streaming in through the window turned them a golden color. The room was supposed to be full of wooden furniture, but everywhere he looked, there was glittering gold. Perhaps it was because the large stand-up wall mirror near the closet reflected the light coming in from the window toward the center of the room, keeping the intensity of the light as it was. And it kept swinging in and out in time with the loud, random rhythm coming from the bottom.

Grooves had no idea where he was, though. All he knew was that it was not the moon, that it was not winter, and that he was in a vehicle of some kind. He lay on the narrow bed, unbuttoning each button that was fastened tightly to his throat, trying to organize his thoughts. But a sound too loud and uninterrupted interrupted his reasoning. Frustrated, he unbuttoned all the buttons as if tearing them off halfway and took off his jacket. ＿＿＿＿As he did so, his eyes were suddenly struck by a golden color that was too strong and unsuitable for this faded room.

What is this?

For a while he just looked at that golden color with an empty head. It was not sunlight or any other transparent thing. It had substance and definite detail. Of course, he could see it whenever he wanted to. The gold that shone in the sunlight was the very feathers of a bird, and they were all over his flippers, neck, belly, and body. They were ticklish to the touch, beautiful but somewhat lack luster. The texture was firm and longer than average. The feathers were golden, not starry white or blue like the summer ocean.

He recovered from his shock and tried desperately to make sense of it. Gold. He loves gold, but he doesn't love it enough to dye all the feathers on his body. He was proud of those cool, fantastically colored feathers that moon penguins had, and he had never thought of ruining them by dying them. Had someone dyed his feathers while he was sleeping, or, as much as he hated to believe it, had he done it himself? For example, what if he never woke up from his drunken stupor last night, and in that foggy state of consciousness, he dyed his own feathers with paint?

He closed his eyes and pressed his ear to the pillow, trying to remember what he did yesterday. Indeed, yesterday he had drunk more than he normally would have. He had a problem at business, and on top of that he didn't handle it well. He made an amazing series of small mistakes that he normally wouldn't make, and even made mistakes in the troublesome interactions that occurred as a result. Not even Grooves himself knew why he made such mistakes. All he knew was that he had been unfocused and distracted at the time, that it had been going on for about a month, that it had finally reached its limit, and that as a result he had made a series of trivial mistakes.

It was not my day, nope. Although those around him ended the day with a bitter smile, at least Grooves was disappointed in himself. It was the first time he realized how inadequate he was as a stardom, that he couldn't even host a TV show, let alone cover. There was no way he could make a movie in such a state, so he came home earlier than usual and ran to the wine cellar as if he were jumping out of his skin. He drank spirits, whiskey, and even a bottle of amaretto, which he did not usually drink, at random. ＿＿＿＿From that point on, he had no memory of what happened after that.

But he clearly remembered drinking a lot of not-so-good liquor with that thought in his head, if only he hadn't been a moon penguin. Grooves opened his eyes. The vibrations that broke through the sheets and shook the pillow were so intense that his chest itched. Had he deliberately, in the heat of his drinking last night, dyed those star-colored feathers, the trademark of moon penguins, a golden color?

It was not out of the realm of possibility. He has plenty of home colorant, although he doesn't use it often because it hurts his feathers and it's cleaner to have it done by a professional. Besides, he had been screwed up and looked crazy last night, so it would not be surprising if he had done such a thing.

"I wouldn't be surprised what I did."

He muttered as if scolding himself. It was only recently that he realized that he was more ambitious than he thought he was. Grooves had made a conscious effort to avoid competitions since he had come to realize that he was a selfish jerk, even willing to kill a child for a trophy. He hadn't made many movies in the past few weeks.

But that does not explain the beauty of these feathers.

The feathers were golden in color, and there was not the slightest indication that they had originally been white or blue. No matter how hard he tried to find a trace of the original color, he could not find any unevenness in the color or any paint residue. From the tip to the root, from the surface to the depths of the fibers, everything was the same golden color. Even if he had made a bath out of paint and soaked it for three hours, he would not have been able to stain it this beautifully.

He got out of bed and walked over to the wall mirror to tried finding a green or ivory color in this strange gold. As expected, he should not have changed to the color of his face, and if he had, it would never be as beautiful a golden as the color of his body. The area near the eyes and beak is sensitive and difficult to dye, even for professionals. If Grooves really did dye all of his feathers himself in a drunken stupor, it can only be described as a miracle or a coincidence. If that is the case, he should not be a DJ or a movie director. He should start studying for his beautician's license.

Grooves got close enough to get a good look at the mirror.

And yet, he was nowhere to be seen.

He reconsidered the possibility that this might not actually be a mirror, but for all intents and purposes, it was a mirror. It was an old design, and the mirror surface was not very well polished, but it was a mirror.

Despite this, DJ Grooves was nowhere to be found. Instead, there is the Conductor. He looked a bit younger looking than in the studio, perhaps because he wasn't wearing a uniform.

Only the space cut into that vertical rectangle seemed to be a virtual reality or something. Grooves raised his right flipper, and the Conductor in the mirror also raised his right hand. When Grooves laughed, the Conductor laughed too. When Grooves jumped, the Conductor jumped too. When Grooves sang, the Conductor opened his beak but did not sing.

He turned his eyes once more to his own body with trepidation. It was still covered in gold. The color of the Conductor's feathers was also like this. A coarse yellow, like a child's raincoat. Now they were glistening golden in the sunlight. When he stroked it, the color of its feathers became even more complicated. ＿＿＿＿Then Grooves spotted it.

It was a hand stroking the feather. It was not a flipper, but a small hand with fingers.

Grooves looked again at the mirror. A startled and frightened-looking the Conductor was looking at him in the exact same pose as Grooves. Is this a mirror? Really? Of course, beyond the shadow of a doubt it is a mirror itself. This is not virtual reality, this is the real thing itself. He ran his hand over his face, intending to touch his little beak, but the protuberance he sought was too big as he expected.

"AAAAAAHH!!"

Grooves screamed and backed away to get away from the little hand. The shaking of the room did not relent, and a large tilt to the right sent him tumbling. His body swung backward and hit a dirty wall near the window. The impact caused some of the pictures on the wall to fall to the floor. From there, the view outside was easy to see. Gold. It was gold. Gold as fine and rich as this feather, and it went on as far as the eye could see. Desert. His room was running in the desert, that's why it was so hot.

He was so confused he couldn't think about anything, didn't want to think about anything. He abandoned himself and stood there for a good ten minutes with the desert in front of him. Every now and then he saw a green cactus or a large brown rock, but the color didn't really matter. The sun was shining on them, overriding their colors and making them look golden. He tried to put his hand on the window with his small, sticking fingers, but it was too hot to touch for even a second. The pain proved that this was no dream.

"No way," Grooves mumbled, trying to calm down. "It's not true." But the voice was unmistakably not his.

The room shook again, and his body was once again pressed against the window area. From there he could see the too-strong light, the dead desert full of life, and steel. Grooves was almost fully aware of what had happened to him enough to realize that it was the railroad tracks, but he refused to admit it.

Train. The Owl Express. He laughed bitterly. The posters all over the room were of movies featuring the train. The annoying noise must be the wheels rubbing against the tracks. That's why the vibration is so intense. He had never been on a train, did not know what it sounded like, or how it shook. He had seen them, but they always seemed to stop uncomfortably on the tracks. He had never known it to move so violently, so he stared blankly outside, feeling betrayed and hopeless. Abruptly, the Owl Express entered a tunnel. The windows, which had been full of light earlier, darkened instantly.

His face reflected in the car window, staring sadly at Grooves. He wanted to say sarcastically, "Darling, you can make a face like that," but he couldn't speak. His nose was pinched, his chest was blocked, and his throat was sour. He wanted to blame it all on someone else, but who was to blame? He sat curled up in the corner of the room and stared listlessly at the wall mirror. The Conductor was there. And he too was looking at Grooves with a look of despair on his face.

2. "Why is this happening to me?"

He muttered again over the noise. "…Why is this happening to me?" It was obvious it wasn't his own voice, and it sounded familiar. It was that vile, ugly voice that always criticized and laughed at Grooves. His voice sounded somewhat peculiar, perhaps due to his profession, and it was easy to hear it through the noise. Grooves frowned and thought about pretending he had not noticed the possibility. But of course, he couldn't do that. He had to face reality. In the end, he went lazily to the sink to get ready for the morning.

A vanity was dull and not very clean. It smelled of mint, but that was all, and other than that, it was horribly empty. Grooves hesitantly looked in the mirror.

There he stood, as expected. He was neither moon penguin nor musician, but the Conductor of the Owl Express. His stand ears, tiny fingers, golden feathers, and large beak were all Grooves' now. The Conductor also looked at him with a somewhat awkward expression, which annoyed him.

He had lived his whole life thinking that he would never want to be a bird like the Conductor, and yet there he was, literally there, being the Conductor. Grooves tapped the edge of the vanity with his usual habit. He was even more depressed when he heard the sound of his nails, sharper than usual, i.e., hard instead of soft flippers, hitting the china. He could never scratch a disc with his hands like this. It would require a much different technique than playing with his flippers.

DJ Grooves fearfully touched his face. He looked in the mirror and gently stroked his beak to see if it moved properly. Every time he moved, the golden feathers rubbed against each other, making a soft sound. But as he felt earlier, it was not as smooth as it looked, and it was dry in places. His feathers were in such poor condition that one could tell just by touching them that his cuticles were ruffled. That also irritated him.

Grooves opened every drawer and door on the vanity, looking for a hairbrush, lotion, or treatment. It would take his mind off his bad mood, he thought, and it would be a waste of all those shiny, beautiful colors. He must have neglected his feathers for a month or so.

Appearance is a mirror. It's not about checking one's appearance in a mirror; it's a mirror in itself. Grooves took care and believed in not acting contrary to that statement. He woke up early in the morning and carefully brushed his hair, always making sure that the strands were facing the same direction. He would also use lotion and, depending on the day, he would sometimes put a highlight powder on his face to make it look brighter. At night, he washes his hair thoroughly and dries it carefully in the correct order, and he also massages his facial muscles every day without fail. So he naturally assumed that this deserted vanity should at least have sunscreen, if not an out-bath treatment.

But there was none of that. All there was was a stock of toothbrushes, an old hairbrush, and feather cream. He checked the bathroom to see if there might be more, but only shampoo and body soap were lined up there.

Grooves gently closed the door under his breath. And the fact was so shocking that he was able to forget for a moment the frustration and sadness that he had become the Conductor. How could he work in the desert and not have sunscreen? Surely he doesn't know that ultraviolet rays are bad for himself? Grooves puts sunscreen on his entire body every day, wears sunglasses, and takes great care not to be in the sun for more than an hour, so why wouldn't he do that? And why didn't he even try to get a full line of feather care products in the first place? No face packs, no oils, and the only cream that was available was too soft and obviously not matched the nature of his feathers. He had to choose something firmer than that, or it would mix with the oil and sweat and cause his feathers to become tattered.

He stared at the Conductor in the mirror. (Naturally, the Conductor stared at Grooves, too.)

Grooves sighed to let his anger escape into the air and opened a nearby drawer almost unconsciously, hoping to find some face wash or lotion in there, even though he had just checked to make sure there was nothing in there. Then, seeing the blank again, he snapped his beak nervously and picked up an old, large hairbrush instead of yelling at it. The hairbrush was well used and looked like it needed to be replaced soon. It was tangled with yellow feathers and dust, and he exhaled several times while he used it to orient the feathers.

But the problems did not end there. He opened the heavy wooden closet to change his mind about the grooming, which had finished much earlier than usual. Even there he had to be surprised.

There were no clothes in it except work clothes and a ceremonial suit. There were just thirty shirts of the same color and shape, ten pairs of black, unplayful pants, three plain purple ties, two large uniform coats, and one fine but old-fashioned jacket hanging there. Grooves struggled in and out of the closet for about ten minutes, rummaging through the clothes, trying to find another outfit. If anything, he searched every inch of the room, thinking that this was a work closet and that his personal closet might be separate. But there was no other storage furniture that looked like this one.

Once again, Grooves stepped back and looked at it. Nothing but black, white, and purple. There is always the shadow of the conductor there. Not his own, but the professional atmosphere was too much dwelling there. Did he not think it strange? It is crazy to have only uniforms. The Conductor can only be the conductor, and besides, he is not allowed any other choice in this closet. He can't even get off the train as a single owl. It is too grotesque. He couldn't hold back and looked away.

"He must be… sick."

To DJ Grooves, all he could think of was the Conductor was sick.

Grooves spent a good 30 minutes or more just putting on the uniform. He had to tie and untie his tie several times because he couldn't bear to see himself in the mirror looking more and more like the bird he hated. When it was finally over, his face was not at all radiant. Finally, he decided to wear only a plain white shirt and suspenders pants, coat unbuttoned, and no tie, so that he would not look like the Conductor. He did not want to trample on the classics, but he was even more reluctant to be the Conductor himself. He opened two buttons at the neck of his shirt and looked in the mirror again. It was definitely the Conductor, but he was glad he was not dressed like him. The weight of his heavy coat felt awfully lifelike.

Still, how could he have to wear such a thick coat on such a hot day? Grooves fanned himself with a stack of papers lying nearby. (The coat was filled with all sorts of things, and he wasn't sure what he needed for his tasks. Perhaps this was something he had to wear, and Grooves ended up putting his arm through the sleeves of it after some hesitation.) There is something strange about the Conductor. He wears this coat in summer and winter alike. Grooves had thought that he had both a thin coat for summer and a thick coat for winter, and that he wore them differently depending on the weather, but this was not the case. Both coats are for winter. It is not a hassle to wear such a thing in the desert in the middle of summer. He wondered over his breakfast coffee if there was some reason why he had to wear them, but he had no idea.

The Conductor didn't spend any money on grooming, but he kept only the finest coffee beans in his kitchen. From instant latte's to real coffee beans, there was plenty of coffee lined up in the dimly lit pantry. If anything, there was even a moon-brand one. The beans are famous for their savory, rich, and slightly bitter taste.

It felt kind of weird to drink the same coffee he had as DJ Grooves at his home on the moon as the Conductor on the Owl Express in the middle of the desert. Still, the hateful thing was that this coffee was as excellent as drinking anywhere else. The coffee's unique aroma wafted up from the mug and tickled his nose and tongue. It was hard to get a drink out of his big beak.

So slowly, still somewhat unable to believe that this was real, he took his second drink, then heard a discreet knock at the small door at the rear of the train.

"Conductor? Are you all right?"

The voice was probably an owl, but who could it be? Did the Conductor have an appointment with him? Grooves tried to look at the clock, but there was no clock anywhere in the room. He was not familiar with the Conductor's job, but he knew that he was supposed to keep time. It would be impossible for him not to have a clock anywhere in his room, but no matter where he looked, he could not find a single wall clock, table clock, or anything of the sort. He gave up and went to unlock the door.

"Come in." "Oh good, you're awake. Good morning." "Morning, darling."

The owl's face hardened. "…… Excuse me?" Grooves realized his mistake a little too late and hastily corrected himself. "＿＿＿＿Not you! I was talking to the vase over there." The flowers in the vase were completely withered from overwatering. "Oh, I see……Of course, uhh, I'm- sorry."

The express owl that came to visit the Conductor left a bitter smile on his face and strode off without saying what the requirements were. Having made a mistake from the start, Grooves dejectedly gulped down the remaining coffee in his mug in one gulp.

3. A few minutes later, Grooves rushed to the coach having a pair of scissors instead of coffee. It was because as soon as he finished his conversation with that owl, he noticed an old pocket watch in his coat's right pocket.

The watch was pointing to eight o'clock, and it was almost certain from that owl's reaction that the time probably represented a delay for the Conductor. He had not been told what kind of work the Conductor was doing or what his time schedule was, but he at least understood that it was not to have coffee in his room. He hurriedly searched the room for anything that might give him a clue to deduce his work, but there was nothing, really nothing. The only thing he could learn from that room was how lazy and eccentric the bird called the Conductor was. Nevertheless, the long hand that was pointing to eight o'clock had moved ten centimeters from zero, so Grooves had no choice but to give up and leave the golden room.

His pockets were filled with so many other things besides his pocket watch. A smartphone which is quite small compared to Grooves', a few caramels, a staple-like machine (it is called a scissor), a crumpled movie ticket, a stiff handkerchief, a thin notepad, a bunch of keys, a whistle, a card case, and, he did not know why, a ball that fits his hand size well. He tapped and turned his pockets on the way to the coach, thoroughly examining them for anything that would reveal his schedule. And still there was nothing. Grooves wondered how the Conductor kept track of his schedule. He would have no secretary or manager. If there was a possibility, the answer was in his smartphone. But he couldn't use it because he didn't know the password. He thought about putting in his birthday, but he had never been given by him such a thing.

Opening the sliding doors, he saw that the quiet coach was not full of passengers. There were at most five owls in the thirteen pairs of seats lined up in a row, eating toast, reading the newspaper, and doing what they wanted to do. He was relieved to find that no one seemed to be paying much attention to the Conductor's, (in the other word Grooves'), mistake.

He used a pair of scissors to punch a hole in a piece of paper he had torn out of the notepad, and checked it again to see how it was used. There were some scribbles on the notepad, but most of them were too smeared to be decipherable. There were glimpses of something about submitting an alternative to the McGuffin by the end of the day, something 'sparkling and easy to understand(peck neck!)', and so on. His sponsors, it seems, are a bunch of showy, tiresome birds. This suggests that the Conductor reluctantly decided to change the McGuffin alone because they didn't like the storyline of his movie. Grooves suddenly remembered the two movies that Conductor had entered in the 43rd Annual Bird Movie Award. That beautiful time pieces that were the centerpiece of the movies. When he first saw that one, and when he realized that the Conductor would be using it, he felt a strong sense of discomfort. He didn't expect that a bird who loves antiques would choose such a thing as a prop. Grooves thought the Conductor must have copied his idea.

But maybe this was the reason. ＿＿＿＿It's too late to know now. Even though no one knows if this is true or not.

The yellow owl closed his notepad and, in a somewhat nervous voice, addressed them, "Please have your tickets ready."

Hearing this, the majority of the owls put out their own tickets on the desk without even looking at the Conductor. There was a distinction on the tickets between those with berths and those without, but Grooves was too busy punching them in silently to let them know he was upset to worry about such things. Totally inefficient, he complained in his mind. On the Metro, the machines would do everything for him, but on this train, he had to do it all by hand. He wondered if he was really doing his job well.

"Where's your ticket? Put it out quickly."

Finally it was the turn of the owl seated at the far end of the table, but he had nothing on the table. Grooves got impatient and asked one more time, with a stronger tone, "Where's your ticket?" "I don't have it," the owl looked up at Grooves with tears in his eyes. "I think I might have dropped it."

Grooves, still holding the scissors, blanked out, not knowing what to say to this owl, what action he should take, or how the Conductor would handle a situation like this in the first place. Grooves had never ridden the Owl Express before. It was his first ride, and he was suddenly substituting for the Conductor. He only knew about ticket collection because the Conductor had done it in the movie. What will happen to a passenger when the ticket is lost? Can he get a ticket, or is the rule that this owl is to be dropped off at the next station? The latter seemed different. It mean that he could ride for one station without paying. Then maybe he should be allowed to hand over the ticket. If only he could find that ticket. He was at a loss for a reply and could only say, "I see." His attitude was rather brusque and unreliable, and the fact that the Conductor of the Owl Express said so and took no action made the poor owl even more frightened.

"Let me, uh, …let me buy a ticket." "Oh, yeah. Of course."

Grooves, as if to cover his nervous, re-counted the money he had received from the owl and shoved it into his pocket. He wasn't sure if there was any change he needed to return to the owl, but he decided to trust that the owl would naturally point it out if he needed to do so.

And the ticket. He had to give the owl a ticket, but he had no idea where to find one. The yellow owl searched madly in his pockets for a ticket. The coarse handkerchief was all tangled up in his feathers, and the important rectangular piece of paper did not catch on his fingers at all.

"Where do you plan to go from here today?" "Uh, Dead Bird Station." "…Okay."

The small talk was not tongue-tied enough, and Grooves blinked a few times, finding it hard to breathe. It was not that he had never seen Dead Bird Station before. The only thing he could remember about it was that it was very small and white, and he did not know how to develop a conversation about it. The entire building was pure white, so it reflected the sunlight well, and although it was supposed to be a simple structure, it was extremely painful to the eyes. He didn't even bother to go near the place.

His fingers, slightly moist from sweat, stroked the smooth surface. Finally he remembered the card case. Grooves had not thoroughly checked the inside of that plain white case, come to think of it. He took it out as if praying to God that there might be a ticket in there. The contents were almost empty, but there were three tickets with berths and, miraculously, only one ticket with a regular price left.

"Oh my God," Grooves muttered. Hearing this, the owl became anxious again.

"No?" "No, no, it was the last one. Lucky."

He punched in the ticket and handed it to the passenger.

"I'm sorry. I'll be careful next time." "By all means, darling. No, sorry＿＿＿＿"

He couldn't resist punching himself.

Grooves was walking on the train with a mixture of relief and regret, a feeling of lightness and heaviness that he was not sure what to do with. He was like a tourist who had wandered into a foreign sightseeing spot without a brochure.

He went to the cockpit to find out how much time he had before the next station, but again, he did not get any information about his job. Surprisingly, no password was needed, either because the Conductor had forgotten to lock the cockpit or because he did not usually do so in the first place. The only thing he learned was that the cockpit of the train running in the middle of the desert was surprisingly cold, even for a moon penguin. The train is mechanically controlled, so it must have had to be cooled to increase the efficiency of the energy conversion. He wondered if that was why he always wore such a thick coat, but quickly dismissed the idea. No way he would be here all day long.

Eventually he lost sight of his purpose and was left to explore the train like a child.

The train had many facilities, but they were all nothing special. If someone tried to play billiards on the bumpy train, the cue would move on its own and it would be impossible to play the game, and a sauna could not be entered in such a desert environment, at least for him. There must have been other facilities that should have been installed. An ice cream parlor, a theater room, and so on. He left the locker room. The Conductor had to stay in this place for a long time.＿＿＿＿And he has to make a movie in this boring space.

What a hell, he secretly pitied the Conductor. No matter how much free time he has, he is not even free to go out. He spends his days just walking around on the train and writing movie plots to pass the time. That is why he cannot write any story other than a train western. How could a masterpiece come out of such a life? the Conductor himself may take this hell for granted, or maybe he has given up on escaping, but whatever the case, Grooves thought this environment should be improved.

He should have some time to himself. Then he might be able to make movies other than train westerns, and he might be able to correct some of the terrible prejudice against ＿＿＿＿musicals.

The yellow owl opened every single door, and with each one he grew more convinced that the Owl Express is a terribly dry place, and more pitying about the Conductor who manages it. No mirror ball, not enough space, and far from quiet, all day on such a train. He thought he wouldn't have been able to stand it. On the other hand, a vague feeling grew stronger that he could make this train into something more wonderful and attractive.

If Grooves were the Conductor, and if he had the right to change everything, he would start with his immediate surroundings. He would fill his vanity storage with meaningful stuff and repair this golden feather. He would fill his closet with more fashionable clothes, and the style of those clothes would be trendy. The Conductor should know better the convenience of cool summer jackets. The room would have more subdued white lighting and light-blocking curtains, and the furniture would be replaced with more practical pieces. Only the coffee pantry could stay that way, but the kitchen still has room for improvement. Don't forget to bring some greenery into that deserted, dead room by decorating it with flowers and houseplants.

