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shadowturtlesstuff · 3 years

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Enchanted

finally finished this!!! im so happy with it, and will be writing it in thomas’s pov as soon as possible and perhaps part 2?

Sleep evades me. My mind keeps returning to last night, specifically to a certain person I had met last night. I pull the covers higher, burying my head as I finally gave into my wandering mind.

I stand alone, needing a break from my aunt Amelia. The music was beautiful, a soft sound that filled the entire room. The party itself was decorated in a magical way, the columns in the building encompassed in vines, the tables with floral centrepieces. It was a mixture of whimsy and magic, yet no one seemed happy to be here. Everyone I spoke to was forcing smiles, men faked laughter as they believed this was not a party but a way to make business deals and enforce their own reputation. It was absurd how no one was just admiring the effort people put into making this perfect. It was the same every month, I'd walk to the edge of the room and watch. To calm my nerves, to explore the different flower pieces, the musicians and the flickering candles from the chandelier. The gowns women wore only once to try and show their wealth, whilst I tended to wear the same, as it fit the magical atmosphere this room desperately tried to make people see, yet they were too blind by their greed, the need to prove themselves to everyone to just simply stand back and enjoy themselves.

My cousin Liza seemed to be in conversation with Dacina, the host of the party, someone I had spoken to a few times, each being more enjoyable. Her calming demeanour and charm always lifted my spirits. Her family organizes this ball once a month, her father hates it but makes a lot of business so it is always left to her to plan and design it. With the help of Illeana and lots of their servants they always make this place ethereal. Her brother, Thomas Cresswell, only ever shows up for a few hours then leaves, only being able to handle the faking niceties for so long. Dacina told me of his tolerance, or lack thereof, to society. She speaks highly of her brother, as I once did, yet I have never met Mr.Cresswell.

The varnished wooden floor slowly gathers marks as couples danced. How I longed to be one of those dancers, being swivelled by someone I loved. They would look at me as if I was the most magical thing in the room, with a soft smile and adoration in every word he whispers to me. I would be his equal as we spun around, the world fading into nothing as we held each other. Alas, those dreams are not likely for someone cruel enough to carve the dead.

I snap out of my fantasy as a group of older men walk towards the buffet near me. They talk loud enough so everyone can hear, shockingly talking about work. I roll my eyes at them and look away back to the dance floor. The lights above cast shadows, making the scene feel like my imagination as I sit by a fireplace to read a romance novel. If this was a novel, there would be my love interest here, watching and finding the courage to say something. There are families at the table, children clinging to mothers as the men sit and discuss whatever. My father, uncle and aunt sit together in a seemingly civil conversation. I look for Liza again, deciding I should probably stop brooding in the corner but as I look for her my attention keeps going back to the men at the buffet. Not by choice, but by their obnoxious decision to shout their conversation.

“A woman led the strike, ridiculous, she had to go,” I heard an oldish man say, followed by murmurs of agreement, “these strikes are out of hand, demanding we pay more, absurd notions.” The man is none other than Mr. Birling, a notoriously cold hearted man, much like dacianas father apparently, both of whom value money rather than people. Even their own families. The group of men who looked the same as him, slightly wrinkled face, greyish hair, miserable faces with hints of conniving schemes being plotted against each other. Friends until one of them was earning more money and was more successful, then they were enemies again.

The men were in a heated discussion about their business and from what I can dissect from their ramblings is that they fully believe themselves to be hard working men, a rarity these days, and they must do what is necessary for their companies. Meaning, budget cuts, strikes from workers, firing people, and any horrible decision in the name of money. I refrain from rolling my eyes, or going over to berate them.

“Mr. Birling would not know what a hard day's work is.” someone says quietly behind me. His voice is smooth, confident, and whilst I agree due to what I have learnt about the birling family and the conversation I had just overheard, I still wouldn't say it aloud with him being this close. Not that he pays any attention to anyone but ‘hard working men’.

I turn my head slightly, the man behind me is tall, a smirk playing at his lips. His suit is finely tailored in a dark grey, with a peach tie. He takes a step forwards and stands at my side, staring out into the crowd, a glass of half drunk champagne in his hand. I return my gaze to the crowd. “Whatever makes you think that, surely you heard him talk about how much he works,” I try to suppress my own smirk and I also sneak a glance at the strange man. He merely takes a sip of his champagne.

“Right of course, his words, I shall listen more closely next time.”

“As you should. You wouldn't want to misinterpret someone's work ethic and make a fool of yourself in front of a stranger.”

“You consider me a fool now?” he turns to me now, hands pressed against his chest in fake offence. His brown eyes meet mine as I face him. His sharp cheekbones feel familiar, but I can't place where from.

“Yes. how could you consider someone such as Mr Birling, a man with such talent and tolerance of others, a man who clearly built his company and was not handed it by his father, how could you with a straight face imply he doesn’t know hard work.” we stare at each other for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. He has such a pure laugh, we seem to be the only sound in the room. People around us stop and stare, upset two people are having fun at a party. The stranger leans against one of the columns, disrupting the vines slightly. Yet he doesn't seem to care, as he slowly starts to regain his composure from our outburst.

Mr. Birling is one of the men looking at us with full disdain. He perceives us as two kids who do not understand life, he specifically tells his accountant that there is something wrong with us if the rumours are to be believed. Children of science. Outrageous. Especially a girl. A girl, not a woman. I ignore his pathetic whining, intent on not letting him ruin my night and return my focus to the stranger. Who, I realise, is someone who enjoys science. His face is more solemn now, having also overheard Mr.Birling. He quickly recovers and plasters a smirk on his face, a spark shines in his eye and I can already tell this won't be good.

“I want to meet this ‘girl’ who led the strike, perhaps she could use some help. I mean, all they ask is fair pay,”

“But fair pay is absurd. Completely and utterly absurd. Why should the wealthy share their wealth to those who ensure it.” he finishes for me. The men that run this world will end up being the reason it fails. We share a look, full of understanding and he lets out a sigh. Now we're talking about work and politics at a party.

“Aside from those charming men, how are you enjoying the party?” He gestures to the men around us and I snort. Charming was one word for them. Being with him and trading remarks felt like passing notes to each other, telling secrets during class even though we are meant to be listening to the teacher. I can't help but think I know him, and by the look in his own face he knows me. Perhaps we met but didn't have time for a full conversation like we are now.

“Mostly entertaining, the place is spectacular as always, the people are..” I searched for a word to describe the people, as well as my family. I love them dearly but they can be insufferable. “An interesting mix. My family is dramatic, so I escaped to the edge to peace and quiet, which apparently isn't possible. "I give him a pointed look but he takes no notice.

“My family is also dramatic, and I came for peace myself but found myself captivated by you, specifically how you watched the crowd, listening, and how you curled your fists in an attempt not to go and publicly humiliate the poor man. Which, by the way, I think you should've. Would've made the whole thing worth it.” He takes a sip of his champagne and I nearly roll my eyes at him. Of course he'd want that. From what I can tell he isn't someone who enjoys society and has no problem saying it. I also think about the families in attendance and which of those are dramatic. The only person I can think of is Darci's brother, whom I've not met but heard about his nature over wine with her.

“If I was merely standing here minding my business would you still have found me captivating enough to talk to me? Or is my appeal in my anger?”

He downs the rest of the drink and straightens himself taking a step towards me. I cross my arms, impatient but he gives me a soft smile. “I've been trying to get the courage to talk to you for months, I always see you here at the edge, always. My eyes find you instantly in any crowd. Transfixed, captivating. It was an added bonus to me when I saw the fierce nature in your eyes up close, I knew I was right to want to befriend you.”

Silence falls as we both take in his words. I feel bad, not being able to figure out who he is. His honesty is admirable and makes me smile, as well as blush. I can feel heat rise to my cheeks. Just as I begin to rectify the situation by asking for his name, a man comes behind

me, he’s around 40 probably, and looks at me horrendously in an attempt at a smile. I recognised him from earlier, he's one of the men that spoke with Mr Birling and that alone makes me instantly want to recoil.

“Can I help you sir?” I asked and I can hear my own clipped words, yet somehow he does not. The smile widens and he looks me up and down. Then he offers his hand to me and I realise he wants to dance. With a woman half his age, that he has never met.

“Miss Wadsworth, dance with me?” more of a common than a question. Since I am already highly aware he doesn’t like when females have opinions or say no, I refrain from rolling my eyes and just walking off from him. Instead I take a step back, so I'm by my new friend’s side and smile widely.

“I'm afraid I already promised the darling Wadsworth a dance, we are just finishing our drinks first.” As if to prove my point he drinks the last of his drink, mostly to hide his smirk. Something else the man doesn't seem to notice. His face drops, but his pride makes him believe he can stand there, waiting for me to run to him. There is an awkward silence until I feel hands reach down and take mine, they are warm and make me jump slightly at the contact. Not in a bad way, not in the way I would have if it had been the man in front of me with his gaze like fire as he looks at our joined hands as though he has a right to be mad about it. I feel my own fire burn as he stares, so I tug his hand away from the man. I need to just escape into the dreamlike nature of the dancefloor, as well as thank my saviour and learn his name.

He leads me to the dance floor, nearer the edge and his hands slip down to my waist as I find his shoulders. His touch is hesitant but reassuring. Somehow he looks calm and terrified, as though he never expected to dance with me but never wants to stop. I can't help but feel the same as we begin to move. My skirt swirls around us and we say nothing for a while as we both calm ourselves and let the music envelope us. In a way, this is as close to my daydreaming as I might ever get. Being here on the dance floor with someone who isn't twice my age and the definition of misogyny. We dance as equals, neither of us truly leading but letting each other float around each other. We're sure of our movements and demand nothing from each other. It is a weird calmness that settles. We are strangers as far as i know, and yet we dance as though we have known each other our entire lives.

“You are a delight, miss Wadsworth.” he breaks the silence, somehow louder than the music for me, yet it's quiet. Almost like he didn't mean to say it aloud.

“How do you know me?” my voice matches and i feel bad asking, but i need to know. My tone is not accusing, and his face only burrows in confusion for a second before he smirks at me. A smirk I'm seeming to become familiar with.

“My sister Dacina speaks highly of you.” my eyes must expand as he laughs softly. That's why I recognized him. He has the same structure as Dacina, sharp cheekbone and soft skin. Perfect complexion.

“So you are the infamous Thomas cresswell?” this time I smirk and his eyes widen.

“Infamous? What on earth have you heard of me?”

“Your sister has lots of opinions on you.”

“Of course she does. Whatever she has said is most likely not true.” He blurts out and I laugh at his relationship with his sister and him wanting to impress me. “Unless she told you I am utterly irresistible, charming, quick witted and incredibly smart.” winking at me he sends me into a surprising spin and my hands land on his chest. We've sped up slightly, yet our heartbeats are both faster than necessary and I can see a hint of a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

“She did mention you have an overly large ego. She'll be happy to know I agree with her.” I feel his hands tighten at my waist slightly and I watch his curls fall down in his face as he shakes his head. I'm delighted by this turn of events. Daci is wonderful, and if this is the Thomas that I get to see, not his reputation, then I shall try and keep this in my life for as long as possible. His spark in his eyes shows how he may think the same. Also, if daci, liza and ileana are with Thomas, then i might have the most fun I've ever had in my life.

His voice slides through my thoughts, but also reinforces them. “I am sure she failed to mention how big of an ego she has. Honestly, Darci is worse than I. Have you met Illeana? She will surely agree with me on this.”

“I'm sure she would, I've also heard you are a scientist, what do you study?”

“The dead. Much like you and your uncle.” There is so much certainty in his voice, no resentment or the usual tone I hear so I gift him an earnest smile.

The song ends, and we stand, hands still on each other for a second longer than we should. Just as I go to remove my hands from his chest I feel him pinch my sides lightly. Then his warm hands slip from my waist and I wish more than anything to dance again.

We go to return back to the column near the buffet, where we first spoke, and as I take a step I feel him move so he's pressed at my back, his hands finding mine. Even though we are gloved, even though no one can see our hands due to how close we are, and how many people are moving about, my heart pounds at his bold nature. I adore it, so I squeeze him and keep my head facing forward as I lead him off the dance floor. We settle back, Thomas letting go of my hand to pick up two glasses of champagne and hands me one. We both take a long sip, perhaps settling our brains or making it worse. Well see.

“You look,” he pauses, as if trying to find the right words, brows furrowed slightly as if he was reading a dictionary, “enchanting.” he finally finishes, gifting me a rare smile it seems. No longer does he smirk at me, but shows me a genuine look that I want to have painted as it is the best thing I have witnessed. Heat rises to my cheeks as I look down at my dress. Someone at least understood what I was going for, with a pale peach colour, sparkling bodice that runs along the length of the skirt. The long sleeves adorned with tiny gemstones, golden to match the accented colours of the hall. In response to Thomas I look back up at him with my own genuine smile, perhaps some of the only true smiles to be shared this evening. His suit fits him perfectly, showing off his defined features, his tie a pale peach as well. I assume Dacina helps him, as her dresses always astound me with the details. There are tiny, miniscule gems on his tie, that snake down and remind me of vines.

“You look,” I act the way he did, scanning my brain for something that fits, handsome or charming doesn't do justice but I'm sure whatever I use will only boost his ego and be used against me, so I settle with: “bedazzling.”

“Bedazzling?”

“Thomas, I study the dead, I have to look closer than one should at things, so of course I noticed your tie. Henceforth: bedazzling.” The air shifts back to our teasing tone and he smirks once again.

“You are the only one to notice, except Daci of course, nothing gets past her. Am I correct in assuming you like the tie?” Despite his teasing I feel a hint of worry as if I wouldn’t like his tie.

“I adore the tie cresswell, everyone here should be weaning ties with tiny jewels.”

His face falls as he scans the crowd, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the groups of men. “I cannot tell if you are being serious with me or not, but I agree nonetheless. The men here are awfully drab, boring, plain. It's insulting to us really. Daci puts so much time into making this beautiful and these people do not see it.” He is shaking his head. I agree, I have heard how much work goes in and despite my effort to help she insists that I do nothing but enjoy the party. I have a sneaking suspicion though that Liza helps. The flower centrepieces are her favourite, and whilst that might be a coincidence I know how stubborn and convincing she can be.

“I do. I love her parties. I always find myself standing here, watching and noticing all the changes from the month prior. Like, last month she went for more of a red theme, with red roses as the centrepieces, little red accented chairs and carpets. Whereas this month is more of a forestry vine, hence the vines around the column.” I point as though they are a secret thing you need to search for even though they are obvious. Yet he turns anyway and runs his finger down the length of it with his adorable face set at a soft smile. Thomas might have been there when she got the idea, or placed them or he might have placed them himself and is now remembering it.

My gaze finds Thomas and he looks at me, baffled, and I feel the blush creeping back up. It is not the same confused look that I get when I tell people my love of science, but one of intrigue. As if he could listen to me talk forever and not get bored. It's as if he has never thought anyone would notice such things about his family's party. “Enchanting.” is all he whispers to me. Then he clears his throat, an ever so soft shake of his head as though once again the words were meant for him and not us both.

I stare out at the crowd again. I'm sure my family will want to know where I've disappeared to, I normally do not leave them this long. Liza I'm sure will want to know why I danced with Thomas. Yet the thought of leaving him makes my legs leaden and my heart sink and anchor me right next to him. Im completely wonderstruck, and feel ill have a permanent blush, especially when i look at his stupidly handsome face, his quick smirk and small smiles that feel special. It is odd, I've only heard stories, spoken to him briefly and danced, yet I have enjoyed his company immensely and hope this never ends. I want more dances and to steal more smiles to keep forever. I want to make fun of people together, and dance.

I go to steal a glimpse of him, expecting to find him staring at the crowd like I was but his eyes are on me. “I have to leave,” his abrupt words anchor me in an entirely different way, “I mean, I want to stay and I'm sure you want my amazing presence always now Wadsworth but I have to wake early. New job. So, my darling, I shall see you tomorrow.” Thomas hesitates for half a second and begins to walk away. I watch him go and say goodnight to his sister and then leave. His words fill my head. It’s reassuring to know he enjoys my company as much as I do.

I bolt upright in my bed, the lights, music and memories falling away as I focus on the last words he said to me.

I'll see you tomorrow.

What does tomorrow mean? Does it mean he has a job where he thinks I visit? Will he be making an effort to befriend me? Does he know my family? I am so confused. How had I not caught these words sooner? Perhaps he wants to tell me he had a terrible time, that he doesn't like my presence. I'm on my feet without realising, pacing back and forth, the cold air hugging me close. I wish he was in front of me now. I wish he would whisper the words enchanting again. I wish I knew what was happening in a few hours that warranted him saying those four words. I run my hands over my face, untie my hair and let my curls fall over my shoulder, brushing away the colder ever so slightly. I'm ridiculous. Four tiny words sent me spiralling. I climb back into bed, my hair fanning out around me and the blanket returning warmth back into my system. Immediately my mind returns to Thomas, his face forever in my mind. Even if tomorrow could be the last time I see him, there is a chance that it is just the start.

Enchanting…

Those words fill me with confidence that yes, Thomas might become someone special to me. That perhaps our dance sparked something and now all I wish is that I can tell him how enchanting he is.

@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @loveyatopluto @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @bookscressworth @androgynousdeputylawyershoe @fandomtakeover @throneoftsc @the-hoofflepooff

#sjtr #hpd #efh #ctd #cresswell #thomas and audrey rose #Thomas Cresswell #Audrey Rose Wadsworth #audrey rose #kerri maniscalco #enchanted #taylor swift #stalking jack the ripper #Hunting Prince Dracula #escaping from houdini #capturing the devil

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magicman111 · 3 years

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A Moth to a Flame - Chapter One

Marcy watched the sun slowly set on Newtopia as she’d done many an evening before. The sharp squawks of the gulls rang through the orange sky. She looked quite the forlorn figure standing by the hotel entrance, the gentle evening breeze that ruffled her cloak underscoring her solitude.

Her eyes remained fixated in the same direction her friend had taken off, maybe in some fleeting fool’s hope she’d change her mind and come sprinting back right into her arms.

Not a chance, Marbles.

Anne was long gone by now. Hopefully, she’d caught up with the Plantars’ fwagon before they reached the city gate. Judging by how quickly she booked it, the odds were in her favor. That girl didn’t make varsity back home for nothing.

Marcy only hoped those sweet, simple frogs knew just how lucky they were to have someone like Anne in their lives.

Sighing, her head lowered, she licked her wounds slowly.

Really? That easy, huh?

Could Anne have made it any more obvious that she wanted to get out of there faster than she did? After they’d been apart for so long, and for a family of farmer frogs whom she’d known for what? Months?

No, don’t do that, she pulled herself up. It wasn’t right for her to be mad at the Plantars. This wasn’t their fault. Sprig and Polly were a barrel of fun at the slumber party, providing you disregarded their life-threatening encounter with the jelly-fish ghosts. Hop Pop, meanwhile, reminded her so much of her own grandpa it was uncanny. They were sweet, decent folk who’d taken Anne in and kept her safe all this time. It was just...

Her lips twisted into a bitter frown. How else was she supposed to feel but a little rejected?

However, was she really allowed to complain when holding her tongue was so normalised for her by this point? Marcy was a people pleaser, she understood that much about herself. Anytime Anne and Sasha got into an argument, she was there to keep the peace and everyone happy. So if Anna-Banana wanted to spend more time with her bumpkin frog family than her literal best friend since preschool, who was she to say no?

The story with her folks wasn’t all that different either. When they pressured her to keep up her studies, up to and including PSAT prep despite it being years away, she did as she was told like a good girl to make them proud, and they were. She hoped they were.

Goodness knows what they must be thinking right now—

Nope nope nope! Don’t go there, don’t go there.

She’d already lost too much sleep at night ruminating over the unspeakable pain she’d most surely put them through, it was the last thing she needed right now. She tried to do the logical thing and focus on the positives instead. That usually worked.

Anne wouldn’t be away for too long. They’d be together again as soon as Hop Pop’s contacts returned the Box to Wartwood and then it was off to the first of the three temples to get those gems recharged. Once that side quest was done and dusted, it was a simple matter of finding Sasha and making their way home.

Looking down, she caught herself wringing her hands.

Home.

That sure was the plan.

I mean... what else are we supposed to do?

“Always sad to see someone go, isn’t it?”

Marcy quickly wiped her eyes and glanced over her shoulder to greet the towering form of King Andrias.

Almost instantly, her mood perked up a notch. He was the one person whom she trusted, more than anyone else in all of Amphibia. Ever since she first landed outside the city walls, he took her under his wings and ensured her smooth transition into this brave new world.

Andrias was without doubt one of the kindest and wisest people Marcy could have ever hoped to meet. He was a true listener, and there were very few you could say that about, her parents included. How often had he been there to lend both an understanding ear and sage advice over games of flipwart?

Games she won more often than not, she wasn’t humble enough not to brag.

It was also he who sent Marcy on the daring missions that would eventually make her the hero of Newtopian society she was today. All because he recognised the value of her talents beyond passing an exam or helping her friends with their homework. No other 13-year-old had their own solid gold statue adorning a city bridge.

She owed this king a debt she couldn’t possibly repay, but one he was far too altruistic in nature to demand.

Then, why did he look so... solemn?

“Come along, Marcy. We need to talk.”

Maybe it was his serious tone of voice or those specific choice of words, but they made the hair on the back of Marcy’s neck stand on end. In an almost pavlovian manner, she corrected her posture and she held her chin erect.

Shoving whatever remaining conflicted thoughts aside, she silently followed Andrias back to the castle like a pilot fish tailing its great white. She was so puny next to this tremendous salamander, he could crush her with a single blow of his fist if he so chose. Not that a gentle, goofy giant like Andrias would even dream of doing such a thing.

So when he was dead serious, Marcy knew better to zip it, listen, and do as instructed.

Their quiet journey took them all the way back to the castle and into the royal throne room, a place she was all too familiar with by now. To enter this hallowed hall was a privilege bestowed only to a select few. For Marcy, it was where she had her morning debriefs over bugachinos.

Instead of going straight up to the throne for their pow wow as she anticipated, Andrias guided her down a small passageway to their left.

When they made their way up to the statue of what Marcy recognised as one of his ancestors, one of the great rulers of Amphibia, they came to a stop. Andrias then gazed down at her with the most serious look she’d seen him give anyone.

“Marcy, before we go any further,” he spoke sternly, “I need to be absolutely crystal clear about something. Okay?”

“Y-Yes, Andrias?” Marcy asked, shivering a little. She did not like being pulled out of her comfort zone, not like this.

“You’re about to enter the most secret place in all of Newtopia,” he continued, now down on one knee and his hand hovering over her shoulder, as close as they could be to eye level. “What I’m going to show you... I need you to swear you won’t share with another living soul. Not to Anne, not to Lady Olivia, no one. Do you understand? I can’t emphasise this enough, Marcy.”

“Of course,” she answered earnestly, trying to sound more confident. “You know you can always trust me, Andrias.”

A ghost of that warm, fatherly smile returned to his big blue countenance.

“Trust is a hard thing to come by, kid, and you’ve gone above and beyond to earn mine. It’s just that I’m not exaggerating here when I say this is a big one.”

Marcy simply placed one hand over his huge index, the other over her heart.

She smiled back at him sweetly, genuinely, “I promise.”

“Very well.”

Nodding in approval, Adrias rose. He reached out, pushing a luminous coral torch upwards.

It didn’t take an encyclopedic knowledge of ‘Creatures & Caverns’ for Marcy to predict that the statue was going to shift to the left next, revealing the spiralling staircase leading to Frog knows where. She probably should’ve been more surprised, but come on, it wasn’t exactly the first secret passage she’d come across in this castle lately.

“Follow me,” was all Andrias said, before he pulled off the same coral torch, then proceeded down the stairs without another word. Marcy followed obediently, unable to ignore the unnerving chill that was now travelling up her spine.

Was it... always this cold around here?

Something about all this just felt so unsettling compared to last time. She couldn’t really explain why; she knew she was safe with Andrias and that he wouldn’t do anything to intentionally put her in harm’s way. It was a gut feeling and that sort of thing bugged a rational person like her to no end.

She tried to take her mind off it by hazarding her best guess as to precisely what he was going to show her. Either she did that or started getting all worked up dwelling on Anne again, which she’d rather not at the moment.

Another secret library, perhaps? Probably not, though she wouldn’t be at all disappointed if it was. Maybe there were forbidden texts about the dark arts hidden away down there. Magic users were incredibly rare in Amphibia these days—Marcy had already searched far and wide—so might this be her chance?

Oh, how the very idea of being able to cast actual magic excited her. Being Chief Ranger of the Knight Guard was a great honor and nothing to sneeze at, but to be a powerful sorceress, one who could communicate with spirits, raise the dead, shuffle the orifices on her enemy’s faces—

Okay, rein those snails in, Mar-Mar.

Her musings were interrupted by a strange noise emanating from below. At first she figured it was just her imagination, but the further they continued their descent, the clearer it became.

It sounded an awful lot like beeping. Yes, that was it. A progressively growing cacophony of bleeps, bloops and chirps, the kind she’d expect to hear from a high-tech supercomputer. Something absolutely alien in a world like Amphibia, she and her friends excluded.

Before Marcy could ask Andrias if he heard it too, she was distracted by the emergence of an orange glow chasing away the darkness below. It was a warm, almost heavenly light that conjured the mental image of a crackling fireplace on Christmas morning, protecting you from the snowstorm outside.

The chill in her spine had by now spread to the crown of her head and the tips of her toes. Her throat tightened up. Beads of cold sweat dripped down her forehead.

What the... Marcy could not say a word, only think.

There was something down there. Something greater than any library, however inconceivable that sounded. Whether it was good or bad was irrelevant to her at that moment.

It called her.

The duo finally reached the foot of the staircase and entered the sacred sanctum.

Marcy’s jaw dropped.

“Woah.”

There were no shelves of books. No ancient Amphibian artifacts. There weren’t even any walls that she could make out from where she stood. Just an apparently endless sea of darkness encompassing a large round platform from which both the enticing glow and the lowkey din of beeps originated.

Marcy resumed taking Andrias’ lead as they stepped out onto the platform, the clink-clank of their boots confirming her assumption it was made of metal. The whole thing appeared more at home on an alien spaceship than in the dungeons of a castle.

Upon arriving at its centre, Andrias knelt down on both knees and, much to Marcy’s curiosity, removed his crown and set it down on the floor. She took the hint by following suit.

Any lingering fears melted away the more she basked herself in the radiance. It was as if the beams were steadily pouring into her body, clearing up her headspace, reducing any tension in her body. She recalled a favored memory from when she was five-years-old, when she and Anne spent a whole summer afternoon by the beach. How the tides would come in and out without fail, washing away the ruins of their sandcastles, the seaweed, one of Anne’s sandles and the teeny tiny baby seahorse they rescued.

