#I have two pages to ink and then shading the rest of the chapter. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thehistoriangirl · 6 months

Text

The Tides Have Veiled [Nine]

This chapter is calmer than last one,

Or is it?

Viktor x Fem!Reader---Gothic AU: Spooky Sea---2.3K--SFW

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: Upon your return to Piltover the Old, you discover that the strange happenings aren't only bound to you, but to the whole town...

Taglist: @lunar-monster @bittercyder @local-mr-frog

Nine: Curses Trapped in Whirlpools

The wind near the beach was lighter, the marine breeze stealing all the free space inside your lungs to reclaim you, the sand trying to glue you to become one with it, dragging you to the ground.

“It had rained heavily.” An obvious statement to try to break the tension settled between the two ever since you climbed the carriage on wobbly legs.

The beach soaked, with the sand more like mud, tinted a darker shade of brown. Tiny pools scattered across the coast, all filled with dead specimens, amorph from the tearing tides and the unmerciful wind, and yet, too strange to belong to this world.

Hollow-like eyes, blobs of black substance resembling skin, teeth so sharp for belonging to such a tiny fish.

“Probably a waterspout," Viktor signaled, his skin regaining some color under the evening sun. The tip of his cane poked one dead fish. "These don't belong to the surface."

The lighthouse was still on, the beacon concealed with the sun’s brightness.

"What is that?" Your finger pointed to a strange mass near the cliff's wall. Without thinking, you walked toward it, feet sinking in the sand, chilling your feverish skin.

Viktor called your name, hand extended as if to stop you. But you couldn't see him clearly, looking at the sea swinging lazily, almost taunting for you to get closer to the thing only to snatch it out of your grasp.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

You stopped a couple of meters away, where there was a toppled basket, moss already growing from the vegetal fabric the basket was made of. Inside, there were wet pages of what seemed to be letters, the ink ran over by the water, eating the words away. Photographs of people you had never seen, weddings, funerals.

“What’s this?” you muttered, too scared to bend down and see it closer.

“Memories,” Viktor told you, his hand over your shoulder. “Come on. You’re going to get sick with your feet all soaked.”

“Why do people put them here?” The stone staircase was seeped in water, with you carefully walking behind Viktor, ready to help him in case any of his feet slipped from a step, but he was just as impassible as the lighthouse itself against the wind starting to blow over. “Isn’t it easier to burn them if they wish to get rid of them?”

"They're not trying to dispose of them.” His golden gaze tracked back at you from the corner of his eye, like another lighthouse casting its glow over your wandering mind. “It’s an offering.”

“An offering? I thought all the people here had shifted from pagan beliefs.”

A noncommittal shrug. "You can't get away from the belief when it's rooted in the ground you walk," Viktor commented, the exhibit at the museum coming back to your mind, the image of the lighthouse alongside the legends, the shadowy figure of a monster you didn't want to see. "This was one of the main coastal towns to seek the favors of mermaids, after all."

The sea’s roaring lulled you, eyes drifting over the never-ending blue of sky and water merging. It was a world of their own, so close and far from your grasp at the same time. “Viktor, do you believe in those stories?”

“People do that around fall, praying not to have any major storm hitting the coast.” Viktor walked with a steady pace, his hair shining between honey and copper. "I do not see the harm in amusing people's beliefs, Miss."

Knowing that it would be the best answer you could get out of him, you continued the path ahead.

"How's that I haven't seen one before?" Your breath was getting agitated, and you didn't know if the reason behind the steep climb, or Viktor's story.

“They only put them over the cliff wall, nearer as they can to the maelstrom in front of the cliff.”

You fidgeted with the handle of your suitcase—well, the one Viktor had lent you. “Do you know where the maelstrom leads you?" you asked, biting your lip at listening to how childish that question had sounded.

“’Where?’” Viktor raised an eyebrow.

"Yes! Haven't you heard that story?" you said, excited to tell the knowledgeable man next to you a new piece of information that may serve his research. “That if you fall into a whirlpool, you end up in the mermaid’s realm?”

He chuckled, a wry smile that could outshine the sun. "That's why you shouldn't throw rocks or logs inside them." He rummaged inside his pockets for his keys, and now, you could walk side by side, the house welcoming you like an elongated shadow, with no lights or curtains drawn, all its eyelids closed, as if dormant.

“Or the mermaids will come for you while you’re playing on the beach!” you finished the shared thought, happy to have made him smile, for once.

His eyes twinkled. “Do you think that ghosts can get trapped in the mermaid’s realm if they get caught in the whirlpool, Miss?” Viktor sounded as if he was about to give a dissertation, his voice almost reverential. “Sometimes, I wonder if that’s the reason why the cliff cries.”

The entrance door opened without noise, the bright light outside devoured by the foyer, stains covering your eyelids, black and red with each blink.

You were following Viktor’s white shirt, when suddenly you didn’t see it move anymore, your head bumping into his back.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Your hand flew toward his arm to steady him.

“I’m—It's… it's fine," Viktor muttered, tapping his cane on the floor. One. Two. Three. As if knocking.

You peeked from over his shoulder, feeling the blood pooling down your feet.

“What… what happened here?” you uttered, so quietly that it was a miracle Viktor could hear you over the rapid beat of your heart. The furniture was toppled, pages scattered over the floor, some glasses broken, crunched under Viktor’s unrelenting steps as he scanned the room. “Someone broke in?”

Could it be your family? Trying to coerce you into their will and find you gone?

Anger bloomed inside of you, tensing your jaw, and feeling a pit in your stomach, as if someone had forced you into swallow stones that would only drag you deeper into the current you wished to outrun. One not even the terribly adventurous trip to the city, not even the golden band on your finger could make you float away.

“I’m going to look for them,” you huffed, surprised at how cold your voice sounded. "This is unacceptable. To drag you into this mess…" It’s my fault, your mind echoed, another infuriating truth.

“Wait.” This time, Viktor did hold you by the hand, his fingers brushing your palm and wrist in a motion so light, for a moment you thought you would’ve imagined it. “They weren’t the perpetrators. Or I believe they weren’t.”

Looking up at him, you copied his frown. “Viktor, you don’t have to excuse them…” you started, words getting trapped in your throat at seeing how the light filtered from the entrance to the stairs in a familiar pattern.

Muddy footsteps.

Viktor saw the fear in your widened eyes, putting a hand on your shoulder.

"Miss. Go to the lighthouse. I will sort this out."

You grimaced, looking at the house torn to shreds. "I can help you clean—"

"No. It could be dangerous for you." His eyes searched for yours. "Please go to the lighthouse. I promise that everything will be alright."

Opening the rusty doors of the lighthouse felt almost like coming home; the familiar, newly painted walls received you, with the smoky smell of the hearth. Away from that house, for whatever lurked in there.

Shaking your head, you went to the beacon room to check on the electrical panel, finding it only slightly heated from working incessantly for almost three days. The longest Viktor or you could go with having nausea and headaches, hallucinations mixed on top of it, or so you thought, when you woke up in Viktor's bed, with him laying on the couch, the plate where you had put his meds empty.

You couldn’t turn it off, as night was already settling its black blanket over the waves, fog creeping into the surface to blur the limits of the familiar world to turn them into a ghostly landscape.

A chill ran down your spine at remembering the silhouette, white yet solid enough to pierce through the veil and stare right at you, freezing the blood of your veins with its ominous greeting.

Would you see it again? Just as you had seen the mud footprints.

Your teeth nibbled on your thumb’s nail, mind rummaging as to find an explanation.

Someone had broken in, it had to be that—perhaps someone lived inside Viktor’s house, using the owner's usual absence to their advantage. That's why they had appeared in front of your room, as a threat to draw you away.

But… who would dare to live in a seemingly haunted house? Maybe it was the reason behind the strange sensation of someone watching your every step, of all the silences charged with expectations of something breaking it.

Almost as if you could remember it from your days cleaning the house; the gazes from the corner of your eye to double check the hallways, that the creaking wood may not have been the aging house hit by the wind, but rather, a careless step right next door.

That perhaps Viktor was hiding another person from your view if he was distracted enough not to notice such things. Because it must be signs, like objects moving, or disappearing, the footprints, of course, or some noise.

At least you didn’t have to spend more nights there. Little mattered if you were husband and wife, you were only his lighthouse keeper. Occasional friend, at best.

Minutes poured into hours, the sky grey inside that another realm that seemed to be an unfinished sketch, with its sharp edges and grey backgrounds all ornamented with the cliff’s haunting cries, ones that in a twisted way, you had missed.

In the city where everything seemed to be a dream, the cliff’s real screams grounded you in the sick reminder that this was real.

That the muddy footprints were, too.

Your skin got covered in goosebumps, the constant thumping of raindrops against the ceiling drowning any outside noise, except the clear of the entrance door slamming close.

The chair you were sitting on creaked from your jump, feeling your heartbeat thrashing against your ribcage.

By paranoia, you looked back at the beach, where the female-looking apparition was already standing as still as a statue, her bony and deformed hand raised in a greeting.

She turned her head slightly, and the dead algae clung to her remaining black hair covering one of the hollow sockets where her eyes were supposed to go. Instead, from the holes ran putrid blood, almost as black as tar, that the rain couldn’t watch.

Her smile was too wide, showing her too-sharp teeth. And then it clicked in your head. She looked like those strange fishes from the deep sea.

Was she a mermaid?

“Miss.”

You screamed, and Viktor almost fell from the last step of the stairs, his knuckles white from balancing his body on the rail. Miraculously, the thin balustrade was stronger than it looked. “My—are you alright? I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I could frighten you so badly.”

He had an awkward smile on his face, eyebrows knitted in worry.

“Viktor… what are you doing here?” Your question didn’t help to diminish the blush covering his cheeks despite the wet ends of his hair poking around his ears.

“I suppose I couldn’t sleep.” With little, shy steps, he approached the uneven table, sitting atop it while pressing his cane against the ground to balance its legs. “Not after… well,” he sighed.

When you looked at the beach again, it was empty.

“Had it happened before?” Your voice was barely audible over the incessant rain.

His graceful fingers outlined every line of the wood. “A couple of times,” he sighed, the hollows of his face accentuated with the single bulb atop your heads. Viktor looked exhausted. “But never… like this.”

He shrugged. "It's rather a risky strategy to get me out of the house."

You gestured toward him. “Well, it worked today, so,” you said, trying to alleviate his focused frown for some minutes.

Viktor chuckled, his eyes twin to the beacon brightening the night outside. "Julio used to see me napping in the cot when he returned from his duty. He must have forgotten to tell you."

“I don’t mind the company.” You stood up, returning from the panel room with one of your blankets. Viktor smelled like the burned wood of his hearth, to old books and coffee, when your hands brushed his shoulders as you wrapped the blanket around him. “You’re shaking,” you muttered with a smile. “Do you want some tea?”

Viktor was about to nod. “Only if you’re having one, too.”

You felt your stomach lighter, and suddenly, it was very tempting to start playing with your unkept hair. “I will be back.” You could feel his gaze burned on your back as you walked toward the stairs. “Can you keep watch meanwhile?”

Viktor called your name, your feet hovering over the edge of the step. Turning to see him, slowly walking toward your unoccupied chair, gaze cast over the coast as his elbow leaned against the window to support his chin.

“I know we didn’t meet in the most… ideal circumstances. But… but I’m happy that you’re here, now,” he muttered, looking back at you with a smile. “Thank you.”

You smiled, looking at the ground. "I think I should be the one thanking you," you said, hands interlaced over your stomach. "You helped me break out the cursed destiny it had been traced for me.”

Viktor hooked the cane in the crook of his elbow, looking out the window, pensive.

“I like to believe we both are helping each other to break our curses.” Viktor looked at you intently, his gaze freezing you, mid-step, suspended in a void.

#arcane viktor x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor x you #arcane viktor x fem! reader #viktor arcane x f! reader #arcane x female reader

21 notes · View notes

cedricsnotdead · 3 months

Text

here's a tiny thing i wrote the other day, it's just a little scene that will happen in some later chapter in "20 years later" and i think it's cute (can be read without knowing the plot of 20yl but you should be up to speed with ink and blood)

for context - amenei and nishem are maut's and rehu's sons

“Come on, rev’hio!” Amenei begged him.

Lying on his side and propped up on an elbow, Cedric flipped the page of the book that was open in front of him on the grass of the oasis, faking disinterest. “I said no,” he said, “and I was told you have homework to do.” He nodded at the parchments and books messily sprawled on the grass around him.

“Homework is useless!” Nishem spat.

“Yes! Homework does not make us become Masters!” added Amenei, “We want to fly!”

Cedric raised an eyebrow at his nephews. “Flying doesn’t make you become Masters either. But it makes me become the target of your mother’s anger, and what’s even worse - your aunt’s fury out of solidarity for her sister.”

Amenei and Nishem exchanged a glance and then, as if they’d silently agreed on a course of action, they both dropped on their knees in front of Cedric and brought their tiny hands together, looking at him with wide puppy eyes. “Pleeeeease!” they chanted in unison.

Cedric looked at them both, his eyebrows raised. Of course they would pull out the puppy eyes - they knew he would always give up to that.

He closed his book with a clap. “Fine,” he sighed, “but only a quick one. If your mother finds out, I’m dead.”

Amenei and Nishem jumped on their feet, erupting in a high-pitched Yippieeee! that made Cedric’s ears hurt.

And that was how he would turn their short leave to Basiliade for Shoshan’s Master investiture into a family drama. By transforming into a monster with wings and taking Amenei and Nishem for a flight, something that Maut had expressly forbidden, especially when they had homework to do.

The kids’ squeaks and cheers only grew louder when he completed his transformation into a huge green creature - which looked like his signature naga monster from the waist up, but had legs in place of the snake tail and a huge set of wings on his back.

He crouched to let the two kids climb to his shoulders, then he bat the wings and off they were, in the sky above the little oasis.

Amenei and Nishem cheered with joy as they took speed in the sky, staying low enough to see clearly the landscape extending beneath them.

“This is so much better than homework!” cried Nishem.

“Dad is going to be so jealous that you took us without him!” said Amenei.

“Your parents and your rev'hia will know nothing about this, are we clear?” Cedric scolded them.

“Yes, rev’hio,” the two kids said in unison.

They continued to fly in silence for a while, admiring the landscape that the view offered. Apart from the occasional oasis that splotched the surface with blots of green and blue, the rest of the land looked like a huge plain of orange shades, with villages densely packed around the big conglomerate that was the Citadel, gradually leaving more space to empty land and cultivated fields. Cedric only flew around the part surrounding the Citadel, but from their view it could be seen that beyond the last scattered villages among the fields, a vast desert extended to the horizon, separating the Citadel and its surroundings from the Ozed lands where the blacksmiths lived around the volcano. The desert extended also to the opposite side of the Citadel, leading to the pyramids and, beyond those, to the other part of Basiliade that was inhabited.

Cedric had seen this land from above more than once, as it was not the first time Amenei and Nishem managed to convince him to take them for a flight, but he had never gone beyond the Citadel land. He was not an expert when it came to using wings and was not sure he could make it so far without giving up. But he could fly just enough to make the two kids laugh and warm his heart when they told him that he was the coolest rev’hio ever - which was quite the compliment, considering that their other uncle was no less than the First Grand Master of Basiliade.

#ink and blood series #w.i.t.c.h.#w.i.t.c.h. fanfiction #cedric w.i.t.c.h.#cedric x orube #orube #lord cedric #writeblr #fanfiction writing #ao3 fanfic #basiliade

4 notes · View notes

unwise-augur · 1 year

Text

“You’re a nice girl,” the Lyctor said. “I had a nice girl as a cavalier, too… once. She died for me. What can you do?” (Gideon the Ninth, chapter 36)

[Image description: a three page lyric comic about Cytherea Loveday drawn in ink and watercolor, set to The Garden by The Crane Wives. The first three panels show a rapier with a rose on the hilt, Loveday staring up at Cytherea with blood on her lips and tears in her blue eyes, and Cytherea trying to smile back down at her with blood on her lips as well. Her eyes are shadowed by her hair. The lyrics shown in those panels are “tear it down, tear it down around my head”. The next panel is a wide shot, showing that Cytherea is kneeling with Loveday in her lap, rapier speared through Loveday’s gut. They’re surrounded by plants with a window at their backs, a figure taking up the side of the frame. The lyric here is “I need you”. The next panel has the words “to bury this”, and shows Cytherea looking up, her eyes now blue. There is also blue smeared down her face where Loveday was just holding it. The last panel, with the line “beneath by bed”, shows John holding a hand outstretched to Cytherea while Alecto stands in the distance. God is colored entirely in shades of gold.

The first panel next page shows champagne glasses being toasted together, while a seventh is held lower than the rest. The lyric in that panel is “the crows in the garden”. The next panel shows John sitting at the head of the table- Alecto standing behind his shoulder- clearly leading the toast. He is grinning despite the lyric drawn across the table being “are laughing at my expense”. The next panel shows Cytherea smiling grimly, blood still smeared on her lips and dress, colored entirely in shades of blue, with the line “drowning out all the lies that I might‘ve told instead”. The next panel shows Cytherea standing in front of Loveday’s gravestone- left the same place Loveday died- with the line “my stone”. The panel after that is split in half, one containing the words “my shield” and Cytherea’s arm holding the same rapier Loveday was stabbed with, and the other panel having the rest of Cytherea and the words “my steady hand”. She is clutching her skirt in one hand, and frowning deeply. The last panel shows Loveday standing up to her knees in dark water, shutting her eyes against a golden light at her back, with the line “hold your light to the darkness in my head”.

The first two panels on the final page, starting with “put your ear to my heart” has Dulcinea staring up at Cytherea with a rapier to her throat. Dulcinea grins down at her. The next panel has Dulcinea turned and smiling over her throat, Dominicus shining out the window. The accompanying lyric is “or set your teeth against my throat”. The next panel is split between Dulcinea kneeling in front of a window with blood down her lips, and Loveday bleeding out as Cytherea reaches for her with the line “give me something pretty to wear beneath my blood-stained clothes”. The next panel is Loveday speaking to someone out of frame, frowning harshly, while Cytherea has one hand on her shoulder and the other reaching for her face. The next panel is Cytherea falling into Gideon’s arms with the words “my darling”. The panel after that is Gideon looking confused as Cytherea holds her face with one hand and her shoulder in the other, as if finishing the motion she started with Loveday two panels ago. Gideon’s sunglasses do not hide the gold of her eyes. The final panel is of Harrow looking best to hell holding Gideon’s sword. Behind her, a tattered bush, torn grass, a fallen tree, and fragmented bone mark the battlefield. There are spots of gold at Harrow’s wrist and collarbone, matching her eyes. The line here is “the devil knows my name”. End description.

25 notes · View notes

swindle-comic · 3 years

Note

You may have answered this before and if you have forgive the re-ask. But what art program do you guys use for making the comic? Is it more than one? And on average how long does it take to make a page from script to lineart to ink & color? It's so vibrant!

Okay so

It starts as the script Lolly writes, which, beyond Chapter 1, is a list of dialogue and important actions (unless the scene were to change, at which point Lolly gives a detailed exposition of what exactly I'm supposed to be drawing) and, for the most part, it looks something like this:

From the script, I sketch out thumbnails for each page, traditionally, in a sketchbook specifically for thumbnails. Most of them look like this:

Once I have the thumbnails done, I go into Paint Tool Sai 2 and get all the panels and lines done. Those get saved as two separate images so they can be imported to TVPaint as two separate layers. In TVPaint, I import backgrounds and color, shade, and add speech bubbles (for chapter 1, everything was done on TVPaint, but I ended up liking the pen selection in Paint Tool Sai better).