When it is all over, he will first take plenty of long vacations and go travel to different places. He should get to know and learn more about the world outside of the tracks, not just on them. It is definitely better to have a period of time, at least once a month, to nurture inspiration. Then he will understand that a sci-fi musical is much more artistic than a train western.

With that thought, he suddenly found a bit of enjoyment in the change. He wasn't sure how feasible the idea was, but he thought he should at least change the contents of his closet now. If only he had the time, he would go to a boutique and buy two hands full of summer clothes and a brand new hairbrush. Never had he wished so strongly that he could shop online as he did at this moment. He should have asked the Conductor when his birthday was. Then he could have accessed his digital device.

Grooves walked from door to door, and then, to his surprise, found not a bar, nor a sauna, but a soundproof room. He clapped his hands in delight when he finally realized that he could escape this noisy wheel. He returned his attention from his pleasant fantasy to reality and entered the room with great enthusiasm.

The room was larger than he had expected, with a magnificent grand piano, a conductor's stand, and many chairs surrounding it. He was even gladder when he realized that this was where the express band practiced. When there is an ensemble, a clarinet or a trombone or something would sit on one of these chairs and carefully compose a piece of music. It was a lovely space. It made him happy as a musician to see a cool instrument, no matter how much it was managed by the Conductor of the Owl Express, a rival he hated.

He approached the piano, looked around, and then, curiosity getting the better of him, decided to gently open the lid. Taking off the red felt dust cover, he revealed from underneath the pearly whites of the white keys and the black keys, which were as black as obsidian to all intents and purposes. He unconsciously pressed the key of B. The note that set the standard for everything echoed softly through the room. Interestingly, this piano had lighter keys and softer sound than the one he usually played. The keys had higher steps, perhaps because it was designed to be played with the fingers. He wasn't sure if this was the case with all instruments made by the Owl brand, or if this piano was particularly so, but this fact was too much for him to take in.

DJ Grooves played scales. Playing the piano with his hands instead of his flippers was new and exciting to him. He went with the flow and played a cadenza. The chords sounded pleasant and washed away his anxiety. The chords produced by the soft keys were as clear as a spring river, yet somehow contained a sense of incompleteness. Sunlight, morning, and other such words were appropriate for the sound. It was completely different from the Moon brand pianos, but that was beside the point; this piano was beautiful as an instrument. At the same time, he thought it was unbelievable that this cool piano was on such a boring train.

Grooves settled back in the piano chair, made sure his feet could reach the pedals, and now played a short etude. The piece was designed to practice expressions of dynamics, and he was confident that the etude would be perfect for this soft sound. As he had expected, the piece sounded much prettier played on the Owl's piano than on the Moon brand's, which has a harder sound, for jazz. He got carried away and decided to repeat the etude and play it again with an arrangement. He deconstructed and reassembled the chord progression, adding thickness to the notes with tension chords and arranging the rhythm with staccato and slurs in the main melody. Furthermore, he incorporated syncopation to create a passage that evokes a summer night from a springtime noonday atmosphere.

He could not contain his ideas. Before modulating to the same main key, he remade the chords that made up the main melody into triplets, giving them speed as if they were balls running up a hill. His performance became progressively more grandiose as he added even greater differences in the notes connected by crescendos. He told himself that this piano was made for classical music, where the emphasis is on tone, not jazz, where the emphasis is on arrangement, but he didn't stop. It was fun. Leaving himself to the flow of the sound, he temporarily felt as if he were back in the DJ Grooves, and he forgot that he was on the Owl Express. After a few minutes, his music was finally coming to an end. He did not want to end yet and even considered repeating it again and forcing an extension, but playing with unfamiliar fingers was more strenuous than he had imagined. Gasping for breath, he ended his performance by playing a seventh-degree chord as if punching a key. His fingers and arms ached, and his breathing was a little erratic. He crossed his legs in satisfaction, basking in the afterglow of his performance.

"Bravo!"

but soon it had to be interrupted once by a small clap. Grooves fidgeted and looked for the source of the noise. A lone express owl was standing just behind him, smiling and applauding. His wings were of average length, but his fingers looked a bit long enough to suggest that he might be the owner of this piano. He was so engrossed in his playing that he didn't notice him enter the room. Grooves was surprised, but said "thank you" and answered the applause. His playing has been loved by many audiences before, mostly moon penguins, and as far as he could remember, this was the first time an audience of owls had shouted "bravo!" at him. Music is the best language. Even owls can understand this awesomeness.

He was so happy, in other words, that it was inevitable that he would forget that he was not Grooves right then.

"That was a really great performance, Conductor!"

"＿＿＿＿Oh, thanks……"

The smile dropped from Grooves' face. Conductor. That was it. He was the Conductor, not DJ Grooves, the owl, not the moon penguin. He is not a musician, he is a train conductor. Grooves, a musician, would play as the Conductor who was not a musician by profession. It was only natural an owl who knew nothing about it would react in this way. His mood suddenly plummeted, and the heat that had filled his body quickly dissipated.

"This was the most emotionally rich Op.9 I've ever heard. It's kind of like a very new and beautiful image of a night sparkling with fireflies and starlight, not the soft atmosphere that many pianists play. The interpretation of the tones is careful, and the arrangement is very cool! Besides, your technique is also at a high level. You always seem so busy, when did you learn it?" "Uh, …… when I was a little?" "Woww, why did you keep it a secret? If you are as good as you are, you can be a world-class pianist. In fact, even DJ Grooves would recognize you!" "That's …… umm ……" "Maybe you are better than him. Right? I don't think moon penguin, who makes only loud disco music, can play such delicate music!"

Grooves was speechless with surprise. The good feeling he had had for this owl earlier was completely gone, and instead an unbridled disappointment washed over him. 'only loud disco music'? He wanted to tell the owl that he had just beaten him as a musician by that moon penguin.

But when it came time to say something, he realized he didn't have the right words for it. He had plenty to say as DJ Grooves, but he couldn't find anything to say as the Conductor. It was strange for the Conductor to be defending Grooves. But it was still offensive to have his music mocked by an owl who had nothing to do with it, so in the end he muttered, "I guess not," with some bitterness.

The owl seemed to take that as a sign of modesty or something, and said in a rather gentle voice, "Don't worry about it." No, that's not what he meant, and that's not the reaction he wanted him. It all became too much trouble, and after answering vaguely, he left the room as if to escape.

"Hey, can I listen it again?"

An innocent fan's voice shook Grooves' brain. The yellow owl, completely exhausted, returned to the Conductor's own room and locked the door.

4. Smelling the sand, he collapsed onto the empty bed and tried to empty his head.

He picked up a handful of blankets that had been smashed on the floor and piled them on the bed. Looking at the clock, frighteningly, it was only a little past noon. The Conductor would probably still be working or shooting a movie. Despite this, Grooves didn't want to move. He just wanted to pick up the blankets and not think about anything else. This place is boring and irritating. It was natural for Grooves to feel this way, since the owner of this place thoroughly disliked him, but the difference in environment was too much for the penguin, who was still in shock from being the Conductor.

He closed the lid of his pocket watch. The golden sun, still turning the room and Grooves golden, lit up the dirty watch. The dull metallic sheen reflected an even brighter gold. He sighed. The color was exactly the same as the color reflected on the replicas of the trophies that adorned so many of his rooms. It was exactly the same color as when his accessories or other trophies were reflected on those alloy trophies. That color was Grooves' favorite. It made him feel like he was seeing stars within the stars. It should have been, but he wasn't at all happy to see it anymore.

Maybe it was because he was a yellow owl.

"If…" Grooves muttered. "What if the mistake is never corrected?"

As soon as he realized the possibility, he could clearly feel his heart beating twice as fast. The blood rushed to his head, and he could no longer remain calm. He was thirsty and his eyes should have been able to see clearly, but his brain was not handling it well. A soft blanket slipped from his stiffened fingers and fell to the floor. He bent down to pick it up, but suddenly he felt sick and couldn't reach for the floor. What if he had remained the Conductor? What if he had to live with these golden feathers? What if he had to spend the rest of his life listening to nothing but criticism of himself?

What if he had to fight against himself?

Because it would be. The Conductor has been fighting DJ Grooves for a decade, and it's too late for them to mend their relationship. The reason why DJ Grooves and moon penguins don't like the Conductor and the owls is not because racism, but because they don't try to understand the beauty of his ideas.

The yellow owl involuntarily chewed on the blanket. In doing so, he tried to kill the pressure bubbling deep in his chest. He ate the blanket, struggling to swallow the discomfort that was trying to climb up his esophagus and flood his beak. It was hard and bad. Ridiculous. It's a waste of energy to even think about it. He yelled at himself. "I can definitely get myself back into DJ Grooves, and I will, no matter what."＿＿＿＿

Back to DJ Grooves. Wait, fighting Grooves in the first place is unusual. Unless he has a doppelganger, there is only one DJ Grooves. Rather, in a case like this, he should consider the possibility of him being dead to begin with.

The yellow owl's back bubbled and splashed a little. No, no, no. He stuffed the blanket down his throat and tried to fight the physiological reaction. His beak recognized the strange object and his throat moved fast, and with it, his tonsils began to move wildly. His eyes grew unbearably hot and moist, and then the sun shone on them again, refracted light turning them violently golden, even inside his brain. What would he do then? What if Grooves was dead?

Where was Grooves really last night and what was he doing? All he could remember was that he had been drinking, thinking it would be his last drink, but he ended up drinking until morning. And he had no way to prove it. In fact, if this was a dream that was as close to reality as possible, that would be more convincing than thinking that he had switched places with the Conductor. Or, if it is an afterlife or something, and he is answering the many problems and turning points in his life as DJ Grooves through the perspective of the Conductor.

… It’s just alcohol. But, alcohol.

"No way-" Grooves exclaimed. "I can have stopped it before it happened! I knew I might die!"

He shouted it over and over to reassure himself. But his brain was thinking about something else entirely, and it would not listen to what Grooves said. Wasn't it too rarely to take energy drinks and alcohol at the same time and yet still be alive? Did his body really know, even if his brain did, that the caffeine and alcohol would cancel each other out and he would not be able to get drunk, which would result in him drinking himself to death? Wouldn't he have been drinking anyway, even unconsciously? Couldn't the blood vessels in his brain have swollen, causing him to faint, and then burst, or his brain would have been deprived of oxygen and he would have died? Once he experienced the horror of this firsthand. When he had a niacin flush, his body experienced exactly the same symptoms. His blood warmed up, his brain didn't work properly, and his body turned red and splotchy. It was so hot and scary that he thought he would die if this went on for hours. Their odds of that must be much higher than being the Conductor.

DJ Grooves could have died. Maybe he was still at home, intact, his blood vessels ruptured from too much caffeine and alcohol.

The yellow owl's body trembled. No, I am not. I am DJ Grooves. I am the moon penguin. I am still alive. DJ Grooves is a star. When he dies, it will be in the newspaper…

Maybe no one had noticed. Grooves was drinking at home, not in a fancy bar or anything. And even if a star is found dead, the office will decide when it will be reported by the media. This is because there are too many procedures to be completed, too many business contacts to be contacted, and too many other things to be done, so there is no time to deal with the media or onlookers. Therefore, some procedures must be completed before the public announcement, and then Grooves' death will be reported.

Well, then. Ask him. He hurriedly ran, chewing on the blanket, to the phone. Moving his trembling, heated body, he turned the dial with his fingers, which were not working properly, to DJ Grooves' private number. He held the receiver firmly to his ear and waited to hear Grooves' voice with a clatter.

The bird-anxious melody of "ring, ring, ring" shook Grooves' shoulders. He was about to cry. The receiver trembled and was hard to hold. His jaw ached from the strain of chewing the blanket. He blinked nervously.

Soon nothing was heard.

The strength dropped from the yellow owl's entire body. His stomach instantly heated up and ran down his esophagus. The Conductor vomited. His heart was beating loudly and his body was constantly twitching slightly. All his internal organs were being pulled upward, and strong pressure was taking over. The receiver fell with a loud thud to the floor. Grooves just watched the stark white blanket become stained gold.

The sun quickly lit it up again. Everything inside this train is made of gold. The birds that ride this train, the birds that manage it, the anxiety, anything with color. It is so shimmering that there is no need for a mirror ball.

With the gold he loves.

He shoved the stained blanket into the washing machine, and for a while he continued to wail. The yellow owl shed golden tears unceasingly, sniffing and trying to stifle his voice, but he wasn't quite able to.

Could DJ Grooves dead? A single night's mistake must have killed him? And for some reason, might he have to live again as the Conductor? What a punishment. He punched the golden wall as hard as he could, wanting to take his frustration out on something. But his small fist did not even crack the wall, and the pain only made it heavier. He closed his eyes and howled at the sheer volume of his emotions. Why, why him of all? He was jealous of Grooves, and if no one loved him, he couldn't even take care of himself, a pompous, selfish yellow bird. Every time he thought about it, his head was scratched into a mess. The golden light reflected in his tears turned his brain golden.

He couldn't tell the color of the tomatoes that stained the screen. In fact, it may have been the color of 18-karat gold. It is the gold that seems the most golden. It was the color of that gold that filled his room and ate away and invaded. What color was the wallpaper in his room? He would have made it any color he liked. Then what color did Grooves like? Was it gold, after all? What color was his jacket? What color are his sunglasses? The color of his latest movie posters? The color of his favorite cutlery? The color of his album? What is the color of his piano? What is the color of his phone cover? What is the color of the tomato that stained the screen?

What color are the feathers of moon penguins? What color? ＿＿＿＿What color would they really be?

"Blue……."

Grooves mumbled in a trembling voice. "And white……."

He took several deep breaths and concentrated on regaining his composure. It didn't matter what color he liked. Grooves loves gold, and red, and blue, and white. He just doesn't like silver or bronze, so he wants a gold trophy. He stroked his chest and sang his song in a small, encouraging tone of voice.

He is DJ Grooves. Whether Grooves lived or died, and if he didn't know, he just believed he lives. It is not too late for him to decide what to do with his life after the media reported his death. If he lives, he will return to Grooves someday, and he will prove it. He will play the piano as DJ Grooves, much to the chagrin of that owl.

By the end of the song, Grooves felt a little better and decided to leave this horrid room right away. Something was going to go wrong in there. But he didn't feel like working anymore, and he didn't want to play the piano anymore. What should he do then, he thought as he looked out at the train. Does the Conductor always spend his time feeling this way? He couldn't imagine that a bird living in that creepy room, sleeping and waking up every day, is his rival. If this was the reason he had become so aggressive, he honestly felt sorry for him. The influence of environment on birds is something that cannot be ignored to a large extent. Just like a morning glory that grows easily in the sun cannot even sprout in the shade.

As usual, the outside of the window is full of gold. So much gold, in fact, that it was almost too much. Just as Grooves couldn't eat a hundred tuna sandwiches even if he liked them, he didn't like the color as much at that moment as he did before. Frankly, he wanted to block it out of sight.

"Curtains," he muttered.

Just then a sharp whistle sounded. The windows were now white, the gold gone from the windows. The Owl Express had arrived at Dead Bird Station.

5. He was running through the streets at full speed, fleeing the golden sun.

The heat and glare of the sun were nothing compared to what he felt from the car window. Grooves ran into the mall, out of breath, and took a deep breath in the thick shade. He was shocked to learn that there were places where just walking around would make him suffer, but he couldn't believe that the Conductor had taken no precautions against it. He had no sunscreen, no summer clothes, no handy fan, and no parasol. Grooves had no idea because he had never tried to understand the Conductor or get to know him until now. If worse came to worst, he would die.

If his knowledge is not mistaken, owls also have an inherent preference for cold things like water and ice. They are nocturnal and sensitive to the sun. The desert owls are the only exception, but even they don't imitate walking in the hot sun without a parasol or hat.

Anyway, he had to somehow bring his condition up to the average level. Grooves entered the well air-conditioned mall and quickly searched for a floor map.

There was much to do. First of all he wanted something to replace this heavy, thick, tacky coat. And he have to get good quality, colorful ties. Next things he had to go to the pharmacy and buy lotion, cream, sunscreen, and a parasol. Then he would have to go to the furniture store and buy a comfortable sofa, houseplants, and light-blocking curtains, as well as other things. He wondered how much the total cost would be, but decided not to think about it. The Conductor made Grooves do this. Grooves was doing it for him because the Conductor had neglected the whole thing. If this makeover would allow him to make a decent movie, he would be able to recoup his losses in no time. He walked on with great enthusiasm.

He first visited a boutique that occupied about a quarter of the mall's ground floor. There were about four mannequins in a large glass display, dressed in the style he had expected. As soon as entering the store, he looked through the men's clothing, checked the sizes, elasticity, and thinness of the fabrics, and then put the items in the basket one by one, starting with the ones he liked best. There were no bright colors among the selections, but only monochrome clothes. However, they were not plain, but rather painted or cut in a unique way, with some sort of eye-catching feature. They are easy for beginners to coordinate because they go with basically any color. He tossed the new clothes into the basket again.

Customers and clerks were all owls, as a matter of course, and the clothes on the line were all made by owls for owls. The buttons were much richer in design and variety than those at moon penguins, perhaps because they were designed to be used with fingers, and after 30 minutes in the boutique, Grooves had abandoned his original purpose and was looking at nothing but buttons. There were fabric buttons with tiny sequins sewn all over them that looked like mirror balls, retro wooden buttons that resembled film prints, and simple star-shaped gold buttons. He picked up those samples almost unconsciously. He was pleased to find that there was good stuff in the owl brand. At the same time, it became clear that the owl brand was not the reason the Conductor had such poor taste.

He should definitely buy one of these. Grooves thought as he stared at the modest gold buttons sewn into his coat.

It is understandable that he has to wear this coat because it is his uniform. However, he could not overlook the tatteredness and inconvenience of this coat. A uniform requires a certain degree of non-individuality, but since he is the only one who wears this coat, he should be allowed to wear cufflinks at least. No one would blame him for that, and of course DJ Grooves wouldn't go out of his way to make fun of him or mock him. No matter how much he dislikes him. He wondered if there was a reason why he couldn't, alternating between the buttons and the coat, but quickly reconsidered that there couldn't be. The Conductor is that kind of bird, as far as Grooves knows. He likes to argue and compete with Grooves even when he doesn't have to. There is no deep reason for it, he thought.

He thought for a moment about buying buttons with fancy designs, but after a little consideration, he put them back on the shelf and decided to go with simple, matte black buttons instead. Grooves thought that this would avoid the reflection of the sun on the buttons.

He was about to go to the checkout with his summer casual clothes and a few buttons in his basket, but on his way there he spotted a section with colorful ties. Behind it, he saw a section of shoes. A pair of sneakers with graphic apple dots caught his eye and it pulled his basket. He wandered over and picked up another basket, wondering how many hours it would take at this rate, but still unable to resist his impulse.

Three hours later, Grooves was finally able to leave the boutique and take the escalator. His plan had been to spend about 30 minutes, but there were more choices than he had imagined, and he had completely forgotten about the time. He was supposed to be able to fit his shopping into one small bag, but he already had two of the biggest bags in his hand.

But DJ Grooves was satisfied. He couldn't have been more satisfied. He was happy to finally get out of that heavy uniform and was simply thrilled to be able to wear his new clothes. His new shoes were a little tight, but it was much better than walking through the desert in that horrible outfit. He bumped his heel against the smooth marble floor, enjoying the hard sound it made.

His next stop was the pharmacy on the second floor. He took a shopping cart and hooked his shopping bags onto its handles. Grooves would probably buy a lot of things there, and he knew that if he did, he would not be able to hold the basket with two large bags under his arms.

That was right. He had no idea what brand of owl they were, so he picked them out one by one based on a rough ingredient list and the feel of the testers, but there were so many that the Conductor needed but did not have that he quickly filled up his basket. He took one of the small parasols and carefully placed it on top of the basket, hoping that buying these items would make the sad washbasin smile a little. The parasol with a white sun-exposed side and a black inner side is the most efficient and hardest to tan under. White reflects light and black absorbs light. It would also be more consistent with his casual clothes. While waiting in line at the checkout counter, he placed vitamins and zinc supplements from a nearby shelf into his basket.

"Um, ……are you sure this is all of them?"

The clerk, who just a moment ago had only had to check out a single perfume, looked at the Conductor with a frightened look on his face. The yellow owl asked back, "Do you have something to complain about? The owls lined up behind him let out a collective sigh.

Seeing three large bags hanging from his cart, and seeing that the cart belonged to the Conductor, the passerby owls were naturally curious. Even on the escalator, they often turned and looked up, trying their best to peek at what the Conductor had bought. Grooves secretly muttered to himself, "See? I knew I am doing the right thing." It was nothing short of the end of the life to be so careless about grooming and he could draw attention to himself just by buying a shirt or a parasol.

"What's happened to him, is he brokenhearted?" "It's the opposite, isn't it? He must have met someone..."

Rather, he is not even at that starting point.

But it looked like he no longer had to worry about more shopping bags. Now all he had to do was buy some furniture, and then he would use the delivery service. Grooves didn't know the Conductor's address or even if he lived in a proper house in the first place, but he knew that writing " The Owl Express" or "Dead Bird Studio" would do the trick.

He thought again as he pushed his cart, "what should I buy?" Curtains were absolutely necessary. Any bird would go crazy if it had to look at that glaring sun for hours every day. If he sat on the tattered couch in that hellhole and tried to write a script, everything he wrote would have a bad ending. He sighed as he thought once more of the light that filled that room.

Grooves basically writes his scripts at home, not in the studio. This is because it is the only place where he can relax and not be disturbed. That is why he seriously designs the feel of the furniture, the color of the lighting, and even the paintings on the walls, always keeping the best possible environment for him to show his full potential as a movie director. He has dozens of different types of ink and playlists so that both his writing materials and the music he plays while working can be changed to match the mood of the story. He types up all of his scripts on his computer, but when he wants to check the overall balance or structure of a story, there is no better than analog way to do it. On his desk is a large monitor, a small keyboard, and next to it a big pad of notepaper, a beautiful pen, and a set of colorful inks. ＿＿＿＿How was the Conductor?

He found the store he wanted and he went straight in. Come to think of it, the only thing on the big maple desk was an illustrated book on guns.

He entered the store and headed straight to the curtain section to check out the light-blocking fabric curtains. Grooves did not spend much time on this step. Because the moment he spotted a dark olive curtain, he decided to go for it. It was a simple solid color and less decorative, but he had a sharp intuition that this was the one and that it would be the best, and within seconds he had finished writing the number, length, and number of pieces on the order form.

He ordered a single sofa in the same color and a small low table to match. Unfortunately, he could not buy anything for the kitchen because he did not know what to do with it due to the difference in food culture, but he was able to buy three pieces of beautiful tableware and one set of cutlery. He handed the order form to the counter with a refreshed look on his face: two palm-sized cactus pots, one modern lampshade, and two bookshelves sized to fit nicely in his room space. Hopefully this would clean up the desk. Now the question was whether the Conductor would make good use of them, but he decided to trust that he would take good care of them since they were indeed furniture that had been paid for with his own money.

He wandered around the entire mall, sliding across the floor with his cart, which was now completely heavy. He had generally bought what he wanted to buy, but he felt like he was missing something. Perhaps it wasn't that, he thought, and he was just excited about this situation where he could spend as much of other people's money as he wanted to shop, but that realization did not make this nagging feeling go away.