Like a nice blank canvas.

Was this a private place of worship? Not according to her expansive studies of Amphibian anthropology. Or maybe it was a place for Andrias to meditate away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the castle. Seemed a skosh excessive if that was the case.

“Truly captivating, I know.”

Andrais’ baritone brought Marcy back down to earth. She straightened up and tried to refocus herself. They were down here for an important reason, at least she believed they were.

“One can spend hours down here,” Andrias boomed ominously. “Adrift in their own thoughts and... dreams.” The light cast his face in a rather unnerving shadow as he stared ahead into the void. “But I’m sure you know I haven’t brought you here to show off my retreat from the world.” He took a long, deep breath, like he was mentally steeling himself for what he said next, “As much as it pains me to say it, I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, Marcy.”

He produced from his sleeve what appeared at first glance to be two giant pieces of parchment and unfolded them neatly on the metal surface. A closer inspection told Marcy they were in fact pages torn from an exceptionally large book. Judging not only by the size, but the font and format as well, she easily pieced together its origin.

“Are these...?”

“From the book we “found” in the wing?” Andrias chuckled mirthlessly. “Yes. Still kinda surprised you didn’t pick up there were pages missing, but that's not important right now. Please, read.”

The platform provided ideal reading light. Marcy’s ability to read at a 12th Grade level meant she cruised through the text and finished within minutes.

She read it once, then twice. A third and fourth time just to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

Her bottom began to tremble.

No... Nononono, this... this can’t be right. I-It’s impossible! How in the world can it...?!

No amount of curative rays could unfreeze the blood in her veins. The metaphorical pistons in her brain were firing on full cylinders in a vain attempt to digest this earth-shattering information. For a split second, she thought she was going to pass out.

Desperate, she turned to the stone-faced Andrias to plead for some kind of answer, but she found no words with which to speak. All the personal growth and development that made her Newtopia’s champion had been stripped of her and she was reduced to nothing more than a helpless lost toddler.

A comforting set of giant digits placed themselves under her chin, the same way a father would do for his daughter.

“All this time, I’ve been testing you,” Andrias told her, his voice full of pride. “The games of flipwart, the missions, the “secret library”, even the barbari-ant colony I had lured to the city. I was watching you, studying your every action. With each challenge I issued, you excelled my expectations. You’re an exceptionally talented human being, Marcy, truly worthy of the name ‘Wu’.”

Even if these words were meant to serve as comfort or encouragement, they had only the opposite effect for Marcy. Tears were leaking out the corners of her eyes.

She mustered only a pitiful whimper, “I-I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” he promised, “you will soon enough. He’s so excited to meet you.”

“... He?”

Lifting his mighty hand in the air, he thrusted it into the nothingness facing them. Marcy instinctively followed its direction.

“Marcy Wu,” Andrias’ thundering voice resonated throughout the sanctuary, “allow me to introduce you... to my master.”

No sooner had he finished, the whole world started to tremble at Marcy’s knees, throwing her off her balance. A rumbling, mechanical ROAR struck her ears so loud she had to cover them to protect the drums from rupture. Yet despite this sensory assault, she somehow forced her eyes to stay wide open. She needed to face whatever was coming.

Marcy gazed into the abyss.

And the abyss gazed back with all thirteen of its eyes.

Terror. Pure mounting terror overwhelmed every cell of her being. Her pupils shrunk to the size of pinpricks. If her mouth stretched any wider, her jaw risked snapping clean off its hinges.

Everything around her faded into black. Andrias, the platform and its glow, the beeping, all vanished into the ether. All now that existed were herself and those colossal demonic eyes plucked from the deepest recesses of her nightmares, their leer burrowing into her very soul.

Marcy wanted to scream until she coughed up her lungs. Moreso, she just wanted to wake up. This was all a dream, it had to be. A lucid dream that had gone on for far too long. She and her friends weren’t in another dimension inhabited by talking frogs, such a notion was a scientific absurdity. She sure as heck wasn’t a ranger in some anthropomorphic newt army.

Any moment now, her wizard kitty alarm would ring and she’d wake up in her soft, cozy bed. Dad would have left for work by now, planting a goodbye kiss on her sleeping forehead as he did every morning since she was little. Mom would be already making her her favorite congee rice and youtiao for breakfast. Then she would begin the process of packing up her room for the big move to Oregon like a good girl.

Yes, she would even happily do that. Anything to bring an end to this ordeal!

Shhhh

Her train of thought screeched to a sudden halt.

Marcy

It’s gonna be okay

And just like that, as if those were the five magic words required, everything was fine again. No more panic, no more existential terror. Her heart rate lowered to a steady, non-life threatening level.

The tide had risen up and washed Marcy’s mind clean.

Like a nice blank canvas.

What quickly followed was an epiphany of sorts.

There was nothing for her to fear. Once she accepted that fact, the warm sensation from before returned greater than ever, engulfing her in what could only be described as a spiritual hug. She could feel the pair of hands, tender as her own mother’s, caressing her face and flicking away her tears. They even ruffled her raven hair in the same playful manner.

Come to me, daughter of Wu

Let me get a good look at you

Marcy obeyed. Getting down on all fours, she crawled across the nonexistent ground—the laws of physics evidently had no place here—until her face and the eyes’ chief pupil were within inches of each other.

Fresh tears, now ones of ecstasy, trickled down her cheeks and evaporated in the pulsating heat.

“You’re beautiful.”

I know

We’ve gotta lot to talk about, Marcy

And I have a feeling...

You and I are gonna become the best of friends

51 notes · View notes

guksthighs · 4 years

Text

Elf || jhs (i)

Your childhood stories of Santa’s magical reindeer are missing one crucial fact - that they’re all hybrids who once a year transform into the famous flying icons to help with present delivery/ If only you’d been told this as a young elf, before growing up and insisting on looking after one on Christmas day.

header by @jiminspjm

wordcount: 6.5k

genre: fluff, crack (smut in pt.2)

The sunrise was just appearing over the snow-covered mountains when you finally reached your cabin, the orange light glinted off your keys as you pulled them out of your bag, before you let yourself pause for a second to appreciate the view in front of you.

Your village sat in the middle of a huge valley, peaked snow capped mountains surrounding it from every angle and because of your position in the Christmas Team, you were able to live in a cabin situated away from everyone else.

Snow dusted the cabin’s roof and as you turned to let yourself into one of the nine identically built houses, lined up in a place where everyone from the village could look up and admire, you heard female laughter from inside the wooden walls.

Of course, your peaceful morning wouldn’t stay that way for long, you mused. With a satisfied smile, you unlocked the door and swung it open, “Rise and shine Jung Hoseok!”

Your voice echoed around the corridor before you heard a heavy thud followed by Hoseok’s low morning voice, “Fuck!” There was a short pause before you began to walk up the stairs towards his door, when Hoseok quickly shouted, “You cannot open this door.”

The presence of red heels that weren’t yours and the vague scent of floral perfume were further clues to another female presence in the cabin apart from yours, “Why not? Is someone here?” The sound of your trainers against the wooden floor was quieter without the crunch of fresh snow underfoot, but Hoseok still heard you approaching.

Finally, as your hand was reaching for his door handle, he opened it enough to frown at you, “What are you doing here?” Hoseok’s brown hair was dishevelled, strands sticking up at odd angles and you raised an eyebrow at the huge lovebite on his neck.

“What is she doing here?” You questioned back, tilting your head as you went to look past his topless figure into the room, “You’re on a strict schedule right now and your coach said no more flings!”

Hoseok frowned before lifting both of his hands and moved them as if to smooth down his hair, but you knew he was actually checking that his antlers hadn’t appeared - which they tended to do when he felt any sort of intense emotion. Then with a smile, he sighed and leant against the door frame, “it’s only November babe, don’t get your ears all twisted up about it.”

You could feel your pointed elven ears straighten in anger at his comment because he knew just how conscious you were of them and just as you were getting ready to shoot back an insult, a voice called from the other room, “Hoseokie, baby, don’t be so mean to her! You should be so lucky an elf wanted to look after you in the first place with her high status.”

The house fell silent as Hoseok watched your face in embarrassment; he had slept with a social climber and it seemed he’d only just realised it from the way he was squeezing his hands together in front of him, like a child ready to get told off for drawing all over a wall.

Luckily, you were expecting her to be respectful of your position as an elf so with a slight shake of your head at Hoseok, you began walking away, calling, “You better be gone by the time I finish writing this email to Hoseok’s coach.”

Hoseok watched you walk away with a smirk, you wouldn’t send an email and as he mused about the small pout on your face and how good your lips would feel against his, a warm hand wrapped itself around his waist and his mind froze.

“When they say you’re the best of the elite they really mean it Hoseokie,” she laughed, fingertips dancing lightly against his bare stomach until he took a step forward and out of her reach.

Hoseok awkwardly cleared his throat, “you need to go now. Last night was fun but a man stays elite by following his regime.” His eyes darted up to take in the amused look on the girls face as she zipped up one of his hoodies over the candy cane striped dress that had caught his eye in the first place.

“I guess I can be your little secret then-“ her statement was cut off as she watched you open the door and begin throwing her heels and purse out of the cabin and into the snow. Hoseok watched in a mixture of intrigue and amusement as the girl stormed out of the door, turning to scream something at you which was promptly cut off when you closed the door on her.

No words were exchanged between the two of you. Hoseok walked back into his room to get changed and you collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted from a night of studying to remember that keeping Hoseok in line was also a job.

The town you lived in wasn’t normal, it was a place where legends were real and your job was to make sure that on Christmas Eve, Nicholas had his nine magic reindeers ready to pull his sleigh. It had been your dream to be a Reindeer Carer since you were young and even after being shut down and told it was impossible because you were an elf, you kept going until finally you were introduced to Jung Hoseok.

It was your first year on the job and from the moment you’d moved in with Hoseok, it felt like he’d decided to make you quit but it was going to take more than a bratty, egotistical reindeer shifter for you to give up on your dream job.

+++

“So are you starting to regret claiming this was going to be your dream job?” Yoongi was sitting at the table, sifting through your paperwork absentmindedly because of his amusement at watching you tidy up after Hoseok.

You turned to look at him, holding a pile of dirty plates with two jumpers resting on your shoulder, “I’m a glorified babysitter Yoongs, it’s exactly what I thought it would be.” The fact that you had to tidy up after Hoseok, who was currently training when you knew Jimin, Yoongi’s partner did everything in his ability to make it easy for the older boy, annoyed you at how good he had it.

The opposites in the reindeer shifter’s behaviour was impressive but you weren’t really complaining because Hoseok was nowhere near as bad as you’d been warned he would be. So walking into the kitchen you placed the plates in the dishwasher before folding his jumpers and placing them on the table next to Yoongi who was watching you with an unreadable look.

“I will admit Y/N,” Yoongi tilted his head with a smile as you sat down in front of him with a sigh, “Hoseok has been much better with you. I feel like you’ve really had an impact on him and let me say a lot have tried before you.” He watched your pointed ears perk up slightly before the ends began to darken in a display of your embarrassment at the compliment from a veteran manager.

Quickly you opened your laptop, pulling up a file before darting your gaze up to look at Yoongi and nod slightly, “that was out of nowhere dude, you can’t just be nice to me without a warning.” Yoongi shook his head before he went back to looking through your work, helping you to separate Hoseok’s documents from your dissertations and research.

He tried not to smile at the irony of you mixing up your studying with the boy that had obviously taken up more of your life than he was meant to. Managers are really only meant to ensure that the reindeer shifter they’ve been assigned to are attending training, following their regimes and it’s only during their heat period which lasts from Christmas Eve to Boxing Day that their duties become slightly blurred.

But officially, managers were merely there for support. Yoongi raised an eyebrow as he looked up to see you typing away on your keyboard; officially you weren’t meant to work as hard as you. Even if Hoseok was a special case.

The crackle of the log fire, turning of paper and the tapping of your keyboard filled the silence of the cabin as you both busied yourselves. It was unusual to have a visit from Yoongi, you mused, risking a glance up at the elder boy who was sat engrossed in a piece of your writing.

Yoongi had always been like a brother to you, but in the professional setting you felt like you had so much to learn about how to be the most useful resource for Hoseok as possible. Even then, Yoongi hadn’t come today at your request or because he wanted to offer tips, he’d come to hand-deliver the invitation for the Christmas Ball - which was merely an event to remind the people of the high status the reindeers possessed in their society.

You’d been attending them from a young age because your parents ran the present wrapping department, as well as being pure-blooded elves. But the idea of going as Hoseok’s date had made your head swirl with worry at the idea he would try and make a move on you, or even complain and try and bring someone else.

A frown was beginning to form at the idea of having to defend your place as his date to the ball, which you’d been given strict instructions from Yoongi to do, as the last few years Hoseok had brought his own date. But before you could get properly worked up in all the possibilities, Yoongi cleared his throat opposite you, obviously aware of your spiralling mind.

“Have you seen him transformed, in person, yet?” He ventured, an eyebrow raised as he tapped a photograph on the table of Hoseok’s form. You shook your head thinking of the way his antlers had only popped out a handful of times since you’d been living together.

Yoongi grinned, “you’re in for a surprise then. A lot of managers quit after seeing them transform for the first time,” he noticed the frown on your face and shrugged, “you’ve read the brief I’m sure. They’re experiencing their heat period so their transformations don’t turn them into cute fluffy reindeers but huge, powerful animals that only have eyes for the people who have looked after them for the last few months. It can be a lot for a newbie.”

“If I can handle him in this annoying, messy form I’m sure I can handle a horny reindeer,” you laughed before your ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow outside. Yoongi noticed your shift in posture and gave you a questioning look because Hoseok’s training didn’t finish for another hour, even though you could hear his keys in the door.

When you looked up, ready to make an excuse for Hoseok skipping training you saw the grin on Yoongi’s face before he rocked back on his chair and crossed his arms, as if daring you to go put your boy in check - which you knew you were going to have to do the second the waft of pizza met your nose.

“Nice to see you back so early,” you greeted him with a smile, leaning against the doorframe hoping to obscure Yoongi from his vision, so he wouldn’t change the topic. Hoseok had frozen, eyes wide as he slowly tried to hide the pizza box behind him with an embarrassed smile playing on his lips.

It wasn’t the first time he’d broken his strict diet, or even come back early from training, which you could see he’d attended for a bit from the way his hair was sticking up at odd angles. Once the pizza box was completely tucked behind his back, Hoseok laughed, “Coach told me I did well today and could leave early,” you raised an eyebrow and nodded dubiously.

“At least give me a slice of your pizza instead of scoffing it all yourself,” you grinned, taking a step forward and reaching behind his back to grab the box from his loose grip. Once it was in your hands, you ran into the kitchen, skidding on the polished floor before placing it on the table in front of Yoongi. Both of you quickly grabbed a slice each, and you let a quiet moan at the taste of greasy deliciousness against your tongue.

Hoseok walked over with a smile, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder before raising an eyebrow at his friend, “are you visiting my girl often?”

“Your what?” You choked, eyes wide at the term he’d used and the possessiveness Hoseok was showing about you. That was until you saw the look Yoongi gave you, reminding you of his early warnings about the intense nature of the shifters during this time.

It seemed even Hoseok was shocked by his choice of words as he laughed and grabbed a slice of pizza before shrugging, “you guys don’t really have official names. I feel like my manager is even worse than my girl. Plus I don’t even see you like one of those stuck up boring helpers, you’re just more interesting.” He grinned at you before busying himself eating the pizza but Yoongi was fixing you with a warning look.

Hoseok was being fuelled by his hormones right now, and no matter how sweet he was being, you needed to stay professional to the bitter end.

+++

Hoseok was late.

It wasn’t like the meeting was hugely important, it could be worse you thought, eyes darting from the typed pages in front of you up to the door with the hopes he would burst through at any point.

But he didn’t and the sponsor in front of you was beginning to look agitated, the tap of her pen hastened before finally she stood up, walking to the whiteboard before nodding at you. “I feel we’ve waited long enough.”

Your back straightened instinctively as you pretended to absentmindedly flick through the papers of her proposal, hoping the sponsor would see his tardiness as a business “mind-game” to get them to see how desired he was. In reality, it was merely his crappy personality but they didn’t need to know that.

With a smile, you placed the papers on the table, “I understand this meeting was scheduled to start fifteen minutes ago, however you must understand that Hoseo- I mean Mr Jung is a busy man. I do apologise for his lack of appearance however he is often swept up with interviews that run over and he takes his training very seriously in preparation for the big day.”

The lady in front of you nodded, her eyes had been narrowed slightly as if she was questioning your words but now she seemed more understanding. Then with a quick glance at her watch, the sponsor nodded, “I’ve got another meeting soon but our company want to sponsor Mr Jung, his lack of presence will be noted, but his face being associated with our candy canes would greatly improve sales and-“

“I’m sorry to keep you beauties waiting,” Hoseok’s hair was messy and his cheeks were flushed from the cold air outside. You tried to hide your smile when he sat down next to you and placed his hand on yours that was absentmindedly tapping on the table.

Your heart stuttered and you quickly moved your hand out of his grasp, worried that the sponsor would see this and think that you weren’t professional enough for her company. Luckily, she was busy rifling through her bag for something and with a smile wider than the ones you’d previously been receiving, the sponsor reached over the table and shook Hoseok’s hand.

“It is so lovely to see you Mr Jung,” her voice sounded slightly forced and your eyes darted up from the contract papers to watch her in slight confusion, “don’t you think it’s a shame that even with your new elf manager, you’re still late to meetings.”

Hoseok frowned, watching the sponsor sit down and now she seemed much more professional than before. She placed a pen on top of the contract details for the sponsorship that you’d just pushed in front of him, fixing you with an intense stare. “Are you aware that this is the third time we’ve offered him a sponsorship? Every time we end up cancelling it for one reason or another.”

Something about what she was implying frustrated you and not only was the feeling of your ears heating at the implication that you were unworthy of this position because of your status - which wasn’t the first time you would’ve heard that you should be something better than just a reindeer manager. But the fact that she was belittling Hoseok, with no reaction from him was frustrating you.

So without really thinking, you took a deep breath and relaxed into your chair, placing your hand on top of Hoseok’s as he was about to write his signature, to grab the pen from his grip. “If you don’t feel Hoseok is the correct fit for your company image, then there is no need for this sponsorship.”

You could feel Hoseok turn to look at you in confusion, possibly because this morning, over breakfast, he’d warned you that this meeting was useless and that he had no interest in being the face of a candy cane product. Now he was wondering if maybe he shouldn’t have shared this information with you, even though he was finding seeing you defend him like this quite hot.

The sponsor was busy looking between the two of you in slight confusion but you hadn’t quite finished yet, picking up the contract you placed it in front of the woman, “it looks like this year Jung Hoseok won’t be signing with you again.”

With a self-satisfied smile, you stood up from your chair, leaving your pages of research and information about the company on the table and with a squeeze to Hoseok’s broad shoulder, you both walked out of the room without another word.

“Are you kidding me?”

Hoseok’s hands were on your shoulders, his grip was firmer than you were expecting and quickly ice ran through your veins at the idea that maybe, he had wanted that sponsorship. Maybe you’d read the situation completely wrong and were about to be fired.

But instead, Hoseok pulled you into his chest, squeezing you tightly and you felt your whole body relax at the scent of pine trees overwhelmed your senses. Then with a final squeeze, you were realised from his grip, “Y/N! I’ve sat through those dumb meetings more times that I can count and finally someone fucking listened to me! I’ve already got an offer to be the face of a new shoe company so don’t worry about that side of things. You’re fucking great!”

His smile was contagious and you scrunched your nose slightly at the compliment, “you can’t be late for meetings just because you don ’t want to sign Hoseokie,” you laughed, both of you walking out of the centre and into the icy air of the village, “you left me all alone with her you dick!”

“Let me make it up to you then?” Hoseok’s tone had changed, his smile broadened before he winked at you.

You rolled your eyes, “or you could make it up to me by coming to meetings on time?”

“We both know that won’t happen, so I’m going to make it up to you tomorrow on my day off,” he grinned before watching you check the time and look up at him with a raised eyebrow, because he’d obviously forgotten about training, “I’m going to training! Tomorrow wear something very warm, we’re going on a long walk!”

+++

The forest was beautiful in the winter, with its huge snow covered pines mixed in with the barren, lifeless branches of other trees. The jacket you’d chosen to wear wasn’t thick enough for the temperature of the morning air that bit against your nose and made your fingers go numb. But you were willing to put up with the discomfort to watch the look on Hoseok’s face as he took in the scenery around you.

It could only be described as magical, you decided, following the footprints left by Hoseok that were the only thing denting the perfect blanket of pure white snow covering the floor. The snow here in the forest was so different to in the village, it was undisturbed and you felt like a child as you found yourself placing your foot perfectly in the print of the boy ahead of you.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Hoseok laughed, arms spread and head tilted back as he took in the scenery and just as he finally closed his eyes, you bent down and quickly crafted a snowball. It only took a few seconds for you to stand back up, before aiming and getting it to land directly on the crown of his head.

You laughed, before squealing when Hoseok locked eyes with you and started running in your direction, his laugh echoed in the forest and knowing you’d be unable to hide from him, you quickly hid behind a wide tree.

“Found you!”

Hoseok had pinned you against the tree before you could even try and dodge his attack, and the sudden action caused a branch above you to dump its pile of snow on top of your heads causing you both to laugh again.

You hadn’t felt this carefree in years, and looking up at Hoseok’s flushed and smiling face, you wondered if he felt the same. Between pants you managed to gasp, “it’s beautiful here.”

He nodded, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m happy you let me share it with you.” With that he dropped your arms from his grip and went back to walking through the forest, turning for a second to gesture for you to follow, which you’d forgotten with how loud your mind had become following that simple kiss.

Maybe he’d meant nothing with it, but maybe he’d meant more than just a friendly kiss to the forehead.

You didn’t have time to question Hoseok as you went back to wading through the snow behind him, but your heart still didn’t slow down and you found all he’d done was raise questions you weren’t sure either of you had the answers to.

+++

“Why’re you still awake?”

The starlight was no longer your only company as you looked over your shoulder to see Hoseok standing at the door of the balcony, eyes barely open with a blanket resting on his broad shoulders. His nose scrunched as his bare feet landed on the snow covered wood outside before he shuffled over to you, the blanket grazed your arm before he moved to throw it over your shoulders as well.

For a bit you were both silent, watching the steam of your hot chocolate drift up in the cold night air, but Hoseok cleared his throat before nudging your side, “so? It’s four in the morning.”

“I’m not sure,” you replied, squeezing your hands around the mug and fixing your eyes at the sky wondering why you weren’t telling him to go to bed so he would make his morning practice and not skip it again. But for now you were okay to stand next to him and absorb the peaceful quiet together.

It didn’t take long before Hoseok cleared his throat, hand reaching out as he picked up a handful of snow from the balcony, “I’m sorry. You’re not a bad manager, maybe we just don’t work well together?”

Finally he had caught your attention and you turned to look at him in confusion, “you don’t think we work well together?” It was a blow to hear that from him when everyone had been congratulating you on keeping the notorious rule breaker in such good shape and you wondered if you were being too strict to him, if maybe you were making this stressful time even worse.

Hoseok stepped away from you, the blanket slipped and landed on the floor but neither of you moved to pick it up.

He stood staring at you before looking down at his hands that had turned pink from the cold, “No, I just think that- well I’ve been thinking that maybe- not maybe- you just- you’re awake at four in the morning Y/N!” Hoseok sighed, running a hand through his hair before bending to pick up the blanket, shaking it out before moving forward with it spread as if to drape it over your shoulders,

But you weren’t having it, “so you think I should quit because you think I can’t handle you,” you smiled before placing your hands atop his and squeezing, “I think I can manage for another few days.” And it was true, the reason you were awake wasn’t because Hoseok was hard to handle but because your head was swimming with thoughts and feelings for him.

And how were you meant to tell him that? That maybe sleeping with him curled up behind you, feeling his languid heartbeat against your back made yours race uncontrollably. It was unprofessional and as much as the way you liked the way he would sit down next to you and pull your legs onto his lap, or the sound of his voice in the morning when you were waking him up, it wasn’t worth disrupting him by swapping managers or even sacrificing your dream job for.

You looked up at him, placing a hand atop his head before stroking his soft hair slightly, he looked so deep in thought that you smiled before poking the crease in his forehead gently, “stop frowning and go to bed. I’m not quitting and you’re not the reason I’m still awake.”

Hoseok tilted his head slightly in consideration, before reaching up to grab your hand and intertwine his fingers with yours, his other hand holding the blanket before he walked back into the cabin, dragging your figure with him.

“Time for bed,” he looked over his shoulder and grinned at you, before squeezing your hand, “I don’t want my manager to become an iceblock.” You sighed and shut the door behind you, hoping that your thoughts of pressing your lips against his, feeling his icy hands run through your hair and his delicate kisses pepper your skin.

Instead you would be happy with his tight grip on your hand, as he dragged you into your room.

Hoseok paused as he watched you climb into bed, shifting slightly from foot to foot and you looked up at him with amusement, “you okay there Seokie?” He tried to hide his smile at your nickname for him before he rolled his neck once as if debating saying what he was about to.

“I’m just still so cold from going outside to rescue you from your early morning thoughts so I was wondering if maybe I could cuddle with you tonight?” His nose scrunched slightly as he tried to hide his smile when you shifted over in your bed, patting the empty space with a dramatic roll of your eyes.

As someone who had lived in freezing conditions for six months of the year, you knew that he was exaggerating but this once you were going to let yourself indulge in your needs. As Hoseok slid into the covers next to you, shifting closer to you and resting his hand on your waist, you justified your actions by telling yourself this would be the last time you did this.

But as you slowly slipped into sleep and felt Hoseok’s hand move to hold your hand that rested in front of your chest, his warm fingers tracing your cold ones, you knew it wouldn’t be the last time you felt his embrace.

Just before sleep claimed you with its warm, comforting grip, you could’ve sworn you felt Hoseok kiss the back of your head, his thumb slowly stroking the back of your hand but it wasn’t the time to obsess over inaccuracies encouraged by your need of sleep. So you let yourself shift closer to his chest and fall asleep, surrounded by the scent of pine trees and hot chocolate.

+++

The bed was cold when you woke up, hand instinctively stretching out to feel the empty space where Hoseok had been previously curled up, which was now icy. It had been like this for a week now; waking up to Hoseok’s weight dipping the mattress late at night and then finding him gone in the morning.

Your cabin felt empty and as you got up, shuffling into the kitchen to make a coffee, you wondered when the snow stopped being a beautiful feature of the landscape to something that made you feel suffocated by. The snow turned the view into a blank canvas every morning and as you sipped at your coffee, steam warming your chin as its long tendrils grazed across your face, you felt yourself being lost in that silence again.