... Yes, I do use an animation program to do my coloring in, but like c'mon I paid 700 bucks for this thing, I'm gonna use it as often as I possibly can. Plus, it's nice to have all the pages of the comic on the same file as individual animation frames with their own layers, it's a good organizational set-up I have going. (I did accidentally save over Chapter 2 Page 14 on the comic's TVPP file though :C )

Once the page is colored and the speech bubbles have been added, I export the frame containing the latest page to a single PNG, and open that in Photoshop to add all the text, any emojis I need to add, and any sound-effects that are hand-written (as opposed to typed) so that I can add an outline to them.

Once that's saved as a PNG, I open it in Paint Tool Sai, again, to add the paper texture (not actually sure how many people notice this detail) and that gets saved and uploaded to the internet for all of you to read :3

Ideally I just spend one day on each page so I can dedicate the rest of my time to work I actually get paid for lol, though sometimes it may just happen that I can't spend as much time at my computer on the day I'm supposed to update the comic, so I get delayed.

#FAQ

124 notes · View notes

mintyfrosty · 4 years

Text

A Prince’s Guide To Reading

"Right?"

Ah, his name.

At least the one he preferred people to use for him.

The guard of the Toppat prince turned his gaze up from the door he had his eyes pinned on, studying the engravings of the wood to try and pass the time. He had to admit, being the prince's guard could be dull, since said prince seemed to take much gratitude in working within a quiet environment. Right didn't mind, of course. Then again, the commoner didn't exactly have a choice either way with what he thought or not. As if he had a choice. He didn't; that was the truth. It had been like that for the month he had found himself being the prince's care. Er, at least he thought it had been a month? Time was a bit weird in the castle. Every day seemed the same.

That wasn't to say he found it unpleasant, however.

Their eyes connected, the guard's gaze quickly descending straight after, since it was discourteous for a royal and a commoner to share a glimpse of their eyes. Well, he wasn't sure on that, but Prince Reginald had acquainted him of such. And he trusted him; a terrifying amount. And Right didn't want to get a stern talking from the king about this, that and something else. Despite clearing his throat before he spoke, Right's voice came up as hoarse and uneven like it always did. "Yes, yer 'ighness?"

Allowing his hand to rest, the royal put the quill in his hand down to table, slightly rubbing it as the chains of writing broke free. Putting his hand through so much work was unhealthy to his muscles and bones. However, much like the commoner, the prince didn't have a choice. Not since 20 years ago when the Toppat Kingdom fell under Terrence's rule. Not the time to think about, he scolded himself, bringing both of his hands down to his lap. He could at least say, however, it was flattering on how the guard put so much effort into trying to learn the mannerism that seemed impossible to understand.

"I wanted to ask you..." Started the prince, bringing himself to standing and tucking his chair into the table that sat peacefully in the halls of the library. "Do you-- know how to read and write?"

...

That came off as slightly insulting. But, unfortunately, forgivable to ask.

Crimson rose to the peasant's ears, gaze crunching as he examined the tile grooving on the floor, trying to, pathetically, hide his embarrassment. The prince was entitled to ask such a question; he was the prince for God's sake. It wasn't uncommon for a commoner such as himself to be illiterate. Many didn't have the money to claim the opportunity to educate themselves. It wouldn't be embarrassing if he said 'no', would it? Because, well, he just didn't.

He was a peasant.

A filthy one at that.

"Nah-- I mean-- No. No, I don't." Forced words of respect came out of the guard, slightly gritting his teeth with frustration as he let his accent slip his words into slang. Ugh. He hated trying to keep up with these stupid mannerisms. It was all so confusing. How the hell was he supposed to remember how to use three forks at a dinner table, wait to speak until spoken to AND not let himself slip into his comfortable language of slang? And that wasn't even the full list. "Er-- w'y do ya ask?"

"Well..." Without finishing the answer, the prince's feet waltzed over to one of the hundred books that decorated the library walls. Gloved hands met the cover a soft covered book; a light read. From where he was standing, Reginald waved an inviting hand towards the guard, taking a seat on the couch that was adjacent to the fireplace which crackled calmly. Swallowing the anxiety lodged in his throat, Right's brash footsteps pounded towards the prince, boots sounded like a wrecking ball hitting concrete. Maybe that was due to his mass. He didn't have a mind to care. With the guard now near him, the royal patted the seat lightly next to him, a smile meeting his face. "...if you can't, I'd like to teach you how to read!"

...

Wh-What?

The crimson turned a shade of magenta, spreading like a virus across his cheek and nose. Teach him? Teach him how to read? But why? Didn't the prince already have his hands full? His gaze fell over to the task assigned to Reginald, surprised to see a perfectly piled stack of scrolls. Was he finished? Wow, that was fast then. Incredibly fast. Eventually, however, the guard let his gaze fall back to the prince, eyes focused on the book in his hands rather than the blue sapphires that dotted his pupils. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, pulling on his collar to let more airflow through his clothing.

In all fairness, he didn't believe he deserved such a privilege.

Being literate was seen as such an honour; only the noblemen and royalty got the joy of being able to read and write. And that same offer to him? Definitely out of the question. He, well, he didn't believe he was worthy of such a gift. However, he most certainly didn't want to make the prince upset over the matter; maybe he could blame it on something. Something like: "Er-- I...Would we 'ave the time? With supper happening soon?"

"Oh, nonsense! We've got a few hours! Two! That's enough, I'm sure of it! You're a quick learner, you know!" It only occurred to Reginald that there was a big difference between the prince wanting to teach him how to read and Right actually wanting to learn how to perform such an act. A quick sound of hesitation came from the prince, excitement in his tone dying as his shoulders fell to his sides. "Of course...only if you'd allow me."

Oh, God. He couldn't refuse now.

Because yes, despite reading being hard to master, Right couldn't be more excited about the offer, yet nothing on his face implied so. Lost on the prince's words, the guard nodded with certainty, holding his hands up and shaking them slightly. "Na- No-- I'd be t' rilled ta learn, ya majesty--"

Dammit, he was committed to it now. No going back. Just be on high alert.

Although the guard took a hesitant seat on his side, the prince couldn't be more excited, a large grin dotted his face gently. Reginald opened the book to the first page, their shoulders touching as he held the left side of the cover, gesturing for Right to take the opposing side. Trapped by anxiety, the guard's breath wouldn't come out of his throat, numbly grabbed ahold with his right hand to open the book. Foreign symbols came into his vision when it was a simple text of English. Jesus, how was going to learn this? He didn't understand any of it. He couldn't learn how to read-- this was dumb-- this was stupid. "Alright...let's start at the beginning..."

Gently, the prince's voice hit his ears, voice brimming with excitement.

...Sigh.

Guess he didn't have a choice.

But, at least, this was better than staring at the door engravement all damn day, waiting for something that would never happen.

The story Reginald had picked out was something about a girl from a village. An oddball herself; she knew how to read. How ironic. Then one day her father got kidnapped at an old castle that belonged to a cursed prince that had turned into a beast. And to save her father's life, traded herself to be the beast's prisoner. But, interestingly, the two fell in love and the curse on the prince was broken.

Huh.

What an odd tale. Granted, probably one of the first that Right had ever heard of but...still so odd.

The prince went slow with the words from the text, running his finger under words and pronouncing them slowly, teaching him what letters made what sounds. Vowels were undoubtedly the hardest; some words could have two of the same vowel yet make different sounds. Of course, he'd been speaking the language his whole life but...now it was different. He could physically see how goddamn confusing the English language was. By the time they got to Chapter 3, an hour had passed, the prince looking up to the guard brightly. "Alright, your turn!"

Right blinked.

...

"...you know...your turn to read!"

...

H-Huh? "Eh?" He couldn't. "I can't--"

"Of course, you can!" Cheered Reginald, the prince moving his gloved hand to underneath the first word, written beautifully in ink. Calligraphy made it hard to discern which letter was which. Gaining his breath back from swallowing the anxiety lodged in his throat, the guard gritting his teeth, a crimson colour rising to his ears slightly out of embarrassment.

"Er-- I still don't get a lot of it--"

"That's okay! I'll help you along the way! It'll be fine, just watch!" No matter how much he tried to stop himself, he couldn't help that redness from his ears spreading to his face in a blush. Dammit. The prince's excitement was contagious; spreading and capturing his heart like some sort of plague. It made him want to try and complete this mission he was destined to fail at. He'd been learning to read for no less than an hour, and now he was going to read on his own? Seemed impossible. But that darn smile was enough to make him want to. Want to try. Want to learn.

Okay. He could try.

Hopefully.

"Er-- alright--"

It was slow. Painfully slow.

The commoner needed more help from the prince than he could read words on his own. Nevertheless, successful. Very slow, but steady, gently drifting his voice across the paper to bring meaning to the written dialogue. Even if he made mistakes and made a fool of himself, he was still having fun. The prince was encouraging, giving him compliments and words of pride at when he could read a full sentence on his own. It was...touching, dramatically so. Crimson on his face turned to a soft, pastel magenta, taking comfort in the royal's presence instead of being on edge. Yes, it was technically not allowed for the two to be so close, despite having their shoulders touching, but the commoner didn't care.

The king and noblemen of the kingdom were still ignorant of the idea that Right had met the prince before the assassin outbreak. Heh; funny that the commoner was just coming for a visit but ended up being roped to be his guard. All because he saved the royal's life in an alleyway.

How curious...

However, it led to one problem; his guard was down. He got too complacent.

Find their shoulders sitting side by side was getting a little too uncomfortable, the commoner raised his, moving closer, then wrapping it around the prince's shoulders. There. Nice and comfy. If the feeling of the royal's muscles tense up hadn't occurred, he would've stayed there and continued. But, of course, life wasn't kind to anyone. Dread settled in his heart, abruptly stopping mid-sentence and pushing himself away and standing. Why did he do that? WHY did he do that!? WHYDIDHEDOTHAT?!

"I-I'm so sorry-- I don't know wot came o'er me!" Stamped the commoner, raising his hands and shaking them as if it were some kind of defence. God-- the king would have his head for this. What was he thinking!? Just, ya know, causally wrap your filthy, peasant arm around the shoulders of the prince of the Toppat Kingdom! No stress! Not one ounce of it! Dammit- Dammit- DAMMIT--

"I-t won't 'appen again-- I was just-- I-- I just--"

"Woah-- Woah! Hey, it's okay, Right!" Exclaimed the prince, quickly rising out of his seat and taking a firm grasp of his hand. Right, still scrambling to find something to say, looked down at their hands, caramel eyes finally connecting with the azure blue pupils that belonged to the prince's eyes. They were holding hands--

This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.

A commoner shouldn't have been that close to a prince; let alone even within one meter of him. But to wrap his ARMS around his shoulder!? What was he thinking!? What was he doing?!

Shakily, he exhaled, not making any movement to return the grasp to his hand.

"Jesus-- I'm sorry I-- I just--" Stuck on his sentence, the guard brought his free hand to his face to try and conceal the growing magenta colour that lingered there.

"Just-- this 'ole thin' 'f not knowin' ya. And 'avin' to act like I ain't got a clue who you are or 'o you are aside from all the duties ya got stacked up--- it's kind of-- it's so frustratin'. 'Cause, yer know, ya funny and ya kind-- and ya got this presence about ya. And 've gotta act all manners and other bullshit-- I can't even just sit by ya witho't worryin' that 'm gonna get my head chopped off or you worryin' about 'dis stupid code-- JUST--" The commoner let out a grunt, bringing the hand on his face to his hair, tugging it slightly.

"It-It's just-- I wanna han' out wit' ya-- but-- we just can't. And it drives me bonkers."

A deadly silence filled the room as the commoner let weeks worth of venting material, catching the prince by an immense surprise. Of course, a faint colour of rose pink painted over his cheeks at the brief compliments, but nothing could stop or control the sudden frown forming on his face. In a way, the prince was dreading this. The lack of personal freedom for the guard was probably doing his head in, and the fact that he and the commoner knew each other beforehand probably made the situation much much worse for him. Even if Reginald had nothing to do with it (even though he had everything to do with it), he couldn't help but feel pity. He hadn't had freedom his whole life and, whilst he'd grown used to it, it was terrible in the beginning. Difficult, in other words.

Sympathetically, Reginald raised his free hand toward Right's that clutched against his hair, pulling it down from his face.

"Right...I'm okay-- I should be sorry I'm--" The prince let out a muffled sigh. "Y-Yes...I understand. This whole matter is aggravating. And I do want to spend time with you too! Believe me, I do. Heh, kind of why I asked to teach you to read. It's just-- I'm sorry I...I'm not used to this whole...' being close to someone' thing if you get what I mean? I've never met a commoner before you. And even then, there's all these rules and orders. And yet, you seem so nice and friendly compared to what I've been told what commoners are like. What I'm trying to say is...I'm sorry for my reaction with your arm-- I'm just-- following what I've been told to do."

...

An apology?

Jesus--

Reginald had to be the pure heartiest prince he had ever met if HE was apologising for a reaction that Right caused. In a way, it made his blood completely fire, bringing a low scowl to his face. It made the whole situation worse when you considered how the prince was treated by the king. Like garbage, that's what. And even then, Reginald put himself second to Right, considering his comfort to be more important than his own. Dammit-- that colour was rising back to his face, stifling a cough that rose to his throat.

The guard let out some sort of chuckle. "Heh-- we're both tryna follow rules 'ere-- Ehehe--"

Right didn't laugh a lot, but when Reginald heard it, it filled his heart up. A small smile itself met his lips, sharing his laughter. And only for an impossibly short amount of time, the prince's eyes shot purple, but far too quick for anyone to take note of it. They were both kind of messes; wanting to talk and laugh and NOT do something royalty related. The prince held up a hand. "Okay-- Okay. How about this. If I finish tomorrow and we have enough spare time, do you...want to spend that time finishing this book with me? To 'hang out', as you called it. We'll go out to the gardens; where no one can find us."

...

A smile met the guard's lips, putting a hand to his chest and bowing slightly.

"It would be ma greatest 'onour, my prince." ~~~XxX~~~ MEDIEVAL AU FLUFF BOYSSS!!

Thank you so much for reading this fanfic!!

For those wondering, this takes place in the transitional period between Right’s arrival and Galeforce’s arrival x3

Also, yes I know that Beauty and The Beast didn’t exist yet but shh its cute

Oki have doodle!

177 notes · View notes

besanii · 4 years

Text

double happiness at your door

Part 18 [end] | previous chapters linked on sidebar!

The initial plan was for Qing Qiu to send a retinue, personally led by Wei Wuxian, to pick up Lan Wangji and the rest of the bridal procession from the Nine Heavens. No expenses were to be spared—both Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang had had a lot of fun (perhaps a little too much fun) designing the bridal palaquin that would transport Lan Wangji from his quarters at the Palace of Enlightenment to his new home with Wei Wuxian in the Fox Den of Qing Qiu, and they had certainly not skimped out on the wedding gifts either—and for a while everyone had been happy. Except then Lan Qiren had gotten hold of the palanquin designs and thrown a fit, deeming it unsuitably gaudy and ostentatious for an esteemed member of the Nine Heavens Imperial Family.

Which, okay fair. Maybe having a pair of Bi Yi Niao drawing the palanquin had been a bit much. But still! That doesn’t mean Lan Qiren gets to cancel the bridal procession altogether!

So they had to compromise. They’ll keep the bridal procession and the palanquin if they do away with the bridal veil and the Bi Yi Niao. Which leaves him here, outside the Palace of Enlightenment with Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang at his side, facing off with Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

“Uh, so how does this work, exactly?” Wei Wuxian mutters under his breath, nudging Nie Huaisang with an elbow.

“They’re supposed to give you a challenge!” Nie Huaisang says, fluttering his fan excitedly in front of his face. “Something to prove your love and devotion!”

My what now?

He turns to the two imposing figures in the doorway and gulps.

“Taizi-dianxia, Chifeng-zun,” he laughs weakly. “Have you eaten yet? We’ve brought...cakes! And pastries! Please, have your fill!”

Lan Xichen smiles.

“Thank you for the kind offer, Xiao-dianxia,” he says, “but we have already eaten. Why don’t we focus on the task at hand, hmm?”

There’s a vaguely threatening twinkle in his eye that sends chills down Wei Wuxian’s spine and himself almost crashing into Jiang Cheng on his other side.

“What does Taizi-dianxia propose then?” Jiang Cheng asks, drawing himself up to his full height. It’s an admirable attempt at making himself appear more threatening, but he’s up against Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, which pretty much speaks for its effectiveness (or lack thereof).

Well, at least he tried. Wei Wuxian can give him that.

“Mingjue-xiong, what was the purpose of this exercise again?” Lan Xichen asks, voice light and airy. “To prove Xiao-dianxia’s love and devotion for Wangji, was it?”

The grin Nie Mingjue gives them is anything but light and airy. Nie Huaisang audibly gulps.

“I know just the thing.” He stretches out a hand and summons Baxia into his grasp. It glints menacingly in the sunlight. “How about a duel? If you defeat me, you may pass.”

“Is that a good idea, Da-ge?” Nie Huaisang pipes up from where he’s half-hiding behind Wei Wuxian. “We don’t want to hurt Wei-xiong before he’s had a chance to perform his duties!”

Wei Wuxian chokes and turns red immediately—Nie Huaisang is so dead. He’s going to kill him. How can he say something like that in front of the Crown Prince? Lan Wangji’s brother? Does he want to get him killed? He still hasn’t seen Lan Wangji in his wedding robes!

“Nie-xiong!” he hisses. To Nie Mingjue, he offers a deep bow. “Chifeng-zun, please spare your junior on his wedding day. How could I possibly hope to defeat you in combat?”

“Oh?” Nie Mingjue smirks. “Do you not want to be married then?”

“Chifeng-zun!” Wei Wuxian heaves an incredibly put-upon sigh. “Then you leave me no choice. Luckily, in situations like this, I can call upon my trusty brother to fight in my stead!”

He slings an arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders and shoves him forward with an encouraging shout, grinning wickedly at the abject terror on his face as he comes nose-to-chest with Nie Mingjue. Still, he grits his teeth and squares his shoulders and actually looks like he’s going to fight so Wei Wuxian has got to hand it to him—what a good brother! He’ll never compare him to a pufferfish again!

The moment is interrupted by Lan Xichen clearing his throat.

“While that’s all well and good,” he says mildly. “I think Wangji would prefer it if we didn’t destroy his courtyard, or injure his husband before the wedding. Why don’t we do something else?”

He swears he hears Nie Mingjue blow a raspberry. A very tiny, petulant one out of the corner of his mouth. But definitely a raspberry. But Lan Xichen appears not to have seen it, or at least pretends not to, as he waves his arm and a table appears in front of them with a blank scroll and a set of inks and brushes.

“Xiao-dianxia, if you will.” He motions for Wei Wuxian to take a seat. “I have a very simple task for you. Please write down all three thousand of the Lan family rules within the span of one joss stick.”

What?

“What?” he says aloud, dumbfounded. “All of them?”

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow.

“You were gifted with a copy of them when you first arrived at the Nine Heavens,” he reminds him. “And again when we first sent pingli to your chambers at the beginning of this engagement. I trust you would have read them in preparation for your marriage. After all, these rules are very important to Wangji.”

He tops it all off with a beatific smile that has Wei Wuxian breaking out in a cold sweat. Okay, so he has read all three thousand rules before. Once. Sort of. Okay so maybe he’s skimmed them a bit. But to ask him to write them all down from memory just isn’t fair! He’s not even the one marrying into the Lan family! If anything, Lan Wangji should be the one to copy out Qing Qiu’s rules!