He casually took out his watch and checked the time. It was already past 6:00 pm. He had been away from the train for about five hours. He was surprised at how quickly the time had flown by. He rested his arm on the cart and tried to remember what he had eaten, other than the coffee he had had in the morning. But he soon remembered that there was no such thing. He hadn't even nibbled on a cookie, let alone eaten a proper lunch of any kind. From the moment he realized this, his tongue gradually became numb and heavy, and he felt as if he were losing strength. He was hungry, he thought grimly, and started pushing the cart again, looking for something to eat.

Although there were many restaurants in the mall, from his cursory glance, they did not look very tasty. Grooves is not a fan of sweet food, nor is he a fan of greasy food. He doesn't like spicy food either, and he can't eat a lot of dry, waterless food. If he has to eat, he will eat, but he has never wanted to eat on his own. Despite this, all the restaurants he could see had that kind of flavor, and most of them were either meat dishes or raspberry parfaits. He tried to read the menu, but he didn't understand anything, so much so that he was surprised that these words even existed as a single word in the first place. He doesn't like oatmeal or lamb. Realizing that he would probably have a hard time finishing eating them, he slouched away from it.

And after unknowingly circling the entire mall in search of food, he finally gave up and left the mall. With both hands full of shopping bags at once, he no longer had any desire to shop for anything. For a brief moment he thought about stopping at a supermarket, but decided to give that up as well. The bags were heavy, he was hungry, and most of all, he was tired. He thought it would probably be faster to eat at the train's cafeteria, so he took out his sunglasses and parasol and turned back the way he came.

It was midsummer but the sun had not yet set, turning the city a golden tint.

6. By the time the Owl Express began its service, he was exhausted. With his cheek pressed against the extremely cold cockpit, he cooled his completely heated body. His body was sticky and limp, and he could have stayed there all night if the vibration hadn't been so bad. The light was coming in through the large window, more copper than gold, and much redder than in the daytime. Knowing that it was already evening, he felt a sense of sadness, whether happy or saddened.

……Come to think of it, where is the Conductor?

He suddenly wondered how his rival was doing. No way was he able to exist as him at this very moment. Conductor is the only bird in the world, and he wished it were so. One bird is enough for such a terrible bird. Leaving aside the question of why such a phenomenon had occurred, he wondered what would happen to birds without their bodies, that is, if they were only conscious, (and he was a little puzzled that the science fiction movie director would think of something so unscientific and occult,) but now his hypothesis was gradually becoming more realistic. If that were to happen, would the bird be unable to wake up? Even if they were awake, they might not be able to feel it. Because the consciousness would not have the sensory organs to receive the five senses. The instinct may go in search of an empty body.

That way they can get up anyway.

Where is the Conductor now? That is, his conscious part. Was he sleeping in this body now? Or was he also spending his time as someone else? Maybe he was on vacation somewhere, or maybe he was on the moon. If there was a bird whose body was taken over by him, he must be a very unlucky bird. If he were them, Grooves would definitely not want to be a part of it, he said, smiling fluently as he sat in the cold, iron cockpit. If he even so much as drops a cigarette butt on the sidewalk, the phones at home and in the office go dead literary. He is being evaluated in real time. No matter how much money he was offered, he could not allow himself to entrust his body to the Conductor under such circumstances.

If he could choose the body of the bird that would take over, who would it be? He thought long and hard as he rested his rounded back against the backrest. What about another moon penguin? It would be interesting to be a moon penguin that wasn't interested in music or show business, he thought. Maybe that type of bird would have something Grooves had cut off, something he couldn't see.

Or, if that bird isn't the Conductor, he can be an owl. With their big feathers, he would like to fly in the cool sky and touch the stars if he could. In reality, it would be difficult because the stars are deathly hot, but there is romance in their feathers. Although he can't like what they like, he is interested in looking at the moon from their point of view.

If he could be anything that wasn't a bird, how about being a mafia? Grooves had never seen or visited their island, but he knew it was famous for its fish. Besides, he had heard that there were many chefs on the island, so he was sure he would be able to eat a lot of delicious dishes there.

And then Grooves suddenly realized a possibility: some birds might want to become DJ Grooves. If there is such a bird, now is the perfect time. His body should be in stasis now, if only he were not dead.……

……Come to think of it, where is the Conductor?

Grooves only hoped that his worst prediction would not come true. He almost fainted at the mere thought of the Conductor living as Grooves in the unlikely event that he did. That bird would definitely do something. Because even in Dead Bird Studio, he couldn't stay still and docile. There is nothing restricting Grooves, in other words, the Conductor, in that wide street right now.

If he causes any problems as Grooves, and then goes back to Grooves himself, it is Grooves, not Conductor, who takes the blame. There is nothing more germane than the entertainment industry on the moon. Worst case scenario, he might not be able to stay a star. The yellow owl felt a chill run down his spine. He wondered if the bird really understood the frustration of having everything he had spent his life accumulating destroyed, not by him, but by someone else. He doubt it. The only thing he had accumulated throughout his life was trophies from movies. He can always get them back.

"When I can't be a star anymore," Grooves muttered out quietly.

In fact, is it really that bad?

Until yesterday, Grooves wanted to quit being a star, which is exactly why he was drinking until he blacked out. Actually, Grooves might want to quit being a star to become a movie director. Even now he continued his contract with Dead Bird Studio as a movie director, but as the Conductor yelled at him one day, he was still DJ Grooves.

In his words, Grooves seems to have mistaken a movie for a music video or something. He blames this on his crew, who treat Grooves as a musician or a star rather than a movie director, and on Grooves himself, who doesn't even try to be anything more than DJ Grooves. At the time, he didn't take this seriously, saying that he didn't want to be told that he was making a movie while operating a train, but it was only recently that he thought that this might be true. Because while the Conductor is a conductor, at least his crew at Dead Bird Studio treats him as a movie director, not as a conductor on the Owl Express. That much, he could tell. Their round, big eyes are just too honest.

Is this an opportunity? Grooves dropped his gaze. His copper-colored feathers were sweating and stiff.

He had thought that when he quit the star, it would be when the moon exploded. But maybe that's not true. Grooves might have already had to retire from show business ten years ago. If he had done so, would he have been able to make better movies? Had he been mistaken about what he was doing for ten years? Was it not simply a matter of skill that he could not beat the Conductor all those years, but because Grooves was the star? If so, it was really a waste of time. As a result, Grooves almost killed a child.＿＿＿＿

At that moment, the phone unexpectedly rang. The yellow owl freaked out and promptly picked up the receiver.

"Hi, Dad."

An exasperated voice over the receiver pricked the Conductor's ears. Grooves replied vaguely, wondering if she is his daughter. She looked so bad from him.

"Why aren't you coming? The kids have been waiting for you all day!" "What about-......?" "What about-......? What's with that reaction? ......Did you forget us?" "No, I mean, that ......."

Grooves tried his best to keep talking, but he felt sick, as if all the water in his body was evaporating as soon as he opened his beak, and in the end he couldn't say anything. The receiver was still angry.

"So you forgot when is their birthday party."

A voice cooler than the one in the cockpit said calmly, with anger inside. "Enough. Have a good day."

With a clang, the phone went dead immediately. Grooves stared at the receiver's speaker, completely lost in thought.

Children, birthday party. 'Why aren't you coming?'

Perhaps it was the birthday of the Conductor's grandchildren, and the Conductor had accepted the invitation. Poor thing, and he felt sorry for the little owl he didn't see. He tried to calm his upset by muttering that he might have been able to attend if the Conductor's calendar had been analog, but of course such a shift in responsibility would not have worked. Had he prepared a gift, or was he going to have one this morning? It was all irrelevant now.

He would have to apologize, he thought as he put the receiver back in its holder. Grooves had caused trouble as the Conductor before the Conductor had caused trouble as Grooves. The same with the birthday party and the performance. That owl still thinks the Conductor is a musician.

He tried again to dial his private phone number, but remembering that didn't work last time, he now dialed his manager's number. This way he would know in one shot whether Grooves was alive or dead. If he was lucky, he might even be able to talk to Grooves.

He put the receiver to his ear again, desperately hoping he would get an answer. If he couldn't get through to this number either, the only number he would have left would be his work number, but as he recalled, he had turned off his phone yesterday while he had been drinking. He hated himself for what he had done last night. Just as he was about to vow never to drink again, the phone finally connected.

"Hello......" "Good, the phone's working, darling＿＿＿＿"

Just as Grooves was about to continue with his second sentence, suddenly a tremendous crash, as if something exploded, hit him in the ear on the radio waves. The yellow owl rushed to pull the receiver away from his ear and shouted, "What's going on?"

"If I knew what was going on, I wouldn't be riding here!" a dirty voice shouted back. From what he could hear, he was crying as he spoke, and occasionally a sniffling sound could be heard. "I don't understand! Who are you anyway?"

"Let me see..." The Yellow Owl was puzzled, wondering whether he should call himself the Conductor or DJ Grooves. The subtle blank spaces were filled with intense sounds and squeals. "What does it matter? What's Grooves doing!"

"He's watching a movie next to me! While he's driving!" "On the road? I heard you got a meeting today!" "How the hell does a stranger know about that, peck neck!"

The manager's shouts became even louder. The painful sound, like a large truck braking sharply, reached Grooves almost as a noise. He has known him for a long time. He had supported Grooves in many ways from the very beginning of Grooves' performing career. But he had never sounded so terrible, and for a moment he wondered if he had dialed the wrong number, but the voice was his.

"I don't know! I really want to go to work!" "Then go!" "He won't let me go!"

He did not say who, but the answer was almost obvious. Maybe Grooves, meaning the Conductor, was driving somewhere with the manager. Grooves still didn't know if the man next to the manager was the Conductor, but Grooves felt almost certain that he was. He tried his best to deduce why the Conductor was driving, but after a minute's thought, he had no idea. In the meantime, he could hear explosions, brakes, wind, squeals, and laughter, one after the other.

"If ye care so much about yer work, go."

Suddenly, a completely new and different voice said as if singing. The distance was far and the voice was low and muffled, making it difficult to hear, but it was clear that it was not the manager's voice.

"I've been telling ye that for a while now. Yer really not groovy." "Then let me go home! Where are we? How long are you going to keep running!?" "Yer a lad of many orders. Why should I, a star, have to pick up and drop off other birds I dinna care about? I'm not a kindergarten bus driver, laddie. Take a walk. Maybe you'll make it in time for work tomorrow." "Quit joking, please! Really, please, go back! Grooves, you're going to get caught if you keep going like this! Do you know what you're doing?" "What is that, a threat? A moon style joke? We're just watching a movie." "Driving under the influence, driving the wrong way, over-speeding, going through all red lights! You just committed four crimes!" "Hmmm...... oh my-, the ashtray is falling!" "Geez! No!!"

Grooves stood there and just listened to the conversation. Crimes? If it was as simple as dropping a cigarette butt, but had the Conductor violated the traffic laws? His mind went blank.

Perhaps the other voice, the one watching the movie, was unmistakably that of DJ Grooves, albeit with a liquor burn. Hearing his own voice from a third-party perspective through TV or radio is a daily occurrence, so it didn't seem too strange to hear his own voice from the phone, but it was still more than a little shocking to hear his own voice saying, "Yer really not groovy."

"If you go home now, I'll forgive you! I'll let bygones be bygones for being AWOL from the radio, for kidnapping me, and for drinking alcohol! Please go home! If you won't do it, All our work will be lost!"

"All our work will be lost!" Grooves' voice amusingly mimicked the manager's shout. It was not at all like him, but it was clear to Grooves over the phone that it contained a distinctly derisive nuance.

"Ye actually think that DJ Grooves became a star because of ye, right? Not only about TV, but ye even meddled in 'my' movie business. On top of that, ye even tried to get me to take you to and from the office right now." "What? Isn't it true? I always work overtime to get the work done, for you!" "Yer a hard worker! If ye want to work hard, work hard on yer own. Don't bother using me, peck neck."

There was a small sound of something opening. "But if ye insist so much, I'll have ye go get a work. Go on!"

The manager's cries became even higher pitched. Apparently, the door had been opened. And since the wind was still howling, the car was probably still running. "I'm gonna fall! I'm falling!"

"What?" Ye started it." "Please! Please! I just want you back!" "But if I go back, ye'll make me work, won't ye? Then I dinna want to." "Well, ......" "I won't let ye go home until ye do at least two less radio shows and one less regular TV show." "............"

All he could hear was the sound of a strong wind. What in the world is going on on the other side of the phone?　No reason at all occurred to him why he needed to go AWOL from the radio, kidnap the manager, and break the traffic laws. Maybe the alcohol from yesterday is still in his blood and that's why the Conductor is so bold in his mind. As an owl, the most he would do is block the doorway to the studio or make a loud noise in the lobby, but as a moon penguin, he is really doing things on a level that is not funny.

There was a jumble of noise, and someone's muttered "but" or "no" came in. Grooves just listened to it silently, worriedly, and didn't know what to say to him.

It's true that lately he hadn't been able to go out and shoot movies properly because of the work he's been doing as a star. Grooves must have talked to his manager about it the other day, but he said irresponsibly, "But I believe you can do it," and instead of reducing his workload, he increased it. No way was he going to reduce his workload without asking for permission, so he took on all of it.

He was vaguely indebted. He knew that he did not feel very well about his making the movie. ＿＿＿＿ From the day the deal with Dead Bird Studio was completed, communication with him started to go a little awry. Every time he received a silver trophy, he said, "Are you still going to do it? If you have time to mind your rival, you should mind your fans." That's true. But he just couldn't forgive his rival. Even when his purpose for making movies changed from dreams to revenge, he still had the clapperboard.

"Darling," Grooves couldn't resist saying. "Give me his time." "Y-you're still here? What the＿＿＿＿"

"Are ye on the phone?" The Conductor entered the conversation, taking a sip of something. "At least it's more interesting than talking to ye. Give me that."

After a brief struggle, the phone connected to the Conductor. "Hello?" A rather languid tone reached his ears over the slow radio waves.

"Darling, I don't know where you are, but you have to come back right now! You'll get caught!" "What? Do you know who you're complaining to? ......No, wait ......."

The Conductor was silent for a moment and later said only, "Are you Grooves?"

"Heh! I'm glad to hear that. I was actually wondering if ye had died somewhere. Ye almost choked to death with a wine bottle in yer beak. That's not good. If yer gonna die, yer have to pay the studio's management fee for the rest of the year before ye do." "Um, sorry about that ...... No, we're off topic! Go back, darling. Now!" "I wish I could. I cannae wait to go home and sleep too. My back and arms hurt from being in the car from morning till night. My throat is kind of sore too, and I feel nauseous ......" "Then do it! Don't ruin my life over a speeding ticket!" "Yer life? It's fine. There was no police car and no one saw us because we weren't on the road in the first place. When he says 'I am sorry', we'll go home quietly, okay?" "Not on the road? Where are you right now?"

The Conductor laughed, as if he had been waiting for that. "We're in the woods. Do ye know? Forests are good. The smell of them is relaxing, it's environmentally friendly, it's free, and it's quiet and comfortable because there's no one around."

That being said, some of the sounds heard earlier sounded like branches and leaves breaking. The tires on his car must be in shreds. "I just had my car serviced," he grumbled.

"Why are you running in such a place? And while watching a movie. It's dangerous!" "What? It's yer fault who installed this feature, isn't it? I was going to drive on a clean, well-paved road without a movie on. But then this lad starts screaming about how terrible it would be if someone saw us, and talking about nonsense, so we're driving through the woods and watching a movie." "Oh, no. ......" "Speaking of movies, ye only downloaded yer own movies? I'm gonna sleep because they're so boring. How am I supposed to download my movies?" "Don't ever touch the screen because it costs money to buy movies! So, will you know how to get home?" "Maybe. Well, if he's not sorry, we'll just run forever. Hey, ......what yer name was, uh, ...manager? What do ye mean ye haven't even opened yer pocketbook? Are ye sure ye wanna go home!?"

There was a sound like something colliding with something. The Conductor must have punced the door. "Please don't do anything to him, darling!"

"He didn't do anything wrong. He was just doing his job!" "Just doing his job? Is it the manager's job to decide everything from breakfast to dinner, to control the type and number of shows you appear on, what ye talk about on the radio, when ye make movies, when ye talk to yer friends, and so on? Is it his job to yell at ye and try to force ye to follow his orders when ye dinna?" "No, I wanna-..." "Oh yeah, whatever. When I told him I was taking off work to go to my grandchildren's birthday party, he hid yer car key. I'm not sure how much he's taking advantage of ye. I had no choice but to give up the birthday party." "Oh, about that..." "Ye couldn't go, could ye? That's fine. If ye ruin their party, I have no face to match them. Don't worry, I'll send them a present later. In fact, I've won tickets to a luxury cruise, and if my daughter will allow it, I'm going to take them on it. Many of them prefer boats to trains, so it will be a great present for them."

The Conductor's, i.e. Grooves', voice softened for that moment. It was such a polite, gentle voice that one could tell at once that he loved his grandchildren. It sounded strange for his own voice to say those things, but it was then that Grooves finally realized that trophies were not the only thing the Conductor cherished. At the same time, he realized that the destination he was looking forward to traveling to would be with the Conductor. He sighed at the thought of being with him again.

"That's why I want to get home early, laddie. I need time to get presents for my lovely grandchildren, and I'd hate to let a moon penguin writes a message card on my behalf. The ticket is not valid forever.......Have ye decided what to cut back on?" "Please＿＿＿＿y-you are drunk now. Let's talk again tomorrow...?"

"What?" "Um, well...I- I just... ＿＿＿＿I'm just saying, ...it's not right! You are a musician by profession, aren't you? But lately you don't write songs, and you don't play! If I didn't bring you musical work, you'd merely be a moon penguin! You talk about movies, ＿＿＿＿movies! You haven't made any achievements at all! Just when I think you've finally started writing your own music, it's the theme song for your movie! No one expects you to get a movie trophy! What they want is your new song and your performance! If I didn't get the work, you wouldn't be doing any of it!"

"So?" "Your popularity means reputation to your firm. You knew that, of course. You became a movie director, and do you know how much that affected my results and my producing operation? I gave you ten years of freedom, Grooves. Because I believed you might have other talents besides music! Your fans still remember the mistake you made in the theater on the moon. Only two trophies are not enough to make up for it. You should make it up for it!"

Suddenly, all sound disappeared as he choked. The breathing, the sound of the wind, nothing could be heard.

Grooves almost dropped the receiver. 'No one expects you to get a movie trophy.' Grooves himself knew that. He wasn't taking the trophy for his manager; he wanted it for himself. But somehow, it was still shocking to hear him say it once. The words of denial from the bird that had been so dedicated and supportive of his activities up to this point was heavy and bitter beyond belief. No one, really no one, saw Grooves as a movie director. They supported Grooves not because they believed he had movie talent, but because they believed in him as a star-

"Is that all? Surprisingly few."

The Conductor said, still with the movie on.

"The reason Grooves can only make crappy movies is because he doesn't have the time to do it. There are more things lacking than that, but at least yer one of the reasons. Do ye know how many months it takes to make one movie? It usually takes six months to make a movie that is less than two hours long. Do ye know what happens to a bird when they cannae spend time on their hobbies and private life? They die of alcoholism.＿＿＿＿Ye almost killed me!" "Uh-uh......ya..." "Ye have something to say to me, right? Don't kill me with yer scummy little squabbles, peck neck. Or rather, don't complain about every single thing I do! Don't forbid me to at least eat chips!"

After that, all that followed was sobbing. When the Conductor made a sound that could be either a sigh or a puff of smoke, the sound of the wind became even higher. Grooves listened with his beak open. As usual, he was still amazed by the Conductor's words and actions. Perhaps he was just trying to scold the manager for not listening to his words, but even so, his words were very kind to his rivals, even considering that they came from the Conductor.

"So, what have ye been doing all day? Ye haven't done anything wrong, have ye?" "What do you mean?" "Did ye make the berth beds? Ye have to change all the bed sheets at eight o'clock. The other birds takes care of the food and baggage, but it's yer job to take care of all the passengers' requests." "Hey, I didn't hear that!" "Peck Neck! Did ye think I just drink coffee on the train? I hoped yer not ignoring all the announcements at every station and not disregarding bringing water and meals to the premier ticketed owls!" "Tell me those things in the morning, darling! You could have called me. You didn't leave your work manual anywhere!" "Of course. why do ye think I do? Seriously, what were ye doing?" "I was shopping! I was buying your clothes, curtains and stuff! There's no way a creepy closet like yours! You were planning to go to the birthday party in that tattered uniform or that jacket, weren't you? Think about how your grandchildren feel for a minute!" "What? Nobody cares..." "No, I care! Appearance is a mirror. If I had a birthday party, I'd want my guests to be beautiful. You know why? It's etiquette, it's a sign of respect. You dress your characters in your movies in new clothes. It's the same thing! If you love your grandchildren so much, why don't you dress them appropriately!" "......W-what? Outsiders should not be involved in this!"

His words lost momentum and took on a tinge of awkwardness. Perhaps he is aware of it. Grooves was relieved that it would not take him long to improve.

"It's a mutual thing. You had three TV shows today, and you skipped all of them!" "That's his fault, isn't it? Hey, have ye decided what yer going to cut back on? Have ye decided!?"

There was a loud rattling noise. The manager choked up and answered in a voice so small they could hardly hear him, "I've decided."

"......All right, let's go home." "And give him some water, please. He'll die of dehydration." "Oh! Water? Hey laddie, all we have is whiskey, but ye drink it, dinna ye? ＿＿＿＿Good, good, ye should drink plenty of it. The only good things to taste on the moon are coffee and liquor. Snacks, steaks, everything tastes so bland." "You just have a bad taste buds, darling."

7. He rubbed his stretched muscles and collapsed lethargically onto the soft bed.

Preparing the berths was more difficult than he had expected. It was hard to see in front of him when he was carrying so many sheets, and they were soiled with drool and sweat, and were so large that putting them in a special net was also a challenge. After that, he had to get new sheets from the linen room and set them on the numerous berths, and the repetitive and simple task of moving around with his unaccustomed body caused him to scream easily. Without help, would he have been able to finish making the beds by the time it was time to go? Absolutely not. Grooves got up slowly and headed for the closet.

Not sure if it's always him, but maybe it's not. ＿＿＿＿The pianist helped him.

"Let me help you!" he suddenly appeared at the bedroom door. Remembering what he had said, Grooves thought for a moment about refusing his help, but he didn't have the strength or energy to do so. In the end, the owl did more than half the work and was able to open the door exactly on time.

His voice was filled with a hint of expectation, "You can't relax if you work all the time, can you?" He knew he was saying this because he wanted him to play the piano again, or because he had found a new friend, but it still sounded very heavy to him. Music, performing, and even shooting movies were all work for Grooves.

He wondered what hobbies he had that were not directly related to his, or his work. For a moment, he thought about whether he had such a thing. He believed himself that there must be a lot of things he just couldn't remember, but even at 8:30, the only answer he could come up with was driving. Even watching movies is almost always a work interview for him, and watching TV is also for his own production strategy. He has never really enjoyed variety shows. He is always thinking about how he should respond when someone makes a bad joke and he is asked to answer it, or how he should react when someone says something that is inconvenient for him. Playing a musical instrument, composing music, and so on, are all work if there is remuneration. The yellow owl took several new ties from one of the shopping bags and carefully hung them on hangers. It is true that Grooves had no freedom or time, but perhaps the manager was not the only cause. Maybe it was his own fault for spending all of his free time not for himself, but for others.