Hoseok was confusing, a mess and obviously in the process of hiding from you.

It hurt your heart to go from feeling like you knew exactly what was going through his mind to being cast out and unable to even see him for long enough to try and decipher the inner workings of his mind with a few hints. But as his manager, you knew that wasn’t your job, you nodded at that thought, maybe this distance he’d created was to remind you of your place.

The slight buzz of your phone broke your attention from staring out at the landscape and you quickly fumbled to answer it, voice croaky from having not been used yet, “this is Y/N speaking, Hoseok’s manager.”

“Good morning, Jung Hoseok hasn’t attended his training this morning and he missed it yesterday, I was wondering if you could account for his whereabouts?” The voice was gruff on the other line and your eyes widened in embarrassment hearing that Hoseok wasn’t attending his compulsory activities. You had a sick feeling that it would get to the big day and he’d find himself unable to transform or worse lift the sleigh.

Quickly you cleared your throat and placing the cup on the snow covered table, you walked back inside and grabbed your laptop, “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll make sure he attends his next session-“ you paused busy tracking his phone from your computer when the voice on the other line finished your sentence.

“Tomorrow. He has a session tomorrow and if he’s not there on time, I will be forced to report both you and him.” You nodded, before realising the caller couldn’t see your reaction and quickly stuttered an agreement before hanging up, staring down at Hoseok’s location with a heavy sigh.

He was sitting on his bench.

With that slight revelation and the fact it was only a few minutes walk, you slid your feet into your trainers and pulled on the thickest jacket you owned, before walking out of the front door and heading further up the hill towards where you would find Hoseok.

The walk was calming, your heartbeat finally began to slow down from the stressful idea of being reported and with a sigh you let yourself pause to take in the view, trying to enjoy it instead of criticise it. But that was when you caught sight of Hosoek’s figure, slightly hunched over on the bench and quickened your pace when a gust of icy wind rolled over your face.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

Hoseok seemed smaller than usual and when he looked up at you, his eyes were swimming with problems too difficult for you to begin to understand. So following your instincts as a friend over a manager, you sat down next to him, placing your hand on your knee as you tried to find the words to comfort him in a problem you didn’t even understand.

“Don’t you find the snow suffocating-“

Your words were cut off when Hoseok’s lips pressed against yours, and for a split second all you could taste was the hot chocolate against his lips and the heat from the sigh that left his mouth once he’d pulled away slightly.

He turned to you, a slight smile playing on his lips, “what are we doing?” You tilted your head in interest at his question but he continued, “I like you and- well- I can’t stop feeling that way.” Hoseok looked down at his bare hands that had were slightly pink at the fingertips, “trust me I’ve tried to stop.”

A rush of feelings filled your chest, slowly reaching out your hand and placing it atop his, “maybe you don’t have to stop.” That was when you finally reached up and pressed your lips against his, eyes closing as you let yourself get lost in his touch before quickly pulling away and running a hand through his hair with a grin, “also you have to go to training tomorrow or else we’re both getting fired."

+++

It was finally Christmas Eve, or ‘The Big Night’ as everyone called it in the village and in your opinion it had come sooner than you would’ve liked; the barn was full of the other shifters and their managers with everyone cheering and laughing in excitement for the event that was counted down to the second it finished.

But as you looked at Hoseok, admiring his chocolate brown eyes and the long, pointed antlers that were currently nestled against his curly hair, you wondered if maybe now was the time to admit that you liked him.

“Are you nervous?” Hoseok whispered, bending down with his lips so close to your ear that they grazed the flesh slightly. He quickly straightened his back and grinned at you, “this is your first time seeing my form.”

“Why would I be nervous?”

He rolled his eyes, turning away to begin stretching his limbs before glancing at you and winking, “maybe because you’ll realise I’m not completely human and some find that scary.”

With that you tucked your hair behind your ears, rolling your eyes, “I’m sure I can handle it.” The racing of your heart said otherwise as Hoseok leant in and pressed a kiss to the tip of your ear, quickly you reminded yourself that he wasn’t fully himself, that if you allowed yourself to fall into these feelings you’d end up hurt.

And maybe it was the festive spirit of optimism that filled you in that moment, or something even more magical like fate, but in a rush of confidence, you locked eyes with Hoseok and leant up to press a chaste kiss against his lips. When you pulled back it felt like the barn had disappeared, leaving just you and Hoseok with his huge round eyes that were looking you in shock.

“Can we do that again?” He mumbled, already leaning in to place a kiss to the tip of your pointed ear. The feeling of your heart racing and knowing that you only had a few more moments with Hoseok spurred you on to place your hands on his hips and kiss him again.

It was passionate, probably too much for a public setting and you felt your bodies lean into each other so close that it felt like you were merging into one being. His lips moved against yours in an effortless dance and when Hoseok sucked against your bottom lip before licking at the seam of your mouth, you quickly deepend the kiss.

The feeling of him kissing you was something completely different to anything you’d felt previously: in the forest with his chaste, stolen kisses and even the languid ones shared when you woke up wrapped in his arms. You felt desired, you felt wanted and for the first time you felt what might be love conveyed through the simple action of kissing.

Hoseok’s hands traced down your spine before he pulled away from you, crouching for a second to grab your thighs and haul you up, so you were being carried in his arms with your legs wrapped tightly around his slim waist. It was only then, when you heard the gasps and slight applause from around you that you remembered just where you were and against your better judgement, let Hoseok place you firmly back on the floor with a little giggle.

“You two really know how to put on a show,” Yoongi laughed, rolling his eyes at your flushed face and Hoseok’s slightly swollen lips. “Now that those two have stopped, I think it’s time for everyone to get into their positions?”

Nodding quickly, you began walking to where Hoseok’s position was in the line, only to feel his hand grab yours and interlace his fingers with you, pulling you into his chest so he could press one last kiss to the crown of your head. And when you turned to tell him off for the scene you’d both made, he pressed a kiss to your lips before gesturing with his head that you should move out of the way.

You felt an arm sling over your shoulder, turning to see Yoongi looking at you with a smile as he squeezed and said, “I’d close your eyes for this bit.” Which you did, casting on last look at Hoseok, watching him smile and wink at you before his antlers began to grow and then your eyes were covered by Yoongi’s hand.

It was probably a good thing he did that as well, the prospect of seeing a human morph into a reindeer isn’t the most attractive thing and when Yoongi finally moved his hand, you were face to face with Hoseok’s reindeer form. His pelt was a deep brown and with a tentative hand, you stroked it slightly, smiling when he moved to rest his head on your shoulder, nosing slightly into your ear.

“Everyone get strapped up!”

You nodded, stepping away from Hoseok and stroking his furry cheek, you leant in and placed a light kiss to his nose, “stay safe.” He snorted slightly and you could see that even in this form, his eyes still had the same mischievous sparkle.

It was unheard of for a manager to have a relationship with who they were assigned to but as you watched Hoseok trot off, your mind was already beginning to fill with questions and then a wave of calm hit you. You had feelings for Jung Hoseok and he felt the same way, everything else would fall into place but those were the two most important pieces of information.

This year it would be your first Christmas spent with someone who truly loved you, for you.

+++

Jessnote: soooo it’s been a while! Honestly, I’m not happy with this but I already had one extension with this huge collab and felt weird not posting it now. to put a long story short can y’all pray for my love life bc she’s a mess right now,, anyway, i think my writing style has changed a lot?? what do you guys think? i’ve missed you all and would really appreciate to hear from you!!

also thank you to @jiminspjm for the amazing header and being a complete angel,,,

ARE YOU INTERESTED IN A PART TWO (+SMUT) ?

> MERRY CHRISTMAS <

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uraichievents · 4 years

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UraIchi PC4 2019 Masterlist

Here’s a list of all the works submitted for PC4! I’ve ordered them in by prompt number under each work type, and it looks like we came pretty close to finishing the whole table! Thank you to everyone who participated this year~

FANFICS

Third Eye Blind by DevinePhoenix [#02]

Long before Kisuke was blinded by Askin, his eyes had already been damaged.

Patchwork Soldier by DevinePhoenix [#02]

When they wake up, they will have to deal with what their decisions have wrought. He will have to cope with his injuries and Kisuke will have to cope with his scars and guilt. But they still have time before that morning of uncertainty. In the dusty twilight of the Soul King’s realm, they could rest together and dream of a better ending.

Death Gods by Chaos_Greymistchild [#03]

AU in which Kisuke is still a mad scientist with only slightly more morals than the rest of them, but Ichigo is a vampire/death-dealer/human hybrid, a legal executioner, and (still) the world’s most recent supernatural anomaly.

The long avaited encounter by SueGra [#04]

Kurosaki Ichigo left Karakura after he lost his power. Urahara Kisuke listened to Isshin and he broke up with Ichigo. Somebody killed the rogue shinigami and his partners. Urahara went after the person who killed them and he was surprised. Who was it?

Wrong Side of Reality by Starrie_Wolf [#06]

If there was one thing that every invader of Soul Society did wrong, it was that each and every one of them measured one's power by the strength of their reiatsu alone. And every single one of them failed, because they did not understand that to be truly powerful, one must first have the Means to ensure their plans succeed.

He, who has been watching from the shadows for a thousand years, refuses to make the same mistake.

By Invitation Only by FeelingFredly [#10]

“No weapons are allowed past this point. Please move forward to the weapons check and place them in the tagged locker. You will be given the code to retrieve them when you leave.”

Ichigo turned on his heel as if to follow the robot’s directive, only to stop and spin back, trench knife in one hand and katana in the other, the smooth swing of the blades separating the brassneck’s head from his body.

“I’m sorry,” he said, standing over the sparking remains, “but I refuse to make Aizen-sama’s acquaintance so underdressed.”

Kisuke snorted in his ear. “No one is there to hear your dramatics, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo kicked the head to one side, like a soccer ball. “You know that you’re the only audience I need, Kisuke."

stay with me (until the sun rises) by Fox_the_Hermit [#12]

Ichigo is friends with a great deal of supernatural entities. The one monster under every bed in town is his favourite, though.

these dreams like ashes float away by howls [#12]

Ever since Ichigo refused to leave something well enough alone, a shadow man would visit him once, or twice, a month. (What he never realized was that there was more going on in those moments than the shadow man would reveal. For now, at least. He could never refuse Ichigo for long.)

Gambit without Guarantee by Starrie_Wolf [#18]

How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

new life, same shit by Chaos_Greymistchild [#19]

Not all knowledge is gained through the Gate of Truth. Not all reincarnates are born with their memories. Ichigo’s not sure how comfortable he is with this knowledge.

Arsenic by FeelingFredly [#20]

He was poison and he'd accepted that fact. Now if only everybody else would.

Police Tricycle (or: it’s not a buddy cop if I’m the third wheel, says Rukia) by Chaos_Greymistchild [#21]

Ichigo chases Szayelaporro Gantz down the highway in a high-speed car chase with a grenade launcher cameo. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Winds of Change (Tempest) by Sky_King [#24]

When the war is over and Ichigo has won, fate will come back to get her due.

Ichigo gambled and gave everything away in exchange for power, and finally the price paid has to be claimed.

(When the war is over, Kisuke finds himself adrift, too guilty to live, too guilty to die. He carries on, fueled by that single promise, trying to find a reason for being.And when he does, he'd sooner kill the Soul King himself than let it disappear, no matter the cost.)

Whip It Good by FeelingFredly [#25]

You didn't live a life like Kisuke's without developing a few interesting preferences, but he knew they weren't for everyone, and really, his relationship with Ichigo was more than he could have ever asked for--loving and supportive in ways he still wasn't sure he deserved. It was just very vanilla. Which was fine. Really.

So why he was "just visiting" at his old BDSM club?

The very bad, terrible, no good first few days of Junior SID Agent Dokugamine Riruka by Starrie_Wolf [#27]

Sometimes, Dokugamine Riruka wishes she could go back to her 22-year-old self and tell her to choose another department, any other department, she’s got the grades to take her pick.

Berry Nice by Chaos_Greymistchild [#28]

“Can I kiss you?"

“If you don’t,” Kisuke said with remarkable control, “I think I might do something regrettable.”

“Okay.”

Calling You (Maybe) by EternalEclipse [#29]

Ichigo never answers his phone, and Kisuke always does.

building a future (and tearing down the past) by EternalEclipse [#30]

At first, Ichigo had just been an invention of Kisuke's, nothing more than a gear to be moved. A pawn. It was only natural that after the war, Kisuke left him to his own devices--they'd won, which was the best he could ask for. As it turns out, once he starts making things for Ichigo instead of just countering Aizen, it's a hard habit to break. By the end of it, he won't even want to.

Or, five times Kisuke made things with Ichigo in mind, and one time Ichigo asked him to destroy something.

Companionship (Stay with Me) by Nikolaila [#31]

People are people, even in space. Sometimes the required conversations in relationships are hard to have but necessary to hold.

Tsuki no Tsuppane by Silmariën (Starrie_Wolf), Starrie_Wolf [#32]

They have scarcely begun to unravel the complex web of Aizen no Sōsuke's treason when Kisuke is made aware of another layer to the conspiracy, one that threatens to expose all the secrets he has not yet decided if he will share with Ichigo-no-mikoto.

Few enough people are willing to accept onmyōji, but even fewer will be willing to accept that their lover is not even human.

Work/Date Balance by Starrie_Wolf [#33]

Kisuke doesn't seem to really grasp the meaning of a date, but it's okay, Ichigo loves him anyway.

“So… are you doing your usual fainting damsel imitation, or shall I take care of it?”

(Interlude during their vacation in London.)

a breath of fresh air by Fox_the_Hermit [#34]

Ichigo refuses to let Kisuke win yet another round of the "I took a cute photo of you and I'll use it to fund my experiments" game. Mostly on principle.

The world is changing by Starrie_Wolf [#35]

They’ve been doing this for so long that Kisuke has no idea how to wake up in a world where he doesn’t need to prioritise the Hōgyoku over his family.

Interlude: the day after Aizen's defeat.

Accidental Pokèmon Acquisition by EternalEclipse [#36]

Ichigo had never wanted to be a pokèmon trainer. To be flat honest, the ghosts kept him busy enough. But when Monferno fell into his life with a burst of laughter and trouble, Ichigo is drawn into a side of the pokèmon world he didn't even know existed.

Or the one where there are both ghosts and pokèmon, the Gotei 13 is a government organization with as many checks and balances as ever, and Ichigo will do whatever it takes to keep his own safe.

Feeling Horny by Silmariën (Starrie_Wolf), Starrie_Wolf [#36]

When Urahara shoved Ichigo to Hirako to learn how to control his inner Hollow, Ichigo thought it meant Urahara wasn’t Hollowfied.

He was wrong.

the fear is eating you alive / so I'll be your reason, I'll be your shelter by Chaos_Greymistchild [#37]

Sometimes, Kisuke doesn’t remember where he is, or who he is in his own personal timeline. Sometimes, Ichigo is more Hollow and instinct than human. But that’s okay.

one-sided understanding by Angst_Distribution_Service (Fox_the_Hermit) [#37]

suspended animation (patiently waiting for the end) by Chaos_Greymistchild [#38]

Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck is new on the starship Zangetsu, piloted by Captain Kurosaki alongside his AI Urahara Kisuke, who seems to have an… unprecedented freedom on board the ship, if she was being entirely honest.

Freedom worth Fighting (for) by Starrie_Wolf [#39]

Things have a way of coming full circle...

You Haven't Lost Me by FeelingFredly [#40]

Ichigo has moved on. It doesn't matter if his Shinigami powers are gone--he's a weapon, and there was always a market for that skill set. Currently that skill set was being tasked to collect the oyabun's past due tribute from a troublesome shopkeeper.

Troublesome shopkeeper. No... it couldn't be.

What they don't understand by Starrie_Wolf [#42]

Ichigo comes back from winter break with bruises he can't explain and a significant other who looks to be much older than him.

His classmate thinks she's put two and two together.

With Affection by wynnebat [#44]

"Yoruichi asked me if I had any family," Ichigo says. His gaze rests on the courtyard and squad buildings across from them while Kisuke cannot look away. Ichigo's voice is even, but Kisuke knows better than that. Ichigo adds, wryly, "I told her all I needed was you."

painting in blood by Chaos_Greymistchild [#45]

“It’ll be fine.”

He hopes that that proves true.

You Don't Have a Soul, You Are a Soul (You Have a Body) by FeelingFredly [#47]

Kisuke has a disregard for his own safety a mile wide and it's enough to drive Ichigo mad. This time he finds the shopkeeper unconscious but not alone, and the woman with him has some very interesting things to say.

Thunder For Bells In This Church Of Two by Chaos_Greymistchild [#48]

“[Resonance for a human is] total, complete, irreversible blending” -- Bell Tolls, esama

For the shinigami, it is... less so.

wear your soul (outside your body) by Fox_the_Hermit [#48]

Ichigo has no idea how he ended up with someone so brilliant. Kisuke has no idea how he got lucky enough to end up with one of the best people he's ever met.

your heart doesn't beat (let me teach it to) by Fox_the_Hermit [#52]

Kisuke understands that his time to go has come. It's time to accept that he can't hang around forever. His dear friend Ichigo has agreed to help him with finding what is needed to help him move onwards, whatever that really means. (Except he’s not ready to let go.)

roots in my lungs, blooms on my tongue by Chaos_Greymistchild [#55]

Astilbes, dahlias, and Queen Anne’s Lace. Patience, devotion, sanctuary.

Will you become my... by SueGra [#57]

The war with Ywhach has ended two years ago. Everybody enjoying the peace. Suddenly all captains get an invitation to the Shiba compound because there is a new clan head? Who is she/he?

Happily Ever After by Starrie_Wolf [#58]

Ichigo wasn't expecting a happily ever after, but it seems like he could find a little peace at last.

Omega as Fish Oil by EternalEclipse [#59]

Yeah, Ichigo's an omega. He's fine with it, especially since some of the instincts that come along with it are useful for protecting his own. What he's not fine with are a bunch of shinigami noble knotheads deciding that he's up for the taking because of it. Luckily, he's got a Kisuke to help him set them straight.

You are my Sanity by OrangeTeaMoon [#60]

And so, it had taken Urahara Kisuke nearly 4 months, 1 week, 3 days and a direct run-in with an absolutely impossible apparition of Kurosaki Ichigo to realize that he had lost his mind.

reach the epilogue (and then take it from the top again) by Fox_the_Hermit [#61]

Ichigo's alive and healthy and whole. But too many people aren't (friends, family, the one single crush that hasn't had the time to get anywhere), and this isn't an epilogue to his story that's worth living in. He'd rather rewrite the whole damn thing from scratch.

Only the truth you want to see by Starrie_Wolf [#61]

Growing up as the daughter of a police detective father and a novelist mother, it’s no small wonder that Rika chose to study English Literature in university. The class is unavoidably small – even for Todai,finding students interested in pursuing a degree in the classics of a foreign country is a difficult matter.

Which makes all her classmates so unavoidably interesting.

Especially that Kurosaki Ichigo.

I'm a Certified Genius, I Swear by Chaos_Greymistchild [#64]

Kisuke’s not quite sure why he keeps getting gifts from the Shiba Clan Head, Shiba Ichigo, but— Hiyori please stop laughing please.

-0-

FANART

UraIchi PC4 Prompt #32 - Magic AU / Mythology AU / Fantasy AU by @ananfer [#32]

UraIchi PC4 Prompt #48 - Daemons AU by @junoagriffin [#48]

#Bleach #UraIchi #UraIchi Prompt Challenge 4 #psa

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fleursowl · 4 years

Text

hey guys! some of you may not be able to acces the slytherin! remus fic on ao3 so here it is ♥︎

Remus

Remus Lupin was an unusual boy.

Well, no one bitten by a werewolf at a young age could really be considered ‘normal’ (not that there were a lot of werewolf children- they were usually quietly put down), but Remus’ parents, who were slightly more on the eccentric side, had rather helped contribute to this unusualness.

His father, an extremely academic and bright man, had always tried to squash his ambitions from a young age- Remus didn’t yet understand that he wouldn’t be able to achieve a lot of things others could. Positions in wizarding society were not exactly thrown at werewolves, whether they had excellent grades or not.

However, Remus, a young boy full of hope and wonder for the world despite his hardships, simply did not listen. In fact, this discouragement hardened his want, and he nursed a private longing to become Minister of Magic that no one knew about, except for his mother, of course. His exceptionally kind and caring main confidant, always privately disagreed with Remus’ father.

One day after Remus had run out of the room in tears when Lyall had told him he might not be able to go to Hogwarts, she slipped into his room and sat down next to him on his bed, slipping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into her soft, warm body.

“Why campaign for change, when you can work to put yourself in the position that makes the changes, my little Moonshine? Don’t listen to your father- he’s just worried about you. He’ll see sense and come round soon enough.”

After all, Hope Lupin had high hopes for her son, so much that she decided to forgo sending him to primary and schooled him instead.

She taught him everything she knew, with extra help from Lyall on the wizardry side to help him get ahead on his Hogwarts studies. Hope spent many long nights reading any books around the house she could find, or that Lyall brought back for her on magic and its creatures, so she could teach Remus too.

All in all, Remus was extremely lucky. He had two parents who cared for him massively and would move heaven and high waters for him- which was rare even for normal boys, but add the fact that they had to deal with their only son transforming, against his will, into a werewolf every month and still loved him so much really added to their saintly status in Remus’ mind, especially his mother.

This all resulted in Remus stepping onto Platform 9 3/4 smarter than half of the rest of the first years put together, but without the ability to make friends and very, very sheltered against the outside world. He saw absolutely no shame in sobbing into his mother’s cotton shirt when it came time for him to leave, his father smoothing his hand over his hair soothingly. This resulted in a few sneers from older years, but Remus didn’t notice. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have cared- he was leaving behind his best and only friends.

However, Remus was strong- no one can go through excruciating pain once every month without having thick skin and a hardened heart. He was brimming with excitement at going to Hogwarts, meeting other people like him, and learning even more about this new and unfamiliar world he had just stepped into.

James

James Potter was a very sheltered and privileged boy. Growing up, he had never wanted for anything or had to work for it- it was just given to him. Regardless, Euphemia Potter had ensured that he was still polite, bright and extremely kind- if he was a bit of a prick, well, then he’d grow out of it eventually.

James swanned along the aisle of the train, practically trembling with excitement. His dad had told him countless stories about the amazing friends he’d made at Hogwarts, and James was extremely eager to follow in his footsteps. He spotted a fairly empty compartment with just a small, mousy haired boy sitting in it, and slipped inside, beaming at the boy and offering him his hand so enthusiastically he almost slapped him in the face.

“I’m James Potter, and I’m gunna be in Gryffindor? just like my dad.” he grinned, shaking the other boy’s hand heartily and practically ripping his arm from his socket.

The smaller boy squeaked, wide eyes looking at James in awe.

“I’m Peter- Peter Pettigrew. I… don’t know what house I’ll be in? Maybe, maybe Hufflepuff?” the boy stuttered, eyes widening even more when James scoffed, shaking his head.

“Nah mate, that’s a house for stoners and nancies.” he declared proudly, not knowing what either of these things were, but instead directly quoting his father teasing his mother over dinner. Peter let out a nervous laugh, nodding.

“Well, if you say so. So Gryffindor is the best house, then?” he asked, but before James could reply, another boy glided into the compartment.

“Hear, hear.” the boy drawled, a smirk tugging the corner of his lip. “Gryffindor for the win.”

Peter didn’t respond and had resorted to melting into his seat to get further away from the intimidating newcomer, but James turned to him with a brilliant grin.

“Finally, someone with sense. And you are?”

“Sirius… Sirius Black.” the boy said more shortly, and James felt his smile fall a little. Black. He recognised that name, and it seemed Peter did too, judging from his squeak of terror.

Sirius huffed, eyes darting between the two boys definitely, and he shook his head quickly. “I’m not like the rest of my family. I’m going to be in Gryffindor.” He said firmly, looking at the two other boys and daring them to disagree with him.

“Alright then, that’s good enough for me.” James said, his grin lighting his face up once again.

“James Potter. Soon-to-be Gryffindor. And this is Peter Pettigrew, he’s a bit shy.” James said, nodding at Peter in the corner. Sirius nodded, but before he could respond the boys were yet again disturbed by another. James looked at the newcomer curiously- he’d never seen anyone like him before. The boy was amber-eyed, with dozens of mysterious silver scars littering his exposed skin, a pink one running across the bridge of his nose.

Something about him just caught James’ eye, and as he sat down next to Sirius, James was struck with how similarly striking yet extremely different the boys looked next to each other.

“James?” Sirius prompted with a raised eyebrow, and James realised he had ignored Remus’ introduction while lost in his own thoughts.

“Oh, sorry mate, I’m James Potter.” he said, sticking his hand out. Remus’ hand felt oddly warm and calloused in his cool, soft one.

“What house do you think you’ll be in?” Peter squeaked out, but Sirius interrupted.

“Merlin, anything but Slytherin. I would rather die,” he said harshly, and James laughed.

“Agreed,” he said firmly, and Peter nodded along eagerly, but Remus stayed quiet.

“What’s wrong with Slytherin?” he asked, a frown on his face.

“Cause they’re all… the worst! My dad says every bad witch or wizard ever came from Slytherin.” James cried passionately. Sirius nodded gravely, a sardonic smile on his face.

“Can confirm that- my whole family has been in Slytherin. Patterns are reliable.”

“But- just because all the bad witches and wizards have been in Slytherin, doesn’t mean that every witch and wizard in Slytherin is going to be bad .” Remus reasoned wisely, though a little bewildered. “The house of Slytherin values being ambitious, which I think’s a good thing. I, for one, wanna become the Minister of Magic someday.” He declared proudly, his Welsh accent thick in his passionate speech.

The other boys sat and stared at him in shocked silence, their brains processing this new information. Luckily the trolley witch came knocking on their door before the silence could get awkward, and they spent the rest of the train journey trading stories about their first signs of magic and scoffing chocolate that James had insisted on buying for them all.

Remus

Hogwarts was better than anything Remus could’ve possibly hoped for.

It was better than the photos, the illustrations, the images he had conjured up in his imagination and dreamt about almost every night- it was the pure essence of magic, the very root of the word.

His breath was knocked from his lungs when the castle drew into sight, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes, overcome with emotion.

“Hey, you alright mate?” Peter asked, knocking him with his elbow. Remus wiped his eyes hurriedly with his cloak sleeve, nodding.

“Yeah. I’m fine, just got some wind in my eyes, is all.” Peter gave him a knowing look but said nothing more, which Remus greatly appreciated.