He forces a smile and picks up the brush.

“Of course,” he lies. “Of course I did.”

He’s about half a joss stick in when an idea strikes him and he scraps the page he’s been working on—he hears Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng groan and complain loudly and ignores them in favour of smoothing out a fresh piece of paper and setting brush to paper with gusto. They want him to demonstrate his knowledge of the Lan family rules? Well, he’ll give them one better.

He lifts the brush from the paper with a final flourish just as the last part of the joss stick crumbles away into dust. A splatter of ink gets onto Jiang Cheng’s robes, but he’s too busy setting aside the brush and picking up his masterpiece to acknowledge his angry muttering. He offers it to Lan Xichen with a bow.

“Taizi-dianxia,” he says. “For your inspection.”

Lan Xichen’s face softens as he takes in what Wei Wuxian has given him.

“Xiao-dianxia…”

It’s a picture of Lan Wangji sitting under the shade of a peach blossom tree, playing the guqin, from the first time he’d visited the Nine Heavens. He remembers climbing over the wall to escape his etiquette lessons and stumbling into the Palace of Enlightenment completely by accident while Lan Wangji had been practising. He remembers how the sunlight had shone through the branches of the tree just so to bathe him in an ethereal glow—if they had not been already immortal, Wei Wuxian could have sworn he was a fairy descended to earth—and the way his breath had caught in his throat at the sight.

It was the first time he remembers really seeing Lan Wangji.

Nie Huaisang is smiling behind his fan while admiring the portrait, and even Nie Mingjue looks grudgingly impressed by his work. Jiang Cheng folds his arms over his chest and scoffs, but he too has a pleased little quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” Lan Xichen says finally, lowering the portrait. “I believe you’ve quite surpassed the task we set for you, Xiao-dianxia. Here is your reward.”

He steps aside.

Lan Wangji is standing at the door to the main chambers on the other side of the courtyard, dressed in layers of red and gold silk fitted to perfection around his broad frame. Even the customary silver pins in his hair have been replaced by a single one made of gold, fashioned into the shape of a dragon and slotted through a guan of flowing golden clouds. His honey-gold eyes are wide and stunned, his mouth falling open just a sliver as he looks Wei Wuxian up and down.

“Wei Ying,” he breathes. Wei Wuxian flushes, his insides squirming in pleasure under his scrutiny.

And oh.

Oh.

Wei Wuxian presses a hand over his pounding heart in realisation.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, unable to stop the smile breaking out over his face. “I’m here!”

Lan Wangji hums, his eyes soft.

“Yes,” he agrees. “You are.”

Previous parts and ko-fi link on my sidebar!

Aaaaaaand that’s a wrap on the main fic, folks! The next part after this is the wedding night, which I’ve already written and can be found in the master post. Everything written after this will be purely extras :)

Thank you for sticking with me through it all! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’ll probably focus more on Shattered Mirrors while working on another WIP in the background, so please support SM too!

#mdzs #wangxian #double happiness fic #double happiness verse #dragon!lwj #fox prince!wwx #lan wangji #wei wuxian #雙喜臨門 #my writing

313 notes · View notes

twilightofthejedi · 3 years

Text

chapter 2 of "sorry to my unknown lover" is up!

read on ao3 here

read chapter 1 on ao3 here and on tumblr here

chapter summary:

He is still watching his own blood settle on the ground when Vincenzo groans, stirring. Han-seok looks down at one of the shards of glass, how it turns reflective in the light. He sees his own smirk, and looks up.

It all starts now.

read under the cut below

chapter 2: prometheus

Jang Han-seok slips his phone into his pocket. It had been almost child’s play getting his personal effects back after his brief stint in jail, and he has no intention of returning.

Not when he has who he wants right in front of him.

He looks down at the great Vincenzo Cassano, unconscious and tied to a chair. His hair is matted with his own blood, and there is glass embedded in his knees. Han-seok bends to take out the glass, and wraps the wounds with cloth. It wouldn’t do to have Vincenzo’s wounds get infected too early. He does, after all, want him to be conscious for the next part of his plan.

At first, as he had watched Vincenzo and Cha-young banter easily on the sidewalk outside the plaza, bitter green jealousy twisting his stomach like acid, he had considered taking Cha-young instead. Wouldn’t it be nice to toy with Vincenzo from afar, dangling things like Cha-young’s glittery earrings in front of him, forcing him to come to her and scream in fear for her life?

It would, but he had realized that he didn’t need Cha-young to toy with Vincenzo. He could do that from two feet away from him, in a warehouse with nobody around them for miles.

Funny, really, how many abandoned warehouses there are, with nobody to care about them or even think twice about the screams coming from them.

The screams that he has every intention of pulling from Vincenzo.

He picks up one of the glass shards that he had pulled from Vincenzo, and runs his finger along the jagged edge of it. It pricks his finger, and the blood catches the industrial lighting overhead. He watches idly as the blood beads up and falls to the ground. It sits there, staining the gray concrete a dull brown.

It all starts now.

“Noona , I can help.”

Both Cha-young and Mr. Nam look up with a start, and see Jang Han-seo standing there, shirt rumpled and tie askew. He is holding a computer and some sort of device, and his eyes are bloodshot.

She can only stare at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I got the text from hyungnim, too. That is what’s going on, right?” He looks in between them, eyes darting like he is nervous. Cha-young remembers a flippant line in Han-seo’s folder in the guillotine file: He was abused and tortured by his older brother for years, and resultant drug addiction , takes in Han-seo’s slightly shaking fingers, and decides to take a chance.

“What did he say in his message to you?” Mr. Nam says, seemingly reading her mind. He beckons Han-seo closer, and pulls out a chair for him to sink into. Han-seo unlocks his phone and sets it on the table, along with the computer and mysterious gadget. The message is nearly identical to the one that she had received but in context, significantly more terrifying: Hi Han-seo. Did you miss me? You can’t get rid of me that easily, little brother.

The picture and its caption are different, too. The picture is of a man’s hand, presumably Han-seok’s, holding a bloody watch, Vincenzo’s bare, pale wrist in the blurry background. Mr. Nam inhales sharply at the sight, and Cha-young impatiently clicks to the caption.

One more.

Cha-young has read her former hoobae ’s folder in the File; she knows what the watch signifies. For a second, she is standing outside a makgeolli shop on a rainy night, a clear plastic umbrella falling from her fingers that have suddenly gone numb, and pushing past bystanders who have gathered to watch; dispassionate, uncaring, apathetic bystanders watching one man die and another struggle to live, and sees the hundreds of sticky notes that had been stuck to the wall for months until she finally allowed herself to take them down. She stands up abruptly, and the other two men stumble to their feet after her.

“Byeonhosa-nim ?” Mr. Nam asks tentatively.

“Han-seo, what’s the laptop for?”

“Do you know where hyung is right now?” he asks abruptly. They both shake their heads. In the past few hours, Cha-young and Mr. Nam have come up with a plan for what to do when they find Han-seok, but they have been stumped on how to find him. It wasn’t like he had conveniently called them that they could track his phone, and surveillance footage courtesy of Mi-ri and Agent Ahn hadn’t turned up anything useful.

“I didn’t think so,” Han-seo continues. “You both know about his practice of collecting watches, right?” Cha-young exchanges a glance with Mr. Nam, who turns a delicate shade of green. She nods.

“ Hyungnim likes to wear the watches that he collects. He switches them around, wears a different one everyday. Never even matches them to his outfit. It’s ridiculous.” Han-seo trails off, rambling about sports watch and black suit, and Cha-young realizes she needs to steer the conversation back to relevancy.

“Han-seok has no fashion sense. So?” she asks, feeling her patience fray with every passing second. With every passing second Vincenzo could be getting tortured, or dying, or both at the same time.

Cha-young owns exactly one black hanbok . She has worn it three times in her life. First to her mother’s funeral, standing silently in the funeral parlor, fuming when her father stepped out to take a call from a client. The next time was nearly ten years later, for her father’s funeral. Then she had felt nothing, just a cold sea of emptiness, right until she saw the picture of them both at her law school graduation, at which point she had been punctured like a balloon, or a plant cell with too much water intake. The last and most recent time was at Vincenzo’s mother’s funeral. Then she had felt a bone deep sorrow, and a dizzying feeling of inevitability, like this was going to be the rest of her life. Going to funerals of people taken from her much too soon.

She refuses, however, to take out that hanbok again. Let it collect dust on its hanger in her closet. Let it fade with time. She refuses to lose anyone else, and she refuses to lose Vincenzo.

She’ll be damned if she lets Jang Han-seok change that.

��So,” Han-seo says, typing on the laptop. “I installed trackers in all of the watches. I’m finding his current location right now.” He looks up at them. “He will try to control the action from now on. His plan is probably to keep baiting you, noona , with pieces of information about Vin- hyung to keep you dependent on him. But now that we know where he is, we can confront him on our own terms. I mean, your terms. Because it’s your plan.” he finishes slightly awkwardly.

He turns the laptop to face them, and she and Mr. Nam crouch down to see. The blip on the screen is pointing to a warehouse over twenty miles outside of Seoul, which makes sense.

Cha-young looks both of her companions in the eye. “Let’s get to work.”

“Had a nice rest?”

Vincenzo leans back in the hard wooden chair he is strapped to. “It’s not first class, but it’ll do, I suppose.”

In front of him, Jang Han-seok sneers. Vincenzo just stares at him patiently. His initial few seconds when he woke up had remained unknown to his captor. He had lain there, still and silent, breathing evenly, to try and get a feel for his situation. Once he had deduced that there was only one person with him, and that they weren’t in the city, he had allowed himself to groan and let Han-seok know that he was awake. Now that his eyes are open and he has swept the area and can visualize it in his mind’s eye, he has nothing else to do other than let Han-seok show his hand.

After all, Jang Han-seok is nothing if not dependably predictable.

True to form, Han-seok stands abruptly. “Shall we take a picture? I’m sure sunbae would love to see how you’re doing right now.”

“I’m sure you’ve already sent her a picture, but go ahead.”

His captor narrows his eyes at him, and then strides away, out of sight. Vincenzo takes the opportunity to close his eyes and collect his thoughts. It’s been far too long since he was kidnapped. The last time was two years ago, when he woke up and found himself in a vineyard in Sicily, bound hand and foot.

He had burned the entire place down, as well as everyone in it.

Now, however, he cannot recklessly escape, or else he will lead Cha-young right into a trap. He has no doubt that she will find him and bring the right people and use the right resources to rescue him.

He knows this. He knows the competency of everyone that he has worked with for the past few months.

Over the past fifteen years, he has carried out more illegal acts than he can remember. He has burned, stolen, framed, defamed, and killed and killed and killed. He has not regretted much of it, save for one thing. Collateral.

Vincenzo knows that his actions after coming to Korea are in somewhat of a gray area. Yes, they are illegal, and very much dangerous, but they are justified . They are a means to a very much honorable end, and he doesn’t regret them. No, what he regrets is the collateral. Before, the word collateral had served as nothing more than a clinical way to refer to the people that got hurt in the crossfire. Collateral was a number, a number of people, an amount of money needed to fix it, statistics on a page in il capo’s ledger that got crossed off with a fountain pen, the book shut before the ink finished drying.

However, he still remembers straightening to his feet, his pointer finger still stained with fresh blood after tracing the letter C into the rapidly spreading bloodstain on the floor. He had scanned the area, because there was nothing that the capo hated more than loose ends on a job. When he had looked into the car, he had inhaled sharply, because there was a child cowering in the backseat, curled around a worn stuffed animal.

But now, collateral is the faces of people that he does not want to see gone. Against his will, he has become fond of every person living in Geumga Plaza, who has told him, with shining eyes, that he had given them something to fight for. They have all been living from day to day, not expecting much of the days to come, and now they veritably shine in their daily lives.

It’s like someone lit a fire underneath them, and once that fire was lit, no one could dare to extinguish it.

He shifts in his chair, and prepares to wait for Jang Han-seok to come back. Cha-young will come for him, and they will rain hell upon the world after that.

Until then, Vincenzo has no problem in being the one who dared to light up the world. The one who stepped down to earth, a fistful of flames in his palm. The one who bestowed heat and light and warmth and life to the world.

He does not regret his past actions, for he has kindled flames from smothered embers, and no one can put them out. For this, he will gladly be their fallen Titan, their Prometheus.

#vincenzo #chayenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #jang han seo #jang han seok #chayenzo fanfic #my writing #my fic

19 notes · View notes

translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 35

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 35

The bungalow was surrounded by aged trees, blocking the sunlight year-round. A chill ran through his body as he walked into the building. The faint musty smell and moisture in the air reminded him of a basement filled with children's toys. Lin Yan followed the Zhongshan man into an office with an old-fashioned wooden table. On the table, there was a large stainless steel thermos. The desktop computer occasionally made some buzzing noises. The office was close to the toilet. It didn't take long for the smell of amonia to rush into his nose.

"Sit down, Lin. I'll grab the contact information of the recent archaeologists that were there. It's still locked in the cabinet." The Zhongshan suit man said as he poured Lin Yan a glass of water in a disposable paper cup. "The files on the table are more than 20 years old. They were just transferred out of the archive room. Feel free to look through them."

"Thank you for your help." Lin Yan said politely.

"No, it's no trouble at all. It's great to see young people so active nowadays. We all heard about what happened with the porcelain appraisal. That was really something. Professor Chen wouldn't stop bragging about it when he got back." The Zhongshan suit man chuckled. He placed a bowl of melon in front of Lin Yan then grabbed his key and left.

Lin Yan sat at the table and waited. The office decoration was old but good quality. The real leather swivel chair was comfortable to sit on. The shade of leaves outside the window blocked the sunlight. A sparrow leaped lightly among the branches. It flapped its wings and flew away.

There were a lot of files about the Ming tomb on the table, sorted into vellum envelopes. Lin Yan flipped through them. They included a large amount of background information on the time period, project approval forms, equipment rental statements, reimbursement vouchers, and so on. An envelope labelled 'Staff Information' caught his attention. Lin Yan brushed off the dust and opened the envelope. There were several smaller envelopes inside with labels written in faded ink. The top one was labelled "1987 Shanxi Archaeological Team Payroll", followed by several others, such as rosters, contact information, etc. The bottom one was marked with the word 'important,' written in red, and the label read: List of work-related casualties and compensation details.

Casualties? Lin Yan picked up the envelope. It was very thin. It was almost like there was nothing inside. The glue on the seal had expired and could be opened just by a light tear. The brownish-yellow paper had become hard and brittle after not being handled for a long time. Lin Yan carefully slipped his hand in. The envelope was empty. Only after fumbling inside the envelope for a while did he find a small thin piece of paper. The hand-drawn table lines were smudged at the top. At first glance, he knew that whoever wrote it had drawn it in a rush. The ink hadn't dried before they dragged the ruler across the page.

A series of footsteps echoing in the hallway approached. Lin Yan jumped, instinctively shoving the paper back into the envelope. it took him a second to remember that he had been given permission to go through the documents. The old information always gave him an anxious feeling, like he was intruding. He felt like a thief, fleetingly travelling back in time from modern times.

The footsteps moved further away. Lin Yan carefully examined the paper in his hand. Everything had also been written in pen. The names, reasons for compensation, amount of money compensated and other items were divided into columns. Lin Yan skimmed over the columns, heart bursting with fear

"Li Erzhuang, hand fracture, compensation of 30 yuan for medical expenses, collected and signed for."

"Sun Dapeng, psychosis, compensation for medical expenses of 150 yuan, collected and signed for."

"Wang Aiguo, psychosis, compensation for medical expenses of 150 yuan, collected and signed for."

". . ."

All the remaining reasons for compensation written in after the names were for psychosis, but the diagnosis details are all blank. The signature on the back was pretty crooked, too. Some of the ink was written so lightly that it was barely visible. Back then, villagers weren't very educated and many could only write their names. He glanced at the page filled with awkward handwriting. When he reached the last two lines, the signature column was blank. After a double-take, the column for the reason for compensation was listed as 'dead'.

"Jun Xiangdong, Jiang Ying . . . did these two die?" Lin Yan gulped. He carefully flattened the paper and muttered: "Compensation of one thousand yuan . . . Hey, that's weird, for these two people. How come it's written that their compensation hasn't been claimed? A thousand yuan was considered a huge sum of money in a village at that time . . ."

Lin Yan confusedly opened the envelope containing the staff list. He pulled out a stack of yellowed paper, flipping through each of them. Besides the detailed information of the students sent by the university who participated in the excavation of the Ming Tomb, the rest were locals. Most of the villagers were uneducated. They only filled in their name, age, gender and village name. Lin Yan counted them. There were 13 people in total. The oldest was only 24 years old, and the youngest was only 16 and 17. Eighteen-year-old children make up the majority. Lin Yan recalled what the professor said and let out a sigh. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for those children to be haunted by illusions and see their friends die in front of them in such a strange way.

It was too much to think about. Lin Yan glanced back at Xiao Yu. The ghost was standing leisurely by the window with his arms crossed, looking at the scenery, as if this had nothing to do with him.

When turning back to Jun Xiangdong and Jiang Ying's forms, Lin Yan was surprised to find that the information left by these two people was almost blank. Compared to the information awkwardly filled in by the other villagers, only their villages and names were listed. Written next to them in black pen were the words "wage uncollected".

Lin Yan stared at the list of villages and frowned. He mumbled: "They're all foreigners? No wonder no one got any money after they died . . ." As he turned over the page of information on the two, there was only one last name at the bottom. The name on this page was Wang Zhong. Similar to Jun Xiangdong and Jiang Ying, there was almost no information is almost blank. He also wasn't a local. Written in big black letters in the upper right-hand corner was: "Wage uncollected".

"Wang Zhong, Wang Zhong . . . This person isn't on the compensation list." Lin Yan glanced through several forms and muttered: "Was he so afraid that he ran away without even getting paid?"

Lin Yan was immersed in a few old documents when, suddenly, the office door squeaked open. Zhongshan suit guy rummaged through the file in his hand as he walked in, muttering to himself: "What's going on . . . "

Hearing his voice, Lin Yan hurriedly put down the files and stood up. Zhongshan suit guy stepped in and waved his hands: "Sit down and sit down. My memory's not what it used to be. Obviously, I put it all away before I went on a business trip. Why can't I find it? "

"What can't you find?"

"Professor Chen said you are looking for the staff roster from the Ming Tomb archaeological expedition in Shanxi. I purposely found it and put it together. The cabinet was opened just now and everything else was there. The fortune-teller's information is the only one that's gone." Zhongshan suit guy shoved everything back into the folder and said to Lin Yan: "Look, everything is numbered. Everyone has one. I filled it out when I joined the team. I kept a copy of it for payroll statistics."

Lin Yan flipped through several forms, each of which was detailed with the staff’s name, ID number, telephone number, address, working hours and position, etc. Indeed, like Zhongshan suit guy said, the number between No. 34 and No. 36 was missing. But the information from the 30th onwards was very brief, some even only listing names and phone numbers. Those people are temporary workers. No. 34 was hired to drive a tractor. No. 36 and 37 were temporary cooks. The form ended on No. 37.

No. 35 should be the mysterious fortune teller.

"This man wasn't part of the team. He came to watch over things with a feng shui compass. He stayed to explain his plan for the excavation then left. He negotiated the price with me and said that he would wait to get paid until his method was proven useful. We had the money ready to go but he never came to get it, otherwise, the financial account would have been recorded."