For example, if Grooves had a week off, what would he do? He would compose music on Monday, shoot a movie on Tuesday and Wednesday, watch TV on Thursday, memorize a script on Friday, shoot another movie on Saturday, and prepare for his work on Sunday. That's how he would spend his time. Even today, he should have danced at the club on the moon, never mind the Conductor or the train. Then he wouldn't have vomited. He should have done what he really wanted to do, just as the Conductor cancelled all of Grooves' business and spent the day driving and watching movies while breaking four traffic laws.

As a result, the Conductor succeeded in reducing Grooves' workload. All in all, it was a use of his time that Grooves could never have come up with.

Is that the difference between him and himself? ＿＿＿＿Is that the difference between first and second place, gold and silver?

Once all the ties had been putted away, Grooves went back and looked at the balance of the colors. The strong colors of purple, white, yellow-green, red, and turquoise looked great against the dark wood closet. The pattern was also impeccably gorgeous. In Grooves's opinion, everything the Conductor chooses is too safe. Since his coat and shirt are plain, he should at least wear a tie with a pattern. Not the usual checks and polka dots, but something with a print or embroidery, for example.

He repeated the simple task of arranging and hanging the clothes there again and again. Although he did not want to collect the bed sheets, wash them, and re-set them, strangely enough, it was not hard at all for him to arrange the clothes. Either he liked this kind of thing or it simply suited his nature. He couldn't give him a good answer, even though it was his own thing.

He loves shopping. Especially when he buys a lot of beautiful but inexpensive things, he feels the happiest. When he was a kid, he spent all his money on marbles and sequins and things like that. This is because he didn't have to worry about what would happen to them after they broke. Buying musical instruments and furniture is a little tiring, but clothes and supplies are just pure fun. As the yellow owl brushed his coat, he wondered for a moment if he could call this one of his likes.

If this is correct, Grooves has used about half his time today for himself. If he thought about it, shopping for the Conductor was just one of the good reasons he did. At the time, the possibility that he might not be able to come back as the Conductor was a big one, and he didn't know if Grooves would be alive, meaning he didn't know how long he would spend as the Conductor, so he came up with the idea to go shopping and change his environment. But he would have done so even if he had not. The reason didn't matter as long as he could go shopping.

The yellow owl grinned a little. See, he had forgotten that he had some likes. It is only that he had forgotten about it because he had not done it until now.

The closet was a sight to behold when he finished putting everything together. In the morning there was only uniforms and a jacket, but now there was a traffic jam of clothes, a huge flood.

The same is true of the vanity, which was filled only with old air. It was hard to imagine its owner's tattered feathers from the multicolored containers that now lined them.

After taking care of everything, he looked once more into the well-polished mirror.

The golden feathers glistened softly in the gentle apricot-colored lighting. They were as smooth and fluffy to the touch as they looked. It would take a few more months to see the true beauty of his feathers, as they would not all be in good condition in a day. They were never as strong in color as the reflected light of trophies, but somehow looking at them filled his heart. After all, appearance is a mirror. His feathers looked much better now, when he was happy, than when he looked in the mirror in a terrible feeling.

He wanted him to have continued to take care of him. Grooves doesn't feel good looking at shaggy feathers, and it makes him feel emptier than he should when he thinks about how many times he's been beaten by the owner of those feathers. What to do, he thought, as he settled down on his old coffee-scented couch. Is that bird the kind of bird that will figure out how to do it on its own and make the most of it? No way. If he had such a positive attitude, he would have made more movies in differences. He leaned his back hard against the backrest and turned his head to look at the room. It was then that he noticed for the first time that his neck turned a great deal. He stroked his neck, trying to see where the bones were, only learned that the feathers were smooth to the touch from the treatment. He kept turning his neck from side to side, this way and that, looking for something useful.

But within two minutes, the yellow owl sat up and took a letter set out of his shopping bag. He hadn't expected to use it so quickly, but it was unavoidable. There were no notebooks, pens, or, worse, pencils in the Conductor's room. He must have done all his work digitally. He opened the pen, inwardly mocking his rivals, saying that this is why his inspiration is dead and he can only make boring movies.

After writing out the template, he wrote about the day's events as he thought of them. For starters, Grooves had to apologize to the Conductor to some extent. Of course, it was about the pianist and the birthday party. He did not dare apologize for the shopping. They were absolutely, positively necessary purchases for the Conductor. Honestly speaking, he did not remember how much the total cost was, but it should not have been that much since he only purchased a few pieces of clothing, grooming, and a few pieces of furniture. ＿＿＿＿While writing the sentence, the back of the couch came off and broke. Exclaiming that it was no way, he left the couch and decided to continue writing in the empty coach.

The rearmost coach, the one closest to the caboose, was quiet and cold. He thought it was air-conditioned, but it was not, apparently because the sun was not rising. He buttoned up his coat, sat down in one of the many seats, and spread a letter set on the table. He closed the curtains, turned on the table lamp, and quickly pressed the tip of his pen to the paper.

He tried to be as clear and concise as possible in explaining how to use the many beauty products crammed into the vanity. There were a sizable number of things he wanted him to say or do, but he compromised them to some extent, writing only that he usually applied treatments and that brushing alone was fine.

Grooves knew. The best entrance into anything is not given by others, but by one's own interest. If the Conductor's grandchildren noticed the slightest change in their grandfather, he would take himself somewhat more seriously about his appearance. Anything is fine. For example, a soft feather or a nice scent. If the Conductor strokes them or picks them up, they should notice the change immediately. Whatever it is, if they notice a change in their grandfather and say it out loud, he will start to pay a little more attention to his appearance. The Conductor will never listen to what Grooves says, but he will listen and act on what his grandchildren say.

Speaking of changes, a description of the closet also needed to be written. Grooves bought a lot of ties and non-uniform clothes and stuffed them in there. The ties are all colorful, but as far as shirts and pants go, they are all black and white, so unless you put them together really badly, you should be decently dressed. After he had written all he wanted to write, he stopped holding the pen. There was still space left on the paper even though there was nothing left to write. Grooves was too old to come up with a doodle.

He decided to have something to drink, as he usually did when he was stuck working on a script. He went back to the Conductor's room and looked in the pantry, which was full of coffee beans. It was already night. Not in the mood for caffeine-laden coffee, he looked for packages of tea, juice, and other drinks. Then, among a pile of colorful them, he found an old paper bag. Surprised and dismayed that he was still hiding such a thing, he took it and examined what it contained.

Along with a small bouquet of dried flowers, the paper bag had a message card attached to it. "May everything you want to do go well."＿＿＿＿Whose words were they, and who wrote them in the first place? He felt impatient, as if he had seen something he was not supposed to see. The handwriting was gentle and calm, clearly not that of the Conductor. He opened the bag with trepidation and looked at its contents. It contained several sets of tea bags. They smelled of chamomile. There was only a tiny bit in the large bag, disproportionately small. He returned it quietly to the pantry, shocked.

Eventually, he grabbed his pen again as he sipped the non-cafeined apple flavored tea. As expected, he couldn't bring himself to use that tea bags. It was filled with so much love that even Grooves, an outsider, could tell that he couldn't use it. It must have been made for the Conductor by someone who loved him and gave it to him as a gift.＿＿＿＿And maybe the Conductor knows this, so he is consuming a little bit at a time. That's why the contents were less.

It is not easy to know someone's private parts unless you have the courage to do so. Grooves was a little upset because he had just learned yet another one of his rival's secrets. He downed it with a flavored tea and slowly exhaled air.

A bluish-white light was peeking through a gap in the curtains. It was moonlight. Grooves opened the curtains slightly and looked out the car window at the view beyond.

The desert was white and the sky was black, and many stars were twinkling on it as if they were sprinkled with paint. It was beautiful, he thought honestly. Normally the stars are not visible on the moon, and you cannot see such a magnificent starry sky from Dead Bird Studio, either. It is precisely because it is a lonely desert with nothing bright around that the stars look so beautiful. He looked at it for a while, forgetting about the paper bag and the letter. The cacti and rocks illuminated by the moonlight were all dyed white and looked fantastic. Grooves suddenly looked at his hands. The golden feathers looked white in the bright white night light and blue in the shadows.

The template is usually to end these letters with a phrase of thanks, and he didn't know of any other way to end it neatly.＿＿＿＿He still wasn't sure if he should be thanking that thing or not, but for the time being, he decided to say thank the yellow owl after all, since he had more time to make the movie because of his actions. The way he did it was definitely rough, but it was worth it just to know that he wouldn't get less work if he didn't do that much. ……If Grooves had been able to talk to the manager properly, Conductor would not have had to do that. Thinking about that made him feel just a little bit sorry. Then, just as he was about to finish writing the last part, he remembered that he had finally saved his life. If the Conductor had not woken up, Grooves might have choked to death with a bottle of liquor down his throat. He signed his name with mention of that as well.

He folded it neatly and placed it in an envelope. He cleaned his room and organized the scattered illustrated books and novels just to put it on his desk, though he did not seal it, as he was sure it would be opened soon. (Of course, he had no proof of this. He just wished it were. Just the thought of having to ride the train for a week was horrifying.)

So he hoped that one day soon the conductor would read this letter. And he wanted to see again the golden morning when he wakes up not as a train conductor, but the dark morning when he wakes up as a musician of the moon.

He turned off the lights in his room and snuggled into a pile of blankets. The desert at night was cold, and from the moon penguin's point of view, it was no less so than the moon's.

8. A familiar alarm sounded.

Grooves opened his eyes almost reflexively. He was still swimming in a blur of consciousness, listening to the sound of horns and air coming from outside. No smell, no light. But the alarm went off, so it was morning. Grooves staggered up and stretched. There was a bright white carpet, red bedding, an acoustic guitar, an amplifier, and an upright piano on display. He looked around in order and finally caught sight of a cabinet that housed small replica trophies. There was only two Bird Movie Award trophies, and all the others were filled with trophies he had received when he won music-related competitions, that beloved cabinet.

He stared at it and thought, "The cabinet is there." Then, a few beats later, he realized he was a moon penguin.＿＿＿＿Not the yellow owl, nor the Conductor of the Owl Express.

He did not shout, dance, or try to do anything spectacular. This was probably because he knew that somewhere along the way, this would happen. A feeling of relief rather than joy filled him.

He hummed and went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Then, as he was accustomed to doing, he poured hot water into the instant powder, mixed it quickly, and drank it. It tasted the same as usual. As usual …… But somehow, it seemed extra wonderful to him today. It was good that he is a moon penguin. It was good to be a star. It is good to be a musician, good to love science fiction, good to live on the moon. He thought about it over and over, thankful for everything that made up who he was anyway, from the little things to the big things. It was good that he did not have to lose this.

He returned to his room with his still hot coffee in hand. He soon discovered an unfamiliar sheets of paper on his desk, where he organized.

When he took it up and read it, it was immediately apparent that it was printed. The font, designed to be easy to read with dots, was aligned with the same spacing. It must have been the Conductor who wrote it. He decided to read it, but he was a little surprised to know that he had done the same thing. It started out with an apology. He wrote he was sorry about missing work and about that drive. It also said that he had canceled all of his work for the week because he didn't think this condition would be fixed anytime soon. Then, without a pause, he added a few quips about how to drink. If want to get drunk, he wrote, don't drink expensive liquor at home, buy cheap liquor at a gas station and drink it. Grooves put his fin to his beak, about to say, "I knew it."

Surprisingly, he ended on a thankful note. "I still don't know what kind of things you bought, but I hope they weren't anything fancy." "My grandchildren and daughter might be happier with something you picked out for them than I would be with something I did myself." Satisfied, he read the back of the note.

P.S. I bought 30 movies, or maybe 40, that's about it. Don't try to fight me with your scummy movies. You should watch these and learn how to direct.

He had a bad prediction. Grooves hurriedly turned on his laptop and checked his movie purchase history. The list was indeed filled with movies he had never seen before. The pages that used to be jam-packed with red, blue, and yellow were no longer there, and sepia colors such as brown and black dominated the list. The director of it may or may not have been the Conductor. Perhaps he bought movies he liked. With Grooves' money, of all things. Puzzled, he calculated the amount he had spent from his balance. Old movies were basically expensive, partly because they commanded a premium price. It was hardly much different from the amount Grooves had spent on shopping with the Conductor's money.

^^^^^

Thanks for reading to the end! I was going to make this a more light-hearted and fun story, but... If they switched they would probably act for themselves. However, while Grooves tries to protect the Conductor's life to some extent, the Conductor has no respect for Grooves' life at all. He threatened the manager only because he was a distraction to him, not because he cared about Grooves. However, their actions for their own sake ultimately benefit the rival. Why? Because they are very much alike. Have a good day!!

#a hat in time #ahit conductor #the conductor #ahit dj grooves #dj grooves #ahit fanfic #my fic #my answers

69 notes · View notes

studentinpursuitofclouds · 1 year

Text

After several posts about Lance as a father, and also after a funny comment from @bored-farmer about The First Slash clan as a babysitters for Lance and the Farmer's child, I decided to write a small... fic? If you can call it.

In this story, I left the child and the Farmer neutral (like son or daughter, and Farmer pronounce what you want), so that it fits the other OCs in any way they want to come up with!

Also, the SVE Wiki doesn't have a similar pronunciation description for Guild members, so I made the classic Edmund, Drake and Gale - he/him, and for Brianna - she/her (simple because it's hard to translate others pronunciations in my language, but feel free to give in your own HC pronunciations that you want!)

Story under the cut! And feel free for feedbacks 😃 (and sorry for mistakes, English is still hard)

Warnings: language

________________________________________

Ah, Fable Reef...

Lonely, small, but still such a beautiful and lively island in the middle of a vast ocean, far from the mainland. Few people know that the headquarters of the famous Guild called The First Slash Clan is located here. For them, this is a very convenient post for protecting the ocean from any impending threat. And they chose a very good place - what a beautiful views from this island, truly admire! A breathtaking sunset, exotic palm trees with growing coconuts, crystal clear water with a huge school of fish around, colorful corals, local fauna in the form of small crabs, crustaceans, mollusks...

"Where is... Where is that brat!? Where? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking hell!"

"Language!"

Hmm, yes. These voices are, one might say, another representative of the "fauna" on this island. Namely - the brave members of the Guild mentioned earlier.

"Cursing and shouting won't help the cause, Brianna, - Edmund tried to remain calm and hide his worries in front of his friend and colleague, although in the current situation, it became much more difficult to do this every minute. - Moreover, the child can be nearby and hear all your scolding"

"Believe me, this little asshole still don’t understand shit no matter what am I saying", - Brianna snapped back at Edmund at his moralizing. She did not want to be rude to him, but her nerves began to slowly surrender.

To be honest, the situation was laughably absurd. Losing four-year-old child of Lance and his partner on a small island...

And how did it all start? And it started on Wednesday, everything bad always happened on Wednesday, Brianna thought. It seemed to be an ordinary day, nothing remarkable, nothing foreshadowed trouble. But then she, Drake, Edmund and Gale got an order from Jolyne to watch the Lance's baby for one day. Second-in-command and his spouse had to go to a very important meeting with Magnus and Camilla for almost the whole day, while Jolyne herself went to a meeting of the Guilds on the issue of a torpedo trout. The child was left in the care of four adventurers with Gale at the head, and it seem that it would not be so difficult to take care of the kid. If they only knew how this event will turned out...

For half a day everything was alright: the kid was not particularly capricious, was full, clean, sitting on a pillow in the main hall and drew something with crayons on paper, while the adults were in the same hall doing their usual things. And then bam - and the child disappeared after the magic cotton. Parents, of course, warned that the baby may have small manifestations of magic. The key word is "small".

At the age of four, to already manage, albeit not consciously, chaotically teleport - a talented little one, truly a child of Lance and Farmer. The distance of the teleporters was short, literally two meters from the old point. But before the adults had time to pick up the child, the fidget with a small cotton disappeared from the hall of the headquarters completely. Adults had no choice but to start searching for the "missing little magician".

Brianna couldn't understand why Lance can't just hire a nanny in their hometown. Why should they be the babysitters? Ah yeah, because it's a magical child, with the "gift". It is unlikely that the nanny would be able to keep track of the baby, who would cast mini fireballs or levitate throughout the house. But at least in this case it was possible to push the blame on the nanny, or the same parents. It's not good to think like that, but she's just so tired.

While she and Edmund were standing on the sandy shore and exchanging not too pleasant words, a worried Drake ran up to them:

"I've already searched everywhere, - he said, out of breath, - the main hall, our rooms, the rest room, the armory, the closet with elixirs, combed the entire coast - I can't find the little one!"

Poor Drake, it would seem, he is ready to burst into tears on the spot from the hopelessness of the situation and from the realization that he let his dear friend and idol down.

"Hush Drake, do not lose heart. The kid should be nearby, maybe they just accidentally became invisible. This happened to me as a child when I spilled a potion on myself" - Edmund, hearing the sad tone of the pink-haired Adventurer, began to calm him down.

"You were already a daredevil then, weren't you, Edmund?" - Brianna, of course, will not miss the opportunity to tease het friend, especially since this will somehow help dilute the directed situation. To her caustic comment in his address, Edmund decided to tactfully keep silent.

"Shall we recheck the main hall and rooms then? I feel that the child is somewhere nearby, but I cannot find it", - Drake suggested.

"Uugh.. - Brianna sighed wearily and rubbed her temples in hopes of easing her headache. - Ok, let's do it. But we also need Gale to help us too. Where the hell did he go?!"

"I saw him in the armory, he then teleported somewhere. Maybe he's looking for the shore again? Or..."

"Greetings, my dear friends" - A familiar voice came from behind.

The three adventurers gasped in surprise and abruptly turned their heads towards the source of the sound. Lance was already approaching them, a smile on his face, clearly pleased to see his friends. Behind him was his partner, beloved Farmer, who smiled as broadly and sincerely at their friends from the other Guild. Apparently, poor trio forgot that the parents always teleport silently to the island.

"We apologize for the delay. The meeting dragged on, mostly due to Camilla, who couldn't keep her ass still and interrupt and tease everyone" - The Farmer looked apologetically at the trio of people in blue raincoats.

Lance laughed softly at his soulmate's comment and said, "Careful, my love, or Camilla might hear you"

Then the gallant adventurer looked again at his three colleagues:

"I hope our little one hasn't given you much trouble?"

"I missed my baby so much! - The Farmer said impatiently. - So, where is our precious little treasure?"

Brianna looked at Lance and Farmer like she was seeing them for the first time. Edmund tried to find words that would not cause a sharp panic and the inclusion of the "a la crush-break" action. Drake, on the other hand, was standing, looking at Lance, and small, shiny water droplets appeared on the corners of his eyes. Another second - and the young adventurer is about to cry.

Edmund decided to break the silence: "Lance, the baby is now, uhm, is..."

"Here"

All five turned towards the entrance to the Guild building. Calm Gale approached them, with a chirping and joyful missing child in his arms.

"I decided to show the kid my small collection of shells before leaving. The kid was very interested in them"

In confirmation of his words, the child waved his arms cheerfully, holding a beautiful small rainbow shell in left palm.

"I'm glad that you also had a good time, - Lance picked up the baby in his arms. - "Apologize again for such a sudden request."

"It's okay Lance. You two and the kid are always welcome. I think Jolyne would say the same"

Briana, Edmund and Drake were still silent until at the end of the conversation they said a short goodbye to Lance, Farmers and their child. Now their attention has been completely switched to Gale.

"Gale, what the fuck was that?" - Brianna, even after the shock, did not miss the opportunity to express her emotions rather vulgarly towards her colleague.

"Well, the shell version was much more plausible than the version that the child teleported into another dimension."

"Another dimension?!" - Edmund said too emotionally.

Brianna just sighed and headed towards the entrance to the Guild: "...I need drink, something strong. Edmund, where the hell is your whiskey bottle? I know for sure to have a supply"

"But we're on duty... What would Jolyne say", - Drake tried to protest weakly.

Gale put a hand on Drake's shoulder and smiled warmly.

“I think Jolyne would have had a drink in that situation too.

#what a long post #I maybe can call it full fic #sdv #stardew valley #stardew valley expanded #sve #sve lance #sdv farmer #sve jolyne #sve first slash clan #sve drake #sve brianna #sve gale #sve edmund

23 notes · View notes

astraystayyh · 10 months

Note

Alright I only have one thing to say Sahar. Thank you. Thank you so much for invisible thread and for literary just existing. I cannot explain properly I words how amazing this fic is. You don't even deserve words you deserve poems darling.

One of the things that stood out to me the most was how you represented reader's PTSD because of her mother. As a person who went through a very similar experience (and I do have PTSD yay) this is detailed correctly to the last word. The way you explained reader's guilt properly and her not feeling upset even though her mom died is a very real thing that I have seen happen to me and some of the people around me who've gone through similar experiences. I don't why I'm so fixated on these amazing descriptions but maybe it's because it's not often that I see these things portrayed correctly in media, even in books. Ma'am I will pay you to become an actual author.

I also noticed the way you wrote Y/N's hesitance to love again which was very beautifully conveyed in the first paragraphs. It's like we've known loneliness and desperation for so long that it's the only feeling we have and we accept that it is our destiny. But then Minho steps in and Y/N just feels something else. Something other than loneliness and longing for people to love her. She finally feels proper love and she receives it too. And that's just so comforting.

The colour thing omg I will ramble about this and no one can stop me! It was so painfully beautiful, and I mean that in a good way. Minho's little breakdown and Y/N just straight up feeling guilty is just so.... I can't explain this emotion (143 I love you hehe). It's almost like this is what is a good relationship when you and your partner both are dependent on each other for support both mental and literally everything else. And Minho also feeling guilty that he broke down? It's almost like this one quote I made in 9th grade and I recently also read on the internet "We may be going to Hell, but we know that we have held Heaven in our arms."

One of the reasons I feel like why this story is so comforting is because it portrays love, not as all roses and Cupids but as actual human love. It portrays love in laughter, in the little inside habits we have, in just sitting in silence knowing that we are fluent in it, in baking cakes, in remembering details, in risking everything to get something the other wants and most importantly, in finding solace in one and other. Babes whatever writing pill you're on, GIMME IT.

Overall, this is now in my "I'm coming back to this after angst" fic list! And I'm gonna read this so many times, my gf's gonna think I'm mental.

I offer this Minho picture to you as a gift for creating such a beautiful piece of literature.

I'm sorry if this too long by the way. I was gonna write a 4 page essay but Tumblr said no. Love you babes! I hope you have a great life and find your Minho too!

(PS: I noticed a few days ago an anon translated your name into their native language so I wanted to tell you that in my native languages, Sahar means adventure (in hindi) and the thorns of a rose (in Telugu))

i can't tell you how much times i reread this since you sent it in ☹️☹️☹️ i just want to thank you first for taking the time to write me such sweet and thoughtful feedback, it truly means the world and more to me 🥹 like you've just made all the nights i spent working on this fic worth it!!!