The sorting ceremony was nothing like any of them had ever seen. Remus had never seen so many people, and they were all confined into one glorious, magical place. His palms began to sweat slightly- he had never been a people person, and the thought of standing up in front of them all and taking the long walk to the stool made him want to throw up. He turned to the side and saw that Sirius was wearing a similar expression, and squeezed his hand slightly as his mother did to him to comfort him in public. Sirius jumped and turned to him in surprise, but before he could speak, his name was called by McGonagall, and he turned back to the front, swallowing nervously. Remus watched the pale boy walk shakily up to the stool, and held his breath along with the rest of the hall as he waited. And waited. Sirius’s face was screwed up in concentration as if he was having a conversation- or battle- with his conscience.

Eventually, the hat roared “Gryffindor!” and there was a moment of shocked silence, before James broke it by whooping loudly, clapping jovially, and the rest of the hall joined in. Remus watched Sirius’ expression as he glanced over to the Slytherin table on his way to the Gryffindors, and winced when he heard the jeers and hisses. Hopefully, his sorting wouldn’t be as dramatic.

After what seemed like an eternity, finally Remus’ name was called out. He walked up to the stool with trembling knees and clenched fists, sitting down on it heavily.

‘Oh, hello. It’s not every day I see one of you.’ A disembodied voice spoke, and Remus nearly fell off the chair.

‘Don’t worry, no one else can hear. Your secret is quite safe with me.’ The voice said again, which wasn’t exactly reassuring. Was Remus going mad?

‘Right then, let’s see. A very sharp mind, yes, full of wit and a keenness to learn. But also very kind, and loyal. And in addition to this, brave and daring! My my, you have a strong mind.’

‘Ummmm… thank you?’ Remus thought, a little bewildered.

‘But ah, what’s this? Minister of Magic, you say?’

Remus sat up a little straighter in excitement, nodding eagerly.

‘I’ll do anything to get there.’ he thought eagerly.

‘Well then, that settles it. Has to be…

“Slytherin!” the hat yelled, and Remus hopped off the stool. He wasn’t sure how long he had been on there, but it felt like ages. The Slytherin table eyed him speculatively, then burst into applause, accepting this scrawny, scared little boy into their midst. Remus hurried over gratefully, sitting down next to a girl he had seen on the train with a shy smile.

Eventually, James and Peter were both sorted into Gryffindor, which didn’t come as a surprise, but he was a little disappointed that the people he thought he’d be friends with had ended up in separate houses. Still, friendships could be formed in any circumstances, Remus thought firmly. He sat up a little straighter, craning over the crowd to try and spot them, and waved at James with a smile when he did.

James glanced at him and then looked back at his plate quickly, looking uncomfortable.

Sirius levelled him with a strong gaze, whispering something in James’ ear whilst still retaining eye contact with Remus, and the bespectacled boy snorted into his pumpkin juice, looking back over at Remus again.

Remus looked away with flushed cheeks, slouching in his seat and feeling humiliation and disappointment curdling in his stomach.

‘It doesn’t matter. You aren’t here to make friends, you’re here to learn, to gain knowledge, to gain power. To prove to everyone that you can achieve the impossible.’ Remus thought firmly, and pushed any thoughts of a brilliant friendship to the back of his mind.

It seemed Hogwarts would be a journey that he was going to have to take alone.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #slytherin remus #wolfstar fic #peter pettigrew #marauders #marauders era #marauders fic

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dragonmaiden79 · 4 years

Text

Sir Knight, Taj

Introducing, Madame Tajira

People left Vesuvia in droves after the horrendous situation involving the palace and word spread like wildfire, traveling with the survivers and bystanders alike, plummetting the country into poor conditions. Abandoned businesses and homes meant suffering economy, with land becoming cheaper and cheaper to encourage people to move back or stay; It had become destitute and were it not for the Magician, the Lovers, and the Fool's constant support and efforts, nothing would have remained. The Countess had no supporters left.

"Serves her right, doing this to me..." Said the bitter, homeless former Count as he read a discarded news paper in an alley. He crumpled it up and tossed it away, ducking behind a few trash cans to avoid the royal guard as they marched by.

He had been lurking in the shadows since begging wasn't feeding him enough, turning to petty theft. The shop and store owners became fed up in a matter of weeks, and had reported his worthless ass without a second thought. He scratched at his patchy beard and looked at his worn, dingy clothes. Suddenly the concept of wearing all white became incredibly overrated. "No one in all the history of mankind..." he grumbled to himself, slinking from back alley to back alley like common trash. He slipped in a puddle of Lord-knows-what and screeched indignantly. "Has ever suffered as I am now!!!" He growled, gritting his teeth as the cool, foul smelling liquid seeped into his pants.

"Hey, wasn't that-"

"Oh, that was definitely him."

It's too bad Lucio was so horrible at being inconspicuous. The rapid clang of metal approaching didn't allow him time to dwell on his miserable fate and he quickly staggered to his feet, trying to find a place to hide. It was at this moment that the worn leather heels that he had refused to give up upon his banishment broke, sending him careening to the ground. The last thing he remembered was the feel of cold cobblestone against his face and the metal clang from the knights armor as they surrounded him.

A splash of ice water snatched him from his unconscious state. He looked around frantically, realizing that he was flanked by a knight on both sides, each holding onto a chain that was coiled around his body. He immediately began to rant and struggle. "What the hell is this!? I can take you both--"

"Settle down, Count Lucio." Said a smooth, sultry female voice.

He followed the sound of the voice upwards to a dais, where a petite woman clad in armor stood looking down at him. More careful inspection made him realize that she wasn't alone too; There was a semicircle of about 11 chairs a behind her, all except 1 occupied by very regal and well dressed individuals with decorated faces masks, and head pieces.

"...Or I should say, former Count." The woman continued speaking. "Yes... The former Count of a bastardization of a country. It's a shame what you have been reduced to."

Lucio growled.

"Judgement will be enacted here, today, on you, dear Lucio. You are charged with several counts of theft, threats, harassment, and even a couple of physical assaults due to your behavior involving my lovely citizens. Your testimony begins now. My council will then take a vote based off of your word and your word alone, leaving me to consider their opinions before I make the final decision. How do you plea?"

"Not guilty!" He shouted, "Your townspeople are so stingy and selfish! You'd think they'd help me out, but no!"

The woman laughed shrewdly, glancing over her shoulder at the council members. "Okay, Lucio. While you do seem adamant in your stance, there are a few specific charges that I must ask you about. Did you steal food from any of the local vendors?"

"I would hardly call such gruel 'food'!"

"Did you get into a fight with a man whom you claimed to be 'being greedy' because he bought what you considered an excess amount of fruit and refused to share with you?

"Who eats THAT much fruit?"

"Did you threaten or menace at any children for teasing you on the streets?"

"Those brats were asking for it! They're lucky I didn't tan their hides!"

The woman fell silent for a brief moment. "Is there anything else you would like me to know, Count?"

"Your backstreets are filthy, these chains are awful, and --"

"About your case, Lucio."

"Nope. Clearly I've done nothing wrong. So whaddya say? I'm done now, right?"

She laughed shortly again. "Very well then. Regarding the testimony of the accused, Grand Council, how say you?"

One by one each elaborately decorated Noble rose and stated their verdict, which turned out to be unanimous. "Guilty."

"Mmhmm. Duly noted." She nodded. "Count Lucio, if you'll look to your left you'll see that carved into the white stone walls of this arena is a lion. On the opposite side, to your right is a bull. These are permanent symbols of the two houses that came together to build this country and comprise it's nobility. As such, I am to adhere to the laws set by each house in my position as acting Princess of Pierreblanc."

She leapt elegantly from the dais and landed a perfect summersault in the center of the arena, approaching Lucio slowly until she stood before him. "You have a stunning lack of discipline and are completely irresponsible, which means that the short-comings that riddle your life are rooted in your childhood. Therefore, where other people have failed you, I shall succeed. You will be properly trained and imparted with the skills and knowledge to function as a productive member of my society."

She gestured to the lion carving. "Through the dignity and authority on my left side," and then raised the other hand to point to the bull. "Partnered with the magnanimity and valor of my right... This is true justice, for the ignorant cannot be properly tried." Her voice echoed throughout the arena. "Have you any legitimate way or reason to contest my judgement?"

His eyes widened in a mix of fear and shock. "What are you on about? You aren't going to let me go!?"

She laughed, far too amused by Lucio's attitude to correct his manners. "Then I shall make my ruling immediately. I, Princess Tajira of Branch Et Serpentium, declare that you, former Count of Vesuvia 'Lucio' Montag Morgasson, be sentenced to indefinite full-time etiquette training with Most High advisor and royal tutor, Giles Christophe. Guards, that will be all."

***

The Guards escorted Lucio all the way from the arena to the fantastic display of architecture that was the Pierreblanc Palace. The stones that composed the building were bright white and perfectly polished, making them reflect every color of the rainbow and giving the entire thing an ethereal quality. There were many slick curves and perfect arches that gave it a unique silhouette and the gates were twinkling gold. Even Lucio was stunned into silence.

Awaiting him there was a clean cut purple haired man and a team of six maids.

"You may release him." He said to the guards that held Lucio's chains. "Quickly now, he desperately needs to be bathed and fed." They wasted no time in heeding the orders, finally removing the biting metal from the former Count's wrists and neck.

"I am Giles Christophe and by royal decree you are my responsibility from this moment on. I will ensure that Madame Tajira is satisfied with your reformation, but for now we will escort you to your personal quarters and attempt to make you presentable at once. Understood?"

"Great! Finally some proper treatment around here."

Giles merely frowned his disapproval. The Princess told him that he'd have his work cut out for him in even before her officers had made the arrest.

"He's kind of a bimbo, but if anyone can fix him, it's you."

"If you don't mind my asking Madame, why not one of our traditional corrections facilities?"

"Ah, yes." She had said, lounging in her tub full of sweet smelling bubbles, a bath girl feeding her small slices of fruit. "It's gotten very stuffy around here, so he will be a breath of fresh air- A ray of sunshine even! Just fix him up a bit." She said, waving her hand dismissively. "He is nothing to be concerned about."

Giles shook his thoughts away as he lead Lucio to his quarters, the maids in tow. "Her Majesty has personally selected and furnished this room for you." He said as he opened the door and gestured in.

The room was gorgeous; the farthest wall of it was made entirely of sliding glass doors, which opened up to huge balcony tiled in sparkling opal. The bed was a magnificent piece of art and the centerpiece of the room. It was low sitting and round with a blue chiffon canopy that extended from the ceiling to veil it. Much bigger than a king sized bed, it had no defined head or foot board but instead carved polyhedron railings to stand in their places.

Lucio didn't have much time to admire though, as he was then led out of a pair of double doors within the room. Exiting, he noted that suddenly he was two maids short. It went outside to a tall stone staircase that led down to a what appeared to be an empty pool. There were towering white and gold marble lion statues on each side of it. "Her taste isn't half bad! Much better than her attitude." He said to no one in particular.

Giles exhaled with annoyance, "Ladies, if you'd please." He said to the maids as he moved to a bench that sat near the pool, sending them into perfectly practiced action. They all disrobed to reveal different variations of soft, elegant curvature that could only be described as uniquely female and split into teams of two. One set used magic to get themselves atop the lion heads; Completely synchronized, they put their hands together as if meditating and water began to flow down from the mouths of the lions, and into the pool. In conjunction with them, the others began quickly undressing Lucio, leaving him bared from his rags in a matter of moments. "My, my ladies, one at a time..." He remarked, as if he wasn't in desperate need of care.

Little to no maintenance had been done to him since his eviction from Vesuvia so his skin was sunburnt and dirty, not to mention his overgrown facial hair and chipped nails. Even his golden arm had lost all of its luster and most of its magic, making it hard for it to function. His stench was wretched to the noses of everyone within arms reach as well. Certainly he needed to be cleansed as soon as possible. "This water is freezing!" He cried out, as the girls pulled him down few stairs that led into the pool. "I can't bathe like this! Back in MY palace there was hot water!"

"Give them a moment." Giles said sharply, having had his fill of Lucio's commentary.

He winced at the harshness of Giles' tone but, remained silent as the girls in the bath with him hovered their hands over the water, transferring heat into it. Goosebumps began to spread across his skin as the water warmed considerably. Before long, the pool was filled and the other duo had climbed down from the Lions. They moved to the statues' mounts which had hidden compartments that held towels, sponges, soaps, and an assortment of crystals. Each grabbed their own selections, placing them in decorative woven baskets and joined the others in the water.

Yellow and blue crystals were placed about the water, giving it a mysterious green glow with the relaxing energy blanketing the space. As soon as the soothing aura touched every corner of the water, the same girls who had undressed Lucio, grabbed soap and sponges from the baskets now afloat and went to work.

As they scrubbed his skin, layers of caked up dirt and sweat mixed with the suds and permeated the water. He moaned as they went further down, switching to a soft cloth to clean his dick and balls. They were thorough and gentle, massaging and caressing his sack until he was at full attention. A small crystal chair was synthesized with stone magic for him to be seated, so that his hair could be washed. It was so greasy that the shampoo wouldn't lather when the girl- the one Lucio thought the cutest, massaged it into his scalp.

She had olive skin and green eyes, with freckles and black hair. Her fingers felt like magic as they danced across his head, scrubbing diligently until finally, on the third go, the shampoo lathered into a nice foam. He relaxed into the touches of her and her tall, slender partner who had just finished washing his chest and was now seated on his lap, massaging his shoulders. "Ohhh, this is more like it..." He moaned, "Hey, what're your names?"

"I see you're enjoying my girls, Lucio." Came the Princess' voice from the long stairwell. "The one who washes your hair is called Ariella. Zafira is on your lap." She stepped directly into the pool without regard for the thin, loosely tied white robe she wore, carrying a long decorative case.

As the two maidens that prepared the baskets made the glowing water circulate around them, Tajira approached, giving a kiss each to Ariella and Zafira. Slowly, she trailed her fingers down Lucio's golden arm. "Mmm...What magnificent piece this was in your glory days, Wasn't it Count?" He frowned but otherwise made no comment as she let her fingers carefully trace over every detail and intricacy of the arm. "Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful..." She whispered, free hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "Can you feel my touches, Lucio?" He widened his eyes, unprepared for the question.

"O-Of course I can feel it!" He shouted. She raised an eyebrow. "I mean...Well, mostly... Somewhat." He conceded, blushing. "It doesn't exactly work like it used to."

"I didn't think so." Taj said, her own magic bleeding into his shoulder, making it tingle.

"Hey, what are you--!" He began to protest. Suddenly, the golden prosthetic popped off, falling into the water and sinking to the bottom of the pool. "Why did you do that!?!" He cried out in alarm, girls still draped over him. Without a word, she popped open the fancy case that she was carrying to reveal perhaps the most sumptuous piece of work that Lucio had ever laid eyes on.

An arm. Crafted of diamond-- the purest blue diamond. With perfectly sized gold scales and 4 mounted red andesine going up it's shoulder. "I know red is your preferred color, but as you assimilate into the House, I would like you to look the part. I hope it still within the parameters of your taste. Will you accept my gift?"

He ran his fingers over the smooth finish of the diamond underside, to the perfect ridges of the golden scales, and then finally, over the bright red stones that decorated the piece. It even had tiny, fine-line etchings on it. "Yes!" He said with childlike enthusiasm, "I can really have it?"

"Certainly." She said with a glimmer of a smirk. "We will have it attached for you as soon as you're settled."

"Well Tajira, was it?" he said seductive smile tugging on his lips.

"Taj, please." She said. Giles’ small gasp could be heard in the background.

"Taj, then. I am very, very thankful for your present. You know, if there's anything that you want me to do to repay you, I'll do it." He batted his long blonde lashes at her. With his erect cock out and two beautiful women clinging to him, pouting and writhing in place it was incredibly hard to deny...

"Not yet." Taj reminded herself in her head. She bristled in place, eyes having gone slightly hooded and dark as she slowly closed the case for the arm. She loathed denying the throbbing of her nether regions. "No..." She said out loud. "You won't ever have to pay me back."

"What? You're sure?" He asked in disbelief.

"No, no, it doesn't work like that. This my pleasure. Giles, hold onto it for him." She said, exiting the water. The white fabric, now see through clung to her as she approached him, accentuating her thick thighs, toned calves, and perky rump. "Bring him to dinner after you're done in here. I want the Council and House Advisors to see him up close and groomed before you begin the discipline process.

"Yes, Madame." Giles nodded slowly. "You-- You're certain of this choice? To have him before the Nobles without any training?"

"It's not as if they can tell me not to." She shrugged casually. "And it's not as if I will allow them to question your advisory skills, If that's what you are concerned about." She kissed his cheek, patting his shoulder lightly. "Now, I must go dress myself." She continued with a nod. "I shall see you all tonight." And with that, she swept out of the room.

Ch.1 End.

Hope you enjoyed! There will be another part!

#lucio #giles #crossover #oc #hc #au #the arcana #midcin #midnight cinderella #the arcana game #lucio x mc #mc #theterrifyingten #the arcana mc #dragonmaiden79 #taj #princess #knight

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years

Text

MyDesign IX

“What’s on the menu this evening?”

Will felt the look before it had happened, Hannibal’s piercing eyes already searching his for the real question that hadn’t been asked - who’s on the menu this evening - and judging whether he was ready and prepared for the answer to that question. Brown and hazel collided, a battle of wills and storm of darkness between them as the silence dragged on, until he looked away, conceeding defeat in the silent standof rather than let it agonisingly continue.

“Ah, well this evening you’ll be enjoying duckling a la d’albufera.” The chef smiled congenially, serving cart pushed before him as he rounded the edge of the table. Will was to his right as always. A position that had been laid out for him since he first ate at the table with the other, and reserved for him each time since unless decency dictated otherwise. The flourish as Hannibal lifted the serving platter to the table and carved off a ham wrapped, golden brown duck leg and breast alike, half a bird each despite a full second bird still trussed and laid out upon the serving tray as if to display the hedonistic decadance of Hannibal’s meals - food prepared never to be eaten, surrounded by additional indlugence in the form of delicate flowers, outlandish bones and crafted display alike. The portion was laid gently upon the plate before him, followed shortly after by a small array of delicately placed mushrooms in a brown sauce that looked to be from the roasted birds themselves and a reddish-brown sauce sat between them in an intricately designed boat. “Roasted ducklings with smoked ham, designed in hearts to replace the birds feathers. They are trussed and roasted within a covered pan to swelter in their own juices before browning; the mushrooms are basted in the juices...”

“And the sauce?” Will gestured with a nod towards the boat as Hannibal plated his own serving before wheeling the cart slightly back from the table. As the other man sat, he lifted the boat to pour a delicate drizzle of the sauce around his plate before doing the same for his guest.

“The Albufera sauce - a twist on a supreme sauce with chicken veloute, creme fraiche, sweet bell peppers and veal stock. It was crafted for Napoleon’s Marshal Suchet after a victory against the British al Valencia. A delicate yet rich sauce, not always in favor but perfect with duck in such a fashion.”

“I’m sure it will be. I apologise that my palate may not be quite so refined as yours to enjoy it.”

“Nonsense, Will, appreciation does not require knowledge or understanding, simply a willingness to appreciate what you are experiencing.” Hannibal set down the boat, and set about cutting a small section of duck breast with the neatly laid ham feathers into his fork, swiping the bottom of the meat through sauce before lifting it to his mouth. Will always found watching the other man eat to be something powerful - even more so now he had become aware of what was served so frequently at the table. The long pause as the chef would hold the forkful in his mouth, savouring the flavor and texture of the dish before he would consume had always felt to Will like an intrusion to watch, as if he was viewing something so private and hedonistic that if he were any more bound by the niceties of society he would be forced to look away; but instead he would watch, as he did now, while the other man revel in the fruit of his labors. The other’s eyes would close, his nostrils would flare just slightly to draw in the scent of the food which Will hoped his unfortunate aftershave would not impact on, and if the dish was particularly good there would be the quietest, softest groan of appreciation before Hannibal would return from whatever place the mouthful would take him to his space at the head of the table. Swallowing, and swiftly following with a small sip of the pinot noir for the evening, the older man gave a pleased nod as if in agreement to himself or approval of his work before continuing his statement to the other. “If you are open to the experience, you will enjoy it immensely.”

“Perhaps that is where I struggle. Opening myself up only ever seems to get me into trouble.” Will replied, the words tasting and sounding bitter as he followed the other man’s steps, slicing a forkful of his dish and begining to eat. Perhaps he was right about it being his struggle, the food barely tasting all that extraordinary to hims tongue that was promised by the level of enjoyment the other man seemed to experience. He couldn’t help but wish for something simpler, something less refined and more fluid than the rigidity of a duck covered in meat feathers, something that was rich and decadent but also filled him with the punch of childlike joy. Something chocolatey. “But the cooking as always, is impeccable. Thank you for the meal.”

“Of course, Will, any time I would gladly have you for dinner.”

The double meaning went unacknowledged as both men proceeded to cut their next pieces of the dish and sank into a companionable silence. The sound of cutlery on china, the chink of metal and the chime of glass lifting and setting down on the table top was all the sound of the room for the next few minutes as they began to eat the indulgent feast.

As he finished off the breast and began slicing pieces off of the leg portion of his dish, Hannibal broke the silence again, startling Will with a quiet clatter of cutlery. “I am thinking of having a dinner party next Friday night with a few of our colleagues and a few other guests. I have extended an invitation Margot Vergner, I believe you two have met on occasion.”

“Yes, our paths have crossed a few times.”

“You also compared notes on your psychiatrist and treatment, if I recall correctly.”

Will actually let out a huff of a laugh at that, nodding his head as he took a sip of wine to clear his throat. “We did indeed. Margot approached me regarding my thoughts on your...”

“More unorthodox practices?”

“Amongst other factors.”

“I was hopeful you may provide a familiar face for her around the table, given the remaining seats will be taken up by our colleagues and some old friends of mine. Jack Crawford, if he is well enough, as well as Alana of course.”

“This almost sounds like a set up, Hannibal.”

The laugh that collected was almost as foreign a sound as the man it came from, a harsh and unfamiliar noise that caught on Will’s ear and tugged as if trying to coax one of his own in response. Both men knew the amusement of such a suggestion, and finishing their meals, Will gave a small nod in agreement as he removed his glasses to clean, avoiding the other’s eye altogether.

“Well regardless, you can count on my being there. Both for your feast and for ensuring that Ms Verger enjoys her evening.”

“It should be an enlightening event.” Hannibal spoke quietly as he finished his meal, setting his knife and fork gently on his plate in the correct positions as he took a sip from his glass. Each of them had had two already, and Will knew the last remaining from the bottle would go to the host rather than himself, as his drive home would not be too long away unless- “Would you care for a digestif or an espresso to end the evening?”

“Coffee would do just fine- please let me.” Will rose to his feet as his host did the same, hands reaching out to collect both main plates with practised ease before Hannibal had the chance to arrange them himself. The other man gave him a small, approving nod before the intently searching look was back upon his face as Hannibal ushered them both into the kitchen space.

It was now fairly frequent for them to end a night with a coffee in the informal yet lavish kitchen space, and most evenings had begun starting in the same space as well, Hannibal working like a professional or master at his craft while Will would offer assistance and be relegated to mincing garlic or peeling potatoes. One day he may even not have them repeeled and turned by the other man with enough dinners.

The host clicked the espresso machine into life while setting the water of the sink to run. Will had watched the other man enough to know that he would want to be in charge of clearing off the plates and disposing of any pieces uneaten in his own precise fashion, and always did so once company had left, leaving Will to set the plates down nearby the sink and rest against the island counter instead of pacing about the space unthinkingly.

“Do you believe Jack will be able to attend?” He hadn’t realised the thought had stuck with him until that moment. That the idea of facing Jack again for the first time since the ambulance had pulled away from his farmhouse, and in such a public setting, was making him uneasy. Will’s previous discussion with Hannibal regarding the dangerous person’s who had both appeared and disappeared at his property marked what he knew would be a topic Jack would be unlikely to hold back from bringing up - regardless of the public nature of the event or the number of people around.

“He may do. I believe he has been recovering well since I last saw him before our session last week. I should expect he will be up for polite company by next Friday at this rate.”

“Ah.”

“Did you wish to avoid him for some reason?” Hannibal’s question would have seemed and sounded innocent coming from any other person. Any other person would not have had no inflection in their voice, no shift in their facial expression and no smoothness to the delivery of the question, any other person would not have been asked to bring up the topic of the serial killers on the loose by the man in question just five nights earlier. “If you wish, I can avoid extending the invitation to him should the idea be untenable to you.”

“It’s fine Hannibal, Jack would know something was wrong if you did not invite him to your next soiree. And I will be busy keeping Margot company.”

“Yes, I would believe that she may act as a satisfactory block to Jack’s more vocal proclivities.”

“Exactly,” Will nodded as he took the small espresso cup, just finished as Hannibal had made his way through the steps of grinding the beans, pressing the grounds into the header, and extracting the deep, dark drink from the procedure. He took a small sip of the ristretto-style provided to him, bitter and sharp, and all around again missing that chocolatey flavor that Will found himself craving at all hours of the day now - when he woke up, when he fell to sleep, when he had a coffee or sat down to a meal, when he thought he saw a flash of gold somewhere out the corner of his eye, when he caught a whiff of something on the air that smelt of metal, rust or blood and sometimes vanilla, when he lay back on his bed and heard the snuffling noises of Wilson and the crew, when he took a sip of the espresso prepared by Hannibal...

Taking another sip as Hannibal began working through the process for his own cup, Will asked quietly, “Did you have any chocolate?” only to receive that same, unnerving laughter in response.

---

“You thinking about inviting me over for a nightcap?”

“I didn’t realise you’d like one.”

“I would if you were willing.”

The question came out of the blue as the pair walked out on the icy pavement outside of the house after a night of elaborate dining, stifled conversation between duller and stupider persons than themselves, and attempting not to share knowing looks between them as they watched the careful masterpiece of Hannibal’s orchestra of humans milling about and pander to his every gesture. Will Graham was not sure that the woman beside him understood the exact extent of each look they shared, but it was a shared experience nonetheless. That she was now asking, as they stood toe to toe in the cold night air as they’d each bid their farewells and made their excuses to leave slightly earlier than the revelling sheep, and what she was now asking seemed completely foreign to him.

“I’m fairly certain I don’t interest you, Margot.”

“It’s not about interest, it’s about trust, Will.”

He could see the words flash before his eyes - “don’t” “Trust” “me” “we” “Can’t” “do this”. - the memory jarring him to the last woman that had been in his bed and the sharp ache that her leaving had left behind. Leaving things between them unfinished. Blinking his eyes and seeing the speculative look on the woman before him, so pretty and yet so cold, so soft and yet so broken, so close in just a handful of ways that he found himself nodding and offering her his hand before they walked back to his car.