Everything was done so neatly. Lin Yan stared at the extra space between No. 34 and No. 36 and furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't even want the money? What was he after?

"Please think it over again. Did you take it out before and put it somewhere else?" Lin Yan was a little impatient. "Or did another colleague take it away?"

Zhongshan suit guy rubbed his hands and stroked the key in his hand in confusion: "Impossible. I'm the only one with a key to the cabinet. I had organized everything and locked it in the cabinet before I left on the trip. It was gone as soon as I got back."

Lin Yan's heart skipped a beat. This seemed too coincidental. He glanced back at Xiao Yu. The ghost was staring at the door with furrowed brows and didn't respond to him.

Seeing that Lin Yan's screwed-up expression, Zhongshan suit guy picked up the paper cup on the table and filled it at the water dispenser. He put it back in front of him and comforted him: "It's okay. You sit and drink some water and eat some melon. I'll keep looking for it. I remember when that man first came and spoke in a mysterious way, no one believed him. He left a phone number and address, saying we would definitely have to call him again. And he was right."

"Where did I put it . . ." Zhongshan suit guy talked to himself while fiddling around in the office. Lin Yan wanted to help but was pushed back into the chair. He was forced to stare at the desktop screen saver. A bright, shimmering mass of lines shifted on a black background. Green, red, and blue lines slowly changing, becoming larger and smaller, rolling into a big mess. He couldn't make sense of it.

"Today isn't a good time. If you come at another time, you could ask someone else. Actually, today is our day off so the whole building is empty. I'm the only one who came here for a reason."

Lin Yan smiled embarrassedly: "That's too much trouble for you." Then a thought struck him and he casually mentioned: "There are still people here. I just heard footsteps in the hallway. They just passed by but didn't come in."

Zhongshan suit guy was washing his hands in the washbasin by the door but abruptly stopped when he heard this and looked up: "Impossible. There's no one in the building but flies. There are only three offices, I just checked them and no one's there."

Lin Yan took a sharp breath. He looked towards the dark corridor in the doorway and suddenly felt an ominous feeling.

Maybe it was just him passing by to check the information, Lin Yan reassured himself. When the sun changed its angle, a few loose beams of light penetrated into the room through the gaps in the leaves. The soft yellow light peaked in. The dust dancing in the light fell onto the dark brown tabletop. Beams jutting to the side illuminated a cactus that had been watered too much, its petals hanging down limply.

"Hey, I remember, wait a second." A hint of excitement flashed through Zhongshan suit guy's voice. In the lower part of the glass cabinet, he pulled out an old jacket and searched through the pockets. He fished out a crumpled note from a small pocket in the lining. He fumbled with the crumbled note, studied it over, muttering: "Right, right, this is it."

Zhongshan suit guy slapped the note down in front of Lin Yan's eyes: "The address and phone number."

Lin Yan's expression relaxed.

By noon, the weather was getting hot. Zhongshan suit guy turned on the fan. The buzzing of the fan blades and the rustling of the papers being blown rang out incessantly. Lin Yan put the phone up to his ear and held a pen in his other hand, scribbling on a notepad, the tip of the pen trembling slightly because of the anticipation.

"Beep . . . beep . . ."

". . . The number you have called is temporarily unavailable."

The voice of the phone message came four times in a row. Lin Yan and Zhongshan suit guy exchanged a glance. He dropped the receiver and languidly stretched. Looking at the lower part of the note, the address handwritten in pencil looks familiar. Where had he seen it? Lin Yan tugged at his collar. He wanted to unbutton it to get some air, but he suddenly remembered the string of hickeys on his neck and he hurriedly buttoned it back to the top.

There was a splash of water from the water dispenser, followed by a series of gurgling noises. A thought flashed through his mind. Lin Yan froze in place with his cup in his hand, like the solution had smacked into his brain like a hammer strike.

"Mr. Chen, what does the fortune teller you mentioned look like?"

Zhongshan suit guy thought for a moment and recalled: "It's been a long time so I don't remember clearly. He looked like he was in his 40s or 50s. He's about the same height as me, and his hair is very short."

Lin Yan gulped and entered the address into his phone's GPS. The green route map was displayed, extending all the way to the northwest.

That's it. Lin Yan stared at the red dot indicating the destination in the upper left corner and quietly thought to himself: I found you, temple master.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #danmei novel #danmei #chinese bl #bl novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi

12 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 4 years

Text

I continue to see a lot of takes on Dunn and Parker and I continue to have opinions but I don’t want to add to that already mile-long post, so:

Yes, layouts CAN be plagiarized

I know that not everyone is a huge page design nerd but my job at the local paper was doing page layout and I had a literal stack of awards three feet high for doing page layout for newspapers and magazines in college and my rinky-dink little community college magazine got nominated for the same design award as Harvard’s college magazine did (though neither of us won). I am a big old page design nerd.

And I’ve seen page design plagiarism! It was a thing that came up when I was working at yearbook camp (because I am such a big page design nerd that one of my first jobs out of high school was TAing at a yearbook camp). There’s a difference between being *inspired by* and *straight ripping off* and sometimes people DO straight rip off page layouts.

Now, it would be difficult to say “well, a full bleed double-page photo with a white sans-serif font across it is MY idea, you can’t use it!” because something like that WOULD be pretty fundamental.

But I *would* say “two column layout with long, dense paragraphs and closely-placed, bold headers centrally aligned with ink drawings of pens at a 45 degree angle and illustrations of the types of marks each pen makes” *IS* specific enough that you can say someone copied that design.

But you can’t say that if the person who “copied” the design has a central column of text with short paragraphs that have widely spaced headers which is bracketed by two rows of pens at 45 and 135 degree angles.

So layout plagiarism is a thing but it is not a thing that I see evidence of between these two books.

“But the way they teach these things is identical”

We have maybe two thousand (being generous) words of clear text from Parker’s book. The “application” page is one of those and Dunn specifically comments on Parker’s use of Form and Contour and compares them to his own use of “cross contour”

Now, I *do* have an issue with people saying “there are only so many words you can use to describe fundamentals” because there are thousands of possible ways that you can describe anything and that’s not the issue - the issue is that both of these people are providing DEFINITIONS for terms and definitions, by definition, are definitive.

Contour is a word that has a definition. Mark is a word that has a definition. Variety is a word that has a definition. Form is a word that has a definition. These terms additionally have industry-specific definitions that are even narrower than the decontextualized definitions of the words.

One of the places that Dunn goes most in-depth on this is his discussion of how long it took him to define and articulate what “consistency” means. This is one of the things that people are citing when they say that Parker is teaching the exact same way.

Dunn says “It took me a long time to develop this idea - what you’re seeing here on one page is a distillation of several pages and months of deliberating with myself and deciding and trying to clarify the idea - when you say be consistent, what do you mean?” and came to “spacing, weight, sizing, direction.”

Parker’s page has “[illegible with three bars of different values], Length, [illegible except for the words “far apart” over variably spaced lines], Direction.”

I don’t even know that Parker actually SAYS weight, he may say “shade” or “value” because he word is illegible.

Regardless, here’s a book over a century old talking about how to illustrate texture: Length, weight, spacing, direction. 1899.

NONE of these three things (Dunn’s page “Keep Strokes Consistent,” Parker’s page “Consistently in Lines” and McGinnis’s comment on using varied strokes to render texture) but all three of these things rely on the same principles. Also Dunn has repeatedly said that his page on consistency is part of his chapter on shading and Parker’s is in a chapter called “Style and Technique.” In fact Dunn criticizes Parker for putting this in the wrong place because he (Parker) doesn’t understand where it goes and put it in the wrong place because he stole it without understanding it.

FROM WHAT HAS BEEN SHOWN SO FAR OF BOTH BOOKS these are not identical teaching styles. If there is significant overlap beyond sequencing and common terms it’s difficult to tell because we can’t read it; but it’s also frustrating to see Dunn’s sober, clear, technical drawing book held up as identical to one that seems to be narrated by cartoon bears. That alone should suggest that the underlying pedagogy is different.

But the sequence is too exact!

One of the examples of this that people are really harping on is the flip-through from Materials (with the illustration of pens), Additional materials (with the pencil, eraser, rulers, and dust brush), and then the movement to pen control.

Here’s page 10 of “Drawing with Pen and Ink,” in the chapter about requisite materials.

Here is page 12, with an eraser and ruler:

Here is page 17 with inkholders and a dust brush:

That is immediately followed by pen handling (so, you know, control):

Then into basic strokes:

Then into how to vary a stroke:

I don’t know what the exact sequence of Style and Technique is in Parker’s book is because we’ve only seen a few isolated pages, but here’s the ToC for Arthur L. Guptill’s “Drawing with Pen and Ink” from 1928

And here’s the ToC for Dunn’s “Pen and Ink Drawing”

The sequence of “Drawing in Pen and Ink” for chapters 1-9 and the sequence of the first three chapters of “Pen & Ink Drawing” have a huge amount of overlap - the rest of the books do too, but the introductory chapters especially are REMARKABLY similar.

Here’s the table of contents of Pen Drawing, an Illustrated Treatise, from 1899:

Does this mean that Alphonso Dunn plagiarized his work? Of course not! And I saw some comments on the other post I made about Julianna Kunstler needing some credit but, really, she doesn’t. This is just really, really, really standard technique stuff that is super common.

For the record, here are some value studies in gradient boxes from nearly a hundred years ago.

#long post #very long post

178 notes · View notes

luzial · 3 years

Photo

I recently commissioned @salesart to do a portrait of Solas (aka “Song”) and Lavellan (aka “Ink”) from my fic, In And Out Of Time Again. I’m so thrilled with how it came out, especially all the little details that reference their codenames. Thank you SO MUCH to Sales for all your work on this piece, and for asking me all the hard-hitting questions like “what’s their height difference.” I had so much fun collaborating with you!

The first chapter of In And Out of Time Again is below the cut, and you can read the completed work on AO3.

Song has had many names. The latest suits him no better nor worse than the others. If he has one complaint, it is that this name lacks specificity. Fen’Harel was a name that was a lie, and a lie that has long since become irrelevant, but he cannot argue that it painted a clear and awful portrait. His other name, the one that came both before and after, he is only too glad to be rid of. He rarely thinks of it now.

Song is in his element in Strands like these, when he can submit to the demands of his teeth and claws and blessedly forget the version of himself that is not like this. It is simple here in the verdant expanse of his home, his first love. When a mountain stands in his way he moves it with a thought. When a beating heart must be silenced, he rips into it and tastes warm blood on his tongue.

His assignment today is a wonderfully simple one: a death. The target is ancient and powerful, though only in comparison to the other things of its world. Beside an agent of Music, it is nothing. He longs for a crush of strength against his own and for the moment when uncertainty asks him whether he can snap his target’s neck before it breaks him in two. The answer, of course, is that he will hear the crack of bone and hold its dying form within his jaws too quickly to satisfy the hunger that burns within him.

Still, he will try to afford it a fair fight.

When he finds the edges of its lair, Song realizes something is wrong. Demons should swarm around him, challenging his right to intrude on their master’s territory even as he cuts them down. There should be whispers here, a choir of disembodied voices singing the Melody’s secrets for those who know how to listen. Yet all that greets him are emptiness and silence.

The raw Fade has begun to reclaim this place, the green waters of its currents rising up to erode the poisoned ground that has been here for three thousand years. Song wanders farther in, his paws sinking deep into the muck, until finally he finds the corpse.

The fear demon that claimed this part of the Fade is gone, reduced to a husk of tangled limbs and fangs that still drip with venom. Song has arrived too late. The death has already been administered, but this means that the timing is all wrong, and for Music, timing is everything.

Whatever killed the demon has done so before it had a chance to strike a bargain with a young mage girl in Kirkwall. Now she will not murder her family and dozens of others; she will not leave alive one angry, orphaned sister. Thanks to this single fault in the rhythm, the entire Strand is lost.

Song is so annoyed by all the absences that at first he does not notice the addition. It is so impossibly out of place that for a moment he simply stares at it. Stuck to the venom on the dead demon’s fangs is a piece of finely-made paper that smells of sugar and flowers, its perfume somehow drowning the stench of the rotting carcass. He reaches out for it with a hand and fingers; it is a thing too delicate to be held by claws. The venom stings but he pays it no mind, for he has seen the single line written on the page in a delicate script: Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.

It must be a trap. Not the venom, of course. Whoever left this certainly knows it will take much more than that to wound him. It would be best to leave the note here and let it rot along with the rest of this discordant Strand. But this is a challenge and an invitation - words that hint at more words.

Song ignites the paper between his fingers and it is as if he has turned the first page in a book. He reads, and when he is done he has become the wolf again, mouth twisted to a snarl. When he has committed the words to memory, he shreds what’s left of the sweet-smelling paper between his claws and grinds it into the mud.

When Song is gone, a shade steps into the pawprints he left and searches until it finds every piece of the burned, shredded, filthy paper.

--------

Tell me I have sung to Your approval.

I’ve always been fond of the Canticle of Transfigurations, or at least of the versions that I’ve penned. Hopefully you have more than a passing familiarity with it as well, or the cosmic cleverness of what I’ve just done will be totally wasted on you. (But I suspect your familiarity is more than passing. If you are who I think you are, you’ve probably written versions of it yourself. If so, how do you deal with the bit in 10:1 about the moth and the flame? I feel like I can never get it quite ominous enough, you know?)

I’ve barely just begun and already I’ve distracted myself with all the questions I wish to ask you. But that just speaks to my point (that I’m about to make).

Is there anything in this world more insidious than words? It took me eight of them to grab your attention. Honestly, I could have managed it in fewer if I didn’t want to make a dramatic entrance. But I did.

I’ve been curious about you for a while now. It’s not like there are many things left to be curious about when you have all of time to catch up on anything you might have missed, so I should thank you for that novelty. I think the first time I saw you was during that bad business in the Deep Roads in Strand 398. I was the hurlock, you were the Grey Warden recruit. Our eyes met as I bit into your commander’s neck and tore out his windpipe. (Sorry about the mess, by the way - I really enjoy getting into character.)

You were definitely meant to lose that fight. I know - I’ve gone back and checked a lot of other Strands and that recruit always dies, the darkspawn always swarm, and the Third Blight always begins. But then you single-handedly cut down the horde after everyone else in your party had died. (I know because I stuck around after you chopped off my head with that broadsword - I just had to see what would happen!) You killed enough of them to prevent the swarm, even though you died for it in the end. (And of course you died for it - you’re good but no one’s that good.)

My point is: do you remember how it felt when that shriek bit into your arm and the Blight burned into your veins? Do you remember the way it spiraled into you, burrowing in your lungs and your heart and your gut until it felt like your body had always been its home? (I’ve been Blighted a lot so I’ve got some pretty good descriptors for it.)

Anyway, let me spell it out in case my metaphors are getting too convoluted: In this letter, I’m the shriek and my words are the Blight. I’ve bitten you and poured my words into you. Your memory will pump them through your mind just as surely as your heart pumped the Blight to the tips of your fingers and toes. Want a cure? Too bad, there isn’t one.

I’m not only writing to gloat. I meant what I said above - I appreciate the novelty you’ve brought to the battlefield. Things are dreadfully dull most of the time. Mainly the Story sends me off to retcon the occasional plot holes your Music introduces to the narrative. There’s very little chance for improvisation, so I have to find amusement where I can.

And this has been very amusing.

Sincerely, Ink

(Keep reading on AO3)

#Art of my fic!#salesart #in and out of time again #dragon age fanart #dragon age fanfic #solas x lavellan #solas #lavellan #solavellan #luzial writes

80 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 3 years

Text

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter. New? Start from the beginning!

Cherry-Orange Blossoms

Ao3

Katsuki released a small, satisfied sigh after popping the noodle bowl away from his mouth, tongue swiping the last dregs of broth still clinging to his lips. He’d gotten much better at suppressing the disgusted shiver that gripped his body every time he forced himself to eat. As nausea roiled in his belly with an angry yowl, he physically suppressed it with a few thick swallows. Though the cough, fatigue, and sore throat were annoying, he’d have to say that the variation in his appetite was the worst symptom. At least it was the easiest to hide.

He set the bowl down on the lunch tray with a small exhale. As he moved, the nausea forced its way back up, making him clamp his hand over his mouth in a pitiful effort to combat the strong urge to retch. No! Stop bein’ a weak little bitch! You have to keep this fucking food down, he yelled at his rebelling body. His stomach flopped a few more times for obediently settling back down, though with a few more indignant grumbles. He scrunched up his face as he sucked in a few tentative breaths, praying the beast would stay quiet this time.

I’m not fucking kicking the bucket until this whole country knows my name, he thought lividly. Basketball was the only thing he had to live for now; he’d be damned if this fungus growing in his lungs was gonna take that away from him, too. For better or for worse, he was going to make the best of his final basketball season.

Just as he had finally settled down and was debating forcing himself to grab seconds, Ochako’s cheery voice calling his name floated above the cacophony of conversation clouding the air around him. He lurched into the table as his lungs spasmed, the flowers inside his tissue blooming in reverence of her siren call. The noodle bowl jumped as he slammed his fists down and his glass overturned, spilling water all over the red tray and the table. He frantically righted it and grabbed the few napkins he had to try and mop up the puddle of clear liquid as the brunette came trotting up.

“Katsuki, Katsuki, listen to this— Oh, no! Here, let me help you!” Ochako cried as she spotted him using the sopping-wet napkins to try and wipe up the remainder of the liquid. She snatched some napkins from a nearby container and scurried over, squeezing into the space next to him to furiously dab at the spreading water. As her arm brushed against his, Katsuki locked up and began to shake so hard he wondered if he was having a fucking seizure. Before Ochako could notice, he pinched his leg hard to make his mind stop spiraling into insanity.

His throat still burned as he swallowed repeatedly to force the rising petals back down, and a thin sheet of sweat bloomed on his skin from the tremor that so suddenly gripped him. Ochako turned her pretty brown eyes on him in a look of inquiry. He appeased her unspoken question by languidly reclining in the booth and running his fingers through his hair, though he cringed as the salty perspiration slicked his fingertips.

“What’re you lookin’ at me like that for, Cheeks? I just knocked a glass of water over.”

Ochako’s eyes fluttered a few times as she processed his nonchalant excuse. She seemed to believe it, smiling brightly with a slight nod.

“Right, right! Of course, haha,” she hummed as she dropped the wet napkins onto his tray. No seconds for me, I guess, he thought with a frown as he regarded the menagerie of soaked brown paper slips that littered the plastic plate. “What was I going to say?” Ochako frowned, pressing the pad of her index finger to her lips as she straightened. Again, her arm gently brushed his, and Katsuki felt electric fire sing through his nerves. He clenched his fists under the table, silently suffering as Ochako stood oblivious next to him.

“Oh, right!” she exclaimed after a second, clapping her hands together to turn on him with that brilliant smile that he lived for yet killed him slowly. “Katsuki! I made an A on the math quiz! Look, look!”

Katsuki jerked when she thrust a piece of paper into his face. He edged back a little so he could appreciate the series of red marks inked over the neatly written numbers and equations. Like Ochako had said, there were few incorrect answers. After a second, she pulled back the page to give him a smile that was brighter than before.

“It’s all thanks to you, Katsuki.”

“Nah,” the blond muttered, rubbing the back of his neck while a pink hue rose to his cheeks. “That’s all you, Cheeks. I mighta helped a little, but you didn’t do anythin’ you weren’t capable of.”

Ochako’s eyes grew owlish, making him flinch uncomfortably. Then, like a flip had switched inside of her, she started blubbering.