I'm so happy you found yn's reactions realistic :") i really tried to make them as human as they can be, and not too optimistic where everything is forgotten as soon as she's with minho,, i was really afraid it wouldn't be realistic so thank you for letting me know <33

!!!!!!!! yessss,, with minho she no longer longs for love she just receives it freely, without even asking for it,,, and i feel like that's what healthy relationships are about, just a healthy nurturing love

I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKED THE COLORS THINGIE,, it was such a big part of how they opened up to each other in pt.1 so i figured I NEED TO HAVE IT,, anddd yes both of them are so.. cautious around each other, like they don't want to hurt the other at all costs :(( and that's such a pretty quote wow

your description of what kind of love this is MADE ME SO WARM INSIDE,,, ahhhh love can be so beautiful when it's with the right person 🥹

im genuinely so so so HAPPY you liked this fic and that you found it this comforting ☹️☹️ i don't even know what to say apart from thank you, for being so sweet and for just existing as well!!! i hope you're happy and healthy always <3

#it's not too long AT ALL i loved it!!!!!#AND I LOVE THE MINHO PIC 😭😭#“thorns of roses” I LOVE THAT SMMM that's such a pretty meaning #and i love you toooo angel #muahhh #sahar's.asks <3

1 note · View note

merp-blerp · 7 months

Text

Rating Annie On My Mind Book Covers AGAIN Because I Found More Covers

I did a part one of this some time ago, but I have since found more Annie On My Mind (related) covers, so here’s another rating list! Just like before, my ratings only apply to the covers, not the book itself. I love the book and recommend it not only as an important part of sapphic and queer media history, but just as a good, sweet little read. It’s not super… “adventurous” (if that’s the word I’m looking for) in terms of the what happens, but it’s very serene. I guess I’m saying it’s more character driven than plot driven and more “slice-of-life”, but not mundane in my opinion. I don't own any of the photos, I found them online.

⚠️ Light Spoiler Warning on the discussion of the last cover, but nothing too bad. I tried to keep it as vague as possible.

Okay, let’s start!

The Legacy Project - 5/10

This one seems very new. I don’t know the date of this or any covers on this list, but it screams modern YA romance novel cover. It looks like the thrilling sequel to Red, White, and Royal Blue (no shade to that book). I don’t find this style of cover very creative on any book—it’s a bit too common and boring for my taste, but I kinda like this one okay. Not groundbreaking, not awful. I like Annie’s little scrunchie in her black hair (Annie’s the one up the highest, I’m pretty sure. That one looks the most like her), though I don't think she ever wore that. Liza’s hair looks longer than it’s usually implied on the covers and in the story. But exact character description accuracy is by no means everything, I’m being picky and a bit hypocritical as someone who always imagines Annie with bangs for no canon reason. I like how Annie’s head is right by her name and she’s sitting on the “On”. And how Liza’s right by the “My” and sitting the “Mind”. It somewhat tells you who’s who, another reason why I assume. I don’t know, I just don’t have much to say about this one. It’s pretty by the numbers, but nice enough. Definitely not the worst I’ve seen, but not the best. It’s in the middle, which isn’t bad.

Hanbook Korean Cover - 2/10

It’s… pretty uneventful. It’s kind of enticing that you can’t see any identifying features on who I assume are supposed to represent Annie and Liza. When I first saw it I thought it might be treating Annie and Liza both being girls as a “plot twist” of some kind with this cover. But then I threw this cover into Google Translate out of curiosity and apparently the biggest text on the page reads, not the title, but “Girl, Love Girl” (which is hilarious) so I guess not. Google Translate isn't always super reliable, so take that with a grain of salt, but I will be taking a point away from the 3/10 I would've given this cover due to the “incorrect” title. Maybe the reason for the pretty inoffensive cover has something to do with how queerness is taken in Korea, I wouldn’t know what it’s like to be queer there. But again, the “Girl, Love Girl” spells it out pretty blatantly so maybe not? The yellowy-green filter over it is a little random and weird. I can’t help but think of… pee when I see it. So likely the worst one I've seen.

David Bruce Guide - 3/10

So I’m aware the next two covers—maybe even the third cover—are somewhat cheating, as they’re not Annie On My Mind covers really, but I wanted more than two meh covers on this list, so I pulled some strings. My list, my rules. I don’t know what’s actually said in this guide, especially since it’s some, I’m assuming, guy writing about some fictional teen lesbians. The contents could be great, could be awful, but let’s focus on the cover. It looks like someone took a random stock photo of two girls kissing and was like, “Yeah, that’s Annie and Liza, right?” They really don’t favor them at all. I don’t recall anyone having a colorful pixie cut in this story (as cute as it looks on the model). I know that’s not the most important thing, but I will mention it. Otherwise, it looks kinda artsy I guess. Looks like a still from an interpretative dance or something. And as a bit of a sidebar, maybe it's my modern privilege, but the idea of having an entire discussion guide for this book is a little funny to me. What’s going to be discussed? “Hey, should queer people have rights? Should people be able to write whatever they want without their books being burned by bigots? Should kids be able to read whatever they want?” etc. It’s a very “obviously yes” thing to me, but I get that it hasn't always been for others and still isn't for some, so it's not bad this exist (probably, again, I haven't read this guide). I refuse to put this as low as the Virago Upstarts cover from part one, so they get a three out of ten. It's not that bad.

Nancy Garden School Library Journal Cover - 6.5/10

So the reason why this cover is on this list is because of the two girls in the background. I admit that it could be Nancy Garden and her partner Sandy Scott, but for the sake of justifying its place on this list, I’m going to say it’s Annie and Liza. It kinda looks like them to me. I know it’s just a part of a cover, not an actual full cover for Annie On My Mind, but I think there’s a potential vision here for an AOMM cover. I like the scenery on the bench in front of the Brooklyn Bridge. I could see that vision alone being an AOMM cover, even though I don’t think there was an actual scene from the book near the bridge like this. That’s fine, a lot of the AOMM covers over the years don’t feature an actual scene from the novel, including my favorite from part one of this list. And the art is really nice. The drawing of Nancy is a drawing of an actual photo of her and it’s done to a tee. Really nicely done.

I don’t know what to title this one, sorry ‘bout that - 9.5/10

YES, YES, YES! I’m not sure if this is fanmade or not, but I love it, so I had to include it. It looks like something a fan would make and I mean that in the best possible way. The art is super cute and pleasing to the eye. This cover also screams YA romance novel cover like The Legacy Project one, but in a way I personally prefer. It’s actually interesting. The Violets! THE VIOLETS! Violets, both the color—along with other shades of purple like lavender—and the flower, have their place in queer history. Sappho, famous super super early sapphic writer (so early we sapphics/lesbians are named after her and the place she lived) wrote several fragments mentioning violets. So did Emily Dickinson and several other sapphic/potentially sapphic writers. Nancy Garden also did this in AOMM. Liza gifts Annie violets for Thanksgiving. Not only do violets represent everlasting love, but they have a huge sapphic history. I like how Liza is sort of drowning in the violets. I think this could represent 1) how Liza is drowning in her love for Annie, as she’s very head-over-heels for her from day one. Or 2) Liza, having just discovered her sapphic feelings for girls, is very enthralled in what’s such a new world for her. This isn’t purely a bad thing at all, but you could argue that being so obsessed caused Liza to make… awkward decisions, like what she and Annie get up to in Ms. Stevenson and Ms. Widmer’s house, which got them all into deep trouble. She’d also known she was a lesbian for much less time than Annie. It takes her a while to even directly call herself a lesbian with confidence. Maybe that’s why Annie is certainly still in the flowers, as she’s definitely a lesbian and in love with Liza, but she’s not drowning like Liza, not because she doesn’t love her as much, but because she is a bit more seasoned in her sapphic feelings, knows better, and is a bit more cautious, careful, and knowledgeable about being a lesbian. She isn’t quite as willing to do somewhat awkwardly-wild, but sometimes brave things as Liza, like how Liza stood up to Sally and Baxter in Stevenson and Widmer’s house while Annie’s mostly scared-silent during the scene. Though it took two people to do what they did in Stevenson and Widmer’s home, so Liza definitely makes her more daring in some ways she probably wouldn't have otherwise been. They go about their feelings a bit differently. I also like how Annie is placed right by Liza’s head, almost like she’s in Liza’s “thought-bubble” in a way. Fun way to represent the “Annie On My Mind” title. Also, the clouds look like cotton candy—reminds me of Coney Island which was around where the girls had their first kiss. Okay, that last bit felt like a stretch, so maybe I need to stop while I’m ahead, ha! This cover is so close to matching my favorite from part one, except 1) my favorite was in an art style I prefer a little more, but that art style worked better for that cover while it might look kind of funny on this one; the more cartoony style works really well here. 2) I’m not sure if this is fan art or not, so I want to be fair. It’d feel a bit odd putting fan art against an official cover. If this is fan art I’d love to know who made if so I can credit them here! Any help on finding the artist is welcomed. So beautiful! I love it so much!

#annie on my mind #nancy garden #book cover #book covers #book cover review #lgbt representation #lgbt #lesbian #lesbians #liza winthrop #annie kenyon

0 notes

plasticdodecagon · 5 years

Text

words left unsaid (part 2/2)

Prompt: 27. “Can you wait for me?” from the Fictober 2019 prompts.

Fandom: Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery (for @hphm-fictober )

Rating: G

Warnings/Tags: Talbott x Badeea (but uh kind of sad. sorry)

Part 1

Synopsis: Baeea says goodbye to Talbott before leaving for Paris. (Talbott x Badeea)

Badeea doesn't say goodbye at King's Cross, nor in her summer letters, and when it is actually time to catch the Portkey to Paris, she hugs him, holding on to Talbott as if he is made of time itself. And isn't he?

What is fall if it isn't the leaves that get stuck in his hair, the reds and oranges and yellows which complement his golden brown mane? Or winter, if not the snowman they build in Hogsmeade because Talbott has never built one before, if not the snowmen they build after, each wrapped in royal purple Pride of Portree scarves that they steal from Andre? Or spring, if not the poems he writes in the corners of his battered potions textbook, the poems he reads to her while they sit beneath a tree and watch the flowers bloom? Or summer, if not the oddly familiar golden eagle that taps on her window and drops Talbott’s letters in her paint-splattered hands, pages of tiny writing culminating in "Love, Talbott," and once, and forever, "I love you"?

But what is summer if not this moment, slipping out of her fingers no matter how tightly she holds him?

"I have to go," she says.

"I know," he answers.

But she does not move.

The green leaves above them will die and fall to the ground. They will be trampled by snowmen, who will melt. And when summer returns, so will green leaves---but not the same green leaves, and not the same summer, and not the same Badeea, and not the same Talbott.

When she makes herself pull away, he is a blur, a swirl of colors from every season. She steps away, releases time from her fingers, takes hold of a dirty boot instead, and steals one last look at him to ask: Can you wait for me?

But it isn't fair of her to ask him to stand still while she marches toward the person she wants to be, so she doesn’t. And in that moment of silence before she can find the words to say goodbye, she is pulled into Paris.

#fictober19 #hphm fictober #badeea ali #talbott winger #badeea x talbott #i tried to write a little more descriptively but it just translated into more colors and adjectives than i usually write #hogwarts mystery #hphm #could maybe do with another revision but i had to post it so i could focus on elliptic curves #also i think you should know that an earlier draft featured an almost-kiss interrupted by andre retrieving his scarf from that snowman

13 notes · View notes

withloveajaxx · 2 years

Text

i will love you unconditionally

✧ genre: childe, diluc, kazuha, and xiao x gn! reader fluff

✧ warnings: none

✧ summary: how the genshin boys show their unconditional love for you.

✧ note: damn tiktok rlly do always be starting fluffy brainrot. i still have requests to do but i didn't want all this brainrot to fade so please forgive me :"D. anyways, i hope you enjoy these hcs either way. tis a little break from all the requests i've been posting hehe.

CHILDE

as we all know, being a fatui harbinger hinders childe from spending all the time he wants with you.

his field of work demands his attention from the ass crack of dawn all the way to the wee hours of the night.

he hates having to leave while your still peacefully curled up beside him in bed. it hurts him to know that he needs to leave you so often.

so childe shows his love for you through little notes or letters.

in the mornings he's not there, you'll find a little sticky note placed on the bathroom mirror that reads, "good morning, beautiful ;))"

or when your about to leave for you own work, you'll find another little note on the door saying, "have a great day today, babe. love ya <3"

especially during times he has long grueling missions in lands far away, you'll always find his familiar hand writing in the form of long letters.

ocasionally there will be little trinkets shipped along with the letters as well, claiming that they reminded him of you.

he knows it's hard dating someone who spends so much time away from you. he can only hope these notes and letters convey just how much you mean to him.

of course, however, if he has the time you bet he's cuddling, kissing, and going out with you every minute of the day.

DILUC

diluc is aware that he's a man of little words, often being straightforward whenever he talks to anyone.

thus, he shows his love through small touches that has your heart melting from the burning love of his gestures.

earlier on in your relationship especially, he's quite shy to verbally confess just how much he loves you.

he wishes his gentle affection is enough of a hint as to his unconditional fondness for you.

he'll place his hand atop the dining table, palm face up and open as a silent invitation for you to hold them.

if you're busy with something he'll shyly snake his hands around your figure and plant the softest kiss onto your cheek.

even when your sleeping, unaware and unfeeling to his affection, he still makes an effort to exhibit his love for in the form of an embrace.

his hand comes up to tenderly hold the back of your head, tucking it closer into his chest.

he'll stare blearily at your peaceful features until his eyes can no longer fight the heaviness of sleep then plant a kiss to your forehead.

even when he can already utter the words "i love you" to you, there's nothing more reassuring and loving than his homely touch.

KAZUHA

kazuha is a man who is skillful and colorful with his words and phrasing since he is a poet after all.

he can take the simplest of things and weave them into beautiful proses and poems all to show his immeasurable love for you.

sometimes he'll venture out, wander throughout terrains and stumble across the most stunning views of teyvat.

he'll take the beauty of any view or place and tries, to the best of his abilities, transform it into words to describe you.

even in things he loves that are common, ordinary, he'll always find a special meaning in them to relate to you.

of course, he's showed some of these poems to you, but there are so many other you are unaware of.

despite the calm wave of confidence he exudes, he fears his words and descriptions aren't nearly enough to capture the entire essence of your beauty and wonder.

even so, he reveals these poems to you in some way by gently reciting them.

often times he would mutter the words into the wind at night as you slowly fall asleep. he'd still recite some of them if you request him to do so though.

either way, kazuha translates this immense feeling for you through the magic of words. all he can do is hope it's enough.

XIAO

xiao is always a little scared of touching you or staying with you for too long, in fear that his karmic debt would taint you in some way.

given that he's quite hestiant with intimacy, xiao shows his love for you through pretty items and trinkets he manages to pick up along his way.

even though he won't admit it, you're always on his mind whenever you aren't together.

his sharp eyes catch things that he finds useful or visibly appealing when he surveys some areas of liyue.

immediately, he'll think of you, wondering if you'll appreciate this kind of gift for him, if you'll ever use it or even keep it.

he knows he still has difficulty expressing his affection for you in words and actions and he's horribly guilty about that.

so he figures a gift or trinket here and there would reassure you of his love for you.

sometimes he'll leave a perfectly bloomed arrangement of flowers on your desk. or sometimes you'll find new little trinkets around your room here and there.

if he's bold enough on certain days, he gives the gift to you directly. there's a tint of red on his cheeks and he can barely hold eye contact with you, but he holds out his little gift to you either way as he mutters, "here, it's for you. just take it."

he's still incredibly shy, continuously working on ways to physically and verbally show you how much he cherishes you. until his confidence grows and his fears disappear, he wishes his gifts will somehow suffice.

taglist (send an ask to be added or removed): @dawndelion-winery @cxlrose @chichikoi @datu-tadhana @xyliope @simplyxsinned @yaqui-soba @inky-page @mooscutely @spookii-does-stuff @the-gayest-sky-kid @yuezhong @mikachu2x @callmemeelah @xsunaryn @tiredzephh @motherscrustytoenailclippings @xxsweetdreamzxx @irethepotato @favonius-captain @aweebstuff @scaraslover @wonderwrench

2K notes · View notes

dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Text

The Servant and The Prince | Three

Part Three lovelies; do enjoy! I quite liked writing this part.

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki, chapter three

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC

Warnings: Intimacy but not graphic, anger (is that a warning? I feel like it shouldn’t have to be said when it is a Loki fic, the man is canonically angry)

Tags: Fluff, not really angst but suspense

Word count: 4.4k

Disclaimer: I do not speak old Norse Lmfaoo this is purely the basics that I gathered and it 110% is grammatically incorrect so do not come at me for that I am admitting it

Previous | Next

Master List

“Please Surtr.”

Her voice rings through his ears on a loop, the most beautiful and agonizing melody that he has surely ever heard. She must be magic— something strong and powerful and like nothing he has ever seen before. There is no other explanation. It had been magic when she appeared to him, literally falling into his lap as if out of thin air. He is the god of tricks but even he cannot do that— he cannot make women that smell like flower petals land in his arms at will. He wishes he could— more than anything he wishes he could pluck her out of his dreams and bring her back to him. But he cannot because that was not a trick. That was something else entirely.

One moment he had been alone, mulling over his mother’s words from a few days prior. I think you might have a soulmate, my dear. He had been thinking about the information he had been scouring the castle’s libraries for about such a thing— information he was begging Frigga to tell him. Of course, in true Frigga nature she would not tell him. His mother is the most stubborn woman in the realm. Wonderful but stubborn. Only he could have an all-knowing mother who refused to share any of that knowledge. She told him it was dangerous to know the future— that it must happen as it will. What nonsense. How is he supposed to find her if he knows nothing about her?

The books were of little use to him as well. The information in them was outdated and flimsy at best. They consisted mainly of a couple second person accounts and scroll that he could translate if he was given a few days. Unfortunately time is of the essence and he does not have a few days. He barely has one day. One day to find his person or to give her up. And he thought he was the cruellest god. Apparently not. Anyway, that was where he was when she fell into his lap- mulling over a page of runes that looked more like gibberish than anything he had ever seen.

One moment he had been sitting at his desk, pretending like the sunshine on his hand was a product of any sky other than Asgard’s. The next moment he was being straddled by a misty figure that smelled like an afternoon in the castle gardens. He could not see a single detail about her— not her hair or her eyes or anything else— but he could feel her. She was warm and soft, her thighs heavenly around him. She was his own, little slice of Valhalla— a perfect fit. Frigga was right; all it took was a few seconds in her presence and he knew. She was his soulmate.

A soulmate who seemed like she was out to make him crazy for her, no less. Sure he could not see her but it was not hard to tell that her thighs around him were bare, squeezing him against her smooth skin with reckless abandon. It would have taken significantly less for him to go mad for her— honestly it would have taken nothing at all— but, Odin, if that was what she was going for then she definitely succeeded. He can still feel her warmth pressed against him, the way she had sunken down onto him immediately. She knew too. How much she knew he cannot say but she had to have known something- felt something— by the way she melted perfectly into him. She was his from the moment she appeared and she seemed to know it— embrace it. She acted like he was hers too and it was by far the sexiest thing he had ever experienced in all of his thousand years. That is surely saying something.

Obviously he did not just simply give in to her flowery aroma and Valhalla thighs- he had tried to speak to her. Many times actually. She just could not hear him. Of course it took him many times to realize that. He probably asked for her name and where she came from about a hundred times before she finally rocked her hips against his and tapped her lips with two wispy fingers. Be quiet you idiot, I cannot hear you. That is what he imagined she had said. It is what he would have said to himself if he were in her position.

He was floored, to say the least. He has never been floored before- not like that at least. Not in a good way. He stopped wondering where she came from after that. It no longer mattered from where on Asgard she had appeared, only how to ensure that she did not leave him again. He had been looking for her- scouring useless books and a stubborn mother- and then there she was, right before him, and he was determined to hold onto her.

Still, he had not leaned immediately into her touch. She had not made it easy on him, her gentle fingers reaching up to cup his face, scratching through the days worth of hair on his jaw. That was impossible to resist, he simply had to press his lips against her palm. The rest, though, made him go still, evaluating the situation. He had no clue what she actually wanted- how much she actually understood. He had grabbed her hips in reflex- a defense mechanism- she had appeared out of literal thin air after all. He had gone to move his hand almost immediately after grabbing her- well, once the shock had worn off. She was quite warm, though. Distractingly so. It takes a few seconds to push through that kind of daze. That was where things got interesting.

She had begun sliding off him. Maybe she had been in that same sweet daze too because, from what little of her he could see through the misty white haze, she appeared to be lost in her own little world. Her bottom lip was pushed out- colourless but plump- her soft body slowly shifting. There is no way she had noticed; she had made no move to catch herself.

So he did.

He is not really in the game of letting women fall into heaps on his bedroom floor, let alone one that makes his heart beat the way that she does. It was a simple action- all he did was anchor his arm more steadily around her body- but in doing so he unleashed a chain of reactions that, even now, he cannot fully comprehend. It is honestly quite mind boggling how everything played out. If Frigga had woken him up that morning and told him that his soulmate would jump into his lap later that day and then proceed to tease him for an entire hour, he would have laughed. No, he would have rolled over and gone back to sleep. The point is he would not have believed her. Frigga, his oracle mother. Maybe that is why she did not tell him.

So there she was, falling, and there he was, catching her, and somewhere in that small chain reaction he had pulled her higher onto his lap- again, to keep her from falling off him completely- and that is when her eyes flashed the brightest silver he has ever seen. It was only for a few seconds but it was there; he saw it! It had made him freeze. Not many things make him freeze. He is a god. But there he was, frozen on that stupid wooden chair with what he can only assume was the most idiotic expression any man has ever held. It had to be magic- there is no other explanation for the way his ability to breathe completely vanished. It was like her eyes mattered more than air itself.

Meanwhile she was moving her hips again and then her hands were digging into his shoulders. It was blissful- no that is not strong enough. Trekking through the woods alone is blissful; she was something else entirely. Of course he was still frozen- a damn statue- as his little soulmate squeezed those Valhalla thighs around him harder and sunk down onto him- right in that exact spot that made him wonder for a second if she was sent to him as a test of willpower.

But no, there is no way that was the case; not with the way her silver eyes sparked again and rolled back into her head like it was the first time she had ever felt something like that. Not with the way her misty lips had parted, some of the luscious color finally peeking through, releasing a sound that he would have gladly fought every other god in the realm to be able to hear. He could not help but reach out in that moment and touch her face. He had to make sure she was real. Yes, she was on his lap but that was not enough. He had to know for sure. As soon as his fingers had met her soft skin it was game over. She was real and she was there.

His hand hooked around the back of her neck easily, as though her head was meant to be held by him- the same way her thighs engulfed him perfectly. He nudged her gently- for a moment she had gone still. Asleep maybe. He wanted to see her eyes again though. He had not been disappointed when her eyelids opened to reveal a lightning storm of molten silver swirling in her irises. Forget Valhalla thighs; every part of her was carved from the stuff of the heavens. Still he glanced down to look at them, his eyes dancing over where her misty dress had ridden up to reveal two perfectly smooth legs. Magic, he had thought to himself again. Definitely magic.

He needed more.

He had to make her eyes spark even more. He had pulled her higher- closer- his hand squeezing her hip, pushing her into him harder. It worked. But not only did it work, it made something more happen. It made her speak. It made him hear her. Sort of. Not fully, her voice was muffled- like she was trapped under the surf- but he could hear some of it. The little sighs and whines. He could hear them and now that he could hear them he never wanted them to stop hearing them. It seemed like she felt the same way, her hands shooting out and dragging his face towards her, her muffled voice now frantic. There are very few things that he would have not done in that moment to understand what she was saying. Thankfully he had not had to do any of them. She had not given him the chance to do any of them.