The firelight was soft when they reached his home, his family all kept a respectful and quiet distance in the back rooms of the house after a brief greeting to the couple. Two glasses of whiskey were poured, and Will leant back against the dresser as the woman sipped at her drink consideringly as she paced about the room, almost like a skittish, scarred animal, uncomfortable in a new place and waiting for the other foot to drop.

“So this is about trust?” His question cracked within the quiet air between them, but it did not distract her from her pacing.

“Yes, this is about trust between us, Will.”

“It’s good to trust.” He replied, hand gripping tightly about his drink as he swirled it speculatively without having lifted it to his lips even once since they had arrived back to his home. His mind was on the word, how hard and soft it was at the same time - hard to make yourself learn to trust and soft in its safety when it was earned - just like her and her. Raising his drink, Will took a small sip before adding slightly sharply. “Better not to.”

“My optimal level of trust is usually zero. But I trust you.”

“I don’t trust you.” The selfloathing in his voice, and the response itself, he knew was not directed to this woman’s comments even if it was equally true. He did not trust Margot, but it was even worse that he still did not trust her.

There was a sharp sound, almost like a laugh but more like a gasp from the brunette as she sipped at her own drink before she replied to him. He could hear her breath reverberate in the glass, that huffed sound bouncing around in the tight glass space before escaping to his ears. “I don’t need you to trust me.”

“What do you need, Margot?”

“What happened to your window?” The change of topic made him bite back a small, dark smile. It reminded him of the evasion in topic she did, the way that she’d switch it or pull a rug out from underneath him rather than answer a question. The similarities continue to pile up as the dark haired woman turned to look at him, a slight undeterminable frown on her face.

“Stag got lost in a storm came through it. Got a few scratches getting him back out.”

“Are you scarred?”

“Probably more than I know.”

Margot turned on her heel to face him at that, glass to her lips and the remaining contents tossed back down her throat in one fluid motion. He felt his own press together at the sight. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He felt off balance in the conversation again, staring at the woman in slight confusion as she approached him, hand reaching out to set her glass on the dresser top beside his arm. She was really meaning what she said, she was pressing and pushing at him verbally, pulling at him to give into whatever it was she was after from him.

Tilting his head away, Will replied sharply, eyes not leaving the two green eyes staring back at him. “I don’t have the right parts for your proclivities, Margot.”

“You have the right parts for what I need.”

The dark haired woman approached another step, hands moving smoothly to unbutton the first of her shirts latches with ease. As she moved for the second, he blinked realising his own had replaced hers originally to stop her but instead finding his own fingers feeding button through hole and sliding the silky fabric from her with ease. He felt the tug as she began working on his own scratchy flannel shirts buttons. It had made him stand out at the dinner party - surrounded by those in fine silks and fabrics wearing the rough and worn shirts he always did; the divide between himself and those Hannibal played with jarringly obvious.

Shirts slid from shoulders and bared flesh to one another; her fingers slid over his bullet wounds as easily as his slid over the surgical scars that riddled her back - “Who did this?” “My brother, who shot you?” “A friend.” - but leaning in to kiss the side of her neck he could swear he missed the feel of raised, scarred skin that his heart dreamt was there.

From there, it was a simple movement to the bed, Margot pushing him down with a firm hand on his bare chest to the centre of the bed before climbing ontop of him. Her body may have been marked and scarred, but as his hands ran along her back and across her taunt stomach, he knew they were in the wrong positions. Margot’s lips on his, teeth working at his bottom lip as she spread ontop of him tasted like whiskey, wine and the peppery sauce from that evenings meal. They weren’t sweet at all, and they weren’t dangerous either.

Leaning up to her, he could hear the gasp as he surged towards her off of the bed, that little gasp he remembered so fondly and haunted his dreams ever since that night. The small hitch in her voice as he moved to her neck, lips brushing against raised circular scars like a bite but smaller than any dog should make, he could feel her pulse racing beneath the scarred skin and the small, tiny moan he ripped from her.

His hands stroked across her hair, the dark curls of Margot’s forming under his fingertips as she kissed him back - passionless but attentive, the type of kiss that seemed perfunctuary rather than desired, but she still writhed above him as he rolled them over, her smaller frame beneath his own. The worn, cotton sheets bunch under them and move with them both as he repositions them as he thrusts within her. The tiny sound of pain at the unplanned and unprepared space makes him want to apologise, but the sound is wrest from his lips by the next kiss.

Pulling back from her lips, he opened his eyes to a pool of gold and her face staring back up at him, that infuriatingly haunting smile and a warmth in her eyes, deep brown pools of chocolate reflecting a love he knew wasn’t for him back at him as he leant back into her, She had her hands in his hair, tugging slightly on the ends as she rolled her hips beneath him in time with his own movements. She moaned, deep from within her chest and throat, not catching but releasing loudly as they moved in tandem, her nails raking along his back and head thrown back, pushing into the pillow beneath her in agonised bliss. Her neck glistened with sweat, pooling between her collarbones, and he leant in to taste at her,

He heard a small gasp as his lips on her neck again, the hands pushing and pulling at his shounders until he leant up, her dark red nails that had contrasted with her silk blouse for the night dug into his skin with a small hitched noise. This was about something for her, something that he could provide but not necessarially him that was needed. Margot gasped again as her hands drew him in for a kiss.

It wasn’t him kissing her though, he knew that. He knew that it wasn’t his lips pressing against the woman he once fancied’s lips; Alana had barely spoken three words to him the whole night but he had talked to him at length. The brush of their mouths, the tangle of their lips, and Hannibal’s hand wrapped around her throat drawing a sharp gasp from her mouth as Will leant back into the kiss again. The hand on his neck squeezed that little tighter, a thumb brushed against the underside of his jaw while Hannibal remained in charge. He was always in control of this. His arms wrapped around her tightly as he moved above her, the motion so in time with Will’s own and the needy sound-

It was such a beautiful sound to him, that high pitched gasp, the tiny whine that she needed something, that she needed him, that she wanted him was so intoxicating. The feel of her beneath him as they moved together, before he shifted to his knees, pushing and pulling her around to match against him, her back to his front and his hand wrapping around her neck in place of the other’s, her blonde hair caught between his fingers and spreading across his shoulder as she gasped and moaned and squirmed against him for more. Somehow he knew this was happening, he could feel her around him taunting him as he moved to thurst harder into her.

Margot let out a surprised noise at the shift, and her legs shifted for his access with ease but not with the knowing awareness that she had had. His other hand wrapped around her middle, fondling at a breast which was too full and too rounded for the vision he had. He instead traced a patch down her front to tangle between the hairs and brush against the thing she was whimpering for him to touch as they continued the dance.

Her head turned to kiss him, and he felt the brush of her nose and the scent of vanilla wafted over his senses, stealling away as he felt the brush of his hand against the side of her face before the pair kissed like they would never do in reality. Outside of this bubble, outside of this world as Will moved harder and then slower into the other woman, a replacement in the real world as she was filled and stolen by someone else and not by the man he could see tracing his lips along her jaw, large doctor’s hand wrapped tightly and squeezing even harder against her throat.

It was with a cold rush down his spine that Will knew that this was what he wanted, the icy feeling watching as Hannibal tugged on her ear with his teeth and her mouth was thrown open in a state of ecstasy, her eyes fluttering open and the dilated pupils almost swallowing the brown of them fully as she stared back at him. His hands wrapped into her hair as Hannibal’s hand traced along her marred neck, before he drew her lips to his for another taste of her mouth, another taste of her.

He pushed her down on the bed again, back to a more standard position with ease where he could feel the same was occurring far and near to him, Margot’s legs wrapped around his hips as he continued to thrust forward, rocking between both hard and slow as he could catch the sight of gold beneath him, wanting this to last as long as he could as he kissed her again, deeply and with all the longing he’d felt since she lay on his bed that very first night. The other’s hand was hard as he traced along his back, guiding him and pressing forward just as much as Will himself did in time and in tandem in two separate beds joined in this night. Her own was further away still, but the gasps were as close as if they were in his ear.

Pressing into her again, Will turne his head away from the confused yet blissed out face of the brunette towards the dying fireplace onto to stutter out on the pacing at the sight, the dangerous dangerous sight of the dark manthing rising from its place before the fire. The dying light of the flames glistened and died upon the inky black skin as the stagman rose, white eyes focussed sharply where Will began moving again in earnest - whether it was fear or something else spurring him on as he stared down the unblinking eyes of the monster, he couldn’t admint.

Turning away from the vision, Will let himself get swept up in the feel of her - scarred stomach pressed tightly against him, the swell of her hips wider than the other woman’s and her nails, bitten and blank, clutched at his arm as she rocked up beneath him from so so far away. He sank down into her, trailing his lips from her jaw to her neck to the same scar between her breasts, lovingly adoring them as her fingers moved to his hair again, egging him on and whining so beautfiully at his movements and touches.

Looking back at the flames, he couldn’t see his own fire any more but the ornate design he knew would only suit the other man’s tastes and across the endless expanse of bed, their legs trapped in sheets and blankets as he moved, the inky skin pressed hard against her tanned body, languidly moving against one another as her hands dripped red and her body surged against the black mass moving into her. She was silent as she always was in his dreams when it was the angel of death and not the reality, but he could see the pleasure strewn across her face as her hands wrapped around the jet black antlers as the other thrust deep into her. Her hands pulled and pulled before the bone gave way, peeling the stag horns and black residue that had coated him from his skin, revealling the fragile and longing man beneath the cold, dark outercoat he had begun to develop under Hannibal and the stagman’s tutelage. He was reborn and freed as the inky darkness dropped from him at her gesture, small inky drops falling to her skin and rolling off of the bloody, scarred surface of her as his ink soaked hands wrapped around her bloody ones as he came with a groan and she melded against him for one last kiss, chocolate and blood coating the taste of her tongue.

Rolling off of her, Will turned his head to look across at the other, her dark hair matted and sweaty from the activity as her green eyes stared towards the ceiling. There were no words to be shared, there was no need for them between the two of them at this point - in some way, Will knew they had both gotten what they had needed from the other; and turning to look up at the familiar ceiling bathed in the dying golden light from the fireplace as Margot righted herself and began dressing again, he could almost believe himself when he told himself that if he just closed his eyes he could be back there with her so far away, wrapped up in a tight embrace as they drifted off to sleep like she would with him, rather than the cold ending of his own interaction or the falsified closeness of Hannibal and Alana’s.

---

#AU stories #my design verse

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thepurebredking · 5 years

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CHANCE ENCOUNTER w/@DarksDestiny

#ChanceEncounter

Destiny:

Scrolling through the job ads for the Caldwell are, I made a note of a couple but being that I am limited to evenings only, there weren’t a lot of options besides bars. I have done the bar/club scene more than I care to mention and really didn’t want to go down that route again. There were several waitress positions around the area and the one for Sal’s sounded promising. A waitress/hostess position which listed the hours needed were for later evenings. It was a place to start anyway. I decided to change into something nice and head down to apply in person tonight. No time like the present, right? As I stared at my reflection, a memory from the past popped into my mind as they often do any time I wear anything white. I was in the sanctuary all dressed white waiting to be called to service that one special male again. I shook the thoughts from my mind and went to my bag digging for shoes. Being back in Caldwell was sure playing havoc with my mind. I picked up my phone and made a quick call for a taxi and then made my way to the lobby to wait. There were several people rummaging around and I felt like all eyes were on me. The taxi arrived and the trip to Sal’s was actually shorter than I thought. Just ten minutes out. That will be good for the time being. I walked into Sal’s and asked for the manager and when a very attractive male walked over and I introduced myself and brought up the job. The position had not been filled and he asked me to follow him to the office towards the back. The place was extremely busy and very few tables were empty. After a short interview, he asked when I could start and I told him anytime as I had just moved back to Caldwell and have no other commitments at this time. He said he would let me know in a few days and walked me out of the office. He offered me a seat at the bar towards the back of the restaurant which I happily accepted. I hadn’t had a good meal in a few days and my stomach was growling through the whole meeting just from the smell. I ordered a drink and the special for the night then pivoted on my stool to look around the restaurant. I noticed the private section of the restaurant and heard male voices coming from that direction, even laughter. I couldn’t help but be curious about who would be sitting back there. One voice came through the rest and it gave me chills. It was a familiar voice but I wasn’t sure why. Must just be my imagination.

Wrath:

Vishous, Syn, and Peyton had decided that things had been way too strenuous on me lately and I needed a night out. My only stipulation in agreeing was that we didn’t head out to one of the many nightclubs in town. That, they determined, was a fair request. It was one thing to get out of the manse to blow off some steam, it was totally another to bring the King of the race straight to any one of the nightclubs that the new lessening society knew we, as Brothers, spent time. Not that I was a slouch by any means, but I was blind, and in a place where the music was so loud you couldn’t hear yourself think, I was at a severe disadvantage, especially seeing as this new breed of lessers didn’t have quite the stench that the others did. You barely knew these ones were coming.

So, in the end, the males elected for Sal’s. A smaller scale restaurant, with a bar, subtle sounds of traditional Italian music rolling off the speakers, and incredible eats. Yeah, I could deal with a night of that.

We weren’t there 5 minutes before iAm came out to greet us and make sure we were happy with the service. He ensured us that we were being taken care of by only his best wait staff. But, to not hesitate to ask for him, should we feel his employees were not meeting our needs. We assured him that the staff was taking excellent care of us and he need not worry. Once reassured, he took a load off and joined us at the table for a couple, okay a few drinks on the house. It wasn’t long before we were all enjoying the time, outside of the manse, away from the stressors of my job and the fight we had been dealing with on the daily for what seemed like eons. It was as if we had carved out this one night and set it aside from everything. It felt easy to just relax for the brief moments of time we had here.

Destiny:

As I sat waiting for my dinner, the old saying curiosity killed the cat kept running through my mind. I was definitely curious about who was back in that section. But I didn’t feel like I could actually take a peek though. My dinner was delivered and I tried my best to put the thoughts of the males’ bantering out of my mind. The man who interviewed me came back over to where I was seated. He brought with him another male and introduced me to him letting the male know I had applied for the open position. He was iAm and apparently the male in charge. He had a few questions of his own as to experience and my availability during the day. I explained quickly that I would only be open to an evening position. Before he could say anything else, a male from the private section walked out and I immediately knew who he was. Well, not who but what he was. He was one of the Brothers I had seen during my visits to the mansion. His intense crystal gaze went from me to iAm and he motioned to the room behind him. I sunk in my seat sure he would have no idea who or what I was. That was the last thing I wanted to happen. iAm followed the male and I took a deep breath staring down at my meal wondering if I should just leave. But again, curiosity was coursing through my veins and I wanted to know who else could possibly be there.

Wrath:

As soon as the meals came out from the kitchen, iAm got called back to work. He promised to come back out and check in with us, one more time, before we finished up and disappeared.

Conversation stayed light for about 15 more minutes before business got brought up by Peyton. The kid never learned. Always wanting to know, what was next? How were we going to hit the fuckers, now? You know the old saying, “He’s got ants in his pants?” Yeah, well, this was the type of kid they had in mind when they came up with it. He never stopped. Every chance he got to bend my ear, he did. I’m not saying the kid was brimming over with ideas. It’s just that he had that ram kind of mindset. The one where you go into every situation, guns out and blazing. He never understood the whole process of planning out a strategic attack. V, in his usual frustration with him, got up and walked off for a time. He can only take so much of Peyton, once the kid starts going.

I let him ramble on for a bit, before Syn finally cut him off. “Jesus, fuck, kid! We’re here, at a restaurant, trying to enjoy a nice meal. Don’t ya think he hears enough of that shit back at the manse? Chill your ass out.”

I could hear Peyton shift in his seat. “Whatever, man.” All these years later and the kid still felt out of sorts around Syn. I guess it was good for him to have a healthy respect for us, more experienced warriors.

A few minutes of awkward silence and V came back to join us. “Good, you’re done. I’ve got dessert headed our way.”

Destiny:

The grumbling in my stomach answered my question about leaving. Not until I ate the pasta that had been placed in front of me. I pulled out my phone and pulled up additional job opportunities while I ate. This place would be perfect for me but I’m not sure I would get the job. If they want someone who is available during the day too, I’m not an option. This has to be the best pasta I had ever eaten and I actually ate every single bite. I ordered dessert and a glass of wine and kept scrolling. My attention only partially focusing on my phone. I kept wishing the male from the manse would come back out and bring along whoever is back there with him. I did not expect anyone to recognize me for who or what I was, which was a good thing. I wanted to stay independent but I thought maybe, just maybe, I would recognize the others. I shook my head not even sure why that would matter. I didn’t want that part of my life back. Maybe it would just have given me a feeling of security. Something I have not had in a long time. My dessert was delivered along with the wine and I sat back, watching the waiters and staff. This place ran smooth and classy. Glancing down at my dessert and then my phone I realized I had been here for over two hours. I asked for my check and if my dessert could be packed to go. It would be another lonely night and I guessed my dessert would be my bedtime snack. The waiter asked me to stay a bit longer as iAm wanted to speak with me again and he was just checking in on some guests who would be heading out for the night and would be over in a few. Obviously I said I would.

Wrath:

The dessert in this place had always been my favorite, everything from the cannoli to the Italian ice, to the tiramisu. The tiramisu being my all-time favorite. There were nights that Fred would drive all the way into the city, just to pick up some of Sal’s tiramisu. He’d been trying to bribe iAm for the recipe, for years, but iAm wouldn’t budge. So instead, Fred would trek all the way here just to get me one slice. Tonight I savored every bite.

V had been right. I really needed this night away. Even if it were just for a few hours and out to Sal’s, it had done exactly what he said it would. It had given me a small break in what had seemed to be a never ending shit storm that we had been experiencing, as of late.

iAm boxed up a few more desserts for us to take with and we collected our jackets and began to head out. As we filed through the dining room, I caught a whiff of a scent that literally stopped me in my tracks. It was rose-scented jasmine, wrapped up in the sensation of silk on my bare skin... and it stank of memories of Beth’s death. I had never sensed such a conflicted disturbance in my life. On the one hand, my cock was straining against the strength of my leathers, and on the other, I wanted to vomit up the whole of my meal and start a mass destruction of everything in the place. I could feel the aggression taking control as a massive growl grew from the depths of my gut.

“Woah, man.” I felt a shove from behind. “What say, we get you out of this place and head home? True?”

It was enough to shake me from my thoughts long enough to get my feet moving again.

Destiny:

(I was just taking a last sip of wine as my eyes caught the males in the reflection in the mirror behind the bar. A couple of males I did not recognize lead the way heading directly behind me and then I saw him and I almost dropped the empty glass. He was as I remembered him. Massive in stature and the aura of his power and royalty were obvious. My pulse increased and I felt the urge to fall to my knees before him but I did not move. My eyes watched his reflection as he walked closer heading towards the door, the crystal-eyed male on his heals. He walked right behind me and just as he passed me, his steps faltered for just a moment and I swear I heard a growl but then the male behind him spoke and they moved to the door and were gone.

My heart was racing and imagines of the feedings, his sorry and pain flooded my body. All of the emotions hitting me as it has then. iAm suddenly appeared beside me starling me. He said the job was mine and I could start as soon as I wanted if I was truly interested. I’m not sure if the look of shock on my face was from the job offer or because the past had just slapped me in the face. I needed this opportunity and I accepting hoping I hadn’t just made a grave mistake. Could I keep my identity a secret? He asked me to come back the following night for training and I agreed then picked up my purse and to-go bag and headed to the door. As I stepped out, I scanned the street wishing for another glance of those males. Shaking my head to stop those thoughts, I stepped into the shadows and dematerialized back to my hotel room for the night.

#ChanceEncounter #ISBDB

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qm-vox · 5 years

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So You Want To Run A Summer Court

Previous articles: So You Want To Run A Winter Court & So You Want To Run An Autumn Court

My endless thanks to SSG Jacob Karpel, US Army, for his advice and perspective on this article as a member of the Armed Forces. He helped enhance quite a few sections and clean up quite a few more; any errors are mine, not his.

The Court of Wrath. The Crimson Court. The Iron Spear. Summer is the second of the Seasonal Courts, the second of the Rising Seasons, and the Court with what is perhaps the greatest clarity of purpose, both as an individual political body and as a part of the wider Freehold. Summer prides itself on its utilitarian vision, its apolitical culture, service to its fellow Lost, and commitment to discipline, honor, and courage.

All of which is, to greater and lesser extents, bullshit.

The following article provides advice on designing and running your own Summer Court and Summer Courtiers, as either a player or storyteller, and draws primarily on Changeling: the Lost, Lords of Summer, and Swords at Dawn. Other books, if referenced, will be cited.

Disclaimer: I’m gonna be real, Summer is a Court near and dear to my heart, and may be my favorite of the Seasonal Courts. Obviously any source of information is going to have biases and even as a reader of something for enjoyment like Changeling it pays to be aware of those biases, but ah. I may be more biased than usual when it comes to my angrah children and how they screm. You have been advised; do as thou wilt.

Knights of Wrath - An Overview

Summer is associated with Wrath in all of its forms: anger, fury, hatred, frustration, malice, and more. The Iron Spear rarely lacks for recruits; the Lost are often angry, and forming a Summer Mantle is relatively easy as a result. To advance one though, to grow in one’s mystic bond to the Crimson Court, is not just to nurture blind rage but to relate to your Wrath, the Wrath of others, and to utilize it in your life.

Broadly, Summer serves as the soldiers of its Freehold (more on this later though). Like most military forces, that role is wider than one might expect. Unlike most military forces, your average Summer Court may be as little as a dozen guys and a truck. Compromises get made; rare is the knight of Summer that is not pulling double or triple duty in some way. Still, Summer takes on these duties both out of a sense of duty or obligation to the wider Freehold, and because as a Court it values strength in all of its forms: strength of body, strength of mind, strength of purpose, character, and will. Summer utilizes that strength in place of the social manipulations and magical trickery of the other Courts; in directly confronting the often labyrinthine machinations of the True Fae and other enemies of the Lost, the Summer Court represents an out-of-context problem that many fae and Fae are simply unused to dealing with.

The Chain of Command

All but the absolutely most self-aware Summer Courts tend to sell themselves as apolitical meritocracies. It isn’t a lie exactly - they certainly see themselves that way - but it is still bullshit. Any society has politics, and Summer is no different. Where Summer differs from the maneuverings of its sibling Courts is in how those politics manifest, starting with the Crown.

The one universal constant of how all Summer Courts from Tokyo to New York City govern themselves is the manner in which the Crown settles on the head of a ruler, which is built into the pacts that define the Court; that is, Summer doesn’t have the option to not rule themselves in this way. When the Court of Wrath takes power (typically on the day of the Summer Solstice until the Autumnal Equinox, though local customs may vary), the Crown manifests on the brow of whichever Summer Courtier is most seen by the others as their leader.

The candidate in question does not have any say in the matter.

This enforced democracy lasts for at least the reign of Summer, and it means that in theory Summer could change monarchs every year. In practice this is a lot less likely to happen; the Lost offer their trust with their whole hearts, so someone they pick with their hearts and minds to lead them is going to have to fuck up pretty mightily to not have the job again next year. While this is prone to the usual issues of democratic election (the Lost people want is not necessarily the best one for the job), it does help ensure unity in the Court, and Summer’s utilitarian culture does help offset the possibility of an incompetent monarch. Option two for becoming King is to murder the reigning monarch and take the Crown from their brow. Assuming you can get away with this (after all, this is the guy everyone else chose, and they’re likely to be ever-so-slightly annoyed that you murdered him), it makes you the monarch for the remainder of that Summer - at which point you’ve got the rest of the year to earn the Court’s hearts and minds, or you’re right back at this ‘regicide or no regicide’ decision point.

Those with doubts about Summer’s abiding friendship with the Spring Court are usually cured of them when they examine the remainder of Summer’s titles that serve beneath or alongside the Crown. The following titles and their functions are sourced from Lords of Summer and expanded on.

Wroth General Calescent - Summer’s greatest strategist and military leader is given the title of Wroth General. In Courts that maintain a General (which is not necessarily all of them; many Summer monarchs are expected to fill this role, and may be saddled with the Crown specifically because of their strategic and tactical prowess), the individual in question may be equal to or greater in power than the Crown. Generals are more likely to flourish if Summer is politically powerful in its Freehold, if the Freehold is unusually populous, or ideally both; their broader strategic focus makes them an excellent candidate for creating and executing policies that involve the cooperation of the Freehold as a whole. In a Court with a politically powerful General, the Crown is likely to fill the role of embodying Summer’s ideals, setting grand strategy, and ensuring internal discipline and morale. A politically weaker General (either in comparison to a strong Crown or because the General is legitimately uninterested in politics) will serve in a more advisory capacity to the Crown’s overall command.

Iron Adjutant - In some ways the opposite of the Wroth General, the adjutant serves as the Crown’s majordomo; they handle the day-to-day running of the Court and attend to its logistics. While some monarchs offload this entire job to the Adjutant, it’s rarer than you might think, both because Freeholds are small societies and because, again, the Crown generally gets selected to do some actual leading. Still, a talented Iron Adjutant is vital for the smooth running of the Freehold during the Season itself, and for keeping Summer’s swords sharpened, its guns reloaded, and its armor in good repair. A wise monarch values those services quite highly.

Red Victor - The other title given to someone whether they like it or not, the Red Victor is the Crimson Court’s greatest champion, a Lost whose list of heroic deeds are both numerous and insane - Keepers struck down to the dirt of the mortal realm, slaves rescued from durance vile, horrors from the Hedge leashed and made to serve the Freehold, and more besides. She is the living embodiment of the triumph of Summer’s ideals, likely a beloved figure through the entire Freehold, and quite possibly one of the single-most personally powerful Lost within it. It’s not an easy job. Getting here can take a toll on your Clarity, and the duties expected of you are extremely public, to say nothing of continuing to serve as the Court’s champion. The death of the Red Victor sends her Court into magically-enforced mourning that can core the strength of Summer for weeks, creating a vulnerability in her Freehold. A good Victor recognizes this and acts accordingly, as the leader she may not have wanted to be but definitely is; a poor one is likely too busy with hookers and blow to care.

Hunter of the Longest Day (Jaeger) - The Jaeger is the Court of Wrath’s premier bounty hunter, tracker, and sometimes assassin. While Summer’s MO is to directly confront deception and labyrinthine plots, every now and again you need a single target taken out or dragged back in alive, or the Court requires a personal touch to move in alongside Autumn or Winter intelligence operatives. The Jaeger is valued for these talents more than their potential to contribute in a stand-up fight, and while the position is one of the most apolitical of the Court (and the most apolitical at its level of resplendent Mantle) it does net the bearer quite a bit of glory and pay if they can keep up the good work. More broadly, the Jaeger represents a living reminder to Summer that every now and again it’s better to hold back so that your devastating charge can hit the enemy from the side instead of right in the teeth of their defenses.