“ Kahhhsukiiii !” she wailed in between hiccuping sobs, clutching the quiz to her chest so hard that it crumpled under her grip. The blond’s face grew a shade darker at the strange (and adorable) reaction, prompting him to hide his face with a hand.

“The hell you cryin’ for?” he chastised half-heartedly. Ochako moaned woefully and tried to stifle her tears, but they continued to pour in thick globs down those round cheeks of hers, which were beginning to turn a ruddy red. Katsuki snorted and stood up, leaning over the lunch table. “Jeez, what am I going to do with you?” he sighed with a tiny smile as he scrubbed at her cheeks with the ends of his sleeves. Ochako let out little squeaks with each swipe of the fabric across her skin, the paper crinkling as her fingers twitched.

“Always such a crybaby,” he said affectionately when he finally pulled away, the ends of his sleeves damp with Ochako’s tears. “Less cryin’ and more eatin’, Cheeks. I don’t wanna hear you complaining that you’re hungry later!” To emphasize his point, he turned her around by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shove. She gasped as she stumbled forward, then turned around to flash him a giddy smile. Katsuki couldn’t help the way he looked at her then, the way his expression softened and his heart fluttered.

He was thankful she turned around to leave right as his lungs spasmed again. He hunched over while slapping a hand to his mouth, trembling at the disgusting feeling of the soft, silky petals crawling up his throat. He could see her form retreating through the tears flooding his eyes, the skip in her step as she rejoined the other girls at the lunch table. His chest burned with the strain to suppress the coughs, like a fire had started in his lungs hell-bent on burning him up to ash from the inside out.

Why did he do this to himself, he wondered as the tears faded and his vision cleared. His answer was immediate, illuminating the room in the form of Ochako’s happy smile. He’d rather live out the rest of his days in total misery than deprive himself of that pure, innocent light of an angel come to earth.

Idiot, he thought with a slight wheeze through his fingers. This is why you’re dying .

Katsuki’s vermillion eyes were stinging and still slightly bloodshot when he finally eased himself back into his chair. He looked down at the lunch tray, which was covered with damp napkins, and then pushed it away with a huff. As he plopped his chin down on his crossed arms, Hanta and Denki leaned over each of his shoulders with matching grins that just spelled “annoying.”

“Yanno, you’re awfully chummy with Ochako lately,” Denki hummed with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Hanta chimed in agreement, “ awful chummy, way too chummy to be with someone else’s girlfriend. You wouldn’t want Izuku getting any ideas about your intentions, now would you?” As Katsuki shot the ravenet an irritated glare, he popped a corndog into his mouth with raised eyebrows.

“You think I give a fuck about Deku’s ideas ?” he snorted derisively. He shifted to press his cheek into his hand, glowering at Hanta. “What, I can’t be friends with her because she’s dating that shitstain? Get off my case,” he grumbled.

“Hey, hey, no need to get offended,” Denki said in a sing-song voice. Katsuki looked at him to see him biting down on the tip of his tongue mischievously. “We’re just making an observation.”

“Yeah, an observation!”

“Observe this , assholes,” Katsuki retorted and flipped them both off. Before they could annoy him further, he pushed himself up from the table. He slid his hands in his pockets, ignoring the two pleading for him to come back in between laughter. As he sauntered around the table, he found himself glancing in the direction of the girls— and noted the absence of bouncy brown hair and rosy round cheeks.

He barely had time to wonder where she went before the nausea roiled in his belly again. His hands flew out of his pockets to clutch his belly, and then one slapped to his mouth as he was overtaken with the strong urge to retch. He shouldered through the double doors of the lunch room to stagger down the hall; through his blurry vision, he could spy the bathroom sign hovering against the wall. However, Katsuki’s pride burned inside of him; he was going to try his damnedest to resist. He slumped against the wall and slowly slid down into a squat, then pried his hand away from his mouth to begin gulping down air.

For a few seconds, the deep breaths only heightened his urge to vomit; gradually, however, his writhing stomach slowly settled. He slowly leveled out his breathing until he was just sitting against the brick, exhausted by the effort. He ran his shaking fingers through his hair, and when he pulled it back, he found his fingertips glistening with sweat.

“ Fuck ,” he cursed quietly and leaned forward to cradle his head in his hands. It had barely been a month since those damn petals had blossomed in his lungs; how was he supposed to cope with the later stages of his disease, when he was so damn miserable? Tears of frustration sprung to the corners of his eyes and he gripped his hair between his fingers, tugging at the spiky strands. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Katsuki?” he whispered hoarsely.

He knew why. He knew damn well why, and yet he wouldn’t— couldn’t — do a damn thing about it.

He jumped when he heard a bang echo in the wall behind him. Startled at the idea of being found like that, he scrambled to his feet and turned around. It took a moment for his disoriented mind to recognize the sign for the women’s bathroom above his head. He looked down at the entrance when another bang sounded in the depths of the bathroom, followed by the unmistakable sound of miserable retching. Someone’s sick…? He thought in confusion.

He was even more confused when Ochako came toddling out, looking a little green in the face and wiping at the corner of her mouth with a palm. When she spotted Katsuki, she froze like a deer in headlights, eyes growing enormous. They just stared at each other for a few seconds, stunned by this strange reaction, until Katsuki sputtered the first thing that came to mind.

“Cheeks, you aren’t pregnant , are ya?”

“ What ?!” she shrieked, turning a bright shade of crimson. “N-n-n-n-no! Oh my God, Katsuki, no !” She buried her face in her hands, but Katsuki could still almost see the air sizzling around her head from the heat rolling off her face. “I-It’s some medications I’m on!” she explained through the gaps in her fingers. “I-i-it’s really heavy-duty stuff, with nausea and vomiting as the number-one side effect… Pr-pr-pregnant ? Why on Earth— D-Deku and I don’t— w-we don’t do— oh my gosh!”

As she turned so red Katsuki began to worry her head might actually explode, he jumped forward and waved his hands placatingly.

“All right, Cheeks, all right! I’m sorry I asked; that was pretty fucking stupid of me, okay! Calm down!”

Ochako was close to the point of hyperventilating with shock. Smiling wanly, he gently peeled her hands away from her face to find it bright red and shining with nervous sweat. Her eyes were glued to her shoes, watering with tears of embarrassment. Her teeth worried into her bottom lip to shred the fine skin. “Hey,” he laughed, admittedly charmed by her cute overreaction, and cupped her cheek. “Cheeks, look at me. I’m sorry, okay? That was dumb of me.”

Hesitantly, she looked up at him. Tears clung like dewdrops to her lashes, which fluttered nervously as soon as she met his gaze.

“I can’t believe you asked me that,” she pouted. He had to chuckle at the adorable way she jutted out her bottom lip; then, the flowers in his lungs began to stir again. He hurriedly stepped back from her, his palm missing the warmth of her soft cheek as soon as it vanished. He stuffed his hands back in his pockets and looked off to the side, but unable to keep his eyes from sliding back to look at her out of his peripheral vision.

“Tch. I said I was sorry, okay? I mean, what was I supposed to think, with you hurling in the middle of the day? You’ve already had Hanahaki and it’s impossible to relapse when you’re dating Deku.”

Something flickered over her face, lightning-fast, but Katsuki still caught it. He raised an eyebrow at the strange emotion that passed over her features; he couldn’t name it, but it was nonetheless strange. Ochako hummed thoughtfully and turned, her gaze growing cloudy as she walked to the vending machine across the hall. Katsuki’s body turned of its own volition to keep her in his line of sight.

“You’re right,” she said quietly, surveying the selection of drinks. “It just took me by surprise, that’s all…” Robotically, she removed a yen bill from her wallet and slid it into the machine, then pressed the buttons to select a bottle of water. The robotic arm within the vending machine jerkily retrieved it and deposited it into the slot. Before Ochako could bend down to get it, though, Katsuki had already closed the distance between them and plucked it from the machine.

“Cheeks,” he said and poked her in the side of the head with the end of the bottle. She blinked as he pushed the cold plastic into her temple, not sure what to make of the sudden action. Katsuki’s face was pensive, trying to riddle out just what had caused Ochako’s mood to shift so suddenly. But he could glean nothing from that sweet round face and warm brown eyes; whatever it was, Ochako had buried it deep inside.

I guess we all have our secrets.

“Cheeks,” he repeated, his lips curling up into a smile. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Idiot, he thought once more when a smile slowly bloomed on her face, making his heart flutter like a baby bird preparing for its first unsteady flight. He loved that smile so damn much it hurt; it filled his soul to the brim with joy, that illuminating flash of her teeth and bulge of her cheeks and the scrunch of her eyes. Idiot, he thought again as his lungs spasmed in his chest, the fungi digging deep into his cells to bloom cherry blossoms in the dark. This is why you’re dying.

Yet it felt like he was dying without her, in the moments alone when the nights closed in and he wheezed in his dark room and sweaty bed sheets that were tangled around his legs from fitful, painful sleep. He was dying all the time, so he might as well die within the reach of the light of his life, rather than alone in the dark.

A flower alone in a patch of light with the shadows closing in, clinging to every last sunbeam it can before the darkness finally washes over it and causes it to wither slowly, painfully, tortuously… Yet for every second he would rage, rage against the dying of the light, until he drew his last ragged breath.

Because in the light, Ochako bloomed.

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Please consider perusing my Table of Contents.

#kacchako #bakuraka #bakugo x ochako #bakugo x uraraka #ochako x bakugo #uraraka x bakugo #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #ochako uraraka #uraraka ochako #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha

19 notes · View notes

aeroplaneblues · 2 years

Text

New manga volumes I've read in September/October: Given vol 6, Shirayuki vol 15, Witch Hat Atelier vol 8, Blue Period vol 1-4, Jujutsu Kaisen vol 9-12. Spoilers ahead!! ⚠⚠

Given vol 6: every time I read this manga im like "ah yes I wanted to start a band with no musical talent" haha aw to be young😂 I like how different the bfs relationships are, because usually you get the same trope "the sunshine and the sushine protector" which i don't mind if the story is only about them, but Given is not like that. I love Hiragi having his very intense inside monologue of how much he is in love with his bff. Not enough akihiko tho😪

Shirayuki vol 15: so much plant talk.......at least NOW i understand, no shade to fan translators I bet this was hard to translate. But I get the rocks now!! Rata and Lillias still bothers me lol not that LATA was any better, a can or a rat 🤷‍♀️ what an unfortunate name either way. Zen and shirayuki were cute here, but....and i might be bias.....why does it feel like Zen is starting to let go of shirayuki even tho its an inch, how he is a little frustrated that he isn't there when she makes decisions for her future or the "idk where those two will land in 2 years" almost like obiyuki are a set, do not separate👀 lol i still dont know what izana is planning with those two tho.

Witch Hat Atelier vol 8: OH THIS WAS A GOOD ONE, absolutely love how the pointed hats magic is so restrictive that it doesn't entirely sit well with some of them, it makes a compelling argument for the brimmed hats' magic! And a little closer for Coco to find things on her own where she can have the best of both worlds?? idk I like the conflict feels grounded. Absolutely mad that olly's creation wouldn't be accepted and LOVE the dagda and ink bottle comparison, reminded me of the teacup scene in hannibal😂 I can't believe vol 9 is releasing in 6 MONTHS, sigh i might read the chapters online bc if not i'll def forget.

Blue Period vol 1-4: this manga made me feel EMOTIONS haha the level of anxiety I felt when yatora was taking his exam oh BOY did i hate taking entrance exams but also his joy/fears about art are very relatable. This is a good manga to read if you have any level of interest in art, either for making it or admiring it, it gives you a perspective of why we are as we are😂 Not enough yuka or mori in the last volumes, hopefully they show up more! The anime adds where this manga doesn't, and that is color, there are some pages that are colored but not the ones where you'd need it as a narrative tool. So I know I'm gonna nitpick the anime but I think consuming both do give you a better perspective of the story😊

Jujutsu Kaisen vol 9-12: LOL PAIN😂 these where the last chapters of hidden inventory AND the beginning of shibuya arc, so FULL ON SATOSUGU ANGST. And choso😊🥰. I want to point out that at the end of vol 10 akutami writes something along the lines of him not contributing much to society with jjk since that vol came out in 2020, tbh I really hope he knows how grateful fans are for this series giving them something to escape to! At least it is in my case, I started jjk with the anime a year ago exactly which made the rest of my 2020 a lot better, it helped me draw more again, I'll always love this manga bc of it no matter the spooky/dark subject of it😂it was really bright fun thing to consume at such shitty irl circumstances. Anyway I miss nanamin😪

#anne reads manga #jjk #given #ans #witch hat atelier

4 notes · View notes

raccoons-inked-quill · 3 years

Text

Stroll to Ingloslaght

Desc:

After months of being rejected for his morbid countence,the creature seeks revenge for his woes,now proceeding to Ingloslaght, to end the one who had this disaster all begun.

On his way,however,he stops for directions from a man seemingly in a bit of a predictament, having lost his glasses,a perfect and treasured opportunity to converse sans considering his frightening appearance

Author notes:

My God i wrote this like. Months ago and then got stuck hdhdhd. I may continue as a second chapter later? But I left the ending a tad open ended since I got stuck on it so long.

For weeks I treaded amongst the depths of the woods ,my grotesque figure hidden from the likes of man's gaze by the fortunate shade. And for what reason must I so meticulously lurk in these dreaded woodlands, woven through thorns and branches,to preserve my sight from humanity? The very burning passion that has kept me on my feet ,who's written words regarding myself have sent me on this prolonged travels. It was this man himself,by the name of Victor Frankenstein, whom had so cruelly sculpted me into my detestable shape. And it was that very man I treaded onwards in hopes he will be sought out. That for being forsaken to dispose existence upon me in this wretched condition by his own hands,he will pay with the likes of his own life.

After such travels, my fruition drew closer. I arrived to the borders of Ingloslaght. What an enlightening concoction had ignited within me then. I was grappled and willingly overtaken by rage and euphoria,but yet a vaguely present melancholy festered despite my wishes for it to abstain.

Then proceeded a new realization within me. I knew the man by name,but not by his appearance. Only scarce remnants of the man I remember. Youth still very much blessed his visage, yet at the same time,he in no manner was remotely vigorous. The man held a starking contrast in the fact that he nonetheless appeared entirely unkempt and teetering on the brinks of life and death much too early if his youthful features stood true.

It was by these aspects alone I must go by,as all else in my mind I only recall as a blur,and that leaves me a far too broad description.

My conclusion, was that I must temporarily reveal myself in order to acquire where the fool resided. I had an inkling of an idea given by the brief details provided in his journal. He attended university, and his teachings he received was made up of atleast two professors. Krempe and Waldman. This aside,I knew I soon will be forced to inquire to someone amongst mankind,likely by force given I know well enough my looks will not provide me to any civil conversation.

It was by this thought my vehement dedication was temporarily stunted by dread.

I was moved to only scratch the brinks of the town,and could not bring myself to any confrontation even when opportunity seemed fit. Everytime,I found myself grow close to presenting myself,only to draw gingerly away. The only hope that spared my sense of confidence was that I came closer to enacting out this deed when I thought out my motivations, of avenging myself by the fated and horrid death of Victor Frankenstein .

For once life granted me a faithful advantage,one that had so fortunately removed the need to inquire upon a member of humanity with the complexities that came with force. Whilst making my typical rounds around the outer trails of Ingloslaghts nature,I stumbled upon a pair of glasses that had evidently not been there long,as there was a lack of dirt and cracks upon it that would not be possible if it were there for more then a day.

I glanced forwards,and immediately met whom I assumed to be their owner. I froze in my posture as the young man had glanced upon me,surely certain that he would remark in terror upon my ghastly form. Then enthrallingly,he only smiled politely. He spoke in a language I couldn't seem to make sense of,so I had quite discomfortedly added that I could not make sense of him in my native tongue. To yet more of my surprise,he seemed to light up upon hearing it,recognizing it as if it were his own.

"Sir! Hello,it seems I may have to request of you some help,if you don't take it as too much a grievance. I seem to have misplaced something gravely vital,my glasses,and I was wondering if you had caught sight of it."

I couldn't seem to place my finger on the particular origin of his accent, but I had assumed it to be to some form of a French speaking country. I picked up the glasses from where they lay perched in the ground,my grasp on them light.

"Afraid not." I responded.

"Do you think it will be much trouble to you on your own ? It seems that you've been rendered utterly blind without them,it will be of no trouble to my time to lend aid."

The man's eyes took a final glance at the ground below,as what I had considered to be his last resort. Of course, the poor soul had resigned his search and looking displeased but nonetheless unsurprised,he sheepishly nodded.

"I assume I'll be forced to manage,I have a spare somewhere at home." He concluded with a faint disappointment

"I think I may have caught sight of a glimmer not too far off the trail here,some sort of glass."

This statement had gotten his attention,as he ever so slightly had tilted his head in intrigue

"Oh! Would you mind to show me where you'd spotted it?"

I cheerfully obliged, indulging him in the lie I had swiftly constructed. It would be simple and quick, I reasoned, to quickly converse with this man about the whereabouts of my wretched creator. I had thought to myself that he hadn't appeared much older in comparison, a part of me took an unnerving familiarity in him,thus I assumed this reasoning to be a fair explanation.

He wobbled forwards,his balance faltering on more than one instance. If not already clear by his absent remarks acknowledging my form,the way he had stumbled forwards in absolute obliviousness to his surroundings had distinguished it well enough. Easily I took pity upon the fellow,as he unlike Delacey hadn't frequented the ability to navigate without the sense of sight.

Evidently he was mildly displeased with the aid,more in resent towards having come off needy. He made certain it wasn't in direction towards myself,as the faint polite smile had returned to his face when he had looked upon me.

"I apologize,you must find yourself vexed to be so suddenly tied to these tasks. I hope I haven't burdened your walks,or whatever finds you out here in these trails."

"I reside not far off from here,in not much more then a humble hut,but it is a temporary abode. There is no place i find myself long."

"Ah,a traveler,I presume?"

I analyzed this title placed onto me,and found it a fair summary. Since the Delacey's,there is truly no place shall I find myself confined,I must always be in travel,to preserve myself from the likes of man. A tinge of frustration had emerged within me,and once more i was reminded of what I was in need of doing.

"I suppose so. But there is.."

I had struggled to put to proper words,a fair description to my enemy without revealing suspicion in such open malice.

"Someone,in which I plan to visit."

He nodded once more,that grin still on his face,strangly its formal politeness presented as if it were something he had long rehearsed,as if he found the intricacies of small talk alike to following the script of a play.

Although I found my task to be in dire need of proceeding too,I felt the desire to converse further. As it is with no other since Delacey I had experience to even a brief casual exchange as this. I took graciously to not waste the rarity of the moment,where I would not be taken in my grotesque glory,but as if I were no more revoltingly significant then any other human individual.

"I must ask myself,it is rare that I am to witness any other walk amongst these parts. What is it that has lead you here?"

He trailed down to look upon his hands, which rested a leathered notebook in one and a twirling quill in another,spinning with a repetitive motion.

"It is these parts that my dearest friend Henry has frequently visited and discussed fondly of. He is a man who partakes immensely in the pleasures of its nature.

I cannot repay the abundance of compassion he has recently displaced upon me. I am not too well in demonstrating my care,as passionate as it comes. However, I reckoned it would please him if I had sketched out these places,as a souvenir."

"I may confess,that I often am lead to consider my life nothing more then wretched,but it is in nature in which none are spared of its serenity that I find peace. I am certain he will find much appreciation in it permanently preserved. Do you mind if I see it?"