He will hand it to his soulmate, she is a strong little thing. To be fair he had not been expecting for her to literally yank him closer to her, fisting his shoulders like she was on a whole different kind of mission than the one he was starting to believe she was on. For a moment there he thought he was going to stop breathing for a completely different reason. A deadly reason. But no, she was not trying to kill him. That is not to say that his heart did not stop- it most certainly had. How could it not? Her dress was fully around her hips now. That would make even the strongest man crumble. He would like to think that he is the strongest man but, honestly, in that moment he had to rethink that stance. He was not strong there.

Apparently he had froze again because the next thing he knew she was throwing herself at him harder, her flower scented body wrapping around him completely as she sank against his neck. She was not letting up- his heart was going to fail, he had been sure of it. He was going to die and she was going to disappear and whoever found him would be left to wonder what in Asgard happened in order to make the trickster god die with a shit eating grin on his face. How fucking ironic.

To think she had not even started torturing him yet and he was already imagining his demise. Looking back on it now he could laugh. In fact he does, a small chuckle breaching his daydream. If only he had known that soon she would press her velvet lips against his neck and steal the last drop of his composure. Maybe he would have been able to intercept it- to press his own lips against hers and feel that lighting sparking through her veins. If only foresight was as sharp as hindsight. What a terribly cruel thing it is to be able to know what he should have done only after it has happened.

Before he can fall deeper into the memory- that blithe experience of pressing her soft body into the very desk he sits at now- there is a knock on his door.

“Loki?” He is not even the slightest bit surprised to hear Frigga’s voice filtering in from the other side of the heavy wooden door.

He does not bother standing. “Come in, mother.”

His room fills with the squeaking of the door on it’s hinges and the soft sound of her heels click, click, clicking against the stone floor. He turns slightly over his shoulder, peering at the tall woman as she glides towards him. If he were not able to hear her shoes he would swear that she is floating, not actually touching the floor. She is much too graceful for her own good, especially given the clunky man she is married to. They definitely balance each other out, that is for sure.

Loki nods at her when she stops a few feet away from him. She glances around his room, her lips pressing together. He does not really know why- it is immaculate as always. Empty. Maybe that is the point, though. Maybe she wishes it was not. He wishes that at least. She continues to stare for a few more moments, her face shielded. It is unnerving, to say the least. He goes to offer her a greeting- to add some sound to the emptiness- but she beats him to it.

“You saw her.” She is still looking at his emerald bed.

His eyes widen. He blinks a few times to hide it but his mother never turns to look at him. Now she stares out the window, lifting one of her small hands to wave in and out of the light that filters through. He cannot look at the light for too long without his mind wandering dangerously. A wandering mind is never usually dangerous but around Frigga it is the most dangerous thing a person can have. He refuses to give his mother even more access to his mind than she already has.

He sinks back against the chair, schooling his features into a cool grin when she finally turns to look at him. “Saw who?”

Frigga rolls her crystal eyes at him, scoffing. “Do not play coy with me son. Now is not the time for games.”

His grin drops. Yeah, that is pretty much exactly what he is expecting her to say. Still he had to try. One of these days he will be able to bar his nosy mother from his thoughts. Not today, but one day.

“Yes, I saw her.” He grinds out. Sometimes speaking to her feels like when he was a boy having his baby teeth pulled out- irritating.

“Do go on. I somehow doubt that is where the story ends.” She leans her back against the wall near his window, her slender arms crossing over her chest, brushing against her flowing blonde hair.

He has to look away again, standing and turning to gaze anywhere but in that general area. There is too much electricity still- too much of her. He does not know what to say about her. He is not about to share the gory details with his mother. He refuses. If she wants to know that badly then she can close her eyes and conjure the image herself, she is more than capable of such a simple spell. For her it would be as easy as breathing.

“She just appeared,” he shrugs. It is the truth, after all. “Out of thin air. One moment nothing and the next moment-” he spins back to his mother, mimicking a small explosion with his fingers- “poof. A soulmate.”

Frigga raises a golden brow, her lips caught somewhere between a smile and a frown. “Poof?”

“A soulmate.” Loki finishes for her, shrugging again.

He does not understand it either. It is almost comical- two of the most powerful beings in the realm positively stumped over a disappearing act. This is child's play after all! Surely one of those books he had been scouring earlier would know something about this. If only he had known what to look for at the time. Vanishing soulmates. Invisible girl. Lightning eyes. Again, hindsight is a jest.

“Well,” Frigga muses, lines appearing on her otherwise flawless forehead as she paces a few steps, her heels click-clicking again. “What did she look like?”

This time he laughs. Now it is comical. “I have not the faintest clue.”

She freezes in her pacing, now half-way across his room, “what do you mean you have not a clue? Surely you must have seen her.”

He shakes his head again, his laughter a little more desperate this time. Suddenly it is not so funny anymore. It never was. He knows that. Better than anyone. He can feel everywhere her body is not touching his and it is a kind of agony that he had not known existed prior to this. He has been in battles before- had pieces of him sliced off and sewn back on- but this is different. You cannot stitch an invisible wound. There is no blood proof, no sign of injury, not even a limp. Just a man who feels like his insides are being ripped out of his body- like his damn organs are trying to find their way back to her; with or without him. He almost breaks down and pleads with them. Take me with you.

“Loki?” Frigga’s hand against his face breaks him from his daze. She is always saving him; it is infuriating.

His voice is just a whisper when finally answers. “No, mother. She was just mist. I could touch her but I could not see her. Well, not her appearance. I could see the mist.”

His mother’s hand on his cheek stills. “Can you explain the mist?”

His back straightens, the corners of his mouth turning down in a sneer he cannot force away. Usually he would never be so cruel with Frigga, no matter how badly he would like to. It makes him feel guilty- ashamed. He never wants to hurt her. Right now, though, he cannot keep the ice out of his voice. It is in his nature after all.

“It was mist. I really do not know what you want me to say. White mist. Clouds maybe. Is there anything else you would like to know, mother?” He squeezes his fist together, concealing where the tips of his fingers begin to frost over.

It is pointless- she would not have noticed anyway. She had drawn away from as soon as he started describing his invisible soulmate. Now Frigga’s face is stoney- her eyes glazed over. She is no longer in his room. He does not know where she is but he has seen this happen before. Not often enough to keep his heart from skipping a beat. His mother is fine but somewhere inside him that scared little boy debates tugging on her sleeve just to make sure.

“Hylli mær.” He flinches back when she speaks.

Her voice does not sound like his mother’s usual gentle tread. It is deeper- stronger- and echoes against the stone walls. Loyal maiden. Frigga never uses the old tongue anymore. She used to, when he was little. It was how he learned the language of the gods. She would sing him lullabies about kings and monsters, all in a language he could not decipher. For what seemed like the longest time he could not understand the stories. Then one day he could. It was as simple as that- as simple as a children's song. This is different though- she is not singing to him anymore.

Loki takes a careful step back towards his mother, noting how her eyes do not follow his movements. “Mother, what are you-”

Frigga’s eyes snap to him and he goes rigid, his words halting. Her gaze still does not reach him but the haunting stare on his mother’s face could very well fool most people. Not her son, but most people. It is still unsettling, the hair on the back of his neck raising. That might be from the way the ends of her golden hair begin to float up around her face though. Her pink lips keep moving but no words form. Loki takes one of her hands, tensing when her molten skin touches his freezing fingers. His touch makes her speak again.

“Silfr auga, ríkr mær.” Silver eyed, powerful maiden.

Her voice is louder this time, no doubt seeping into the hallway. Her hair now floats around the crown of her head and the flowing sleeves of her gown begin to rise as well. He cannot be sure what his mother is seeing but whatever it is does not seem like a walk in the gardens. Her skin grows hotter by the second until finally he has to drop her hand to keep from burning his own flesh. He glances down at his hands, noticing the azure shade rising to meet the new temperature and blanching. No.

“Stǫðva!” He barks, grasping his mother’s slender shoulders, recoiling at the sharp edge in his voice. He has to do it, he reminds himself.

Thankfully that is all it takes to snap her out of her vision. Frigga blinks rapidly, her golden hair dropping against her chest, her crystal eyes darting around his room before focussing in on him again. It takes a moment for her sleeves to drop as well but when they do he decides it is okay to let go of her.

“Loki?” She lifts a hand to her eye, rubbing a circle under her brow. “What happened?”

What? He cocks his head, his mouth opening. He presses it closed quickly. Once again he has no idea what to say. Does she not remember? He lifts his eyes to the window, trying to form a sentence that will make even a little bit of sense. He is starting to get really tired of not knowing what to say. Some silver tongue he is.

“Mother-” he keeps his voice gentle, a stark contrast to the last few moments- “you were having a vision. You spoke in the tongue of the gods. Can you remember anything you saw?”

There is silence in his room for a long moment as he watches Frigga’s finger stop, her lips pursing. In that moment he wishes many things. He wishes he could hear the click-clicking of her heels, if only to fill the quiet. He wishes he were back in the library, scouring for anything that might give him even the faintest clue as to what in Niflheim is happening to him. Most of all though he wishes he was curled up once more with the soft girl- his soft girl- her face pressed against his neck and his hands locked around her back. He does not even have to see her- he will take anything at this point. Anything for just a second of peace. He cannot recall ever having felt this damn tired before.

Frigga’s hands slam against his shoulders, her bright eyes wide. Her fingers tremble against his leather armor. “I remember-” she gasps and he tries to ignore the way her hair begins to rise again- “I remember! She is here!”

“What?” He chokes, his hands rushing out to grab his mother’s before she can pull away.

Something inside him snaps, his vision laser focusing on the woman in front of him. He is not giving her the chance to scamper away this time- she will tell him everything she knows. Now. He does not care that she is his mother. She said it herself; this is not a game anymore.

It never was.

“Tell me what you saw.” There is not even a hint of question in his voice.

“I did not see her, per say.” She responds, her brows narrowing, her eyes taking on that far away look again. It makes his shoulders soften- she is cooperating. “I saw the mist you spoke of though. I felt her. My son, she is strong. I do not know how I missed her presence when she entered the city. Her power is disguised I think- unlike anything I have felt. I do not even know if she knows it. She was following behind two people and in her arms were many bags. They have come for the festival. I could not see them either but they were passing the castle gates just moments ago. They are here-”

Loki hangs on to every word that flows from her mouth, picking the important details from her rambling. The more he hears the more his shoulders tighten again until finally his spine is as straight as a pin, his veins flowing with just barely veiled power. His fingertips are so cold now that he can no longer feel them.

Strong.

Power.

Disguised.

Castle.

Here.

As soon as that word slips from her tongue he is moving, spinning on his heel and all but sprinting out of his bedroom. He has no idea the direction to go or where to even begin looking for her. The castle alone is almost as big as the city. His mother had said she entered the castle though so that means through one of the gates. A picture of the large golden gates- the main gates- appears in his mind. That makes the most sense, the most people will be entering there. Before he knows it he is sprinting, his boots pounding against the stone as he pushes himself as fast as he can go. He will find her today, even if it is the last thing he does.

It very well might be too, because the raven haired god rushes out of his room before his mother can finish the last of her sentence- “and she is in great danger.”

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki fic #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki layfeyson x reader #loki layfeyson imagine #loki imagine #mcu #mcu fic

80 notes · View notes

imaginesupply · 3 years

Text

Homecoming - Chapter Three

(Gif's not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Three starts after the cut. (Chapter Two can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in future chapters or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

Chapter Three

Chapter warnings: Smut, alcohol consumption (moderate), mentions of contraception and of pregnancy.

I think that’s it, but this chapter killed my brain – it was very difficult to write and I feel like I botched it. There are various important moments in this chapter that I found very hard to translate from my brain into words. And the smut, oh my God, it’s so bad!

"You know, when you came to me all bossy and told me to lose my clothes, I had something a lot different in mind." Sy grumbled from the bed, where he was sat wearing nothing but boxer briefs.

Ada laughed and turned around, sticking out her tongue at him before going back to what she was doing, namely sorting through Sy's clothes in the walk-in closet. She slid a pair of jeans off its hangers and threw it at him without looking back. "I admit that I probably don't need as many clothes as I own, but you're definitely a minimalist."

Sy grunted noncommittally, he was not amused, but tried on the jeans all the same. They didn't fit, he couldn't pull them up past the thighs. "Hey darlin'," he called her, a hint of amusement audible in his voice.

She turned around at the pet name and then forced herself not to laugh at the sight in front of her. Sy had already been a burly man when they had met, but it seemed he had managed to gain even more muscle mass in the past few months, now looking like an absolute bear of a man. Ada grinned and tilted her head at the cardboard box at the end of the bed. "Put those in the donation pile."

"Yes, ma'am," Sy said, getting up and doing as asked.

Ada grabbed her small pencil and added another item to the list. "So, you need jeans, new boots, sweatshirts, t-shirts..." She went on, listing the items. What he needed was a whole new wardrobe and she was the woman for the mission.

Turning around, she found Sy rolling his eyes at her. "I ain't need no new t-shirts, woman. I got the black one, the red one and the khaki one."

Ada chuckled and approached him on the bed, coming to stand between his legs. It was unusual for her to be taller than him, and with him sitting on the bed and her standing up, she still didn't have that much of an advantage. With a grin, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead before pulling back to look into his eyes. Instinctively, almost an automatism, his hands found purchase on her hips.

"Last time you wore your red 'DILLIGAF' t-shirt, three separate kids stopped and asked you what the acronym stood for and you looked at me for help."

Sy held her gaze, not keen on losing the staring contest. Ada didn't want to relent but she didn't want to force him either, not after what had happened while grocery shopping. "It's okay if you really don't want to go, I won't for-"

Sy shook his head, silencing her before she could even finish. "Let's get this shopping over with. But I'm warning you: I'll be complaining the whole time."

For a moment, Ada pursed her lips, seemingly unconvinced but eventually her frown was replaced with a grin. "I would expect nothing else from you, grumpy bear," she teased before turning around, excited about the task at hand.

Sy left to get dressed but not before landing a playful smack on her ass.

°°°

It went just as Ada had imagined. Sy sat down on the sofa at the far end of the store, keeping everything in sight, and she would occasionally come up to him with suggestions. To an onlooker, they resembled a devout worshipper trying to make offerings to a very picky and very handsome god.

His replies to the items she presented to him went anywhere from 'no' to 'not a chance in hell', without forgetting the classic 'you lost your mind, darlin’'.

After visiting three stores and Ada trying to visually guess his size because Sy absolutely refused to try out any of the clothes, they had managed to get most of what he needed. It just turned out to be near recreations of the clothes he already owned, just bigger and newer. And with more child friendly texts.

They stopped for coffee by the center of the open-air mall. True to himself, Sy ordered just that - a coffee with 'none of the fancy shit'.

"You're sure you don't want to go to any of your stores?" Sy asked, watching her sip on her colorful drink.

Well, the idea was tempting but she already had more candles and blankets than necessary. And she knew he was uneasy even if he was hiding it well. "No, it's okay. I know you don't like shopping and I can just ask some friends if I really want to go." Sy hummed.

By the time Ada finished her season exclusive drink, she noticed Sy was staring at a shop window. She was almost excited that he was finally interested in buying clothes before noticing that it was some video game advertisement.

"You can buy the game, if you want. No need to stare," she teased.

He reverted his attention back to her. "It's only compatible with the new console that came out last month and that one's sold out." Ada started beaming as he spoke. "What?"

"Well... a few months ago, I came across the launch announcement on the Internet. And I had seen the old model in the study, so I knew you liked it and since you were coming home soon..."

Sy's eyes became even bluer for a moment, a huge grin threatening to illuminate his face. "Are you saying that...?"

Ada laughed, shaking her head. He looked like a kid on Christmas Day. "Yes. It's wrapped in gift paper in the basement under the utility sink."

"I love you, wife."

Again, she scoffed. "Yeah, yeah... Now let's go get you that damn game."

°°°

Later that day, or rather night, Sy wasn't even paying attention to the movie they, or rather, she was watching. He had gotten the gist of it - superheroes teaming up together to save the world - that sufficed him. His focus was entirely on his wife nested between his legs, her back resting against his chest.

When they got home from the mall and went to sort through his clothes and belongings, finally unpacking the rest of his duffel bag, Ada came across his dog tags. She asked if she could keep them. Sy frowned at the odd request but agreed nonetheless, shrugging dismissively.

Ada then proceeded to put the chain around her neck and slide the tags under her blouse. He had stared at her a little confused; she was smiling, looking all smug as if she had managed to trick him out of something valuable and not just two cheap metal tags hanging off an equally cheap chain.

"The fact that I get to have both your tags means I am very lucky to have gotten you back alive and in one piece. I don't want to ever forget that."

With his height advantage, even sitting behind her, Sy could see the chain disappearing under her pajamas and the tags resting in the valley of her breasts. Somehow, the sight made him feel even more possessive than the wedding band on her ring finger.

Things always had felt slightly uncertain with Ada, there had always been the shadow of a doubt in his mind when it came to her. They had gotten married on a whim and she knew he was a green beret, deployed most of the time. It's an entirely different thing to marry someone you get to see for a couple of weeks every once in a blue moon and to actually live, share a home with someone. When Sy had told her, he was coming home for good over the phone, he had half expected her to ask him for a divorce or to find himself alone at the airport. His face hadn't shown it, but when Ada put on the damn chain he had hated wearing in the goddamn desert where it would chafe his nape or get tangled in his chest hairs, Sy felt as happy as a sand boy.

She seemed honest when she said there was nothing going on with that Tom guy. Not that he could truly blame her if there was, even if it would have broken him. His parents had been married for over thirty-five years and his mom found a new boyfriend not even two years after his father's passing.

And yet, Ada was there, cuddling with him on the couch. She hadn't served him with divorce papers upon his arrival. Instead, they had spent the past few days pretty much glued together as they usually did when he was on leave.

Maybe it was time he started to believe that he had come home to his wife and she really wasn't going anywhere. Especially since she hadn't asked him to wear a condom ever since he got home and he hadn't seen her contraceptive pills on her nightstand either. Sy even checked the bathroom cabinet where he knew she kept some medication, but he didn't find anything there either. This morning, he had even considered asking her about it, but he figured that if she hadn't mentioned anything so far, it was because she wanted it to be a surprise and he didn't want to ruin it. Though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't going to be checking the same cabinet for pregnancy tests in the future.

"You good?" Ada asked as the film came to an end, tilting her head back but only getting a view of his beard. It made her smile, though. Sy really was her bear: big, strong and hairy.

"Yeah, I just," he stammered slightly as if waking up from his thoughts. "I was thinking we should probably change the stairs' railing into something safer before we have kids running up and down."

"Yep, that's not gonna happen," Ada chipped in, jumping off the couch before starting to fold the blanket.

"What?" Sy blurted out, turning all his attention to her. "The railing or the kids?"

"The kids," she replied nonchalantly, now laying the blanket in the basket by the sofa. "If you want to redo the stairs, that's fine. I think we could even paint them white."

In a second, Sy was up on his feet, his imposing stature crowding her. "What do you mean, that ain't happening? You don't want kids?"

Ada frowned, suddenly uncomfortable at his intense stare. "No.”

"Why did you never tell me?"

"Why did you assume kids were a given?" Ada retorted, taking a few steps back to put some distance between them. "I figured that if it was important to you, you'd have mentioned it sooner, at some point at least."

Sy had to fight the urge to yell at her, the feeling of betrayal and even anger overwhelming him. If he never spoke of it before, it was because he didn't want to have kids while he was deployed and miss their first years. Instead, he forced himself to calm down, taking a deep breath. "Is that a not now or a not ever?"

Ada looked away for a second, gathering her thoughts before moving her eyes back to him. "I got a new Mirena coil a couple of months ago, so I'm set for the next three years at least."

He had no idea what the fuck a 'Mirena coil' was supposed to be but it wasn't hard to figure out. Instinctively, his hand went to the back of head, raking through his short hair. "Just to be clear, Ada," Sy paused, his nostrils flaring, "you don't want children?"

It didn't even take her a second to start regretting her counter after it came out. "Do you?" She snapped back, the enunciation of the 'you' harsher than she had intended.

The effect was instant, her question giving him pause. Did he? Now reflecting on it, Sy realized he had never asked himself that question. It was just something that you did. First you got a house, then you found a wife and started a family. He had never thought about it as an option, just as the next step if he was lucky enough not to die in Iraq.

"I'm so sorry," Ada apologized, her tone alone expressing her regret. She took his hand, forcing him to look at her only to find her eyes glistening as she attempted not to cry. "I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't questioning your parenting skills. I know you'd make a fantastic father, Sy." Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath before opening them again, their corners wet with tears this time. "I just never saw myself having kids, but if it's something you really -"

"I ain't gonna force you to start a family with me," Sy rebuffed, offended at the very thought. The abruption of it even making Ada smile, if only briefly.

She shook her head quickly. "What I meant was that if you want to be a father, then I wish for you to become one. But... I won't be a part of that scenario."

"No." He said, dismissing the idea as soon as she voiced it, catching her hands in his and stilling them midair when she started gesticulating instead.

"No, this is important!" Ada protested. "I want you to be happy, Sy. And I won't stand in the way of your happiness. You deserve to live the life you want and if that includes a family -"

"No." Sy ordered, his tone final and resolute, silencing her instantly. He had never used this voice with her in the past, usually reserving it for the soldiers in his unit. "Stop with that ridiculous suggestion, woman." Ada blinked. It was obvious in her eyes that she wanted to argue but she didn't dare defy his hard stare.

Sy closed his eyes and swallowed, searching for the right words. "The choice between having kids with some other woman or getting to be with you, is a damn easy one. I'd rather we be a family of two than have children with some woman I could never love."

She was crying again, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. Had he said something wrong? Ada didn't let him wonder for too long, her hand fisting in his t-shirt to pull him down to her lips for a ravenous kiss, their teeth clicking together.

"You know," Ada breathed out against his lips once they parted for air. "It doesn't have to be just the two of us. I am partial to pets."

Later in bed, with his sleeping wife snoring softly and her head resting on his chest, Sy tried to process their conversation only to realize there wasn't much to process at all. It didn't feel that much like giving up on a dream, as it felt like defining the contours his future with Ada. All that mattered to him was that it was a future with the woman whose contagious laugh he had manifested in his mind time and time again to drown out the sound of gunfire and make it through. Children might have been a bonus, he wouldn’t deny that, but their absence was something he could live with. He couldn’t same the thing about Ada.

°°°

"Got your," Sy paused, frowning as he read off the label, entering the kitchen, "Willamette Valley Pinot noir. How many do you need?"

Ada looked away from the oven to find him carrying four bottles of her favorite wine. Did he think they were drunkheads? "Do you want for Tom to have to spend the night here because we're all over the legal alcohol limit and unable to drive?" She laughed.

Sy grimaced. "One bottle it is," he announced, making her laugh all the harder as he set down a single bottle on the table that was already set before casting away the other bottles in the pantry - where they did not, in fact, belong.

Just as was his habit, Sy sneaked up on his wife as she leaned over the kitchen counter, putting away the remaining ingredients and hugged her back to him with one arm. He then dipped a finger in the jar she had filled with leftover caramel and brought it to mouth.