Sun’s Tongue - The full version of this title is, I shit you the fuck not, The Song Sung by the Sun’s Told Tongue, and if you don’t think Spring trots that out at the tiniest excuse to say the whole thing out loud you’d better think again. The Sun’s Tongue is Summer’s formal diplomat, tasked with interfacing directly with the other Courts, representing Summer’s interests to them, and bringing their interests back to the Crown. As the Court’s strongest primary social role, the Sun’s Tongue tends to be an odd duck in comparison to their fellow Summer Courtiers, but they still embrace the Court’s ideals of direct action and strength, often with a strong grounding in the philosophies of realpolitik and mutually beneficial arrangements. Unlike the Legate of Mists in Autumn, the Sun’s Tongue is only rarely a buffer between horrifying Courtiers and people justifiably worried about said Courtiers; instead they serve to facilitate the negotiations of the Crown and the Wroth General, and to keep a finger on the wider pulse of the Freehold.

Arrayer of Distant Thunder - The hidden hard mode of Summer’s social roles, the Arrayer of Distant Thunder has the “commission of array”, the right and responsibility to speak to any member of the Freehold from Queen to pauper and draft them for war. If that was all they did, the Arrayer position would be quite empty except in the largest of Freeholds (where their person-to-person interaction with Lost outside of Summer itself makes them an absolutely invaluable resource to the Wroth General and the Crown); the Arrayer of Distant Thunder is also responsible for ensuring that these other Lost are ready for war. Though it falls out of the formal scope of the title, that means that a good or even middling Arrayer either trains Lost in combat or arranges for them to be trained, negotiates with the other Courts to ensure they maintain armories in the event of an emergency, and is tasked with reaching out to even the most isolated and short-tempered of their fellows to bring them into the fold for battle. Where the Wroth General dictates grand strategy and the overall expense of resources, the Arrayer is expected to know the individuals involved and to advise their superiors on where best to place their talents in war or in preparation for the same. Rare is the Arrayer of Distant Thunder without a scattering of Court Goodwill across the entire Freehold.

Constable of Calefaction - The sheriff of the Summer Court, who for some godforsaken reason is called “the Calefactor” instead of Sheriff in your usual case (Summer: “We are serious adults.” Also Summer: This, constantly, in every fucking title). The Calefactor’s primary responsibility is maintaining internal discipline and keeping the peace in the Summer Court; as a society of people who encourage each other to get mad and kill things, they are somewhat prone to, you know, getting mad and killing things. Most Summer Courts are small enough that the Calefactor is the only formal member of any kind of law enforcement, which means that they often share skills in common with the local Jaeger, including tracking, investigation, and a certain distressing insight into the psychology of their prey. However, in an unusually populous Freehold, or one with strong intimate relationships between the Courts, the Calefactor may fill a more general role of law enforcement and informal counseling, working closely with figures such as the Verdant Advocate (Spring), the Ashen Notary (Autumn), and Winter’s Iceclad Armigers.

Man-At-Arms - A cut above the standard grunts, Men-At-Arms (local titles vary, inevitably into something more dramatic like ‘Crimson Knight’) are the minimum tier at which the Court pays for your upkeep. Expected to fill the role of primary combatants, Men-At-Arms have their mundane equipment seen to by the Court, and depending on the situation in their Freehold may also have concerns such as rent and food taken care of so that they can focus their attention on the full-time needs of soldiering. Of course, no Freehold is on a war footing all the time, so without the attendant responsibilities of higher ranks one will find the Men-At-Arms hiring themselves out to their peers in other Courts and supporting their Motleys in personal projects, as the desire and need strikes them.

Dust Grunt/Mud Grunt - The bottom of the barrel; Summer’s youngbloods are trained in battle and small-unit tactics and then put on the front lines to soften up the enemy. Chances are you start here when you sign onto the Court (but see below), and these irregulars can more often resemble a militia rather than the greater standardization of the warriors above them, with equipment ranging from nickel-plated revolvers to sharpened shovels. These decisions are more pragmatic on the part of the Court than they are malicious, though even the most hellbent fuck-up of a Grunt is part of Summer’s brotherhood, to be defended by their fellows.

Lords of Summer presents two more bottom-tier titles, the Sentry of Summer’s Vigil and the Mule Squire. Both of these are redundant to the Grunts; the Sentry’s work of guarding locations or people, and the Squire’s work of essentially doing the Court’s cleaning and make-work are both great uses of spare Grunts that need something to do, and a way of teaching or forcing discipline on them. Even in a modern military apparatus like the United States military, full-time guards are an incredible rarity and are mainly a position of honor rather than an immediate and intense need that craves filling. I encourage you to ignore both of these titles entirely.

So, how does one advance in Summer? Not dying is a good early step, as is putting in the work. Summer joins Winter in being one of the more utilitarian and pragmatic Courts, and that means demonstrating that you can fill the position you’re seeking. Its internal culture of cultivating strength and training means that someone who aspires to climb the ranks can often find someone else willing to teach them, provided they haven’t lost the respect of their own Court somehow. Given the reality of Summer’s limited numbers, it can pay to build a relationship with the current holder of the title you’re seeking so that they can teach you directly. Unlike Autumn, which often has the practical problem of its apprentices going full Sith Lord on their masters, Summer’s often quite happy to teach you what it knows; after all, they have a much higher than average chance of leaving a vacancy through no fault of your own.

But there is also the matter of the Tribulum.

By virtue of ancient tradition, a certain repressed sense of drama, and a not-insignificant amount of malice, those who seek title and authority in Summer must petition to be tested. Collectively, these tests and the process of them are the Tribulum, which in theory threshes the wheat from the chaff. They can be fantastically cruel; an aspiring officer might be forced to win back-to-back chess games for days on end with no opportunity to eat or sleep, or an aspirant to become the Arrayer of Distant Thunder timed on runs through the Freehold that demand death-defying feats of parkour. In a healthy Summer Court, these tests have more benefit than the cruel amusement of the higher-ups (though they definitely provide that benefit); they help those in power gauge how the aspirant performs their duties under pressure, and see how they relate to their own Wrath and how that Wrath is expressed in the job they seek. Someone seeking a social role such as the Sun’s Tongue may be expected to navigate a party or conference while the Court embarrasses, undermines, or demeans her; a potential Jaeger may be kidnapped and thrown naked into the Hedge with a command to bring back the head of a dread beast. Those who survive these trials emerge with the respect of their peers and the confidence of their superiors, with the obvious downside being that sometimes, people don’t survive them and the Court is then deprived of their talents.

Once the chain of command is established, Summer organizes itself and the Freehold (during its reign) along militaristic lines, with clearly established authority and duties. Lawful orders are to be obeyed for the greater good of the Lost around you and the things you, and they, care about. The Crimson Court can be somewhat clannish, though not nearly to the extent of Winter. Aside from its essentially selfless mission statement, Summer tends to frame the Freehold as a whole as an army in which everyone helps everyone else, with Summer and a select few members of other Courts as that army’s core combatants. They take pride in the dangerous work they do, and offer their respect to others willing to take it on. This does mean that Summer, like Autumn, only rarely has its internal logistics established; they rely on Spring and Winter for income and political interfacing with much of the mortal realm, and on Autumn to help provide magical backup and Goblin Fruits, to say nothing of capabilities like Spring’s powers of healing, Winter’s intelligence work, or Autumn’s mind-shattering powers over Fear that Summer simply cannot match on its own even if it has internal specialists that can support those roles.

The Promise of Summer

Summer tends to be loud and proud about its high ideals, and those ideals can be very attractive to potential recruits. On the practical level, Summer offers skills such as combat training and self-defense, and the self-confidence to use them. Lost who have strength can often flock to Summer, but so do those that crave strength, who want the power to change the narrative if their Keeper comes back for them again. Ogres, social Beasts (especially those that run in packs and herds), and Elementals are often natural adopters of Summer for these reasons, though you’ll find people in every Seeming who look at the circumstances of their Durance and conclude that if they’d been stronger, faster, or more decisive, they might have been able to make a difference.

Beyond practicality though, Summer offers the Lost that join it something to fight for beyond just survival. Ideals like justice, honor, and duty are near and dear to Summer’s heart. The most compelling promise of Summer to many of its recruits is the idea that they can take the evil done to them and make something good out of it. Summer is well aware that the world is unjust, that the honorable are taken advantage of by the deceitful, that people shirk their duties. That knowledge can turn toxic in some Summers, resulting in elitist braggarts or callous killers jaded by the dark world around them, but many other Summer Courts accept the reality and work on changing it. Maybe you can’t fix the world, but you can fix your part of it, and in a world of darkness holding forth a light to guide others becomes all the more important.

Most Summer Courts romanticize a knightly ideal of some kind, or another militaristic one, which enshrines the values to which they aspire. A certain amount of self-awareness goes into this even if Summer doesn’t talk a lot about it. Violence is not an easy thing to practice, and it can do things to you if you don’t have people to help you through it, don’t have rocks to hold onto, don’t have values to guide you. Though published material is rife with Summer Courts in a hard failure spiral (arguably, White Wolf has never published a Summer in a success state, not that I’m FUCKING BITTER), a successful Summer Court is as much a support group for its members as its peers are. Even beyond valuing a code of honor in itself, questions like “is this what a true knight would do?” can help ground a soldier of Summer before they make an angry choice that leads to regrets.

Ultimately, the core of Summer’s promise for your healing and recovery is bringing good out of evil. The Lost who join Summer were hurt and abused; Summer can help them ensure that others are not. They may struggle with self-discipline, self-control, or self-confidence; Summer can offer them the training they need to have these things. The weak and fearful can be raised into strength and courage. The Court of Wrath may tempt new recruits with vengeance against the Fae who wronged them, but those that stay do so because they want, or need, what Summer has to offer them.

Fury Oh Fury

Like Fear, Wrath is a passion that can very easily turn toxic. Summer knows this. Whether Summer does anything about that is another question, but for the most part even a Summer Court in a tight failure spiral isn’t stupid enough to simply let loose their brimming Wrath at-will. No one can be angry all day, every day, but you can cultivate anger, both in yourself and others. How Summer relates to its Wrath and what it uses that Wrath for defines it as a local Court.

Not all Lost are cut out for Wrath; as a passion, it is often one that grows out of another. Wrath at the loss (and thus Sorrow) one has endured, Wrath at the object of one’s Fear, Wrath that stems from frustrated Desire. While Summer is willing to help recruits find their anger, it can’t make the decision to seek and build a relationship with Wrath for a Changeling. For those who are angry, and seek validation or explanation for their anger, joining Summer provides them with the support and context needed to ask the foundational question, “Why am I angry? What am I angry about?”. From there, they can start on their journey towards relating to their own anger, and that of others.

While Summer values Wrath in and of itself, it tends to be more practical about that than its companion Courts do. Wrath is the tool with which Summer does its job; it sparks the protests that Summer uses to correct injustice, drives home the blades they use to put down True Fae, spurs on the athletes they take to competitions. It can provide the foundation of Summer’s camaraderie and brotherhood, and encourages Summer to defend those who cannot defend themselves. While some Summer Courts can be clannish and dismissive of the other Courts, most recognize that they choose violence in the hopes that others can have the opportunity to not make that choice. When mortals or Lost trying to live peaceful lives become the prey of the wicked, Summer’s Wrath is there to intercede.

Summer takes care to keep the fires of its Wrath ready. It’s not about constantly blazing with Wrath, which no one can do, but in recognizing the causes of their own anger and bringing it out. It can be bitter and hurtful work, remembering the pains you’ve been caused, deliberately nursing grudges, but it also provides Summer with a boundless source of energy and motivation. In a healthy Summer, this also means that the Court, so famed for its heights of berserk fury and unending rage, is also a paragon of proportionate response. “You wanna fight about it?” is less of a threat from Summer than it is an offer; two members of the Crimson Court knock each other around for a bit to vent their Wrath, to gain the satisfaction of taking action, and then sit down to shake hands or to negotiate a formal peace. It can look needlessly macho from the outside (and, in fairness, it kinda is), but it’s also an acknowledgement of each other’s Wrath; in resolving personal conflicts directly, Summer accepts the grievances that cause them as valid.

When it comes to the Wrath of others, Summer can have a dividing line between causing Wrath (which they must do to sustain their magical reserves) and relating to that Wrath. Malice is a kind of Wrath, and it’s a useful one for a Summer Courtier who needs Glamour because ultimately it means pissing people off. The ability to be a dick about just about anything on demand is a handy one for Summer, whether it’s by holding up a busy line during the lunch rush, insulting someone in front of their friends, or deadass eating someone’s burrito while they’re walking by and legging it for the hills like a hungry, burrito-deprived person is about to kill your bitch ass. The Fleeting Summer Contract also helps Summer seek out large sources of anger they themselves did not cause, at which point Summer has a choice to make about what they find. Joining a protest or demonstration for a just cause can both feed Summer the Glamour it needs and advance its ideals, but Summer also sometimes finds people rioting, attacking abortion clinics, or forming lynch mobs. Summer’s remit is to defend the innocent, and a healthy Summer will value that remit over the potential power they could gain, but not all Summers are healthy, and horrible things are done in the name of strength. For those that do choose to stand by their principles, becoming the target of the ambient Wrath - say, by standing up for those in danger - is a great way to gain the Glamour they’re about to need to defuse the situation.

In relating to the Wrath of others, Summer often practices solidarity. Only rarely will you hear a knight of Summer saying you’re angry for a stupid reason (and if they do, chances are your reason is stupid indeed); they can make fantastic listeners about the woes of your life that have made you angry, and excellent counselors on how to handle that anger. Making Wrath and war their business also means that Summer excels at practical self-care. A Summer Courtier is often going to be the first person to tell their friends and Motley that they’re mad because they’re hungry, overstimulated, exhausted, or other sources of non-productive Wrath, and to encourage those same people to, y’know, grab a Snickers. It can take a bit for Summer to catch up to the things that make mortals angry (the Lost can have awkward relationships with labor protests, for instance, because for many freshly escaped Lost the idea of safe work practices is alien), but once they do you’ll find Summer soldiers supporting all manner of causes. “What do you want to do about it?” is the common follow-up question when Summer hears that one of its friends is angry, and the Court can be both a great enabler of direct action and a sort of safety valve to help keep responses proportionate, or the situation safe for those who seek to take that action. Many of the Lost struggle with feelings of guilt or doubt about their own woes and their own Wrath, and Summer stands to validate that Wrath for them, to remind them that they have a right to be angry about what they went through and a right to seek resolution to their anger. For many, being asked the simple question of if they’re willing to be the sort of person who takes the revenge or retribution they claim to desire can defuse a lifetime of regrets before they happen.

Shit’s On Fire Yo - Hedgefire Wars and Summer’s Day-to-Day.

The majority of this section is drawn from Swords at Dawn.

No society can stay on a true war footing for long. Even modern giants like the United States of America can only really, emotionally, rev up for armed conflict for about five years before the fight is just gone from the general populace, even if the actual state of war persists. While Freeholds live in a world of constant danger from the Fae, from the Hedge, and sometimes from each other, they are also much smaller than the communities they live in, and much less able to maintain a state of armed conflict for an extended period of time. The Lost can have trouble coping with stress on the best of days, but even if everyone is ready and willing to fight, there are logistical issues. Soldiers need feeding and if they’re constantly combat-ready they’re not actively contributing to the wealth of the Freehold that is used to feed them. Shields need forging, armor needs repairing, guns need ammo, rent needs to get paid, Glamour needs harvesting, Goblin Fruits need collecting, and the longer a conflict drags on the harder all of those get.

Thankfully, these logistical issues seem to exist on both sides. The Gentry do not gather grand armies, and neither do hobgoblins. The Lost, of course, can’t; a Freehold might be as small as 19 people total, and the world’s largest is barely 200 soaking wet. As a result, so-called Hedgefire Wars tend to be brief, excessively violent conflicts with strong similarities to conflicts between gangs or criminal organizations, often decided in a single battle or a series of ambushes and traps. Summer makes a point of excelling at these conflicts, which can tip the balance when they occur. The True Fae, masters of deception and indirect action, are often simply not prepared to even imagine a troop of Iron Spear soldiers kicking their door in and starting to shoot.

So what does Summer do with all of the time it’s not conducting Hedgefire Wars? Train, for one; being able to conduct a military action at the drop of a hat like that means personal and collective training, drills, and putting in the work. Summer’s soldiers assist their Motleys or hire out to other Courts for dangerous work such as escorting messengers through the Hedge, clearing the site of a proposed Hollow, or body-guarding nobles during tense negotiations in order to keep their edge sharp. Summer supports causes in the mortal world with varying levels of legal-to-vigilante activity; it’s not unheard of for a local Summer Court to take on an organized crime family out of sheer moral outrage, personal vendetta, or literally just to keep their hand in the game. A Summer with a strong Arrayer of Distant Thunder, or in an especially imperiled Freehold, may fill some of their time training reserves from the other Courts in this manner as well. Summer soldiers volunteer or are assigned to guard Hedge Gates or care for vital, communal Freehold assets that might otherwise be vulnerable to theft or destruction.

Beyond that, Summer creates and participates in competitions of all kinds. Wrath dwells in the heart of the competitive spirit, and athletic events, esports, and other contests can be a fantastic magical investment for Summer, but they also host competitions inside of their Freehold to build camaraderie and encourage themselves and others to diversify their strengths. Yeah, Autumn is probably going to win a contest of sorcerous innovation hosted by the Court of Wrath, but by throwing the contest to begin with Summer not only gives Autumn the chance to show off its might and feel good about its choices, but encourages all who participate in the contest to improve their witchcraft and thus become stronger, more capable Lost. The soldiers of the Iron Spear are often the first to sign up for competitions thrown by the other Courts, and some of the first to offer or accept formal duels, especially those that do not end in death.

Brothers in Arms - Organizing Summer

Alone in Lost society, the basic unit of Summer is the Court; Summer’s internal culture of brotherhood and solidarity can make it difficult to divide into discrete chunks or turn against itself, because quite often, unless the matter is wholly personal, to deal with one knight of the Iron Spear is to deal with all of them. While internal titles (both the near-universal ones listed above and local ones created to serve the needs of a particular Freehold) denote a place in the chain of command and specific responsibilities over which a particular Lost can claim authority, in general Summer Courtiers help each other out for the asking, safe in the knowledge that they will be helped in turn. Summer’s claims of being apolotical might be bullshit (no society is free of politics), but its offer of mutual support is as genuine as they come.

The small nature of Lost society and in particular being one Court out of four in such a society means that Summer Courtiers live in each other’s metaphorical pants. While they’re expected to obey the chain of command, the upshot of this is that even the lowliest Mud Grunt can reasonably expect to voice an opinion about a proposed plan of action, or reveal their specific expertise that might assist in an operation or proposal, and have that voice heard by the Crown and luminaries such as the Wroth General. They may not be heeded, but they will be heard. The bickering and backstabbing that can attend to small-town politics exists here, of course, but Summer strives to keep that to a minimum and to respect the contributions of its soldiers. Even if it didn’t value solidarity as a virtue, any given Summer Court often doesn’t have a choice; there’s only so many bodies to go around, and the Court can’t afford to hemorrhage men to disrespect.

Still, loose groups do form, generally composed of the holder of a particular title (say, the Jaeger) and those Courtiers they trust to assist them and/or are being trained to take that position in the event of a vacancy. These informal cliques are more about the specialized work done by those in them than they are about politics, with the collective identity of the Iron Spear taking precedence, but they can and do often represent divisions of ideology within the Court. The Jaeger and her apprentice are naturally going to be among those who prefer indirect attack and ambush; in contrast, a friendship between the Sun’s Tongue and the Arrayer of Distant Thunder can form on the basis of being the only social roles in a Court that largely does not value such roles. In cases where the Court divides against itself, such as revolution, one likely finds these cliques collectively on either side of the line.

A Girl Worth Fighting For

I went there and I regret nothing!

There can be a disconnect between Summer and its companion Courts, mainly because Summer by its nature is composed of people who respond to some, many, or all negative situations by getting angry, and this is not necessarily or even often the case for their peers. Still, Summer - like Winter - has an appreciation for how friendships with members of other Courts can help balance out their own life, and the lives of the Lost around them. Winter doesn’t just keep Summer stocked with bullets, it reminds Summer of what has been lost and what remains left to lose. Autumn provides a whisper of caution that tempers Summer’s valor, and counsel away from the pit of darkness that violence can lead them to. The deep and famous friendship between Summer and Spring exists because quite often, while Summer fights, it is Spring that builds something worth fighting for. Summer, in turn, offers not just their own services to these other Courts but a reminder of the courage, honor, and valor of which they are capable. A knight of Summer defends their friends, and a good one inspires those friends to stand up for themselves too.

Summer’s straightforward approach and generally honest culture makes them seem easy to be friends with, though that same straightforward honesty can also be a frustration in their friendships and romances. A knight of Summer who’s still struggling with their Wrath and with self-control & self-discipline soon finds themselves without friends outside of their own Court, and for good reason. Anger is the tool with which you are supposed to do your job, not a curse to visit upon those you love. The Court exists to try and help those unfortunates, but they need to accept that help or it won’t do them any good.

Summer’s romances can be internal for a lot of the reasons that Winter Courtiers tend to date other Winter Courtiers; both people understand the shared struggles of those who practice violence, as well as the day-to-day things such as bruises from training that can be awkward to explain to outsiders. Summer also often falls in with Spring when they become attracted to the joy, verve, and glad-hearted acceptance that Spring has to offer (Spring, for its own part, is often fascinated by the sheer passion of Summer’s Wrath, and many Spring Courtiers can find something romantic in loving someone protective and nurturing). Courtships with Autumn happen at times as well, which go better than it sounds on its face; Autumn’s self-awareness is often good for a Summer lover, and they have a lot of the understanding that Summer/Summer romances bring to the table. The opportunity to let their hair down, stop being spooky, and be honest with someone can be a great relief to an Autumn Courtier who otherwise struggles with self-doubt and Clarity.

The Ranks of the Raging - Making Summer Courtiers

When making your own Summer Courtier, think about why they chose to make the honestly-unusual decision to become a knight of Summer. Most Lost lean away from direct confrontation and direct action, favoring tools such as theft, conspiracy, and avoidance; even an Ogre who joins Summer has made a somewhat unusual choice in the grander context of the Wyrd. Does your character already have great strength of some variety, or have they joined the Iron Spear seeking such strength? Is Summer their first Court, or have they come here from another? How do they feel about the high ideals at the heart of Summer? Some other considerations include:

What Is Worth Fighting For? - In a society with a pretty high mortality rate, Summer’s is higher than average. What does your character seek, or want to protect, that encourages them to put their life on the line? How do they relate to violence and what do they think of those whose relationship to it is different? Has there ever been a moment of great courage or cowardice in their past that still motivates them?

What Are You Angry About? - Everyone’s traumas and tragedies are different. What is the burning heart of your character’s Wrath? Do they take a genuine interest in the Wrath of others, or are they consumed with their own pain and resolution? Will they accept Lost society’s vision of justice for the wrongs done upon them, or will only revenge soothe their fury? Could their Wrath ever burn out?

What Do You Offer The Court? - Summer could use all kinds of specialized roles, especially if you’re willing to teach them to others. Are you a hunter and tracker, able to bring down dangerous foes by yourself? A classic Grunt or Man-At-Arms, ready to throw down? A teacher and motivator, being groomed by your local Arrayer? Do you have unusual skills such as stunt driving or engineering that the local Court might have recruited you explicitly for?

How Do You Relate To Others? - Summer’s brotherhood is a place where the Courtiers can let their hair down and relax. That solidarity does not necessarily automatically exist outside of Summer; how do you relate to members of other Courts and their differing ideals? Do you take pride in fighting to defend their diverse viewpoints? What friendships and connections do you have outside of your Court and why are they important to you? Are any of them mortal?

Stand Together - Summer In Your Freehold

Unlike Autumn, Summer has a pretty clearly defined role in the Freehold, which helps to keep its direct political relationships with the other Courts relatively simple. Summer has needs (guns, ammo, blades, armor, food, space for their armories, medical care, emotional support, etc) that the other Courts can provide, and in exchange for those needs they provide military service, advice, and support, as well as services for which physical strength and speed can be invaluable such as labor for construction projects or hauling in big-ass boxes of decorations for Spring’s parties. The cold fact of the matter is that Summer is good at spending money and bad at making it (almost like they’re combat-ready soldiers or something, who would have fucking guessed), so the Court of Wrath needs some kind of positive relationship with at least Spring or Winter, and ideally with both. Some Summers try to resolve this with a military coup, but that’s how you get Miami and no one wants Miami.

Summer tends towards extremes, either being very healthy or very toxic, and can be sensitive to the attitudes of its leadership about where it falls in that divide, though not for the reasons people think. It’s not that a toxic Crown creates a toxic Court, it’s that toxic Courts end up electing toxic Crowns, and then the cycle reinforces itself quite a bit. Often the only way to resolve this problem is for the Crown to die for some reason and for a better leader to change things while Summer is temporarily without a king. Unfortunately as trained warriors and hateful bastards, Summer leaders can be somewhat difficult to kill.

The situation the Lost find themselves in can make authoritarian leaders appealing, which means that regardless of season, Summer’s relative political power goes up during times of strife and chaos. At the same time, the Lost are sensitive to oppression and enslavement, and have a strong tradition of taking dictators and nailing their skin to a door in case some other asshole gets Ideas. During its own season, Summer extends its chain of command to include the other Courts, in part because that’s how Summer thinks and moves, and in part as a sort of yearly drill for wartime that lasts the entire Summer. When battle comes calling, the Lost of your Freehold should already know what’s expected of them.

As always, I welcome feedback, discussion, and criticisms on this article. Thank you for your time in reading!

Next up: Spring.

#Changeling: The Lost #summer court #rpg #worldbuilding #abuse #violence

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valentindaily · 5 years

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"Our priority isn't to teach the next ballroom dance champion of the world. It's to bring out the best of every single person that walks through those doors." -Val Chmerkovskiy

Next week when DANCING WITH THE STARS LIVE rolls into the Fox Theatre, Atlanta audiences will get a taste of the elegant show for one night, but fortunately for us, one of the dancers is leaving a "microcosm of that experience" for us to engage with all year round.

Two-time mirror ball champion Val Chmerkovskiy has opened Dance with Me, a ballroom dance studio for adults of all talent levels. Now open in Phipps Plaza, this is Dance with Me USA's fourteenth location and first in Georgia. Below, check out BroadwayWorld Atlanta's conversation with him in which he reveals why he sees ballroom dance as vital for society, what Dance with Me means to him, and what the studio's ribbon-cutting party on February 12 will be like.