He chuckled then,clearly happy i had taken interest ,and he had shifted from his rehearsed nature to something that appeared to be more geniune.

"Certainly! Though I haven't quite finished nor fixed its mistakes,and I can't seem to do so in my current condition"

I took the notebook from my remaining free hand,my other still enveloped around his glasses to prevent revealing their shape,which I reckoned he would distinguish in the blur.

Haphazardly, I had found myself on his stated works. Of course,there on the page remained an illustration that had captured the epitome of our surroundings embodied by a diverse array of ink strokes. I smiled on it fondly,taking much fascination in its dedication. In this admiration I found a sense of tragedy. What anomaly had I befallen then!

Mankind had possesed the likes to bring into reality the upmost wonderous of creations,how fascinating do I find this feeble man's illustrations,of which intricately demonstrate the scenery before us embodied with its own sense of beauty. More on this I reminisced,beyond that of this particular man. How oft had I become to being moved by the words of Milton and Goethe,which they had just alike he before me, in their own manner intimately captured the complexities of the world accompanied by their own beauty. It was by mankind's creations had built the backs of my own character, and made a good expanse to my knowledge. How cruel is it,then,that just as capable of bestowing this lovely artistry,that one outlier had fabricated the wretch that is myself, exempt from the beloved due to how morbidly I was devised.

"Im more than certain your friend will find themselves pleased,you have an immense talent. I hope you dont find this rude, may I request on you a favor?"

The man grinned still ,pleased by the praise,but had once again paused to construct a response to what had followed.

"You may,i suppose i do owe you one for the troubles. Though I am not sure if I am in position to do what you request."

"Its simply no more then a nagging question"

I had looked towards him to say this,and again I had been struck with a surreal distant familiarity to this man's features. Infesting my mind with an entourage of haunting explanation. The frail face of the man,in the same nature of distant memory evidently young yet prematurely frail and worn. "Have i irked you?"

The man interupted

"It is not thus,no manner have I been disturbed,rather simply I am lost in a rather unrelated contemplation"

"What must that be?"

I found it proper then to ask,as much I had appreciated the time spent in engaging conversation, I must not let the topic at hand i had brought myself forth in confronting this man to be forgotten so wrecklessly. It would be soon enough that one would tire of this conversation and he may request of a continued search in his spectacles that I held within my hand to his lacking knowledge.

"Do you know of a Victor Frankenstein?"

"Know of?"

Theres a bewilderment in his voice.

"I am Victor Frankenstein."

In this abhorrent revelation, the glasses, once held quietly in my grasps, cracked from the palms of my despicably putrid hands,piercing skin. A putrid nature only given to me by the young man before me. This wretched boy's countence,by no surprise to his timid nature,shifted to a cowardly form. A realization,though not yet of my identity.

"Were those my glasses?"

He remarked,distressed.

In this flurry of a moment,I came to a response. An excuse no less,the boy would continue to live in obliviousness.

"Id stepped on them,it seems,I'm dreadfully sorry to that."

"Oh,thats-thats-uh..rather unfortunate."

He had come to a loss of words, he was quiet,his hand now anxiously squeezing his arm in what was presumed an unconscious effort by cause of his ever growing anxiousness.

"I do have a spare at home though I really would hate to inconvenience you more with this task at hand then I already did. Though I think its a rather potent risk of me to try and return by my lonesome. My vision is absolutely poor,and without them I am rendered close to blind."

I was fairly indecisive, this man before me. That whom brought upon my miseries,now by his lonesome was in evident need of attendance, mine specifically as we stood alone,although in that lies the issue that the wretch stood none the wiser that I am vehemently scorned by his faults.

I should find this a perfect opportunity in evoking destruction, of letting out my more cruel nature that he too held to creating by his neglectful devices. Yet all the same,I was hesitant in acting forth my vengence. Perhaps,if I move him further off from the sights of the town,I may find better opportunity and courage in his killing.

"I can attend to that. Though if you may see this option fit,I would have drastic preference that I am to partake in the sceneic walk. I am alike you an admirer of nature,and one whom does not fair well amougst the vast crowds of townsfolk. "

He gave no verbal reply to this,instead,he gestured out to extend his arm,to which I obliged in holding rather awkwardly. Off we had proceeded,towards the depths of the woods to which no man would follow. Perhaps,my hesitancy would leave me then.

#this is NOT shippy btw. please do not take it as so #frankenstein #mary shelly's frankenstein #writing #victor frankenstein #fanfic

32 notes · View notes

thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

Enchanted For a Moment (revamped)

Pairings: Reds, Blues, Greens

Fandoms: The Powerpuff Girls

Rating: T (might change with chapters)

Word count: 7755

Summary: A royal au that showcases three different types of relationships. As Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup work for Princess Eliza Morbucks, they have a secret they want to keep but when a trial of suitors comes for the princess, everyone is going to discover something they never intended too.

Note: This is a rewrite of my story "Enchanted for a Moment". Its much longer and in depth and I hope you all enjoy. Huge thank you to my wonderful and stunning beta, Miss Cilla @creativecilla for helping me bring this to life. Another thank you to my other betas Aves @avesthetea and Lisa @lisathefan for coming along on the journey.

Chapter 1

---

The sun rose gently on the horizon as a new day started in Townsville. It was a simple kingdom filled with simple people who lived simple lives. The town was small yet full of life. There was the bakery that filled the air with an aroma of vanilla and sugar. The library and school house where little minds grew big. Not to mention the busy harbor that had an excellent array of fish, meats, and vegetables.

Everything and everyone within the kingdom had their place. They had a job and a status to uphold and the princess was no exception.

The daughter of King Morbucks, Princess Eliza, was the fairest lady in all the land. At least, that is what they said in order to keep her peace. In all honesty, Eliza, who demanded to be referred solely as Princess, was a menace.

She was anything but a graceful girl. Demands came from her mouth the second she was born and no one had ever told her no. She could manipulate anyone with a blink of an eye or a bribe. She wasn’t one for genuine smiles or doing charitable work, no. She cared about her crown more than anything else in the kingdom, why bother with anything else?

Yes, Townsville was a peaceful kingdom for the most part, yet hidden within the walls of the castle was a secret that few had known.

♛♛♛

“Princess. Please hold still!” Bubbles winced as she tried to measure Princess for a new gown. The blonde stepped back, avoiding the elbow coming towards her face and blew out her bangs. “Your majesty.” She groaned but Princess was in the mirror staring at herself as if she was the most beautiful creature on the planet.

“Quit your whining, maid.” She spat at Bubbles, who only tightened her lip and grabbed the basket full of fabrics and sewing needles.

“I’ll return tomorrow then.” She said defeatley as she saw the sun setting through the glass windows. Another few hours wasted and she had gotten practically nothing done.

“Whatever.” Princess said without taking her eyes off her mirror.

Bubbles finished packing, feeling her own temper rise out of anger and irritation. She shoved her hand into the basket to hide the small blue glow coming from her palm and quickly walked towards the door.

“Excuse you.” The princess snapped and gave her a scowl.

Bubbles’ shoulders tightened and she pressed her hand further into her basket. She sighed before giving a small bow towards her. “Until tomorrow.” She bit her lip. “Your majesty.”

Bubbles closed the door to the room and roamed down the private wing that belonged to the maids and servant quarters.

She made a right at one of the hallways towards her own room, the one she shared with her two sisters, Blossom and Buttercup Utonium. Ever since she was a little girl, Bubbles dreamed of the life of royalty.

Her father would read her stories of princes kissing their princess in an act of true love. They would live happily ever after in a castle just as grand as this one and all was well. How she dreamed it would be like that.

However, it was far from it. The only reason her sisters lived within the palace walls was due to something she would rather forget.

She was fifteen when it had happened. Her eldest sister, Blossom, came through the door, a soft look on her face that she had never worn before. Tears lay on her water line as she hugged Bubbles to her chest telling her of their fathers passing. Buttercup returned from the docks as the news swarmed the town and the three of them stood before their father's grave dressed in the ink black fabric as their sobs rang like the church bells.

Bubbles could remember the way Blossom stood. Her shoulders pulled tight as her fists clenched together and she tried to be strong, she hardly smiled after that. The next thing she knew, they were being set up in the castle. A private room that the three would share and all they had to do was work there.

Buttercup worked as a private guard and occasionally helped with supply income from the docks. Bubbles’ ability to make a dress out of pure scraps lead her towards the seamstress route. As for Blossom, she was appointed as Princess’s tutor and main maid. Bubbles never knew how she had managed to replace the woman with that role as Blossom would constantly bicker with the princess, yet when she asked, her question was brushed aside.

Bubbles made her way into the servants wing. It wasn't as luscious as the rest of the castle but still held some elegance to keep up with the look. She pushed the door open and placed her basket on the nearest chair in the room as she rubbed her palm making the blue glow die down.

“Blossom, she is killing me.” Bubbles complained before flopping on her bed. “I pricked my finger five times because she wouldn’t stay still!” Bubbles held her index finger that was much redder than the others.

The red head looked up from her book. She gave her little sister an innocent look, one that knew exactly how she felt as she also had to deal with the spoiled brat on the daily.

“I'm sorry. Then again, I am not surprised.” Blossom turned the next page. She was sitting on the window sill, a place Bubbles found her on the daily.

“How hard is it to stay still?! I swear, I’ve made dresses for babies that don’t squirm as much.” She blew out some air before reaching up and undoing the two pigtails wrapped in blue ribbons. Her soft blonde hair fell just past her shoulders, much shorter than her older sister. “Oh Blossom, you should have seen the way my hand glowed. Do you know how hard it was to keep a smile?” She pointed towards her cheeks. “Extremely difficult.”

“And yet, you have one of the most stunning smiles in the land.” Blossom responded as another page turned in her book.

Bubbles stared at her, slightly entranced by how peaceful she looked. Although, she didn’t miss the slight darkness under her eyes and the subtle crease in her brow. Even with the clear toll of taking care of her sisters, Bubbles thought that under the soft glow of the light, her sister was the essence of beauty.

Ever since they were little girls, Blossom had always caught the eyes of everyone around her, but never on purpose. She was the most quiet of the three, with Buttercup being brash and Bubbles’ loud personality shining through. Yet she could captivate anyone she walked past.

She had taught herself to read and then her sisters, something not many could do. Bubbles always believed she would be married first, she was the oldest afterall and there was no shortage of suitors looking for her hand.

In fact it was one of the reasons why Princess wasn’t a fan of her, among other things as well.

A sad smile came onto her lips as the blonde laid on her back and looked up at the tall ceiling. She had always loved the painted flowers displayed there. She could spend hours tracing her finger in the air among the patterns and wondering what they’d smell like if they were to bloom in the gardens, unfortunately magnolias never grew in the kingdom, but she could dream.

“Do you remember when father would read us the stories?” Bubbles said out loud. It wasn’t rare to speak of their late father, but there were times that were easier than others. Even after two years of not having him here, Bubbles missed him as if the wound were fresh.

She could hear the page turning stop and looked towards Blossom, who was now looking out the window.

“Every single one.” The red head responded, her own lips turning up into a smile that Bubbles wished she could see more.

“Would you tell me one?” Bubbles asked as she toyed with the hem of her dress.

Blossom marked her page and closed the book, setting it on the small table and walked towards her sister's bed. “You should get ready for bed and perhaps when you’re done, Buttercup will be back to join us.” She brushed a light blonde lock out of her sister's face and watched as Bubbles left to the small bathroom attached to their room.

She heard the water begin to run and returned to her seat at the window. Her eyebrows drew together as she looked up towards the sky. The moon had begun to rise as stars speckled the sky.

“Where is Buttercup?” She asked, as her younger sister was usually back by now.

♛♛ Earlier that Afternoon ♛♛

“Captain, the shipment crew spotted something along the far shoreline, hidden beyond the trees. They suspect that it’s an undocumented ship from another kingdom or worse, pirates.”

Captain Lumpkins, an older man who had seen more passing moons than most, was one of the most trusted men in the kingdom’s service. He was short and stout with a thick beard and with a loose temper like his, and his face always seemed to be a nice shade of pink.

Lumpkins faced in the direction that his crew member told him of, a squint in his eyes as he tried to look for a sign of the ship but it was blocked by the rocky formations of the cliff side. The wooden pipe that constantly hung from his lips let out a thick puff of smoke that the crew had gotten used to. He scoured his crew, looking through the few faces to pick from until he settled on the girl with the jet black hair.

He snapped his fingers before pointing towards Buttercup. “Little Lady, take the lead and go find out what all the fuss is about.” he grumbled, before turning his back, giving her no time to protest.

“Alone?” Buttercup questioned. She was more than capable of handling her own but it was better to travel in pairs, especially if the threat of pirates was around.

The Captain looked back before blowing on his pipe again. “Problem?” He grinned and showed his more than yellow teeth that were probably better to be made of wood at this point.

Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lip. She knew he was only doing this because the first time they had met, she had accidentally hit him with a door and sent him flying towards the ground, not to mention she almost broke his banjo.

“No sir.” She spat and felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Be careful.” Mitch said, before giving her a nod and following the captain.

Mitch was a simple guy. Dark brown eyes and messy brown hair, he was nothing special but was extremely skilled with a bow and arrow. They had lived in the same part of the village before she moved to the castle and he had been drafted into the captain guard by the time he was fifteen. She considered him to be one of her only friends, even if he was slightly annoying. However, he never once doubted her skills.

Buttercup sighed before stalking off, boots hitting the dock with a little more anger than she intended. She threw her hands in her pockets so the small spark of green they emitted went unnoticed by the people in the area. In all honesty, she didn’t care that she went by herself. If anything, she was as good with a sword as she was sassy, and hardly anyone tried to mess with her.

It took more than half an hour to reach the hidden beach. She didn’t mind the stroll since it gave her an excuse to not be around the annoying stare of her captain. It blew her mind that some old fat man was the captain. Some of the other crew mates had told her that he once owned a farm and even a cabin in the deeper parts of the woods. After an accident with flooding of the crops, he had been put into the guard service and moved his way to the top.

Buttercup stood on the small cliff. She could see the ship below and it took her breath away at how massive and stunning the beast was. The ship was made of dark wood that looked like squid ink against the blue sea. The masts held thick, white cloth and a smaller flag that was decorated with a skull and crossbones. It was a typical sign for pirates to have, but this one had a dark green trim.

It looked like a classic ship. She had seen many sailing on the sea when she had accompanied the navy team for a few deliveries, but what had intrigued her most was the statue on the forepeak. Most of the time, a mermaid or maiden was craved and crafted onto the front; something about the ladies of the sea or the fact that the only people on board were horny men who could barely please their wives.

Instead, this ship had something different. She slipped down from the cliff and jumped the shore. She noticed the ship was much larger than she had thought as she approached the front. She looked up at the statute. A beautiful craving of a fairy was displayed. Her face was round and looked soft with large wings curving around the ship, each wing held an intricate design.

Buttercup had never seen something so expertly crafted, and the words below it were just as fascinating.

“The Empress.” She whispered to herself. She had a keen knowledge on the many famous pirates that roamed the sea. Each of them in search for their own thing, be it treasure or the destruction of anything in their way.

A gasp left her lips as she realized that docked on this beach was one of the most viscous groups of pirates around. Legends had told that a fearless captain commanded the ship and the water around him. Wherever he went, danger and death followed. Her father once told her that if you ever became a prisoner among his deck, your life would drip out slowly and painfully and there was no mercy in his eyes. It was said that his gaze alone could strike fear even into the bravest of hearts.

She should have turned back to warn Lumpkins of what was here. She should have left with a shiver down her spine, but she had gotten closer to the ship, her fingers gliding along the wood and she felt little to no fear.

The ram to the deck was down and when she looked around, she found no crew members in sight, an odd occurrence, really. Her foot was on the ram and she had begun walking up without realizing.

If Blossom were here, she would have lost her mind. She could hear her voice now.

“Buttercup Utonium, what were you doing near a pirate ship? I don’t care that it was an order, you are only eighteen!” She said in a tone, mimicking her older sister.

The deck was spotless as she stepped onto it, still no one in sight and she wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or even more suspicious. As she walked, there was nothing around her that screamed ‘pirate’. Sure there were some cannons and weapons lying around, but nothing that had shown any sort of activity for a few weeks.

She had decided to head back, hardly anything to report, and wondered if this ship had been overthrown and abandoned. As she went to leave, her eyes went towards a door that was no doubt made for a captain. She got closer, there was a plaque inscribed with a single word, or rather name on it.

“Butch.” She muttered.

One hand went onto the door knob while the other rested on her dagger, with a swift push, the door opened. She took one step inside before her eyes widened. Leaning against a large oak desk was, no doubt in her mind, the captain of the very ship she now realized she was trespassing on.

The man looked up from where he was sharpening a knife before flashing her a wicked smile that revealed slightly sharper teeth than a normal person should have and piercing green eyes that challenged her own lighter ones.

“Well, what do we have here?” He questioned, before throwing the knife towards a wall behind him.

Buttercup froze in place, unsure of what to do. She hadn’t expected anyone to be here and now she felt like she had walked into a lion’s den. She hadn’t even noticed that he walked towards her and when she snapped back to reality, one arm had snaked around her waist and the other held her wrist above her head, keeping her dagger out of reach.

“Quiet now, are we?” He smirked. They were mere inches apart with their chest flushed together, but she noticed that his grip wasn’t rough enough to hurt.

“Not quite.” She responded. “I would be careful holding a lady hostage like this.”

He laughed. “You’re the one who came onto my ship, sweetheart.” He reminded her. “I’m just making sure my property is safe. What are you doing?”

“Scouting out dirty pirates.” She sneered before glaring at him. “And I think I found one.”

“I'm rather clean, doll. But I can get dirty, if that’s what you want.” He whispered in her ear.

There was something within her that shuttered and she couldn’t quite place what was happening, but the more she stayed in his hold, the more she didn’t mind. She fell silent and studied him. He was slightly taller than her, just enough to have an edge, and a mop of black hair that looked to have a natural spike, if that was even possible. In her lifetime she had encountered many men but she was certain that he was by the far the hottest man she had faced, and she hated it.

“Dirty pirate and a disgusting pig, what’s new?” She looked away and tried to search the room, but instead she was now being dipped by the so-called dirty pirate.

“Eyes on me only, doll.” He said and her gaze hooked to his again. She felt a sudden fire in her stomach as he brought her closer to him. “Can’t have you running to your little captain and telling on me.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “How did you know that I worked for the royal crew?” She demanded.

“Lucky guess.” Her glare narrowed. “Your dagger is engraved with the symbol, dummy.” He said as he took her dagger and threw it across the room. “Oops.”

A feeling of fear sparked through her body as she watched her weapon slide against the wooden floor.

“So now what?” She asked. “Gonna kill me?”

He chuckled before pulling up from the dipped position but still holding her to him. “Nope. You have this spunk, I like it. I also have no need to kill you, too messy and honestly, kinda lame.”

“So what, you’re just gonna hold me?”

“Ehh, I was thinking we could get to know each other, doll.”

She gave an eye roll that he thought was amusing, before she lifted the heel of her foot and locked it with his, twisted his arm to send him flying towards the ground. He landed on his back with a thud before she placed her boot on his very tone chest and the sound of metal sliced through the air as her sword pointed towards his flushed face.

“You have a lot of nerve flirting with a royal guard member, ya’ know that? I should have broken your hand the moment you laid a finger on me.” She spat.

Butch chuckled and she felt the virbation from beneath her foot. “Can’t blame a man when you look like that.” He said, as he looked at her with no shame.