She gasped at his manners. "You can't just stick your fingers in everything that's sweet and lick it off, Sy," Ada chided. She heard it as soon as the words left her mouth, but it was too late.

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest behind her. "Can't I?" Sy goaded her mockingly.

Ada took a deep breath. She knew where this was headed and they didn't have time. It was primordial her pie didn't overcook, and Tom would be there soon. "You know what I meant," she groaned, attempting to sound annoyed but he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Do I?" He whispered against her ear, his beard tickling her skin and his warm breath making her shiver as he slid his hand under her skirt until he was cupping her damp sex over her panties. "Are you certain about that, darlin'?"

Her hands held on to the counter and her eyes closed as he started rubbing his hand along her folds over the fabric. He was also beginning to harden behind at an impressive rate. The temptation made her whimper. "We don't have time," Ada protested, even as her head fell back against him and she leaned into his touch, silently begging for more as she not-so innocently ground her ass on his crotch.

A swift glance at the clock on the wall told him all he needed to know. They had seven minutes. It would have to be enough, Sy decided. Time being of the essence, he was determined not to waste any.

“Open up your legs for your captain, darlin’,” he rasped, his nose nuzzling in the shallow of her neck, his hands already busy bunching up the soft fabric of her skirt around her waist.

“Sy,” Ada lightheartedly protested his eagerness. The idea was certainly enticing but they truly didn’t have time and she really needed to keep an eye on the pie. “We can’t-“

“I said, open your legs,” he repeated, gritting out the words as his foot snuck between her ankles, forcing her legs open himself. Sy barely had to apply any pressure, Ada complied instantly at his tone. There were very few situations in which she let him boss her around and this was one of them.

His hands brushed over her naked thighs, enjoying the way she shivered as he did so. Sliding his fingers higher up her inner legs, Sy expertly slid the scanty lace of her thong aside in order to access her clit. Ada keened under his touch, the rough skin of his finger pads slowly circling her already swollen nub. She couldn’t decide between pressing into his touch or attempting to pull away from it; it was both too little and too much all at once. “Already so wet and I’ve barely done anything to you,” he teased, hoping to sound less worked up than he was. Sy was set on keeping the upper hand. “Tell me, what is it that you want, darlin’?”

Ada whined as he removed his fingers from her core, his hands going to her hips instead and pulling her to him, letting her feel how hard he was for her. His wife reacted by rubbing her ass against him, determined to get what she wanted without having to voice it. “Sy,” she complained when he didn’t bite the bait, still grinding on him, surely getting his jeans wet with her slick.

“That’s not how it works, darlin’,” he chastised, going back to teasing her. His touch was ghostlike, too light to provide any real satisfaction and she groaned in frustration. “You have to ask for it like a good girl.”

He felt her body tense up against his as she tried chasing the friction of his fingers where she wanted them most, but Sy drew away before she could. “I swear to God I am going to make you regret-“

Smack. Ada gasped at the sharp spank on her ass, her body bending over the counter at the impact. Her ass was just too tempting in this position and Sy was running out of patience. “Ask like a good girl,” he ordered between gritted teeth, his hand descending to palm his crotch, hoping for some relief. Her little stunt was turning him on more than it should have.

“God, Sy, just fuck me already!” She sobbed, her legs rubbing together out of their own volition but her husband stayed put, rubbing his palm of his covered cock as he watched her. He wasn’t going to give up any time soon, she realized with a strangled sigh. “Please fuck me, captain,” she whispered, relenting.

Within a second, Sy was unbuckling his belt and pulling down his zipper. His cock was red, hard and throbbing impatiently. With time running out, Sy pushed himself into her without a warning. Ada whined at the stretch, gripping at the flour covered kitchen counter as one of his hands grabbed hold of her hips, the other moving to her breast. Then he started ploughing into her like there was no tomorrow.

Ada kept whimpering his name, but even she didn’t know what it was she was asking for. Her hips were digging into the cold stone and she knew there would be bruises come morning. He had barely started fucking her and she was already beginning to tense up with how worked up she was. “Are you gonna cum for me, darlin’?” Sy grunted, his jaw tense as her inner muscles clenched all around his cock. Ada nodded meekly, unable to speak. Just when he was starting to doubt he’d be able to hold off long enough for her to climax, Ada cried out, her tight walls milking him as she came. Sy exploded inside her with a strangled groan, slowly coming to a still inside her.

The doorbell rang. At seven o’clock on the dot.

"Fucking Brits and their punctuality!" Sy cursed, still panting before pulling away from her and tepidly leaving her warmth. Ada chuckled at his reaction, holding onto the counter for support for a few more seconds until she felt somewhat steady on her feet.

Sy tucked himself back into his pants and she adjusted her skirt over her thighs again before letting out a panicked squeak and turning around. Her front was covered in the flour she has spread on counter for the pie and the white handprint on her breast where he had held on to her was very visible on her black blouse. Sy couldn't keep himself from laughing. She looked great if you asked him, especially since Tom would be going to see just how well he took care of her. "I'll go get changed and you get the door!"

°°°

Sy’s eyes widened, positively surprised as he brought the first forkful of boeuf bourguignon to his mouth. The dish hadn’t appeared particularly appetizing on the plate, but it tasted so much better than it looked. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Ada glancing at him with an ‘I told you so’ smirk.

“I received a new shipment of books at the store today,” Tom told Ada in between bites. He owned a bookstore downtown, Sy had learnt. “There’s a new murder mystery I’m sure you’ll love.”

Ada stilled, a look of excitement washing over her face. “Is there… poison?”

Tom laughed. He had expected that question from her. “Ah, yes. And it’s set in the 1920s!”

Sy glanced from the one to the other, forcing himself not to sigh. Ada’s excitement was adorable, but Tom was grating on his nerves. All the conversation so far had been about novels they’d read recently.

“Please tell me that you saved me a copy.” Ada shrieked enthusiastically, prompting Tom to laugh before he suddenly producer a hardcover out of seemingly thin air. As if she was scared that he was only taunting her with it, Ada leaned over the table and snatched the book out of his hand, a smug look on her face before she started reading the back cover. Sy looked at her and chuckled, shaking his head fondly at her almost childish elation.

"So, where did you two meet?" Tom asked, shifting his attention to Sy. "Ada always told me that it was a story for another time."

Sy's grip tightened on his cutlery. Admittedly, the strong animosity toward the man had faded, but he was still not keen on making conversation with the man. "Here in Austin," Sy replied before going back to his food. Ada had to stifle a laugh at the face Tom made at the curt answer.

"I'll tell you," she offered, capturing Tom's attention. "I had just graduated with my Masters and managed to land a PhD position here in Austin. I was freshly debarked out of France and I was only to start to start mid January but I flew over in December already - wanting to fly with my own wings and all that." Tom chuckled as she gestured derisively with the story.

"Anyway, I hadn't found a flat yet, all my stuff was in a storage unit and I had the brilliant idea of going to Vegas. On my own. In a 1979 black Camaro rental."

Sy finally looked up from his plate. "It was from 1980 and it was dark gray, not black, darling’."

Ada found herself staring curiously at her husband as he interrupted her story before laughing. That's what it took to get him to talk?

"So, it was a 1979, dark gray Camaro,” Ada correctly herself. “Anyway, obviously it did not have a navigation system and I stopped at one of the few open bars open at 5pm on Christmas Eve, ordered a beer and tried making sense of the maps I found in the glovebox, making a list of the different exits and turns I would have to make.

"Sy was there drinking with some friends – loud friends, might I add. Well, I am struggling with the maps and he must notice because he approaches me at the counter, takes of his cap and asks me if I need help, in his southern drawl. Actually, no wait, his exact words were” Ada paused, clearing her voice. “’Need some help reading that map, darling?'" Tom laughed at her ridiculous attempt to imitate Sy’s baritone voice. To Ada's surprise, Sy blushed. It was barely visible beneath his beard, but it was there and it was the cutest thing she had ever seen.

"I looked down at the map she was studying and asked her if she was headed somewhere on the east coast. She then slowly looked at me and confidently told me she was going to Nevada, until I pointed out that she was highlighting the road that went East and her face burned up, all self-conscious." Sy recounted, now laughing as well and even Tom scoffed. " I said: ‘At this point, even a navigation system can’t help you, darlin’. You’d need an escort.”

Ada bit her lip, remembering that moment clearly in her mind. She had flushed, staring at the muscular man that towered next to her. He was burly and rugged and yet still exhaled a little softness behind it all. 'Well then, will you be my escort to Vegas? I am leaving tonight,' she had blurted out before she could stop herself.

"I cannot believe you drove from Austin to Las Vegas with a stranger, Ada!" Tom said teasingly, clearly surprised by his friend’s spontaneity and recklessness.

"Yes, I made him miss Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his family, and the best part is that we got married the day we reached Vegas on New Year’s Eve.” They had stopped a few times along the way, visited some towns and she had only known Sy for seven days when we got hitched at the kitschiest chapel imaginable. “We had to hurry to get a marriage license before the courthouse closed and a half-naked dude officiated because everyone else was already booked.”

Sy chuckled, sitting back against his chair and wrapping his arm around Ada's shoulders possessively. "She made me wear my old uniform that lasted all of fifteen minutes and was presided by an officer dressed as a cherub." He gestured at the framed picture standing on the cupboard next to them.

They looked absolutely ridiculous. Sy's uniform made him look too serious next to a tipsy Ada who wore the only white dress she had been able to find on such short notice and that definitely hadn’t been meant for a wedding because it turned out to be partly see-through under the camera flashes.

Ada shared some more stories about Vegas before excusing herself to the bathroom, the conversation instantly dying out as she disappeared, leaving both men in an uncomfortable silence until Sy’s curiosity got to him.

"So, you and her...?" Sy left his question unfinished. He wasn't sure what exactly it was that he was asking, he just wanted to know all there was to know.

In front of him, Tom gracefully dabbed him mouth with the ivory napkin and shook his head, with a tight smile. "No, nothing of the sort," the Englishman replied dismissively before Sy's inquiring stare forced him to expound. "It's not that I didn't think of pursuing something more with her, but Ada made it very clear from the beginning that she was a married woman and a faithful wife."

Sy hummed noncommittally, though internally he was reassured and maybe even elated. Mike had really filled his head with shit. Deep down, he always knew his Ada wasn't like that, it just felt good to hear it.

"My wife, for whom I left England, passed away only two months before Ada and I met. I was going through a rough patch then - and that's a euphemism. Carla had been talking to me about watching a particular film ever since it had been announced, it was an adaptation of her favorite novel." Tom explained, a smile warming up his features. "When she died before it premiered, I wasn't even sure if I even wanted to watch it without her... But the tickets had already been purchased and part of me hoped that for two hours, it would feel like Carla was sitting right next to me."

Sy listened, feeling sympathetic, if not a little uncomfortable by the man’s openness. He still wanted to dislike Tom but at the same time he couldn't imagine the wreck he'd be if Ada were to die on him.

"The cinema was packed and to accommodate a large group, Ada asked whether I minded if she sat down next to me,” Tom paused briefly, smiling at the memory. “I think it was listening to her laugh, cry and eat popcorn next to me during the movie that gave me the strength to drive home instead of off a cliff that night."

Sy gulped down the rest of his wine, still not a fan of the taste as he faced the Englishman before him. Not that he would ever say it out loud, but if he had failed to make it alive out of that godforsaken desert, he had to concede Tom would not have been the worst for Ada.

Silence fell again and Sy became uncomfortable, deciding to pour Tom some more wine. “I am glad Ada and you were there for each other.” When I should’ve been there for her myself but wasn’t, Sy thought but left it unsaid.

Tom chuckled as he observed the burly man in front of him. For all his muscles and gruff exterior, he carried the slightest of insecurities when it came to his wife. "There's a thick silver notebook Ada has kept for a couple of years. Maybe you should have a look at it.”

Sy wanted to ask what he was talking about but was interrupted by the sound of Ada's high heels clicking on the wooden floor as she made her way back to them. "I hope you weren't talking ill of me behind my back," she teased, squeezing Sy's shoulder absentmindedly. "Now, who's ready for my slightly overcooked tarte tatin.” Ada eyed her husband pointedly.

#henry cavill smut #syverson smut #henry cavill x reader #syverson x reader #henry cavill x ofc #syverson x ofc

138 notes · View notes

poptod · 4 years

Text

Cambridge Ghouls: Tree Lights

Description: Christmas is a little confusing what with being a 4,000 year old mummy without translations, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy it. Especially when it comes to you.

Notes: i officially LOVE this series cause i get to write about wacky misadventures for as long as i want and ALSO i get to practice my ancient egyptian! WC: 2.1k

part one

"Oven."

"Off-en.. I... what?"

"I told you not to teach him the words of things he doesn't know about," Amy deadpanned from her chair, turning the page of her book whilst quirking a brow in Ben's direction.

"How does he not know what an oven is?" Ben said, letting his picture cards fall in favor of crossing his arms.

"We told you this already, he's not from around here."

"What, so they just don't have ovens in Bolivia?"

"Jesus," Amy muttered under her breath, sucking in a sharp breath.

As usual, it was the middle of the night, and Ahk was curled up in a blanket beside the library fireplace. Tendrils of warmth licked up his bare legs and onto his face, soothing the ache of cold tension. Ahk, though listening intently to the conversation between Ben and Amy, understood little of it.

Ever since the start of the second semester, it had rained every day. Outside, the grassy fields were soaked in mud, lined by wet concrete and running students. All in all, not the best environment for a man of Ahk's tastes; someone who grew up in a half-desert. Fortunately his time was well taken up – with the start of the new semester, Phillip ended up signing onto a course about ancient Egypt, spending a good amount of time over break to delve into the language of hieroglyphs. Since he got back he'd been trying to communicate with Ahk, and to both their surprise, several of the attempts were successful. A new hope sparked for communication between the two worlds, a hope that Ben apparently adored to the point of buying children's flashcards.

Although Ahk would always be happy to spend his time learning, he worried for you. Just a little. After all, he always did in some way. You could be surprisingly fragile both physically and mentally. There was a time Ahk went out with Amy and Phillip to run a couple errands, only to return to you curled up in the corner and shaking, Rose sat dead still in her chair, and Ben nowhere to be seen. He hadn't been gone that long, but through your incoherent mumbles he uncovered you were scared. Scared he wasn't coming back. You had thrown your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug he happily returned.

That was just you, though – a little clueless, incredibly sweet, and a tad helpless on your own. With Ahk caught up in his new lessons, you were left alone, something that always unsettled Ahk. There was no telling if you would be alright without him near.

From his seat at the fire, he could spy you through the stacks of books, curled up in the corner and playing with your own skin. You pinched it, rolling it between your fingers till it began to tear. He winced and looked away. Every now and then you did something of that ilk, something very zombie-like of you, and each time he had to look away. He never tried to stop you, though; he reasoned that you were in fact a zombie, and it was only natural you would do zombie-like things at least every now and then.

"Star," Ben said, pulling another card out of his deck, displaying the drawing of the night sky. He pointed to one of the bright dots, helpfully clarifying that it was about the light and not the sky itself.

"Star," Ahk returned, earning a bright grin from Ben. "Siba."

"No, star," Ben said again, pointing more aggressively at the card.

"I think he's trying to teach you the word for it in Egyptian," Amy said, not even bothering to look at either of them.

"If you have so many opinions on this, why don't you do it?" Ben snapped back. Amy's mouth fell open, offense heavy on her furrowed brow.

With a deep sigh, Ahk stood and left his place at the fire, blocking out the loud argument he only half understood, if that. Amy always took Ben a little too seriously, something Ahk knew to avoid the second he started understanding just how Ben's mind worked.

Sneaking quietly through the rows of books, he made his way to you, careful to not disturb any towers with his long cape. As usual you sat on the floor with your back pressed up against the corner, relaxed as you fidgeted absently with your fingers. Only when he approached you did you notice him, a soft, almost slack-jawed smile coming to you as he sat down.

"How are you feeling this evening?" Ahk asked you in his native tongue, fully aware you wouldn't understand or reply. Still, there was a sort of reaction evident on your frame, a movement that had him believing you understood at least the gist of his words.

You reached over, the slightest bit of color in your cheeks as you set your hand atop his, running your palm over the back of his hand. He furrowed his brow, but the confusion faded away when you began to pet him. You were reassuring him. For some reason.

"I really... I am sorry that you cannot join me, on this... venture. I do wish we could find a way to understand you, too. There must be something in your head," he said softly, eyes flickering between your hand on his and your downcast gaze.

A familiar silence came to the both of you when Ahk could no longer lament your lack of communication without repeating himself. As usual, you tried to speak with your actions, setting your legs criss-cross beneath you as you motioned him nearer. He shifted, unsure of your end goal until you gently grabbed his head and forced it onto your lap. His cheeks turned a pretty red as you did so. Yet he was always ready to please you; instead of pushing you away he made himself comfortable on the carpeted floor, breathing slow as you began to pet his hair.

You began to hum a song, incoherent and out of tune, in the soft, humming voice you were left with in death. Although it certainly didn't comprise of an actual melody, it was still nice to hear. Every now and then you'd hit a sweet note where the tune evened out, where your voice was best suited, and at each instance he fell deeper into your petting. Soon the arguing of Ben and Amy disappeared into the background, followed by the crackling of fire and the storming of raindrops outside. All that remained was you.

Ahk enjoyed his blissful ignorance for several more minutes until your strokes were abruptly interrupted by the sound of an opening door. Heavy boots fell on the wooden floors, alerting all five of you to a large pine tree being shoved through the doorway. His eyes widened as a particularly wide branch was shoved through.

Amy stood from her chair, passing by you and Ahk as she jogged over to the door.

"Ahk," she said, "an'na."

Come to me.

Reluctantly he stood, brushing the wrinkles out of his cape and skirt before he went to assist Amy, whose hands barely got a grip on the stump due to her being mostly incorporeal. Ben came by a second later, standing beside Ahk as the three of them all pulled on the stump in a single movement. With one good heave, the tree fell into the library, sending Ahk falling back onto his spine. He hissed instinctively, his hand going to rub at his back. The rain-heavy tree, once stuck in the doorway, now rested almost entirely on him.

Now that he could enter, Phillip tip-toed around the top of the tree to reach Ahk, easily lifting the weight off him with his super strength. Ahk didn't know what exactly Phillip was, but he had said he was a vampire – something Ahk knew nothing about. Maybe that was why he was so strong. Either way, it didn't erase the fact that Ahk was incredibly wet and bruised now.

Over the proceeding ten minutes the four shakily moved the tree to sit beside the fireplace, as all other spaces were already taken up by books and desks. Amy helped to stabilize it while Ben rushed away, in search of something Phillip told him to grab, which Ahk unfortunately couldn't translate in his head. Several questions blurred through his head – mainly questions as to why the hell they would want an indoor tree that would most certainly rot – but he found no chance to ask until Ben returned with a box of shiny, new ornaments.

He pulled Phillip aside, watching Amy and Ben hang the ornaments on the branches out of the corner of his eye.

"Why?" Ahk asked, one of the english words he made sure to remember.

"Uh..." Phillip paused for a moment, attempting to remember his classes, "Un.. neteru, ni peta."

For.. the god, in heaven.

"Ah," Ahk said wistfully, nodding in understanding.

Phillip smiled brightly at the successful communication before motioning him over, handing him a bright red ornament and a tiny metal hook. He glanced at his friends, each of them entranced with this strange worship, before he hung up his first ornament. Hopefully this wouldn't induct him into their religion.

"No," Amy said, pausing Ahk's movements, "make it – or, uh.. ieri nefer."

Make it pretty.

Ah. So this was an aesthetic thing.

With ornament in hand, he looked all around the tree, wondering where it would best fit in relation to both the branches and the other ornaments. Most of the little things hung on the tree were dolls of sorts – ceramic statuettes of animals and instruments, even humans.

A hand on his back startled his posture upright, eyes widening in surprise as he inhaled sharply. Another joined it, and warm fingers spread out to encircle his waist, followed by a cheek against his shoulder.

"Oh, Crayon," he breathed out, returning to his native language, "you startled me."

"Mmm," you mumbled, squeezing him tighter against you as your perpetually-tired eyes fluttered shut.

"Do you want to help out?" He asked softly, attempting to turn round to face you. Your grip proved his task difficult, but with a quick stop to hang the ornament, he was soon met with your head on his chest. A blooming feeling in his stomach spread warmth into his face. Of course it'd be you to bring a blushing warmth to his cheeks – not freezing rain nor well-lit fireplace. Just you.

Amy, currently floating near the top of the tree, held one of the many ornament boxes in her hand. Ahk only noted this once she began to drift down, holding out the box for Ahk to take another ornament. This time he took two – a bearded man in a red suit and a brightly colored icicle – and handed one to you. A small sigh left you, a clear indicator of your reluctance to separate from Ahk, but with his encouragement you did just so.

Together, the six of you (minus Rose, who was napping in her chair) set up all the ornaments on the tree, stringing up garland and fairy lights round the branches to let them glitter in the firelight. With Ben's attentive care, the fire was still roaring away in its' brick house, interrupted only by the worsening storm outside the windows.

As Ahk took your hand, Amy set out the record player and began the first of many songs he would most likely never understand. He could still enjoy them, though – there was a certain charm to them, a happiness clear in the garbled words and bright tune. Whether or not you understood them was a mystery, but you most definitely recognized them. Two seconds into the third song you began to hum the melody; a little out of tune as always, but still clearly the soft song on the record player.

Once again the world began to fade out a little, being replaced with your clouded eyes and sleepy hum. You sat in front of the fire now, leaned against the edge of a bookcase with a pillow behind you, and Ahk at your side. He scooted close to you – impossibly close – till your sides were pressed tight together and he could rest his head on your shoulder. A smile tugged at your lips as the quietest of giggles left you.

Ahk stared at the decorated tree, enjoying the strangely intimate happiness in his heart placed there by you and, undeniably, your group of friends. It was an odd celebration, but he'd be willing to be that if he started any of his own festivals, they'd be just as confused.

He tapped at Phillip's leg, drawing his attention away from his conversation with Amy.

"Ren?" Ahk asked, pointing to the tree again.

Name?

"Christmas," Phillip answered with a smile before promptly returning to Amy.

He turned up to you, shifting ever closer to your willing touch. There he nuzzled into you, his nose pressed up against your jaw as you smiled, staring at your intertwined hands.

"Happy Chriss-mas, Cray," he mumbled, his eyes drifting slowly shut.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

34 notes · View notes

e-louise-bates · 4 years

Text

Talk about the Netflix adaptations of Narnia has resurfaced again, and it’s made me think about some of the things I would desperately love to see in it.

1. NOT MIDDLE EARTH LITE!! There is this weird but pervasive notion out there that Narnia is some sort of weaker, less thoughtful, shallower version of Middle Earth. This is so, so far from the truth. Narnia follows it own rules, forges its own path. (I suspect this is tied into the “it’s so popular it can’t really have depth” notion that plagued Lewis even throughout his lifetime, even with his apologetics, as though the ability to take deep truths and translate them into something accessible for everyone isn’t a rare and precious gift.) I want to see the untamed-but-safe aspect of Narnia, as well as the places where maybe it isn’t so safe. I want to see a world that is a blend of medieval and ancient myth. I want to see richness of color, of texture, of JOY. Peter Jackson’s Middle Earth is a beautiful thing, but it is not Narnia, and it is doing both a disservice to try to imitate it. Let Narnia be its own world.