Can you tell me a little bit about Dance with Me and where the idea came from?

With Dance with Me, because the world is so familiar with DANCING WITH THE STARS, I like to piggy-back off of that and say we kind of create a little microcosm of that experience. It's the easiest way to describe the magic that happens in Our Studiosbecause everyone sees it happen on television all the time.

We wanted to create a social dance scene where anybody, no matter what your background is, whether you're pursuing dance seriously as a lifestyle or if you're pursuing dance as an extra-curricular to treat yourself and get physical therapy or mental therapy. Honestly there's nothing soothing, nothing consoling like being part of a collective, dancing to music.

The company actually was founded in 2005 by my father who was a parent of two kids dancing, my brother and myself, and another parent of kid dancers who were training at our kid dance studio at the time, so my brother and my dad actually opened up a kids dance studio in '97. And then they had an idea, like, "Well what about all these parents who are sitting here in their seats watching the kids? What if we offer dance for them?" We wanted to combine the charm of the local dance studio with a high-end experience, an experience with chandeliers and a beautiful ambiance and a beautiful service where you feel like you're literally at a ball somewhere, and almost fifteen years later, we have 14 locations.

And how did you choose Buckhead as your next location?

Why Buckhead? Because it's a community that loves to celebrate, and in its essence, at its core, dance is a celebration. We opened in Atlanta because there is a dance community there. People love to dance, people love to move, people love to celebrate. Why not Atlanta? It's a growing city, and we'd love to contribute to its growth, to its beauty any way we can.

I love that! And I love what you said about the transition from dance studios being for kids to being for adults. I feel like there are so many activities for kids, and their needs get met in a lot of ways, but it's so awesome to open that up and include the parents.

It's true, it's true. And what are parents? What are adults? Adults are just kids who have spent a little more time on this earth. They too need to be motivated and excited. A lot of our clientele are people who dreamed about dance at a time when it was absolutely unacceptable or unattainable for them, and they've pursued a career in finance, for instance. So now they find themselves at a place in their life where they have the time, they have the resources, and they want to treat themselves again.

What ends up happening is that it ends up being more rewarding than it would have been when they were kids because of their perspective. You grow up, you prioritize, and you appreciate on a different level, and I think that appreciation for this little community that we've created is what drives us to continue to grow. We have so many stories, where, in a nutshell, students will say, "My significant other passed away a couple years ago. I literally didn't get out of the house, and now this has given me a whole new life and a whole new energy."

Dance has now evolved into something that has so many proven medical benefits. It's not just to watch. Dance is also to take part in. And we try to bring that into your city, into communities, and to encourage. We have competitions among studios, we have private lessons, group lessons, so there's something for everybody. It's not a major commitment to walk in and take an introductory lesson, and again, the transformations are incredible. People are changing physically, and they're finding their happiness- who would have thought?- through ballroom dance.

Yes! I feel like that's so true. It sounds like it serves so many different needs at the same time.

Yeah, it's true. My fiancée is also a dancer, and she needs to go and find the nearest treadmill and spend at least an hour on it meditating her way into the beginning of her day. We're different. You can't pay me to stand on a treadmill for more than five minutes, but I love being physically active. So I think social dance is an activity where you get in there, and you're having so much fun moving and interacting, and so many triggers are being ignited in your body and your mind that you don't even notice that you're drenched in sweat literally ten minutes into it, and you can dance for a long time.

At the end of the day, dancing is just a vehicle to better other people's lives. That's kind of the mission statement of Dance with Me that yes, we are a dance company, but we are more than that. We are a community of like-minded people who have goals, who are driven, who are in need of feeling a part of something and we create that something as a beautiful, fun, loving, inclusive. That's another thing- dance is a very inclusive space, and Our Studios reflect that. In a world that's constantly being divided, we are a place that inspires people to come together, regardless of how much money someone makes or what they look like or where they're from or what disabilities they have.

And what is that like for you to be a part of that process?

It's really special. I grew up dancing, I grew up competing in dance, being on television, and I pursued dance for my own self-reflection and fulfillment, and now as I'm getting older, I see that everybody seeks a greater purpose. For me to be part of a company that provides for others that love affair that I've experienced, it's a beautiful thing. It's like a superpower.

Not a lot of people get to do what they love, but I get to do what I love with people I love and continue to spread that love to others. I never thought that's what this whole thing would evolve into, I never thought dance would give me this much purpose in life. I was just doing it to hang out with girls, but I'm glad that it turned out to be less superficial than that.

We're all equal on that dance floor and all build each other up. I couldn't ask for anything better for me to be a part of than something like that. I lead the way in the moral focus of what we're trying to accomplish, and that is our number one priority. It isn't to teach the next ballroom dance champion of the world. It's to bring out the best of every single person that walks through those doors.

That sounds like something that's amazing to be a part of on every level! And we are so excited about the event on the 12th. Do you know what that's gonna look like from your standpoint?

It'll look like an awesome party. At the end of the day, the space is gonna be incredibly extravagant, gorgeous, and high-end, but the spirit is always very welcoming and warm. My thing is, things that are upscale tend to sometimes be exclusive. Exclusive is a word that's synonymous with high quality but not always synonymous with hospitality and warmth. So what I love about us is you come into a five-star event, and you're gonna be treated like a five-star individual. That's the thing- it's gonna be one big party, one big celebration, and at that point the space ceases to be ours and becomes part of the community.

Dance With Me is one of the nation's leading chain of dance studios. Founded by champion and celebrity dancers, Dance With Me dance studios offer the ultimate dance experience blending fun, ease, and comfort with quality instruction in the most beautiful dance studios. The first-rate services include private dance lessons, group dance classes, social practice parties and memorable events guaranteed to intrigue beginners and inspire over-achievers.

Guests are encouraged to visit Dance With Me at dancewithmeusa.com and follow along on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter for all the latest news, events and updates during the grand opening weekend.

Whether you are a looking for a new hobby or take your skills to the next level, Dance With Me's unique approach to personalized dance instruction ensures that your needs and desires are met every step of the way. It's not just about learning to dance, it's about feeling healthier and happier, while expressing yourself in an incredible community of like-minded people.

Dance With Me hosts showcases, competitions, provides event entertainment, corporate and team building services, and does local and national charitable work. The studio offers an array of services, including private dance lessons, group classes, dance showcases and competitions, social dance parties, corporate events and entertainment and employee wellness and team building. Dance With Me covers various dance styles, including ballroom/smooth, Latin/rhythm, hip hop, contemporary, functional and correctional movement and dance aerobics.

Now numbering 14 locations, the Dance With Me chain was launched by founding partners Sasha Chmerkovskiy, Jhanna Volynets, and Maks Chmerkovskiy in 2005. They have been joined by Valentin Chmerkovskiy and Eugene Livshits; Alex Samusevich is the Director of Marketing. For further information about Dance With Me Dance Studios visit dancewithmeusa.com or call (404) 400-1121.

Source: www.broadwayworld.com

#val chmerkovskiy #Interviews #dwm #forgot to post this yesterday

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romvnova · 6 years

Text

Owen Grady Collection: Like Father, Like Daughter

Owen winced at every sound the percolating coffee maker made, glimpsing over to the Airstream’s bed where Claire and Maisie were cuddled together in sleep. He glimpses back at the coffee pot, cussing at it under his breath. Had it always been so damn loud? He wasn’t trying to wake either of them up though he feels the pressing need to speak to Claire about Maisie and address his concerns of their quasi-daughter with her. He has a few that itch at him in particular and the longer he puts off addressing them the more concerned he grows. He’s not a psychiatrist, it was true, which was precisely why he thought taking Maisie to one was in everyone’s best interest. He was afraid that by indulging her and soothing her every time she had nightmares they were creating bad co-dependency habits. She needed the tools to deal with her PTSD that Claire and him couldn’t provide her with. They were her support system, yes, and Owen was well adapted to dealing with PTSD even before Lockwood Estate and the Isla Nublar incident but everyone was different; and he was a grown man. It only made sense to him that children suffered from and dealt with it differently than adults would. The only problem was, trying to isolate Claire to speak to her with it. Since discovering Claire’s pregnancy she cut back on helping with the cabin — largely at Owen’s request — though she was stubborn as she’d ever been and still helped him with things. She spent more time at the Dinosaur Protection Group Headquarters again, still volleying for their rights and protection.

There was one day Claire’d taken off and Owen surprised Maisie with an impromptu fishing day in the lake behind the almost finished cabin. He’d caught a massive large mouth bass that he’d been looking forward to cooking for dinner. Maisie’d started to cry and went into hysterics so bad that Owen ended up putting the fish back into the lake and spent a solid half hour holding her, smoothing his hand down her hair until she finally composed herself.

Needless to say, he had to drive to the market now to buy fresh, pre-cut meat fish or otherwise. He hadn’t told Claire about that yet. Partially because Maisie’d asked him not to and Owen’s loathe to break the girl’s trust in him; but also because he didn’t want Claire to worry too much. Stress wasn’t good for the baby and Claire had plenty on her plate with the escaped Isla Nublar dinosaurs roaming around the United States and trying to garner government support to relocate them to Sanctuary.

He pours himself a mug of steaming coffee as the sheets rustle and he glimpses over to see Claire cautiously rise from the bed. “Go back to sleep baby.” Claire coos to Maisie and Owen watches as she leans down to drop a kiss to the girl’s head, tucking the sheets around her shoulders. It’s such a mothering gesture that Owen can’t help the proud smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips. He pulls a second mug down from the cabinet and pours coffee and creamer in it for Claire as she moves towards him, coming to stand behind him. She wraps her arms around him and presses herself against his back, laying the side of her face against his back as he takes a sip of coffee from his mug.

“This baby’s definitely a Grady.” She murmurs and Owen barks out a laugh.

“I’d hope so.” He teases her.

“I meant because this baby’s making me hungry all the time.” Owen could almost hear Claire rolling her eyes at him. Despite his sarcastic response to calling their baby a Grady as opposed to Dearing-Grady as he’d taken to filled him with an elation that felt like it was egotistical. It probably was.

“I thought we were going to hyphen your maiden name with my name?” They’d been discussing a courthouse wedding ( amidst arguing who proposed to who because Owen swore he proposed but Claire is eager to argue that she proposed to him ) and having a small, family-only ceremony officiated by Owen’s preacher father just so they could have a ‘wedding’ and their family members wouldn’t feel dejected by the courthouse marriage.

The one thing the two of them were on agreements on was that they didn’t want a big wedding. Neither of them particularly cared about a big ceremony.

“I changed my mind. Especially since we’re going to hyphen Maisie’s name with Grady…it might cause too much confusion.” Claire explains and Owen nods, holding out her mug of coffee for her. Her arms unwind from his waist and she takes it with a soft murmur of gratitude.

It seemed like Owen’s opportunity while they were already talking about Maisie.

“I was thinking we’d take her into the city, get her some IHop for breakfast,” Owen says, taking Claire’s hand and leading her out of the RV, to the lawn lounge chairs they’d put out by the fire pit. “While we’re on the topic of Maisie,” Owen broaches taking a second sip of coffee. “We need to think about enrolling her in school. Her education was obviously a priority of Benjamin Lockwood’s because he had a whole fund just for her schooling. We can ensure that she gets into a high end private school like Iris wants,” A school that neither Claire or him could afford without Lockwood’s education fund for Maisie. “but I definitely think she should be around kids her own age. Start socializing beyond her own small bubble. She did well with Karen, Scott and the boys.” Owen watches Claire, feeling relief as she nods in agreement.

“I’ll give Iris a call and see if there’s any school she recommends Maisie should go to and see if I can get us an appointment to talk to someone in charge that can enroll Maisie.” Claire begins to plan and Owen decides that she’s got the matter handled. Claire always had been ‘get shit done’ and Owen’s confident that as long as she’s spearheading the effort that the Superintendent of whatever school Iris chooses won’t stand a chance. The sooner they can get Maisie integrated into society, the better.

“Which brings me to my next point,” Owen rubs his calloused fingers over the facial hair on his chin, taking another sip of his coffee. ��I think we should seriously consider getting Maisie in to see a psychiatrist.” Owen inhales deeply and lets it out. “She went through a lot in a single night that most people don’t even go through in their entire lives. During my time with the SEALS,” He doesn’t speak of it often. Partially because he can’t and partially because he doesn’t want to. “part of our debriefing after a mission was a series of therapy sessions. I’m not saying that our support doesn’t help her but she needs to be given the tools to work through her PTSD. Tools that you and I can’t give her.” He takes an unsure breath and takes another sip of coffee. “Letting her crawl into our bed with us every time she has a nightmare isn’t helping her cope, Claire.”

“Owen…”

“Look, she’s eleven years old, Claire. It’s forming unhealthy amounts of dependency and you and I both know Maisie’s extremely independent.” Evidenced by her eagerness to run off into the woods for hours on end.

Claire is quiet for a long moment and Owen spares a glimpse at her to see how she’s reacted to his words. Her face is thoughtful, her mug cradled between her hands, close to her lips.

“You know a bit more about psychiatrists than me, so I’ll handle the school and you handle the therapists?”

“Of course.” Owen replies, eager to help her shoulder the responsibilities.

“Do you think she’s going to take the news well?” Claire asks him and for a moment Owen isn’t sure if she means her pregnancy — because they still have yet to break the news to Maisie out of Claire’s uncertainty on how to approach it delicately in case she doesn’t take it well — or school and therapy.

“I don’t know.” Owen replies, remembering the hysterics she went into when she realized he hadn’t intended on returning the bass to the water. “Maybe we should start with school and follow up with therapy, just in case.” Out of the two, he seems school as the discussion that will garner the better reaction from Maisie.

It turned out Owen had been right. Maisie had taken to the prospect of going to school and meeting people her own age rather well. Her reaction to the therapist hadn’t gone over nearly as smoothly. She hadn’t openly protested or caused a scene but the way she speared her stack of pancakes and grown quiet had told Owen all he needed to know.

He hadn’t even realized how tense he’d been until he felt Claire’s hand rubbing up and down his back.

“I’m not broken.” Maisie eventually spoke up, scowling at her pancakes she was pulverizing with her fork.

“Broken? Why would you think —?” Claire speaks her words trailing off as Owen interrupts.

“No one thinks you’re broken, Maisie.”

“Then why’re you making me go to a therapist? Aren’t therapists where they send you when they think there’s something wrong with you?” Maisie has tears in her eyes and Owen is torn between calling it off because he’s hurt her feelings and between holding his ground on it because he feels it’s what’s best for her. He feels the familiar weight of stubbornness settling into the set of his shoulders.

“No.” The word is gruff and low as it falls from betwixt Owen’s lips, eyes scanning the busy pancake diner.

“No, no. That’s not true.” Claire seeks to assure the young girl sitting across from them.

“Yes it is.” Maisie argues and Owen recognizes the stubborn streak immediately as she mimics how he sits: shoulders steeled and arms crossed over her chest.

God, Maisie was his definitely his daughter. Not biologically but definitely where it mattered.

Like father, like daughter.

Owen doesn’t miss Claire’s heavy sigh and the subtle press of her hand against her abdomen. Would Maisie have been aware of Claire’s condition and the atmosphere at the table wasn’t so tense Owen might’ve made a wisecrack about how the Grady stubborn streak ran deep. It ran so deep that even Maisie had began to emulate it.

Claire ended saving breakfast by stepping in to compromise and suggested that Maisie should go and have an assessment session done to see what a professional recommended and that they, as a family, would decide together ( she put a lot of emphasis on that to ensure that both he and Maisie was aware it would be a decision made by the three of them and not just two ). Eventually, Maisie and Owen relented and agreed to Claire’s terms.

#clawen is trying their best at being new parents #owen grady collection #jurassic world #jurassic world fallen kingdom #jw #jwfk #spoilers #owen grady #claire dearing #maisie lockwood

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whisker-biscuit · 6 years

Text

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 2

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world's most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he's ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 2: The Doctor Didn’t Order This

Ironically, the next day happened to be one of Flug’s idler in terms of schedule. He had one morning check-in with a patient on floor 3 whose primary psychiatrist was out sick, several reports due by noon (which he had already finished a long while ago), and so by 13:40 he was already waiting by the director’s office on the first floor.

The doctor checked his watch for the umpteenth time and counted the seconds going round. He dropped his arm and began bouncing on the balls of his feet. There was a quick run-through of his bag for crinkles. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the folds of his coat. He looked at his watch again – 13:41.

There was a shout from outside.

Flug startled and flitted to the nearest window facing the front of the building. He peered out and his heart jumped. There were ten of the institute’s security team, along with easily fifteen or so armed guards from Interpol. They surrounded an armored truck parked several feet from the entrance. The truck was rocking back and forth.

The truck was rocking back and forth.

With tripping feet Flug ran back to the director’s office and knocked on her door as respectfully urgent as he could. “Dr. Rorschach, this is Dr. Slys. The patient is here, he’s – he’s in an armored truck!”

The knob turned and he was face to face with a frame of bobbed orange hair and glasses. Dr. Lauren Rorschach blinked at him, clipboard and case file in hand. Flug gestured helplessly to the window and she made her way over.

“Come now, Doctor. I know he’s high-profile, but surely that’s a bit of an exaggeration.” She adjusted her glasses and looked out at the scene. Her face paled. “That’s…unnerving.”

Flug joined her at the window. The truck was still shaking violently and several guards were crowding around the back doors, all carrying riot shields while one unlocked it with a finger scan. The two psychiatrists shared a stunned stare.

“Ma’am, f-forgive me for my hesitance, b-but you mentioned he’s a high profile criminal?”

“I did. I’m ah, I’m sure you read his file.” Dr. Rorschach brought a hand to her mouth.

“Well y-yes but, this is…Doctor, do you know why they, I-I mean…what is he?” He was really starting to regret accepting the invitation.

Outside, the guards had successfully opened the truck and were moving in two at a time. An unholy shriek reverberated from inside like a shock wave across the estate. Flug convulsed. His superior jolted and their hair stood on end. She parted her lips, drew in a breath, and began reciting policy.

“We, we at the Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane are – are proud in our welcoming of patients from all walks of life, regardless of notoriety or –” the truck bounced, and Dr. Rorschach grimaced, “species. I knew this patient would be…a little different than the usual, they told me he’s not human, but this…”

“This is insane.” Flug finished with a shudder. He had read the case. No current photos on file, no prior background knowledge beyond convicted crimes, and only an alias – Black Hat – with a very vague “Not Human” under the species category.

There was another shriek as six guards carried out what seemed be a stretcher at first glance. But both doctors did a double take because it wasn’t a stretcher, it was a container. As in, sci-fi Area 51 alien containment container. Rectangular with smoothed corners, made of white-painted metal bolted in every conceivable crack, and with one tiny circle of a window near one end that was no doubt bulletproof.

Six guards ended up not being enough, because two started to shake, but Flug couldn’t say whether it was because of whatever was inside of it or if it was just the sheer weight of the thing. The result was nine Interpol officers and two security members taking the monstrosity up the steps toward the entrance. Dr. Rorschach seemed to snap out of her trance.

“Oh, we need to be there to greet them! Hurry Doctor!” She took long strides down the hall and turned the corner to the front lobby, and Flug struggled to catch up.

“With all d-due respect, Ma’am, I don’t think this is a g-good idea.”

“It’s not,” the director confirmed, lips pressing into a line. She was still shaking. “But Interpol offered us a great deal of revenue if we accepted the case. Don’t get me wrong, Doctor, your success is outstanding, but we get paid just as much for admitting patients as we do sending them out.”

They passed the security gate and waited in the middle of the lobby, halfway between the grand doorway and the check-in. Flug touched the bottom of his bag. His superior continued.

“We’ve been informed that this patient, Black Hat, is not really expected to be rehabilitated. They want him contained here. We have some of the best security and safety here, especially on Floor 5. It’s against policy but…I’m sorry, Dr. Slys. I couldn’t refuse.”

“Ah, n-no, I get it. Money and p-power make the world go round.” He watched two of their staff members open the doors. “I just really wish it d-didn’t, sometimes.”

Dr. Rorschach gave a puff of a laugh before setting up the happy, sunny smile she was so famous for. There were still goosebumps up her arms. The guards carrying the vessel came in first, followed by every remaining Interpol officer. It got crowded very fast.

“Welcome to our institute! We can’t thank you enough for giving us the privilege of such a high-priority assignment.” The words came out steady and natural, as if the director wasn’t just scared out of her wits a minute ago. Flug envied her acting ability. She waited as the lead officer came forward and gave a respectful bow of her head. He returned the gesture and cleared his throat.

“Dr. Rorschach, the pleasure is all mine. I’m Inspector Daniels.” He was much taller than either psychiatrist, and there was a wary, hard tint to his eyes. He made eye contact with Flug, who straightened up a tad. “And I assume you are the psychiatrist assigned to this case?”

“Oh, p-pleased to meet you but I –” His superior subtly shifted next to him. “I mean! I’m Dr. Slys, yes. I’m the attending psychiatrist. Yes.”

The inspector frowned and looked him up and down. “Are you sure you’re…equipped enough to look after this criminal? It’s a very dangerous task.”

Gee, I had no idea. Flug almost rolled his eyes. His fingers twitched. “I assure you, I-Inspector, I’m more than prepared to handle any patient who walks through these doors. We refuse to believe anyone admitted here is beyond help, and the facilities here at the Global Psychiatric –”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” Daniels shook his head and turned to his officers, who were no longer struggling with the containment unit. It had gone ominously still and silent. “You people can spit up slogans all you like, but this thing here,” he walked over and tapped the glass. Something hissed in response. “He doesn’t play by any rules. Doesn’t respond to threats or intimidation. Certainly doesn’t play nice.”

The director opened her mouth, but the inspector wasn’t done. “Look, Doctors, I have a lot of respect for the work you do. It’s not a global institute for nothing. But we absolutely cannot let this criminal escape. It’s taken decades to catch him, and I need your absolute guarantee that you’ll be able to contain him. Can’t have any…weak links in the chain.” His eyes flickered over to Flug and the doctor just about saw red.

“As I-I already said, Inspector, I can assure you that there will be no issue on my end. I have dealt with the worst society – the world – has produced, and I have no intention of letting one patient change that.” He puffed his chest just a little when Dr. Rorschach nodded in agreement. She vouched for him, at least.

A sound came out of the container, rough and low and repetitive. If Flug gave it more thought than a simple glance, he would have believed it sounded like chortling. Inspector Daniels considered him for a minute, ignoring the disturbance.

“Very well, Dr. Slys, Dr. Rorschach,” he said softly, “I’ll take your word for it. I do, however, expect a statement each week about any trouble you may be having. We’ll take him up to Floor 5. You’ve prepared the cell with the highest security, I assume?”

Flug’s superior nodded again, but a frown marred her face. “You don’t want us to perform orientation down here? We have standard rooms available, it follows procedure –”

“With all due respect, Ma’am, I rather don’t trust anything that’s not a secure cell. We’ve taken every precaution necessary to ensure he isn’t a danger to himself or us, and I’d rather keep those precautions in place. Please let us through the security gate.”

“Of, of course.” Dr. Rorschach turned with a click of her heels and swiped her ID at the entrance, adding her fingerprint scan as well. Daniels and his entourage followed with Flug packed somewhere in between. He thanked the stars the gate was big enough for the container.

The elevator was designed for a maximum of 300 kilograms and big enough for a good thirty people if packed. With twelve people sandwiched around the unit sitting in the center, it was pretty crowded. As they worked their way up, Flug couldn’t help the quick look into the little window in hopes of seeing who was apparently his patient now. It was dark on the other side of the glass, but there was no sign of movement or anything he recognized as a face or body.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief stepping out of the elevator, and they began the long journey down to the end of the Floor 5 hallway. Several curious, sometimes manic patients peered out at the parade passing their rooms, but no one made a sound when they caught eye of the sheer number of Interpol officers. A few chanced a wave to Flug, who timidly raised his hand in response.

Halfway there, they passed Dementia’s cell.

“Whoa, what’s with all the pizazz?” She smooshed her face against the padded bars, mouth hanging open. “Oh hey Dr. Inksplotch, what’s – Flug! ¿Qué pasa? Who’re these stiffs? You bringin’ in a newbie?”

The doctor tried to ignore her, he really did, but she whined louder as they moved on without a word. Profanities started leaking out as well, and Dr. Rorschach smiled a little too cheerfully when Inspector Daniels looked her way.

“Oh, don’t mind our dear patient, she’s always been very inquisitive – very smart for her age. We’ve been working together to help her with,” an irritated ‘¡putos!’ was spit at them from behind, “ah, how to better express herself.” Dementia snarled and disappeared from sight.

At the end of the hallway were four cells made for the most volatile of inmates – padded floor to ceiling like the rest but with a camera and sound system in each room, and double-reinforced walls. The doors were made with titanium and each had three locks; a keypad, a fingerprint scan, and a keyhole. According to records, these rooms had only been used twice, both long before Flug’s employment.

Well, he thought as officers pulled the unit into a cell, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.

Six Interpol agents stayed in the room along with Dr. Flug and the Inspector. Daniels waited until the director relocked the door from the other side before giving his officers the go-ahead. They braced themselves around the container as he fished a special remote from his pocket and pressed a button.

“You may want to stay behind me, Doctor,” he informed Flug, who complied just as the unit let out a hydraulic hiss and the door unlatched. It was the only warning they had before a black and white thing collided with the nearest officer and knocked her straight into the wall. It kept her pinned and turned its head completely around with a crack, growling at the remaining group who had their weapons out and ready. Neither party moved, and Flug got a good first look at his newest patient.

Black Hat was…underwhelming to look at but terrifying to watch. He wore a top hat and a monocle, and his one visible eye blazed with something otherworldly. He was tied in a fortified straitjacket that was raised dapperly around his neck like the beginning of a cape. A blinking, metal collar sat tight around his throat. His lips curled and showed a mouth full of the sharpest teeth the doctor had ever seen.

“Well, Inspector, it appears we’re at an impasse,” he drawled, civil with a hint of brutality. “You can’t shoot me without hitting your dear officer, and I can’t move in a way that’s beneficial to me.”

“It seems so,” Daniels was motionless. “What will make you release her?”

“You know very well what I want, Marcus,” Black Hat dragged the name out effortlessly, eyes narrowed as the Inspector stiffened. “But I suppose you have no intention of letting me go.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Very well. Then answer my questions. Where am I? My natural compass seems to be shot today. Must be all the drugs.” He ran a forked tongue over his teeth. “I was under the impression I was being moved to another penitentiary.”

Flug made the very big mistake of stepping just past his Inspector protector. Daniels inhaled sharply and reached for him, but it was too late. Black Hat locked eyes with the trembling doctor.