She felt her cheeks heat but she held her ground. “What are you doing here?” She questioned him.

“Can’t a man sail on his own?” He responded, but was met with a harder push of her heel.

She scoffed. “You’re no ordinary man.”

“And you’re not a fair lady, guess we all have our own issues, babe.”

She ignored what he said and initiated her search, foot still on his chest. She sent her sword piercing into the collar on his leather coat. “Stay still.” She sneered before stepping over him.

“Yes Ma’am.” He purred.

Behind his desk was a giant map of the main spread of kingdoms. Thick black lines connected some routes but she decided not to ask. Towards her right was a bed with fine silk sheets and a wardrobe. To the left, were cabinets filled with all sorts of stuff. Glass bottles and sea shells. Sea glass and parchment scattered around. It looked similar to Lumpkins’ private quarters, but with more skulls and less reek of tobacco and hay.

Placed on a random shelf was a photo of two other men. The ink was black and white yet she could tell that their eyes and hair were much different from each other. The taller one had a scowl and a cold gaze while the shorter one was smiling brightly and looked as innocent as a puppy. She said nothing about it and moved on, looking at the items and weapons that hung on the wall.

She turned to look at the man on the floor and he hadn’t moved an inch from where she left him. Instead, he began whistling as she looked through his desk and found more scrolls and random objects. There was nothing out of the ordinary that screamed ‘danger’ and perhaps he was telling the truth, just sailing because he can.

“Where’s your crew?” She asked.

“Back home. Like I said before, I just was sailing and stopped on by.”

“Where’s back home?”

“Not too sure, left there a long time ago. This is my home.” He said, gesturing his ship. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“I’m asking the questions here.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “This is my ship, so I’d watch the attitude and answer the question.” He poked at the sword.

She turned towards him and then back at the map. “Buttercup.”

“Seems a little soft for you.”

“Well, ‘Butch’ seems to fit you fine.”

Buttercup looked around more until she came back to him and grabbed the handle of the sword. With a swift pull, the sword released its grasp on the fabric and was put back into the holder hidden in her boot. She leaned down before placing her knee on his chest and placed her fingers along the leather collar and yanked hard causing his head to snap towards her.

“I’ll believe you for now, but if I catch you doing anything suspicious, I won’t hesitate to put my sword through you.” She threatened.

He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll behave, doll. Promise.” He batted his eyelashes. “You should know that offering to stab me is a real turn on, too.” He gushed, and before he could see the reaction to the statement, she was off of him and moving to grab her dagger.

He got up and dusted his coat off, not caring that there was a small tear. “I’ll cut you a deal Buttercup. If you don’t go running your mouth that a pirate ship is here, granted I’m, let's say off duty, I’ll answer any question you want. Maybe even let you take this beauty for a spin.”

“You’d let me sail your ship?” She asked with caution.

“I was talking about the bed but the ship will do.”

Her face morphed into what most would say, unamused. But she contemplated his offer. If she stayed quiet then she would gain information on other pirates and other useful things.

“Alright, you have a deal.” She held out her hand. “I’ll keep quiet for now.”

He took her hand and shook it. “Can’t wait for your return, Buttercup.”

She pushed past him and tucked the dagger into her pocket and walked out the door. Something within her wanted to go back to the castle and bury her head in her pillow and scream. Her boots hit the sand as she began to walk but before she got any further, the statute of the fairy somehow made her stop and ponder things.

The boot twisted in the sand and soon she was back at the door with her hand gripping the handle. As she opened it, Butch directed his attention to her and she noticed the bottle of amber liquid on the desk and two glasses already full as if he had expected her not to leave.

“Back so soon?” He raised a brow and offered her a filled glass.

With caution to the wind, she came towards him and sat on the desk.

“I’d like that tour now.” She said before taking the glass and downing the liquid. “Captain.”

There was a spark in his eyes as he finished his own drink and gestured to the vast room. “And here I thought you came back because you missed me.”

She laughed and accepted another pour of the drink. “You’re going to have to do a lot more than yapping and drinking to get me to miss you.” She winked, and he felt a tingle roll down his spine.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to work hard to impress you then?”

She bit her lip. “Guess so.”

They shared another drink, glasses clinking as they tilted their heads back and drank it all in one go.

“Shall we?” Butch prompted, and she responded with a firm nod and matching grin.

♛♛♛

Bubbles stepped out from the bathroom, her cotton nightgown hugging her body as she walked towards her bed and began to brush her hair. Blossom had also changed into her night time attire as the door to their room opened.

“Buttercup, there you are.” Blossom said. She looked over her sister whose uniform was slightly wrinkled and a few buttons missing. “Where have you been? You were off duty hours ago.”

The green eye girl shrugged as she made her way to the bathroom. “I was taking care of other orders, relax.” She reassured her older sister but something didn’t sit well with Blossom as the bathroom door closed.

“Well hurry up, Blossom is gonna tell a story!” Bubbles whined, as she picked up her stuffed octopus her mother had made her when she was little.

Buttercup came out of the bathroom and sat on Bubbles’ bed. “Ooh, which one?” She asked and Blossom set her books aside and came over to sit in front of the girls on a chair.

“Bubbles requested the one of the princess and-”

“You always tell that one!” Buttercup complained.

“It's cute!” Bubbles defended her beloved tale.

The middle sister pushed her shoulder lightly. “It’s boring. Choose a different one. Like the pirate king.”

“Pirates are scary!”

“Not all of them.” Buttercup whispered under her breath.

Blossom narrowed her eyes. “What was that Buttercup?”

“N-nothing, just tell the stupid princess one.” She grumbled with flushed cheeks.

Blossom only blew up her bangs and rolled her eyes. “Alright, but first I need to tell you something. Tomorrow begins the process for the Princess to meet her future husband. That means that a vast amount of suitors, from all over the land, will be here.”

A small gasp came from Bubbles. The red head shot her a glare. “Which means: no interfering. We are here to serve whether you like it or not, so don’t go poking around for some attractive man.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Buttercup groaned. “I’m so thankful I’m not a maid.”

“I’m not worried about you Buttercup. But you.” She looked at her little sister. “Be good. I know you are a beautiful maiden and kind hearted but I would rather not have your head on a platter because you made Princess jealous.” Blossom frowned.

Bubbles nodded and toyed with the hem of her dress. “I understand Blossy. But what if he falls in love with me?” She pouted out her lips and gave her big puppy dog eyes. “It wouldn’t be very nice of me to deny a lovely man his heart.”

“Be good.” Blossom restated and flicked her sister’s head. “Now, listen closely.”

Buttercup and Bubbles squished together as their sister started the story.

“Once upon a time…”

♛♛♛

The morning sun came shining through the windows. Over in the mirror, Blossom was finishing getting ready and fencing her long copper hair into a bun, finishing with her red ribbon tied. She had stopped wearing her childhood bow for many years. She was approaching her twentieth birthday this year and had thought it had been a little silly. That was until her mother passed when she was eleven, around the time she had stopped.

Blossom started in the mirror at the bow, deep with a rich red color and her mother's words played in her mind.

“Everytime I see your bow, it takes me back to the first time I held you in my arms.”

The next time she had placed the bow in her hair, her mother was being buried before her.

Blossom came back to her thoughts as Bubbles exited the bathroom dressed in her blue outfit and ready for another day.

“Good morning Blossy.” Bubbles smiled brightly. Her giggles were infectious to say the least and it was almost a miracle that she hadn’t lost that laughter after so much tragedy.

“Good morning Bubbles.” Blossom offered a small smile and she could see the hope in her sister’s eyes. “Buttercup just left, she’s on duty to welcome the suitors.”

The blonde nodded before spinning around in her dress. It was a simple blue bodice with a fluffy skirt. Even though Princess could be a royal brat, she did demand that her maids and suitors looked better and not shoved into black clothing like other castles.

“I’m so excited! This means that I can start designing dresses for the gala.” Bubbles gushed and she held her cheeks as she continued mumbling about the patterns and fabrics.

“Bubbles?” Blossom called.

“Oh, maybe she’ll want something red or purple!”

“Bubbles?”

“Or maybe gold, made of silk? No, that's tacky.”

“BUBBLES!”

The blonde's eyes snapped to her sister who was tapping her foot.

“Yes?”

Blossom pointed above her. “Your bag is floating.”

Bubbles tilted her head up and surrounded in a soft blue glow was her sewing basket with the contents floating around it. She looked towards her hands which were still emitting the light before blushing embarrassingly and making a motion with her finger. The basket came back to the ground softly.

“Oops.” Bubbles whispered.

The smallest laugh came from Blossom as she came towards her and kissed the top of her head. “I know you are excited but please, remember that your magic can not be seen. Ever.” She said cautiously.

“I know Blossy, it was an accident.”

Blossom grabbed her own small bag before opening the door and letting Bubbles walk out first. “I’ll see you for supper, and remember…”

Bubbles turned on her heels. “I know. I know. No falling in love with handsome men.” She giggled. “That goes for you too.”

The red head only shook her head before parting ways at the hallway. “Don’t prick your finger too much.”

Bubbles stuck out her tongue playfully. “Don’t make Princess mad.”

♛♛♛

Buttercup hated ushering duty more than anything else. Carriage after carriage came, each one to a different family or prince. Apparently royal status didn’t matter as long as you could pay the entrance fee, then, you were in.

“Damn, how many men are here?” Buttercup blurted. She had been standing next to Mitch for the past hour waving and guiding in the horses.

“I lost count after fifty.” He frowned. “Turns out this thing is a contest, so they should be sent home left and right.”

“Eh, that means the place is going to be filled with snotty assholes.”

Another wave of men came in, each carriage fancier than the rest.

“They all look the same at this point.” She laughed and Mitch joined in.

Just as she said that, a carriage pulled up. Unlike the other golden and bronze ones, this one was made of black steel. She caught a glimpse of the men inside. A blond man with blue eyes and another with ginger locks and eyes the shade of crimson.

They passed by just as quickly as they arrived and she couldn’t place the feeling, but they seemed vaguely familiar.

“I can’t wait for this day to be over.” Mitch groaned and she hummed before looking back at the black carriage that had just past the gate.

♛♛♛

“Boomer, pay attention.” Brick spat at his younger brother. “We aren’t here to fool around.”

Boomer, who was currently jumping on the plush bed, stopped and rolled his eyes before grinning. “Come on bro, look at this place!” He gestured to the room they were staying in while the competition took place. “I mean, I know we live in our own castle but this place is almost twice the size!”

Brick frowned and went back to unpacking their things and making sure everything was in place. “Just settle down. Keep jumping like that and you’re going to damage something.” As soon as he said that, he heard a tearing sound come from behind him.

“Boomer!” He shouted, as his little brother stood there with a ripped sleeve in his nicest dark blue jacket.

“Oops?” He shrugged and watched his older brother’s face morph into anger.

“Eighteen years old and you still act like a child. Go see if the seamstress can fix your jacket before I punch you in the face.” He pointed towards the door.

“Fine.” The blond huffed. “But seriously, lighten up. No girl is gonna wanna marry a dude with the personality of a wet sock.” He said before shutting the door.

He heard Brick shout something on the other side of the door but he couldn’t make out the words through the thick walls. With his jacket under his arm, he walked through the hallways trying to find the seamstress’ room.

“Excuse me?” He asked a passing maid. “Where is the royal seamstress room?”

She stopped in her tracks, the small cart she was pushing was filled with an array of sweets and treats. She pointed towards the direction without a word and he smiled.

“Thank you!” He looked over at her and noticed the swirl of pink in her iris. “Woah, has anyone told you that your eyes look like rose petals?”

“No.” She hummed before walking past him with her cart.

“Oh… Well, thank you anyways.” He called after her before carrying on his way.

Blossom rolled her eyes. “Boys.”

Boomer finally found the door at the end of the hallway with a picture of a sewing needle engraved on the door. “Must be the one.” He said, before giving a swift knock.

He heard a voice call for him to come in and did just that.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to be a bother but I ripped my jacket and needed it to be mended.”

A woman with long brown hair came over. She took the jacket and examined it, noting that the rip was quite large.

“Hmm.” She looked on the inside.

“Can you fix it?” He asked, now worried.

“I can’t but I know someone who can. Bubbles!” She shouted and he watched as a girl looked up from her station and their eyes locked.

Bubbles stood and made her way over. The moment her eyes locked to the man, she felt a blush instantly rise on her face. She was almost taken back by his charming smile and deep blue eyes. She had become lost in his eyes and almost forgotten what she was called over for.

“Bubbles?” Robin whispered and handed her the jacket.

She shook her head and returned to her senses as she looked at the rip.

“I can fix this, no worries.” She smiled and turned quickly to avoid his gaze. She suddenly felt very hot and light headed.

Boomer stood in his spot before realizing he was meant to follow her. Quickly, he caught up to her and watched in awe as she was almost done.

“So, how did you do this?” She asked.

“Oh uhh-I fell off a horse?” He lied.

“Fell off a horse?” She giggled. “Interesting.” She lifted the jacket before handing it to him.

He took the jacket and saw how the new seam was practically invisible, as if it had never ripped before. “Woah, you did that fast.”

“She's the best seamstress in the kingdom!” Robin shouted from across the room. “She also made the dress she's wearing.”

Boomer looked towards her and marveled at her dress. “It's pretty.”

“T-thank you.” She blushed.

They stood looking at each other with soft smiles before he looked at his feet then back to her. “I have to get going, but thank you so much, Miss Bubbles.”

“Oh, it was no trouble, just glad I could help.”

“I’m Boomer, by the way.” He took her hand and placed a kiss on it. “Your work is impeccable M’lady.” He said, before his cheeks turned red and he turned on his heel and hastily walked out the door.

A hush fell over the room as he left. A low whistle came from Robin’s lips as she looked at Bubbles with a smug look.

“I thought Blossom said not to fall in love?” She teased but Bubbles stood in place as if she was frozen and kept her eyes locked on the top of her hand where his lips had been moments before.

“Bubbles?” Robin asked her.

The blonde said nothing but grabbed her basket and headed towards the garden entrance. “I’ll be back.” She said quickly and left before Robin could protest.

“Oh, maybe she did fall in love.” Robin whispered to herself then shook her head. “No, that’s not it, right?” She said to the empty room.

♛♛♛

The cart filled with trays was placed out front of Princess’ private room, tucked far from the rest of the castle. Blossom took a deep breath before knocking a few times and entering with the cart.

“Princess Morebucks, your afternoon tea and treats.” Blossom said, as she started to place the many items onto the small table.

Princess sat at her mirror looking at her crown and placed it on the top of her head. The wild curls of copper puffed just at her shoulders.

“It's about time.” She complained and Blossom held in her scoff as she was used to the behavior of her, she had been here for a few years now.

Princess grabbed a tea cup and drank with as much poise as a badger, at least, that’s what Blossom thought.

“You know what’s funny, Blossom?” Princess said as she took a cookie from a silver platter.

“What?”

“Isn’t it just grand that all these men are traveling far and wide just for little old me?” She snickered.

“Oh, very grand.” Blossom said with no enthusiasm at all.

Another cookie was eaten. “It’s a shame Blossom, you really should be married by now. But instead, you flaunt around knowing how to read and write, it’s kinda annoying.”

“Well those are very useful skills to have, you should be grateful you possess them.”

“Could you fetch me those earrings?” Princess said, pointing towards her vanity.

Before Blossom could take a step, a finger snapped drawing her attention back to the princess.

“With your powers.”

Anger fested within Blossom as she held out her hand as commanded for the pink glow to rise. The ruby earrings became surrounded with the faint glow and soon floated up and over into Princess’s palms.

“There.” Blossom said with a bitter tone. She hated using her powers in general, a sad reminder of what she had lost and yet, Princess didn’t care. “Anything else, your majesty? Or may I take my leave?”

A dark chuckled came from her lips and Princess set her tea down. “Just one thing. You may not be seen during this time, nor Bubbles.”

“Excuse me?” Blossom challenged. “She’s a seamstress-”

“And there are others to take her place for now.” Princess cut her off.

“Why?”

“I don’t want you or your sisters encountering any of the men. Could you imagine the horrors if one of you lost your temper and they found out?”

Blossoms fists tightened at her side. “I can assure you that would never happen.”

“Your mother thought the same thing and yet…” Her voice trailed off as she looked innocently at her.

Blossom prided herself on keeping her temper at bay, but when it came to her family, that was much harder to control. “You know very well that bringing up my late parents isn’t very kind of you.”

A scoff came from Princess. “As if I care about being nice.”

“For the record Eliza.” Princess bristled at the use of her first name. “I am not jealous at the fact that men are paying to fight for your hand. I hope that one day you realize that love conquers the cost of affection.”

Princess didn’t bat an eye but instead yawned. “How enlightening, but that's where you lose Blossom. You’re foolish to think that in this world love can be more valuable than riches. Even with your beauty and brains, those powers are going to scare everyone off.”

“I-” Blossom tried to fight back, red in the face and her hands sparking bright pink.

“That’s why no one would ever love a poor orphan like you. Once people find out you and your sisters’ powers, you’re history. A true abomination, just like your mother.” Princess said before opening her door. “Now you may take your leave.”

The heavy door embellished with gold and jewels was slammed behind Blossom. She brought her hands to her face and wiped the start of her tears, trying not to let what she said get to her.

She took a deep breath and felt the tension in her palms from her magic. It was almost criminal that the princess would hold her magic against her, but nonetheless, she smoothed her skirt out before straightening her shoulders and walking away.

Her fists clenched at her side, diminishing the faint pink glow and she couldn’t stop from hearing Princess shrill voice over and over again.

“That’s why no one would ever love a poor orphan like you. Once people find out you and your sisters powers, you’re history. A true abomination, just like your mother.”

“And she calls herself a princess. Nothing short of a spoiled toddler.” She sneered to herself as she continued to walk aimlessly through the vast hallways. She found herself walking towards the library, one of the few places in the castle that didn’t feel foregin or made her feel like she had to walk on eggshells.

The grand doors opened and the smell of books filled her nose, providing her a sense of comfort she desperately craved. Thankful she was one of the only people who cared enough to enter this place, it was like a secret oasis that only she knew.

The vast library held rows upon rows of books, each one a different world for her to explore and she was only a small percentage of the way through. Her fingers laid on a shelf as she let them fall along the spines and feel the various textures. She mindlessly grabbed one and went towards the plush velvet chairs that sat beneath a set of tall windows letting herself get lost within the passage of words.

♛♛♛

Brick walked through the hallway set up for the suitors. He thought, with extreme confidence, that he was by far the best of the lot. He rolled his eyes towards a group of men who probably had money but nothing on his level. He didn’t have time for the foolish and meaningless chatter. He wasn’t here to make friends, maybe business partners, but his goal was clear.

The crown.

Of course he already had a kingdom of his own, but he wanted more. If he got the princess’s hand now, Boomer could take over their land and that just meant that the Jojo name would spread further and further, just like their late father wanted.

He never truly cared about who the princess was. This was about business, that was clear. When the invitations for the suitor competition came out, the only thing he’d learned about her was that she was beautiful with dark brown eyes and ginger hair. That was more than enough for him.

He took himself away from the other men and headed aimlessly about, just trying to find a quiet place to be alone. A large set of oak doors caught his attention and the scribe on the wall showed that this was indeed the library.

He doubted anyone else would be inside so he went in and closed the doors behind him. Without thinking, he grabbed a random book before seeing that there were many chairs placed around. As he came up towards the windows that went from the ceiling to the floor, he spotted a figure already in one of the chairs.