2. Tie it into medieval cosmology, but subtly. Okay, this one is a little abstract. I read Michael Ward’s Planet Narnia years ago, and I went into it a firm skeptic, and came out seeing that even if each book wasn’t deliberately tied into one of medieval cosmology’s planets the way Ward depicted, they could be read in that way without doing violence to the text, and oh, what a rich layer of meaning and beauty that adds. Please, Netflix, get a medieval scholar on your team and let them loose on symbolism, it would be AMAZING.

3. More myths! Here’s another area that many people tend to misunderstand what Lewis was doing in Narnia. They take the “JRR Tolkien thought Narnia was a sloppy conglomeration of myths” idea (which isn’t even exactly true) and run with it, acting as though Lewis simply couldn’t be bothered to come up with his own mythology. No, no, no. Lewis had come to see (through Tolkien’s arguments, no less!) all myths as pointing toward the “true” myth of Christianity. So why would he not include them all in Narnia, to show how many different facets come together to show a beautiful image of truth? And when we look at it in that light, well, we have no need to stick to only the myths Lewis himself knew and loved. We can add in myths and mythological beings from all around the world.

4. Well done cultural representation. Regarding point 3, we do not want cultural appropriation, please no! So, if we want to do myths from around the world, we need representation as well. Just as Rick Riordan has done with his Rick Riordan Presents, giving POC opportunity to share their own myths with their own voices, I would love to see POC behind the scenes as well as in front of the camera, having input into how the myths should be used as well as being seen. Narnia belongs to everyone, and we should show that! I have ideas of some ways that I think could be done well (a Polynesian-influenced Lone Islands is one of them), but I would much rather see how the cultures to whom those myths and traditions belong want to see them used. Because I have blind spots, and something that I think could be great could actually end up being hurtful to the people of that culture.

4b. Staying true to the spirit of Narnia without being slavish to descriptions. Look, Lewis never once complained that Pauline Baynes drew Lucy with brown hair when he described her as golden-haired, so even he wasn’t as fussy at one might expect. Lewis thought in images, and those images were generally a representation of a particular idea or feeling. (Which, I believe, is why you get Mrs. Beaver with a sewing machine--it’s meant to evoke a feeling of homeliness, comfort, and peace, even though technically a medieval society wouldn’t have had sewing machines yet. Again--not sloppiness on Lewis’s part, rather his way of painting pictures for his readers.) So then, why not an Indian Jill Pole? Or a black King Frank and Queen Helen? Or a black Ramandu and Star’s Daughter? Or half a dozen other characters that I haven’t even thought of? Not “diversity for diversity’s sake,” but genuinely looking at the stories and saying, “how can we show that Narnia is for everyone?” Again, Netflix would need to consult with people from various cultures to make sure they are being represented in a way that is helpful, not harmful, but I honestly believe that this would honor Lewis’s vision of Narnia MORE than sticking so closely to book descriptions that there’s no room for imagination.

5. Additional storylines and subplots that deepen and enhance the existing stories, rather than altering them. For example, I have been on-and-off writing (most off this last year, I confess) a Silver Chair screenplay which leaves the main storyline intact, but adds a subplot of rebellion in the Lone Islands and an attempt to make Caspian’s cousin’s child the new ruler of Narnia. It gives added tension for the viewer, because they are now wondering if there will even be a Narnia for Rillian to return to or if it will be torn apart by civil war, and it stretches things out, without changing ONE SINGLE THING about the story as Lewis told it. This is all stuff that could have been happening off the page while Jill, Eustace, and Puddleglum were trudging northward. That’s the sort of thing I’d love to see in this adaptation, as well as brand-new, original stories told in-between books. There’s a whole lot of room between Rillian and Tirian, between Frank & Helen and the White Witch, between the Pevensies leaving and the Telmarines arriving. There’s even plenty of room for stories between Caspian’s coronation and his journey east, as well as between his return from that journey and the start of Silver Chair. You could include stories from the Telmarine occupation, but I personally think that would be boring since the Telmarines tries to suppress everything that makes Narnia special, so let’s skip that period.

6. Let’s try not to make the children from 1940s England think and act like modern day teenagers, please. I realize we want them to be accessible to today’s mentalities, but I really, really don’t need another floppy-haired angsty Peter. Or Lucy discovering that she just needs to love and accept herself. Those are not necessarily bad character developments, they just don’t really work with the attitudes and mindsets of the era these characters are from.

7. Joy, joy, joy. Narnia is a land that has a deep thread of joy running through it. It is wild and free, it was born out of song, and it is above all joyful. As I mentioned in the first point, if you try to make it look too much like all the other medieval fantasy worlds out there, you lose its unique flavor. And if you lose the joyfulness that underlies everything, you don’t have Narnia. Oh please, let me see a joyful Narnia.

#narnia #netflix #adaptation #cs lewis #apparently I have a lot of thoughts about this

70 notes · View notes

zerotosiki · 5 years

Text

A Little Too Much - Daminette SongFic

Pairing(s): Damian Wayne (DC) x Marinette Dupain-Cheng (MLB)

Description: Damian and his brothers decided to give a surprise to Marinette. Based on the song "A Little Too Much" by Shawn Mendes. If you didn’t know the song, you can listen to it here.

Word Count: 3,931

Warnings: This is my first time writing the full and completed story. I am still confused with tenses and grammar so I am really sorry if any words look so weird! I am warning you guys!

AN: Same with what I said above. Sometimes (or maybe always..?) I like to exaggerate my story soooo... I hope you guys like it!

Thank you so much @ozmav for creating this wonderful ship, you don’t know how much I need this kind of romance, a romance involving a bad boy but becoming softer because of his girl! And thank you @officiallyathiana for giving this perfectly idea!

Main Story (You’re here) || Bonus 1 || Bonus 2

Why? Why did he accept the bet? "This is not a bet!!" exclaim Jason from behind. Yeah, but in his eyes, this is a bet! How come? He and his annoying brothers decided to surprise Marinette. Yes, Marinette, his girlfriend. Damian didn't expect that he could be able to be in a relationship for 3 years and his girlfriend is an Angel too!

Umm ... To be more precise, a wingless angel ... Marinette is a very kind, friendly, smart, pretty, and sometimes, she emits a fiery aura in her eyes... And, don't forget her beautiful smile. Even the dark city of Gotham can suddenly become bright if she's here, smiling while chuckling occasionally.

"Okay enough about her beautiful smile because we already know how much you love her," Jason said suddenly, a mischievous smile on his face. Damian glared at Jason while growling, even though Jason didn't feel intimidated at all. Not with Damian's red face because of his own embarrassment.

"Stop it!" said Dick after clapping his hands hard enough to prevent a bloody war that might occur sometime later. "We should go back to our previous discussion okay? If you want this surprise to really happen before it's too late..."

And with that, Damian snorted in annoyance while Jason only chuckled at his brother's behavior. "I already said if we want to give a surprise to Marinette, it should be a fancy and fabulous one. Since Marinette deserves the best," said Damian while crossing his hand.

"But demon-spawn, you should know by now that Marinette isn't fond of excessive luxury. It'll just make her uncomfortable and you don't want that, right?" asked Tim from across the sofa, a cup of coffee in his hand as usual.

Of course, Damian would know about it. But there's no way he would admit it openly. Not in the front of his annoying brothers, okay?

"That's why we suggest you a more simple one but no less romantic than your original plan, Damian."

"You said a simple one... And that is by singing to her?" Damian cannot help to ask about that with a tone of disbelief. Because what is romantic with singing? Isn't that just a plain one? Moreover, he never singing in his entire life! He is in distress! He scared he will be the ONE ruining this surprise because of his voice. Not that his voice is bad, okay? He knows his voice is good, like really really good.

"Yup, and you already lost, demon-spawn. So you cannot back down now..." Oh, how he wishes he can turn back time right now. He wonders why he has such bad luck. Five minutes ago, he and his brothers were arguing which type of surprise gift they should prepare for Marinette's upcoming birthday.

He chooses a fancy one with him holding a bunch of roses in front of her school so when she out of school, she will be surprised and then happy and then... hopefully, give a kiss thank you? Not only roses, of course. He will take her to a fancy dinner where he would gift her another present and maybe she'll give a big smile while in tears and then... again, give a kiss thank you?

But no, his brothers strongly disagree with him and suddenly deciding that singing to her is a better option. Which is not. In his opinion. Since Damian is stubborn to let go of his plan, one of his brothers, the oldest one, Dick, suggesting for Damian to do rock-paper-scissors with one of them (Dick, Jason, or Tim).

So Damian chooses Jason, for a reason, he thinks Jason would have less chance to win with this type of game. Oh, how wrong he is. Maybe Lady Fortune is indeed upset with him. Because he loses 3 straight chances with Jason! And now he has to accept the consequences.

After one month of a lot of practice, he and his brothers have a trip to Paris (Bruce cannot come along because of an important business that he cannot miss. Of course not before he said, "Damian, please send my regards to my future daughter-in-law" in which Damian is just glaring at his father while his cheek is tinted with pink color).

"... And here I am ..." said Damian to no one. He is so nervous. His hand suddenly felt sweaty while his other hand held a guitar. After he sits down on one of the benches near Marinette's school while Dick and Jason take a seat behind him (They help him by playing the guitar too. It's just for the "best" result, not because he cannot play the guitar very well). He takes a breath down while he tries to calm his nerves. It worked, alright. He felt a lot calmer compared to before.

"Don't worry too much Baby Bat. I'm sure Marinette will be very happy with this! Trust me!" Of course she will happy. At least he hopes so. When Tim is signaling to him, he knows now that's the cue to start. So he closes his eyes and begins playing the guitar while ignoring all the stares from the passerby.

She would not show that she was afraid

He remembers the first time he met Marinette. At that time, some unimportant villains are attacking Wayne Enterprises when he becomes Jason's assistant for a translator between the French class and his brother (Dick was busy with his girlfriend so he cannot be the guide).

Jason tries to help people including The French class to evacuate as quickly as he can, while Damian goes to a safe place to change into his Robin uniform. By the time he comes back, there's already Red Robin at there and a second minute later Red Hood comes too. He suddenly raises a voice and at that time Damian, no, Robin knows what is wrong.

He sees one of the French class, a girl with midnight hair and prettiest blue eyes he ever has seen, standing protectively behind a little boy. In front of her is one of the villains, who apparently decides to become a coward and want to target weak civilians. He and Red Hood rush in to save her just to see that little petite girl kick the villains in the face. And can you hear the cracking sound?

Wow. Robin just stood there looking awestruck until he snaps out of it when Red Hood strangling the villain. Since his brothers already dealing with the villains, Robin decides to check the girl.

When he approaching the girl who right now is busy hugging the little boy while whispering something, probably to calm the little boy, she suddenly spins around and takes a defensive pose until she realizes the one who comes is Robin, one of Gotham's vigilante.

Good reflex, he noted. She goes back to calming the boy while sometimes she glances at Robin's direction.

"Are you okay?" Ask Robin softly while internally he curses himself for asking such stupid question. Of course, she's not okay. No one would be okay after being confronted by a villain. She visibly relaxes after she hears his soft tone, although he won't miss how her hand still shake albeit just a little. He knows she is trying to hide her fear.

"I'm okay, although I was hoping we can take the boy to somewhere safer..?" she said with a hint of French's accent, which made her sound more adorable, okay, focus Robin! He scolds himself.

Not only brave, but she also kind and still thinking someone else besides herself. "Yes, don't worry I'll take you guys outside so the medic will check up on you," He said then he escorts the girl and the little boy to outside and then went to help his brothers. Not before she softly said thank you, though.

Leaving behind Robin who begins to feel some weird feelings.

But being and feeling alone was too much to face

No matter how hard she tried to be strong, he worried that all the problems she'd been through ---Hawkmoth and Liela----, take a toll for her petite body. He knows that feeling. The feels being alone in this big cruel world. Kill or being killed. That was a lesson he was though from back then. When he still takes the mantle of 'al Ghul'.

But he grateful because his life is becoming better than before when he met Batman, his father, and his brothers albeit still annoying.

And he is really lucky to meet a wonderful girlfriend, Marinette, his habibti.

Though everyone said that she was so strong

What was her nickname get from the class, the one he heard from the blonde guy? Oh right, their everyday ladybug. Just because Marinette has been helping her friends whenever her friends need help. Just like Ladybug, one of Parisian's heroes. Which is ridiculous.

IF Marinette really their everyday ladybug, then why? Why they choose to believe some shit-not-true-based talks from a random transfer girl who is still new in the school over their claim to be their everyday ladybug who is already being their friend longer than that Liela girl.

What they didn't know is that she could barely carry on

Didn't they have common sense? Not even the strongest guy can take a burden as big as the world! Take a high road? Avoid Liela being akumatized? Damian scoff at this when he listening to one of Marinette's stories. That's stupid and a coward move, he thinks.

He worried because... What about Marinette? Who will take care of her? Marinette is just a human being after all. What if the one being akumatized is her? What would they do? He knows Marinette is really strong, physically and mentally. After repelling akuma for 3 times? Of course she is. And Damian is really proud of her.

But sometimes, the worries still nag him in the back of his mind. Even Batman, the dark and coldest knight can sometimes have a mental breakdown!

But she knew that she would be okay

So she didn't let it get in her way

Of course, ever since she comes to his life, meeting his brothers, Alfred, and his father. He knows, he along with his family will make sure to give Marinette a deserve and best care in the 'world'. From the moment they know the problem, they began to make a "Marinette deserve to be happy" plan right away. He won't let these pesky so-called friends get in the way. Not in his watch, okay.

He knows the plan is the right choice. Because after that, Marinette gradually became more relaxed, happy, and... just being herself.

He, Damian Wayne, swore to himself, to let her know that she deserves to be happy. She's not alone in this world. Not after meeting him. Not after she became his habibti.

Sometimes it all gets a little too much

There was one time. One time that makes his habibti almost expelled from her own school. And that source's problem is... again... ..from that pesky girl named Liela. Oh don't worry, he already has 101 lists on how to get rid of her, alright.

But you gotta realize that soon the fog will clear up

Although thankfully Marinette's not really expelled. Even if Marinette's really been expelled, and that problem hasn't solved, he will make sure to solve it, by the law. With his last name and his ability, he can easily found the evidence to sue the school, even Liela.

And you don't have to be afraid, because we're all the same

And we know that sometimes it all gets a little too much

He always said to Marinette, to let him or someone else know if she has something troubling her. To let her know, that asking for help is the right thing to do.

"Oh, she's here demon-spawn," whisper Jason which makes him suddenly open his eyes and right there, among peoples, stood his beautiful habibti, Marinette. With her wide eyes, probably from the shock of seeing him here. He gives her a reassuring smile (Hopefully it really looks assuring? 'Cause he is trying so hard to hide his nervous) in which she returns it with her beautiful smile albeit her eyes were glazed.

Okay, time for plan 2 begins.

He quickly but swiftly set aside the guitar (Don't worry, Dick and Jason still playing their guitars. This is a part of their plan, okay? A plan of "We've got your back so you don't have to worry about messing up because of your guitar's skill"). Then he sauntered to her while still singing.

He can see her classmate, the blonde guy, the glasses girl, the cap guy, and the sausage hair girl. But he doesn't care. In his eyes, there's only her. His Habibti. Marinette.

She would always tell herself she could do this

He chuckles whenever he remembers the time when she nervous, she'll chant "Marinette, you're going to be okay. Just trust yourself. Like Tikki and Damian always said." over and over again while she paced. He found it's adorable and had to refrain himself from hugging her and kissing her right then and there.

She would use no help it would be just fine

The first time he tried to convince her that sometimes it's okay for asking help is hard. Like Really hard, okay. He has to be patient or she'll get mad, and he doesn't want that. He knows she is an independent person so she'll try to find a solution by herself without bothering others and he admires her for that.

But sometimes he can't help but to worries about his habibti, okay? Not only that, he admits sometimes he wants to be a reliable boyfriend. A person she can depend on. If that's not too much problem...

But when it got hard she would lose her focus

He worried she'll fall sick because of the problem she'd been through. Because of one time. That is one time. And he doesn't want that to happen again. Not anymore. He remembers, oh, how could he forget? Even if he wants to. He can't.

At that night of patrol, the batfam and ladybird were patroling like usual. He notices Marinette, no, Ladybird weren't herself at that time. Because sometime she would space out. And when he or his brothers ask her if she's okay or needs to rest, she would always say the same thing.

"I am okay, don't worry!" with a smile but not the same smile she always used. It's a tired smile but silently screaming 'Please leave me alone' to which make him and his brothers were forced to leave it.

But later, he regrets it. And he blames himself for it. She, Ladybird got hurt badly because they were ambushed by a group of villains and while the villains are not the strongest one, but because Ladybird is distracted by her problems and the batfam was distracted too because of their worries for Ladybird, one of the villains sneaks behind Ladybird without all of them noticing. And successfully strike her in the back with a knife. A freaking knife.

She got free when she punched the villain hard, in the neck. Which makes the villain fall unconscious. Although not soon as after that, she collapses too. Robin instantly by her side, cradling her gently, ignoring the guilt feeling crawling inside his mind and the tears that started to gather in his eyes. His brothers are not that different too. They beat the villains harder and as quickly as they can, so they can bring Ladybird to the hospital or the Batcave and have Alfred treat her.

Thankfully, the wound is not as crucial as they thought it would be. Although Marinette has to stay rest in the bed for a week. Which is totally okay for him but not okay for Marinette. She's not okay with all batfam trying to babysit her but eh, like it or not, she has to face it. Since it's partly her fault for being distracted in the battle. This is a lesson for her to not pushing herself too hard. And for him to be a more firm boyfriend.

So take my hand and we'll be alright

He found himself already stood in front of her. Staring into her bluebell sparkling eyes, and smiling while softly singing, he held out his hand. She blinks then takes his hand and he gently grasped it. Both of them smiling, ignoring the confused glance from her classmate and the glare from certain people, because why would they care? When in this world, it's just him and her, Damian and Marinette.

And she knew that she would be okay

He guides her back to his brother's place. And at that time, although Marinette felt confused as to why in the world, Damian and his brothers were in here. But she knew that she would be okay. Because she's not alone anymore.

So she didn't let it get in her way

She soon relaxes in his gentle grasp and his soothing voice. This is her best day! Although she has to channel her ladybug's persona when she went through class this morning but at least, now, she got to meet her long-distance-boyfriend!

She greets his brother in silent nod while Dick is giving his charming smile and Jason winked at her. Damian takes a seat and takes his guitar to resume his playing while she takes a seat beside him, although they never broke their gaze from each other. She found herself lost in his deep green forest eyes, while he, Damian, is mesmerizing her eyes too.

Sometimes it all gets a little too much

But you gotta realize that soon the fog will clear up

And you don't have to be afraid, because we're all the same

And we know that sometimes it all gets a little too much, yeah

Both of them knew. He knew Marinette, right now, is okay. Visibly looks tired but her hopeful eyes are already assuring him that she's okay. Marinette knew, from a long time ago, after Damian has successfully convinced her, that she's not alone. She still has a lot of people who care for her being. Whether it's her parent, her true friends, her kwami, her family, and her boyfriend.

And she's thankful for having such wonderful friends. She's really glad because she doesn't have to bear this alone. She can ask for help, asking for advice. And that's an okay thing to do. And that's a wonderful thing to do. It's felt like something lifted up in her body. And she felt more... light. She felt more... ease.

A little too much, I said a little too much, oh

She still has a lot of problems, alright. With Hawkmoth still here roaming while Lila still making a problem for her.

Sometimes it all gets a little too much

But you gotta realize that soon the fog will clear up

But for the first time she thinks, 'It's going to be alright. Because I have a lot of wonderful people who were here to support me. And they'll have my back when I needed help.'

And you don't have to be afraid, because we're all the same

One time she was worried when she has a partner (A partner in romance, mind you. Not partner in battle), can she hide her secret identity from them? What if it's affecting their relationship? What if someday her partner wouldn't trust her again after how many times she lied to protect her secret identity?

But when she knows Robin's real identity after she's been dating Damian for a year, she partly glad and partly afraid. She glad because she and Damian are similar, they both were heroes who have a burden in their shoulders. And maybe... Just maybe... Damian would understand her. She worried because if Damian is a hero too (or a vigilante, according to what he said), then he must've been through a lot like her, or probably much worse than her. And she's afraid for him.

And we know that sometimes it all gets a little too much yeah

Hawkmoth and Lila's problem + all crimes in Gotham's town who'd been raising lately? Yup, it's getting a little too much for both of them. And they knew it.

Sometimes it all gets a little too much

But you gotta realize that soon the fog will clear up

But that's okay because they can handle it.

And you don't have to be afraid, because we're all the same

Because they're together. We're both together.

And we know that sometimes it all gets a little too much

Even if the world's going to fall apart, they know they'll handle it. They can handle it. Because they're together, with all support from their friends and family. Yes, they can.

The song ended with a soft thud and Damian put his guitar back then turns around to face his girlfriend while saying, "Umm.. so what do you think?". Marinette just raises a brow hearing his nervous tone, "Isn't like I'm angry or disappointed, but what is this?". Marinette tries to remember if today is an important day that maybe she forgets because she's been focusing on her problem? But no, there's no such date. Her birthday is still a month later and their anniversary is still a couple months later too.

"Well, we were actually planning to give you a surprise gift for your birthday BUT this baby demon-spawn here.." Jason ruffled his hair playfully, to which Damian response with a glare and "Shut it, Todd!" but Jason just chuckled, much to his dismay.

"What Jason means is Baby Bat is very worried about you. He always spaced out and then put on this scowl face with a wrinkled forehead, a look of worry, whenever he thinks we're not noticing." Dick continued to embarrass his little brother with a teasing smile.

"..So we decided we have enough of a moody Damian, book a ticket to Paris earlier than the plan and do the surprise right now and there, just to cheer up you, Marinette. So Damian will not go back to his moody mode and you'll cheer up again! It's a win-win for all of us." said Tim, who surprised Marinette because she doesn't know he's here too. Marinette is giving him an 'I am sorry' look while Tim just waving his hand, a sign of 'it's okay'.

Damian groaned. He thought this day will going perfectly but nooo... His brothers always try to found a way to embarrass him. And now they successfully did it. They perfectly ruining his image of 'a good and cool boyfriend' (he try hard).

Marinette giggled, her giggling sound send warm feelings in his body, and save him from his embarrassment by taking his hand and hugging him firmly. "Thank you so much, Dami," she whispers softly. To which Damian respond with hugging her back, and gently said, "Your welcome, Habibti".

"...So ready for the next part?" asked Jason to no one in particular. The couple broke their hug and Marinette giving a confused glance at his boyfriend. Damian just shrugs and smirk, "Do you want to go have fun, Habibti?" while his eyes were sending a different message, "Do you want to go from this awful place and away from this awful your so-called classmate?". Marinette blinks before catching on to his hidden message and giving him a gigawatt smile, "Yes, of course, Dami".

...End?

Main Story (You’re here) || Bonus 1 || Bonus 2

-------------------------------->>

Maybe or maybe not I will make some bonus stories (which is about a salty classmate, a roasted Liela, oops, I mean Lila, and Damian's embarrassment. Lol). The bonus stories will be just for fun though.

#daminette #damian x marinette #damimari #maridami #marinette x damian #songfic: a little too much #my attempt writing

228 notes · View notes