“This doesn’t look like any officer I’ve ever seen.” His hostage tried to move and he pressed against her into immobility, eyes never breaking contact.

“Ah, uh I’m, I-I am Doctor Slys, licensed c-criminal psychiatrist, and you, you’re at the Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane. You, um, you’re here for t-treatment.”

“Treatment.”

“Ah, y-yes. For rehabilitation and…reentry into society?”

“I see.” Black Hat’s gaze flicked over to the Inspector. “Attempting humor now, Marcus? I’m flattered, but it’s really not your style. I asked for a location, and I’m getting one. Now.” He leaned into the pinned officer until she choked for breath. The others raised their weapons, but their superior didn’t give the order. He couldn’t risk hurting one of his own.

Flug stumbled forward another step, causing everyone to tense as the inmate growled warning at him. He touched the edges of his bag. “It – it’s not a lie, I swear! My n-name is Doctor Flug Slys, and you have been f-formally admitted to our hospital. I’ve been assigned as your primary psychiatrist.”

“Is that so?” The doctor nodded shakily and the creature glanced around the room lazily. “Quite the first meeting, Doctor.”

“Ah, w-well this was supposed to be your orientation period.” Black Hat lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Orientation is a w-welcoming period where we d-determine your treatment plan and how b-best to offer our services.”

“Mm…” The inmate scrutinized Flug, but he spread his hand sincerely. The best policy was often frankness, in his experience. Humming, Black Hat turned to the frozen inspector with a further crack of his neck. Everyone winced.

“He’s telling the truth. Your officer is very lucky, Marcus. I’m going to release her now and move a meter to my right. None of you will shoot at me. How does that sound, Marcus?”

Daniels hesitated for a second, but then he looked at the pleading hostage across the room and the pleading doctor in front of him. He nodded almost imperceptibly. The inmate showed teeth again and did exactly as he’d promised, rolling off his captive who darted to the inspector’s side, out of breath. Nobody shot, but nobody moved.

It was Dr. Rorschach, standing outside the cell, who broke the silence. Flug had forgotten she was there. “If you are content, Mr. Black Hat, I’d appreciate if we could formally begin our orientation period. We can ask the officers to leave for patient confidentiality, if you wish.”

Three officers looked ready to protest but were cut off by Daniels. “That works just fine, Doctor. I believe we’re done here anyway.” He gestured for his team to join him at the door, and they crowded around, refusing to turn away from the creature, who offered a winning business smile. Flug didn’t move.

“Aren’t you coming, Dr. Slys?” Daniels’ quiet voice came from beyond the cracked cell door.

“Oh, n-no thank you, I, I still need to consult with the patient.” There was a shuffle outside, and although Flug didn’t dare take his eyes off the inmate on the other side of the room, he could guess what the Interpol officers were thinking. “I’m n-not helpless, Inspector.”

“He’s right,” Dr. Rorschach spoke, a little muffled. “He’s the primary psychiatrist of our lovely patient just down the hall who gave us her thoughts a few minutes ago. They’ve built up a lot of trust. We have cameras inside and our own security right outside, just in case of an emergency. Please, sir,” the lilt in her voice became charismatic, “trust us. Trust our institute. We won’t let you down.”

Flug risked a look in his peripheral vision at the window, where his superior nodded at him and left. He could hear the click, click of her heels and the echoing stomps of every Interpol officer. They continued talking, and eventually their words and voices left the floor.

There was a scoff, and the doctor turned to watch Black Hat slide down against the wall, crossing his legs and leaning his head back. He looked tired. The light on his collar blinked steadily.

“They must not think very highly of you, leaving you alone with me.” His chest expanded slowly, pushing against the straitjacket.

“Ah, well, there are g-guards right outside, Mr. Black Hat. They’re just as c-capable as any trained officer.” Flug recited the policy to keep himself grounded. He tugged at his paper bag. His patient looked miffed.

“Just as incompetent, you mean.” He looked at the paper bag and goggles, unimpressed. “I must say, for such a famous group, they certainly hire the most pathetic humans. You are rather underwhelming to look at, ‘Doctor’.”

It was a new patient. A dangerous patient. He needed to be careful with his words. “I c-can assure you, I am one of the most qualified individuals here.” His fingers tapped his lab coat. “Speaking of that, I think it’s a good time to continue your orientation, if you’d prefer.”

“You mentioned your services. What services?” The inmate uncrossed his legs and stretched them out in front of him.

“Well, uh,” he began counting off his gloves, “counseling, physical and mental healthcare, prescriptions, group therapy…eventually. Depending on behavior.”

A low, raspy chuckle. “Do you think I’m incapable of good behavior, Doctor…?” Black Hat paused, and his mouth twitched low for just a flash. The collar blinked. “Ah, do forgive my impoliteness, but I seem to have forgotten what you mentioned you were called.”

“Oh, oh it’s, uh, Dr. Slys.” Flug usually gave his first name in introductions, but something was telling him it wasn’t a very smart move here. He trusted his gut.

“Slys…” the patient tasted the word, forked tongue curling just under his teeth. “Rather devious name, Doctor. Fitting for someone who works with criminals.”

“I, th-thank you?”

“Mm,” Black Hat bumped his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His top hat didn’t seem to be affected by the physics of it. “Well Dr. Slys, it’s been fun, but I’m afraid I’ve grown uninterested in you now. Do follow the example of your colleague and leave me be.”

Watch your words. You don’t know what your patient is capable of yet. “I’m not a-authorized to do that until we work out a treatment plan. Or at least a schedule for the next few days. I think it would be beneficial to both of us if we –”

“That was not a request, Doctor.” Black Hat opened his eyes and gave Flug a dangerous look. Shivers ran down the doctor’s back. “I said I do not care for your presence anymore, and you’d do well to listen to me. I may be restrained but do not think for a second that you are the one in control.”

The wording was different, but he had heard that tone and implication before. Multiple times. Inmates who thought they were all that, or had been all that, but were ultimately powerless here regardless of threats. It reminded him greatly of Dementia’s first meeting with him, actually.

“Stay the fuck away from me, gringo, and there won’t be a problem.”

He didn’t think. Or he was thinking of Dementia, and how their banter had gone from hostile to something more like pestering within the course of three months, because instead of staying professional, instead of trusting every alarm bell ringing in his head, Flug opened his mouth and said:

“I told you we weren’t done. You want me to leave? Make me.”

Black Hat made no move or sound. There was no change in expression. He was deathly still, eyes trained on expressive goggles, but nausea welled up in the doctor’s stomach and he booked it for the door.

He got three steps.

A heavy body crashed into his back, and Flug fell onto cushioned floor with a thud. Weight pressed onto him from above. It wasn’t like when he had restrained Dementia just the day before. No, this inmate was on top of him from feet to shoulders.

“You have some balls, Dr. Slys,” a voice hissed against his bag, right next to his ear. “It’s almost commendable. But I’ve been in a bad mood for quite some time now, and you,” he pushed against Flug’s back, squeezing his breath out, “are not,” feet pressed hard into his ankles, “helping.”

Flug couldn’t breathe. Buckles and straps dug into him from behind, and if it weren’t for the straitjacket there’d probably be hands at his neck. Hot air against his neck made the doctor shudder. He whimpered once and closed his eyes, waiting for those pointed teeth to bite into him.

But they didn’t.

Instead, Black Hat held him there for only a few seconds before his collar beeped once and he stiffened, making a noise deep in his throat. The locked door chimed and two burly security guards came rushing in, pulling the inmate off and allowing Flug to scramble to his feet and flee. He paused at the door and looked back, watching his patient retreat into the far corner of the room, hissing at the guards in languages Flug wasn’t aware existed. They made brief eye contact and Black Hat’s lip curled again, a promise so definite that the poor doctor almost ran down the hallway. But he waited outside as the guards came through and locked the door. Both turned to look him over.

“Are you okay, Doctor?” The larger one asked, his face creased in worry.

Flug pulled on his bag and checked for tears. Nothing. He patted down his pants and lab coat. Everything was still in place. “I-I’m fine, I’m okay, he d-didn’t hurt me. Thank you gentlemen.”

“It’s no problem, sir.” The other smiled down at him, and Flug took a moment to read their name tags. Lucas and Ben. He’d seen them before on this hall, but they’d never interacted. “We’re here to help. It’s our job, after all.”

“Yes, y-yes, but still, I…” Teeth at his jugular. “I really can’t thank you enough.” He shuddered once. He needed to get back to his office. Back to something safe. “I think I’ll head back down, if you don’t mind.”

Without another word Flug wobbled down the hall, holding his arms and trying to stop shaking so violently. This was not his first encounter with a violent patient. He had been injured before. Really, he needed to calm down. It ended better than it could have.

Dementia popped up as he passed her cell. “So, who’s the new – holy shit, what happened to you?”

The doctor shook his head mutely, giving his patient a weak smile. “Nothing, nothing happened to me. Just a more intense orientation than I’m used to. Don’t worry.”

She cocked her head, eyeing his rumpled bag, but he turned away and began walking again. “I’m fine, Dementia. I’ll see you tomorrow for your session.”

Dementia pouted but didn’t pry. They had an agreement, after all. Some things you didn’t spill until you were ready. Instead she let him go, yelling out after him, “If they start shit again, let me know! I’ll pound them for you!”

It was a nice if impossible offer, and Flug let the support wash over him like his favorite hand sanitizer. He reached the elevator and wordlessly went down. After he was gone, Dementia huffed and sat her chin on the bottom of the window, cheeks bunched up between the bars.

“Ten cuidado, Flug.”

Second chapter up! In this particular story, Dementia is Hispanic and fluent in both Spanish and English, and Flug is German and fluent in German, English, Spanish, and knows some Russian. If I get any translations wrong I’m very sorry, please correct me.

Also, I’m really new at tumblr format, can anyone tell me how to embed links in the text posts so I can link to every chapter for easier access? Thanks.

#villainous #villainous au #asylum au #dr. flug #black hat #demencia #paperhat

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blackrose-ffxiv · 6 years

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Dress for the Class You Want 07/17

After adjusting his beret for the thousandth time, changing his gloves to nicer leather ones, and pulling his coat a bit more snugly around himself, Quincy Pallene departed at last for the Scholasticate. He walked at just the right pace, took just the right route, and thus arrived at just the right time to the Scholasticate. He was nervous as he approached the proctor standing at the door, and politely requested Onfroi Haillenarte, who should be expecting him. At that point, he tucked himself politely near a stained glass window, hands tucked behind his back, to wait for his...friend's...arrival.

Onfroi de Haillenarte looked much as he did on the last visit. The same black robes of a scholasticate student. The same glasses. The same unkempt hair. He slouched slightly in the doorway, not quite leaving the safety of the scholasticate’s grounds as he peered around. His gaze didn’t even settle on Quincy at first. He seemed to be looking for something else. When he didn’t find it he finally turned his attention fully to the redhead. “Anselme didn’t come with you today.” He noted as he finally left the shelter of the doorway and walked to join the other near the stained glass. “I didn’t expect you to come alone. Hello again.” A hand lifted and fingers curled into a half-hearted sort of greeting.

Quincy gave a polite bow, making no move to shake Onfroi's hand. He shrugged. "Anselme is busy most of the time. He's training with the Argent dragoons to keep in shape, and helping with a few misadventures. I see him at meals, would you like me to take him a message to come see you?" He offered politely. He downplayed the fact that Anselme sometimes found Quincy in his study corner of choice to eat cookies -- Onfroi didn't need any ammunition.

Lips pursed briefly before the older boy smiled, dropping his hand back to his side as though it had become too troublesome to hold it up any longer. “No. Now that I know where he is I can find him. I didn’t expect you to come at all.” He rephrased. “Especially by yourself. I thought I had scared you away.” Almost as an afterthought he tilted a fraction forwards in what was probably a bow.

Quincy looked mildly uncomfortable, then huffed. "You," he said carefully, "are probably the least scary thing I have faced in cycles and cycles. You have no idea what scary is. This is an opportunity that I won't pass up, so I am afraid you will have to keep to your word. I'm sure you don't mind -- I'll be a novelty that you can tout about, so long as I get what I want, too." He lifts his chin, doing his best to be brave. "I want to know what to do to get in here."

The elezen’s head tilted about forty five degrees to the right in a sudden motion as he knocked his bangs out of his eyes to peer more intently at the hyur. The Haillenarte brothers shared the same pale blue eyes, yet on one it was a summer sky, another a frozen tundra and on this one the closest approximation was an uncut tourmaline, rough but with hints of something sparkling underneath. “You’re a bit rude.” Onfroi noted flatly. “But that’s to be expected and I’m glad you came back. I even hope you pass your exams.” He stated as though he should be congratulated on his benevolence. A shoulder tilted to indicate the direction of the door and Onfroi turned on his heel to head back, assuming Quincy would follow.

"You were rude first." Quincy retorts, just as bluntly. He then smiles sweetly. "But that's to be expected. I'm glad I came back, too. I wore a nice ruff." He reaches up, pulling his hat off and smoothing his hair before he tucks the chappeu into a pocket of his satchel. He followed after Onfroi with no comment on how kind he was. People didn't get accolades for not being terrible, at least not in Quincy's book. "I'm smarter than almost everyone, so I don't suppose it will be too difficult. One must always be prepared, though. You can't study too much."

“I’m allowed to be.” He explained as he led the way through the hallways back towards the library. The elezen’s attention moved over to what Quincy was wearing, as though noticing it for the first time. “So you did. It looks funny on you, your neck is short.” He explained, though the small smile had returned. The doors to the library were already open, a few students studying hard at tables around the room but Onfroi headed directly for one of the open ones. “It’s good you tried, though.” He added on as he patted the table he had claimed as theirs.

Quincy was annoyed. Onfroi was such a brat. "No one has any excuse anymore to be an awful person, Onfroi," He pointed out, even as he produced a cloth from his satchel and set to wiping off his seat and the table before the seat. Only then did he sit, and produce parchment, quill, and inkwell, and set to arranging them neatly in front of himself. "These were a gift from the man I'm going to apprentice to. He paid the personal tailor to the Argents to make it for me. I think it looks quite nice."

“I’m being honest. Not awful.” Onfroi clarified, holding up a finger then pointing where the other boy was seated to instruct him to wait there. The elezen wandered off in a little more direct pace now that he had a clear objective in mind, gathering up a few books before he returned to set them down in front of Quincy, keeping the spines turned towards himself to obscure the titles for the moment. Then he continued. “Don’t trust older men with expensive gifts.” He suggested calmly as he picked up the first book and turned it to face Quincy. “What if they want you to pay it back.” Book number one was the ever-popular much-debated Enchiridion. “This one doesn’t matter as much anymore but you should still be familiar. If you aren’t already.”

"Who hasn't read about the Fury? It was one of the few books the Archives had multiple copies of. I've read the past four editions, of course, and the changes were subtle but fascinating. You've obviously read the first edition and this one?" He pulled it over, flipping open the cover. "Ah, a third." He made a careful note. "Third edition, Enchiridion." He murmured to himself. "As for Sir Lionnet wanting me to pay anything back, I doubt it. He's just eager to see me get in here. The Argents will be sponsoring me, though, and I wanted to talk to Anselme about sponsoring me as well. A ward of one House and a friend to another -- quite the resume, is it not?"

The smile grew somewhat as Quincy took the book and flipped through it, marking it easily for what it was and even which edition. “You are plainly well-read. You did say you had a job didn’t you? Which means sums won’t be a problem.” He turned the next book around and laid it down in front of Quincy. A History of Ishgard, already decried as being full of inaccuracies and better suited for bed time stories than fact. “Resourceful too if you’re already gathering connections and building yourself a case. Admirable in smallfolk, making do with everything they have. What did you want to study here?”

Quincy copied down the title, though he shook his head in amusement. "Aren't they moving on from the History of Isghard to the Revelations of Ishgardian History? It's a new book, but it shouldn't be difficult for the Scholasticate to obtain at least one copy." He murmured, before looking up at Onfroi. "You have no idea what resourceful is, Onfroi, you wouldn't last a day where I came from. In fact, I'd be quite impressed if you lasted a bell. I have had three jobs, and I am still working at two of them, of course, to save for my tuition. I translate books into braille for the heads of House de'Bayle, and I organize and tend the library for House Argent at the moment. Sums are easy enough, however, but if there are complex calculations I will need to brush up. I've several books for that, though, now." He smiled a bit. "I learned everything I know by myself, too."

The older boy giggled quietly as he laid the next book atop the first. Sure enough, it was Revelations. “These can’t leave the library, as they’re reference copies. Yet seeing how resourceful you are, I don’t think it will be a problem for you to acquire your own. If the Argents don’t already have a copy or two.” He settled both of his hands atop the stack of books not yet revealed, shaking his bangs out of his face as he listened to the redhead’s ‘resume’. “I want to see you last through a society tea in return.” He suggested calmly, perhaps misunderstanding Quincy’s strutting as an actual challenge. “With handshakes proper greetings.”

Quincy grinned. He was right! He copied down that title as well, looking pleased with himself. His penmanship, of course, was exquisite. "The Argents do have a copy of both, I've skimmed them, helping my friend Luca prepare civics lessons for his sisters." He paused at Onfroi's challenge, then looked thoughtful and curious. Perhaps this was an opportunity... "If I can wear my gloves, and wash my hands somewhere after greetings, I might be able to do it." he mused, "It would be good practice to get over my...hang-ups. If I want to be a chirurgeon, I'll have to, of course." He lifted his chin. "But I bet I could do it." His gaze dropped to the list. "So we've Religions, History, and mathematics. I presume there's classics, as well?"

“I’m going to be a chirurgeon.” Onfroi stated matter-of-factly as he turned the next book to lay it out in front of Quincy. A collection of essays and treatises on the shifting political climate in Ishgard. Followed soon after by a second outdated book explaining the hierarchy of the Theocracy. “The curriculum is changing but studying up on the usual sort of things a private tutor would usually should ensure you pass and receive advanced placement.” Fingers twitched slightly as they settled atop the remaining stack. “I don’t think you could do it. Tea. I’m willing to bet on it.” He offered, the smile quirking somewhat, hitching up on one side to rest a little crooked.

@tuftananke

#onfroi #quincy #the other other brother #he's like lebby light?#it's not as intentionally awful though

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pigmentation21 · 3 years

Text

Karela juice vedas cure

Karela juice

Karela juice is a drink produced using an unpleasant cleaned organic product called severe melon.

As the name recommends, the foods grown from the ground juice taste harsh that some find unpalatable.

Nonetheless, karela juice has acquired prevalence for its numerous medical advantages, which incorporate lower circulatory strain and further developed skin wellbeing.

This article surveys all you need to think about karela juice, including its nourishing data, potential medical advantages, and how to make it.

What is karela juice?

Karela juice is produced using a natural product called unpleasant melon, or Momordica charantia. It takes its name from interpretations of "unpleasant melon"in Indian dialects.

The natural product has unmistakably harsh, uneven skin and can by and large be found in two assortments — Chinese and Indian severe melon (1).

The Chinese assortment develops to almost 8 inches (around 20 cm) and has a light green tone. Its skin has smooth, mole like knocks.

The Indian assortment is more modest at almost 4 inches (around 10 cm) with pointed closures, spiked skin, and a dull green tint.

Both have white tissue within that becomes all the more unpleasant as the natural product ages. Either assortment can be utilized to make karela juice.

To make karela juice, follow the formula beneath. It includes just mixing crude unpleasant melon with water. Certain individuals find that adding a scramble of salt and a crush of lemon juice makes it more delectable.

The organic product is a typical fixing in foods from subtropical areas like the Caribbean, Africa, Southeast Asia, and portions of China. Its juice is additionally a well known wellbeing tonic in these and different pieces of the world.

Rundown

Karela juice is made by mixing severe melon natural product with water. The organic product itself has an unmistakable appearance and sharp taste. There are two primary assortments of harsh melon, the two of which can be utilized to make karela juice.

Sustenance data

Karela juice is loaded with a few significant supplements. For example, mixing 1 cup (93 grams) of crude severe melon with 1/2 cup (118 ml) of separated water will convey the accompanying supplements (2Trusted Source):

Calories: 16

Carbs: 3.4 grams

Fiber: 2.6 grams

Protein: 0.9 grams

Fat: 0.2 grams

Nutrient C: 95% of the Reference Daily Intake (RDI)

Folate: 17% of the RDI

Zinc: 10% of the RDI

Potassium: 6% of the RDI

Iron: 5% of the RDI

Nutrient A: 4% of RDI

Sodium: 0 mg

Karela juice gives adequate measures of nutrient C, a cell reinforcement that assumes a part in advancing invulnerability, mind wellbeing, and tissue mending (3Trusted Source, 4Trusted Source).

It's likewise an extraordinary wellspring of provitamin A. This is a substance that your body changes over into nutrient A, which assists with vision and skin wellbeing (5Trusted Source).

Also, every 1 cup (93 grams) of harsh melon you mix into your juice gives about 8% of your day by day fiber needs to help sound absorption. Dietary fiber can likewise assist with controlling your glucose (6Trusted Source).

Rundown

Karela juice offers significant supplements, with negligible calories and carbs. It's an extraordinary wellspring of provitamin An and nutrient C.

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Medical advantages of karela juice

The advantages of karela juice go past its nourishing profile.

It has for some time been promoted for its assortment of employments and consolidated into numerous non-Western therapeutic practices, for example, Ayurveda and Traditional Chinese medication (7).

Can assist with lessening glucose levels

A few investigations have shown that karela juice might assist with overseeing glucose levels.

It contains three primary parts that have been displayed to have glucose-bringing down properties — polypeptide-p, charantin, and vicine (8Trusted Source, 9Trusted Source).

Polypeptide-p is thought to work in a way like that of insulin, a significant chemical that directs glucose by working with the assimilation of sugar from your blood into cells and tissues (9Trusted Source).

Charantin and vicine have both been displayed to bring down glucose also. Notwithstanding, it's at present indistinct precisely how this functions in your body (9Trusted Source, 10Trusted Source).

Likewise, a few different mixtures in karela juice might help ensure and surprisingly recover cells in your pancreas, the organ answerable for delivering insulin (9Trusted Source).

One review gave 24 individuals 2 grams of severe melon remove or a fake treatment consistently for 90 days. The people who took the harsh melon extricate experienced diminished degrees of hemoglobin A1c (HbA1c), a pointer of long haul glucose levels (11).

Lower HbA1c levels demonstrate better glucose control and a diminished danger of creating diabetes (12).

While these discoveries are promising, bigger examinations are expected to decide precisely how severe melon or its juice might be utilized to assist control with blooding sugar levels.

May advance skin wellbeing

Karela juice is likewise burned-through around the world as a marvel help. Many trust it can assist with boosting your skin's shine.

Karela juice is a rich wellspring of cell reinforcements, including nutrient C and provitamin A, the two of which are significant for sound skin and wound recuperating (1).

In one review, rodents that were topically treated with harsh melon remove experienced altogether quicker twisted recuperating. This impact was even found in rodents with diabetes (13Trusted Source).

In non-Western therapeutic practices, karela juice has been utilized to oversee indications of psoriasis, skin inflammation, and ulcers. Nonetheless, these applications should be investigated officially in human examinations (14, 15).

While unpleasant melon and its juice have a long history in society medication, more examination is expected to decide what they might mean for skin wellbeing.

Other potential medical advantages

Karela juice might offer a few other medical advantages, including helping weight reduction.

One investigation discovered that when 42 members were given 4.8 grams of severe melon separate every day, they lost critical measures of paunch fat. Following seven weeks, they had lost a normal of 0.5 inches (1.3 cm) from their waistline (14Trusted Source).

While this review couldn't decide the specific reason for weight reduction, it's unmistakable why karela juice can be an extraordinary expansion to a weight reduction routine. It's high in fiber, low in calories, and hydrating.

This blend might assist with keeping you feeling full more, as fiber travels through your intestinal system more leisurely than basic carbs (6Trusted Source).

Considering that it keeps hunger under control, it might hold you back from eating food sources that are higher in calories and lower in supplements.

Moreover, some test-cylinder and creature concentrates on show that some of karela juice's parts might have disease battling properties (14, 16Trusted Source, 17, 18Trusted Source).

At long last, some proof from creature studies demonstrates that karela juice could build HDL (great) cholesterol, just as decline LDL (awful) cholesterol and absolute fatty oil levels (1, 19Trusted Source).

Synopsis

Karela juice might give numerous great medical advantages, including bringing down glucose levels and boosting skin wellbeing. More examination is expected to decide whether it can assist with diminishing midsection fat.

Disadvantages of karela juice

While certain individuals find karela juice flavorful, others might track down its unpleasant taste unpalatable.

What's more, it may not be great to drink a lot of this juice, as doing as such can prompt antagonistic impacts like stomach agony, the runs, and a furious stomach. However, there's insufficient logical proof to decide what amount is protected to burn-through (20Trusted Source).

In addition, since its drawn out impacts are not known, it may not be intended for everybody.

Given its effect on glucose, individuals with diabetes and those taking medicine ought to counsel their medical care supplier prior to beginning a karela juice routine (20Trusted Source).

Further, severe melon concentrate might influence your endocrine framework, which controls chemicals and proliferation. Consequently, ladies who are pregnant or breastfeeding should converse with their medical care supplier prior to adding karela juice to their every day schedule (21).

Synopsis

Karela juice is alright for most when devoured with some restraint, however the individuals who have diabetes, take medicine, or are pregnant or breastfeeding ought to counsel their medical care supplier.

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The most effective method to make karela juice

You can without much of a stretch make karela squeeze at home. All you need is crude harsh melon, a blender or juicer, and water.

Select severe melons that are greater, and keep away from those that are riper, with a somewhat orange or red shade. Doing as such will assist you with staying away from the unforgiving character commonly connected with the natural product.

To assist with progressing the taste, you can douse severe melon tissue in water with lemon juice for around 30 minutes prior to mixing it.

Karela juice

Fixings

1 unpleasant melon

water or other juice

lemon squeeze, salt, or nectar (discretionary)

Bearings

Wash the unpleasant melon under chilly water.

Spot it on a cutting board and cut off each end (there's no compelling reason to strip it).

Cut the melon transversely and the long way. You should now have four pieces.

Scoop out the seeds from each piece utilizing a spoon and dispose of them.

Spot the leftover external green tissue level side down on the cutting board. Cut these into medium-sized pieces.

Add water to the blender to approach around one section water to two sections harsh melon. You can change these extents as you would prefer, and you might supplant water with one more kind of juice, whenever wanted.

Add the bits of harsh melon to the blender. You may likewise add a couple of drops of lemon juice and 1/2 teaspoon (5 ml) of nectar or salt for taste. Mix until smooth.

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