He approached the chair and noticed that it was a girl. His eyebrows furrowed as she was reading. There were not many women who knew how to read. She wore a soft pink dress and had a red ribbon tied up into her hair. Ginger hair. His eyes widened as he realized just who was sitting before him.

With a smirk, he stood in front of her and bowed.

“My apologies for interrupting, but it's an honor to meet you, your majesty.” Brick said.

The woman looked up at him. Her lips slightly parted and she had a look of confusion. He thought he was prepared to see the brown eyes from the description but instead he was met with a sensational and breathtaking view of pink.

“Your majesty?” Blossom said with shock.

♛♛♛

This was a monster to write and I hope you all enjoyed!!! this might be the only wipe's that I finish lol

#blossick #boomubbles #butchercup #reds #blues #greens #royal au #ppg x rrb #rrb x ppg #brick x blossom #boomer x bubbles #butch x buttercup #thewritingstar

131 notes · View notes

feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter fifteen: nightshade, hemlock, mistletoe, and oleanders

"you raise up your head and you ask, 'is this where it is?' and somebody points to you and says, 'it's his', and you say, 'what's mine?' and somebody else says, 'well, what is?' and you say, 'oh my god, am I here all alone?' but something is happening and you don't know what it is, do you, mr. jones?" -"ballad of a thin man", bob dylan

At some point, during Sam's absence, Scott had spoke with Charlie over the phone over the course of a few days. Apparently, the marriage was on its last legs while neither of them paid any attention whatsoever. It all happened in one fell swoop and without a shred of remorse to boot: he was asked to leave and move somewhere else in Queens. Scott ran his finger over the rim of his water glass and propped up the side of his head in the palm of his hand. Every so often, he took a glimpse up towards the front door of the restaurant: near there was a nook in the wall in which the maitre d' suggested they keep their instruments safe at.

“How you feeling in the meantime?” Belinda kindly asked him.

“Like I'm ready to just—faint,” he confessed. “I thought Marge was it for me. Like there was no one else for me in the world.” He sighed through his nose and Belinda reached over for a pat on his shoulder. He showed her a friendly little smile, albeit a sad one.

Sam and Joey sat right across from the two of them there at the table. She glanced over at him and he raised his eyebrows at her.

“I'm sorry I hit you,” she told him, to which he shook his head.

“It's okay—if anything, I deserved both of those,” he assured her. “I've had far worse injuries, too, playing hockey and whatnot. I'd get hit with pucks and smacked with sticks—you don't walk away from a hockey rink to be a full time musician and not have problems with your teeth.” He showed her another lopsided little smile and she returned the favor. “So you're down—where?”

“Santa Catalina Island. Twenty two miles off the coast. But then again, I still have a place in New York City. You know, the apartment in Hell's Kitchen.”

“It's an island, though,” Joey pointed out. “An island, Sam! You're currently based off of an island.” He then bowed his head and cocked his mouth to the side. “Not to brag or anything,” he started again, that time in a false pompous accent, “but due to the amount of wealth I've gotten, I can buy an island at no rhyme or reason at 'tall!”

She burst out laughing at that, and she had forgotten that Scott and Belinda were still right there across from them. She turned to them right as he fetched up a sigh and looked away from them, and thus she stopped right in her tracks. Sam returned to Joey as a result: he ran his fingers through his inky black curls and he tilted his head back a bit so as to show off a bit of his throat and his Adam's apple. Not as prominent or sharp as Alex's, but still one for her to look at for a little more than a few seconds.

He then gave his hair a little toss and he turned his head to the side, and he showed her his side profile. She had left her journal back on Catalina, but at least she knew she was headed back there soon enough.

“You know what I feel like doin'?” he asked her.

“What's that?”

He glanced over at the far side of the restaurant, past the front room and to the doors next to that big front bay window.

“You have to use the bathroom?” she asked him, and he returned to her with a smirk on his face. “Oh, no, Joey.”

“What? Why not?”

“I'm not going into the men's room with you.”

“I never said we were goin' into the men's room,” he pointed out, “but I do wanna—” He gestured to her body and he showed her that smirk once again.

“Well, we can't really do it in this place, though.”

“We can go outside,” he suggested.

“It'd be cold, though.”

“Nonsense. If it's cold, it gets the girls nice and pointy and it gets the channel below the equator nice and damp, too.”

“Here's a challenge for you,” she started with a raise of her finger.

“Okay. I'm up for a challenge. I'm an athlete, thus I'm always up for a challenge.”

“You go over to that woman whom you've just met and break it off with her 'cause I'm bored.”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Joey, if you really feel things with me, I want you to prove it.”

He never moved or said anything.

“I want you to prove it and that I'm not just another fuck toy to you,” she continued.

Without any moment's hesitation, he clasped his hands on either side of her face and kissed her right on the lips. Those soft dark lips as smooth as molten chocolate. Right in front of everyone. Right in front of Scott and Belinda.

“Jesus, Joe,” he remarked with a chuckle.

“Yeah, Sam!” she declared to which she clapped her hands. Sam brought her hands down to his slender knees as they lingered close to her own. She was so close to the space between his thighs, so close to his belt, such that she could let her fingers find their way there.

But she kept her fingers upon those delicate knobby knees, right upon that snug rich black denim. Joey let his tongue slither right into her mouth a little bit: such a strange feeling to feel him inside of her mouth once again. His grip on either side of her face was soft and he slid his body closer to her. Even only a few inches between them and she could feel his warmth.

For a fleeting moment, she thought about when Alex leaned his body against her own back at the house on Catalina as he climbed out of that stool. But this was a different warmth, a different feeling. The softness and slim gentleness of Joey.

“French it up, why don't ya, Joseph?” Scott cracked. Sam squeezed Joey's knees as she slipped her tongue into his mouth a little bit for a taste.

Belinda whispered something to Scott, and he chuckled at that.

Sam then let go of his mouth and she gazed right into his big brown eyes as if she stared into her own. She then ran her fingers through his black curls and he closed his eyes. His curls, while soft and clean, felt a lot more coarse than usual. Coarse and fuzzy with the dryness that surrounded them there in California, the dryness despite the marine layer overhead and the rainfall from the night before.

She could smell him again on her clothes. She knew that she would never forget the taste of him on her lips and her tongue. She caressed the side of his face and she kept her eyes locked onto those soft brown irises as they swallowed her whole. As dark and full as the bottom of the ocean. As venomous as the very deadly nightshade he crawled out from onto the cold earth around them.

He parted those dark lips as he was about to say something, but no sound came out.

“Hey, love birds,” Scott called out to them, and they both broke out of it, and they turned their attention over to the waiter who brought the four of them their drinks to kick things off. Sam picked up her glass of lemonade and took a quick large sip of it; Joey blew on the surface of his coffee before he took a drink.

“You're not even gonna add sugar to it?” Belinda asked with an unsure chuckle. Sam turned her attention to Scott as he held his mug of Irish coffee to his mouth.

“Doesn't need sugar,” he assured her with a shake of his head. “It's already got the whole package.” He took a sip with his eyes closed.

“I've had Irish coffee before,” Sam recalled. “How is it?”

“Damn rich,” Scott replied, and he coughed. “Whoa. That'll put some hair on the chest.”

“Right back in where you shaved the word 'not' in?” Joey teased him, and Belinda laughed at that.

“Yes, Joey!” Scott laughed along with her.

“Wow!” Chuck's voice carried in right there, and the four of them turned their attention to the left side of the room. He stepped into the room at that moment and he showed off a big sheet of thick paper to them. It was a drawing of him with his arms curled out before him and his head bowed a bit. All along his arms were jagged points, all done in big bold but soft colors.

“Holy shit,” Scott declared.

“Beautiful, Chuck—” Belinda said, and her voice trailed off at the sight of it.

“It's all crystals,” he said, “at least that's according to Marla.”

“Marla made you that?” Sam asked him.

“Yeah, I was just gonna say, that looks like her style,” Belinda added.

Sam turned her attention to Joey.

“I left my journal on Catalina,” she admitted to him with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Damn. I really wanted to see what kind of art you've been up to lately.”

“It's been—I want to say autobiographical. On the next boat ride over, I'll make a note to show you.”

“Next boat ride over to visit yo' mama,” Joey cracked as he took a sip of his black coffee.

“Visit Joe Mama?” she joked.

“Visit Joe Mama, exactly!” He drank down a bit more of his coffee before Scott passed that drawing of Chuck over to them for a better look. Marla had sketched him out with some bright pink colored pencil and then she outlined him with thick lines of black ink, while the crystals where shaded in with those fine points. Down at the bottom of the page, she had signed her name “Marla Taylor” in large curly penmanship.

“Who needs to buy someone something when you can make 'em?” Sam proclaimed.

“Right, right,” Joey said as he took yet another drink of coffee. He still hadn't let things go with Testament, but she dared not let that interfere with her appreciation of her best friend's artistry. Those clean lines and Sam wanted to make some more pieces of art, all for Testament themselves. But she knew that someone on their end would recognize it, especially if she did something as obvious as sign her initials at the very bottom. Something more, something different.

An eager Chuck returned to them to fetch that piece of drawing and Joey then tapped on Sam's shoulder.

“Come with me,” he whispered into her ear, even though she was hungry and she wanted to stay there to see what Scott had in mind for brunch. But Joey insisted, and thus she followed him over to the bathrooms. They passed under a sprig of mistletoe pinned up to the wall over the entrance to the front of the restaurant; it was there she stopped right in her tracks when she realized where he was taking her.

“Joey, we're not doing it in the bathroom,” she scoffed.

“We won't,” he assured her; instead, he took her hand and he led her to that narrow hallway which led to the bathrooms. He kept on walking past the men's room and to the narrow little nook right around the corner from there. He pressed his back to the wall and he unzipped his little black leather jacket, and he showed off his chest to her.

“Oh, I see,” she breathed.

“Yeah—c'mon, Sam I am,” he begged her, to which he slid down the wall a bit so he was eye to eye with her.

“Where do you—um, want me to start?” she asked him.

“I'll start things off, actually,” he told her and he lunged for the button on her jeans. Sam held still with her legs spread out as he undid it for her. Butterflies danced about in her stomach as he ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. He had such a fierce twinkle in his eyes: they shone brighter than the fire opals on her bracelet.

He brought his dark lips to the little bit of skin right under her belly button, to which she gasped at the feeling.

“Oh—!”

“Yeah,” he growled as he gave her another kiss there. She realized that he was going all the way down from her waist to what lay below. She had given it to him while in England and so it made sense that he returned the favor to her. His lips were warm and silken, and far more than the feeling of molten chocolate.

“Joey?” a woman's voice caught them both off guard.

He stopped. Sam froze in her tracks. He lifted his head and he fixed her jeans, but he never buttoned them back up again.

“What're you doing?” Sam demanded.

“What're you doing?” the woman laughed, and he clambered to his feet. He ran his fingers through his black curls and stood right before Sam so she wouldn't have to see her. The woman chuckled at him.

Sam peeked out from behind him to the woman across from them. She was about Joey's height, but she had a full head of frizzy but neat golden blonde hair down past her shoulders. She did in fact look older than Sam herself, but not too much older: her milky white skin had not a single blemish or crease on it, but her deep eyes aged her more than a piece of gray hair ever would for her. She was slender but with that classic hourglass figure, much like a model: it also didn't help matters that she wore big black stiletto heels on her feet to go with her fitted dark denim jeans.

“What're you doing?” she asked him with another chuckle.

“She—” Joey gestured back to Sam. “—had a spot on her jeans and I was just—checking it.”

She froze and she looked back at Sam, whose mouth had gone completely dry and whose mind had gone completely blank. Nothing to say and nowhere to begin. The woman then chuckled again, and then she shook her head.

“You're funny!” she told him, and he sank down a bit so she could Sam in full for herself.

“Krista, this is Sam—better known as Sam I am.”

“Sam I am?” Krista echoed him.

“Also known as Sammich, Samantha, and—my personal favorite—Sam hill.”

“Sam—this is—this is Krista,” he sputtered. “My new friend.”

“Friend?” she demanded from him. She gaped at him complete with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Y-Yes,” Joey stammered; even with his sun kissed skin, the blush in his face was all too obvious. Krista flashed her an unsure smile and she shrugged in response. He cleared his throat once, twice, four times and he bowed away from them so they wouldn't have to see his face; Sam lingered closer to him.

“H-H-How'd you know I was back here?” he stammered some more to her.

“Scott told me he saw you run back here,” Krista explained, and Sam frowned at the sight of the blush on his face and his heavy breathing.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, concerned, and he coughed a bit.

“Yeah—I just—got a—a—” He patted his chest and straightened himself upright. “—a—a li'l—um—”

“Joey,” Krista said.

“Joey,” Sam echoed her.

“Huh?”

“You don't—look good,” Krista told him with a shake of her head.

“Yeah, you look like you're about ready to pass out,” Sam added.

“I'm fine, I promise,” he assured them, but then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he fell onto his back. Krista and Sam glanced at one another in complete amazement, and they both stood over him as he lay there on the linoleum with his arms out on either side of him.

“What should we do?” Sam asked her in a small voice, to which Krista nibbled on her bottom lip.

“Good question.” She stopped and then she looked over at Sam with a tested look on her face. “Was he—actually checking your jeans?”

“Do you want the truth?” Sam asked her.

“Always.” She smelled faintly of peppermint, an aroma that Sam hadn't smelled in what felt like forever; Sam herself shook her head and Krista fetched up a sigh and rolled her eyes.

“Don't worry, I'll take care of this,” she told her in a low voice and with a wave of her hand

“Okay,” Sam replied with a nod of her head, and she stepped away from there. Her face felt so hot right then: it felt rather obvious in that hallway that Joey had kindled up a new flame there with another woman, and yet she still wanted him. She still wanted him even when she realized that her jeans were about to fall right off her hips.

She caught herself before anyone else caught her with her pants down.

Sam stopped right there, right underneath the sprig of mistletoe and she adjusted the zipper on her jeans. Krista's laughter floated out from that hallway and Sam sighed through her nose. Unless he really made it obvious to her, then she wouldn't have gone through with that with him. Or maybe he wanted to play the field, but there were too many questions she had already at that moment.

She straightened her shirt out and gave her dark hair a little toss back with a flick of her head. She could only hope that he was playing the field. That was the only hope she had right then.

“Hey, Sam!” Scott called out right then.

“Brunch is here!” Belinda added.

She turned to those tables right behind her and she joined them both for some French toast, sausage links, and biscuits and gravy.

“Where's Mr. Nightshade?” Belinda asked her.

“He's—He's—He's—” Sam could hardly speak herself. She sipped on her lemonade a bit so as to clear her head. “He's having a moment,” she spoke right then.

Scott chuckled at that. Even from a momentary glimpse, Sam could tell that that mug of Irish coffee had already left its mark on him.

But she shrugged and she dug into her biscuits and gravy, the former of which were light and fluffy and fresh out of the oven; the latter of which was pale but peppery and even soft in texture. She took a glance to the left and the booth that Testament had packed into for themselves.

Chuck and Eric were both still very much in awe of that drawing that Marla had made; if only there was a way in which Sam could find her way back to Catalina just to fetch her journal, but alas she could not, not with brunch at the helm. Meanwhile, Alex leaned his back to the wall there in the booth and he kept his cup of tea close to his chest. He took a glimpse over at her with those deep eyes, as they looked as deep as ever at that moment.

If Joey could play around with another woman, why not play around with other men? If he really wanted her that bad, then she would have to act.

Scott cracked a joke to Belinda and she almost choked on her bite of sausage from laughing so hard. But Sam had her attention fixated upon the young buck across the floor from her. The shirt that her mother had bought for her fit him rather snugly, all around his waist and his chest, such that he had undone the top two buttons and showed off a bit of his chest. He said something to Greg who then nodded at him: he leaned past him and flashed Sam a wink. She returned the favor with a pretty little wave.

Alex picked up his tea and sauntered across the floor towards her. For a second, she swore that he had a bit of a sway to his hips as if he knew what was going on.

He took his seat next to her but he never bunched up closer to her than the single couple of inches that the seats allowed them.

“By the way, I should tell you, that wasn't me who was rubbing your butt last night,” she promised him.

“I think you told me that and I wasn't able to say something about that,” he recalled, “to that I say—” He gaped at her. “—oh, no.”

“Yeah. But if it's any comfort, though, my mom had the hots for Joey when I brought him home.”

“Wow.” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Yeah. If it's any further comfort, I'm nothing like that.”

“Is your mom like—always like that?” He lowered his voice a bit on that last part.

“Not really,” she admitted with a shrug of her shoulders. “It's like—something woke her up when I brought Joey home for her to meet him.”

He paused for a second.

“What exactly does she do?” he asked her.

“She's a writer. No clue what she writes, though, but she's got a good deal with it, such that—you know, she was able to move to Catalina and spoil us for a few days.”

Alex glanced behind him.

“Where even is Joey?” he wondered aloud.

“I have no clue.”

“Well, I saw you kissin' him,” he muttered to her.

“And?”

He held his hands on either side of his tea cup and he pursed his lips together.

“And? Alex?”

“Thought you guys were really gonna go there,” he confessed with a lean of his head towards her.

“We didn't, though,” she assured him in a low voice. She mopped up a bite of biscuit in gravy.

“How is it?” he asked her.

“Delicious.”

“We haven't gotten ours yet.”

“Are you serious?” She was stunned by that.

“Dead serious. Hope it comes soon, too—it smells divine.”

He took a sip from his tea and she ate up that bite of biscuit in unison with him.

“That was good pie, though,” he told her.

“The pie we had last night?”

“Yeah. Nice li'l slice of your mom's pie right in my belly.”

She giggled at him.

“Kinda wish we had some more of it,” he confessed.

“More of that plus the spag Bol from the first night,” she added.

“Oh, my god, that was unreal. So simple and homey but god—it just warmed me up so much that I fell asleep right when I lay down on the couch.”

He sipped on the tea some more and that time he closed his eyes to nourish the feeling. Sam took another bite of biscuit and gravy and she, too, closed her eyes so to relish in the lush pepper paired with the light and fluffy biscuit.

“Hey, you two guys wanna hang with us for New Year's and my birthday?” Scott offered them.

“Oh, yeah, that's right!” Sam declared. “Your birthday's New Year's Eve. Um—well, I was planning on coming to see you guys on New Year's but I dunno about afterwards, though.”

“Yeah, me, neither,” Alex confessed.

“Come on—it'll be fun!” Scott declared. “Metallica will be there, too. I talked to James just yesterday—they're gonna be with us.” Sam was reluctant however, given she had a hunch that Joey had his heart in Krista rather than her even with the kiss he had bestowed on her. Charlie called to Scott from across the room right then, and he raised a finger to them, and then he strode away from there. Sam turned to Alex and he looked on at her, puzzled and with both hands still around the base of his tea cup.

“Alex—will you hang with me on New Year's Eve?” she asked him.

“You're asking me to hang with you?” he echoed her.

“If you don't mind,” she told him with a shrug of her shoulders. He shifted his weight and flicked his black curls back from the side of his neck. The hair dye still held up but she could see it fading away from his hair. Those grays were persistent in how they didn't want to be hidden away.

“You know what?” he said. “I'd love to. Are we going back to Catalina or somewhere else?”

Sam hesitated for a second. That house up in Reno was empty but the memories still remained there.

“Let's go somewhere else,” she told him. “Has Testament ever toured Reno?”

“Uh, we've toured in Vegas. But—not really, no.” He gazed on at her, those deep eyes so deep and soulful. “Why?” He squinted at her.

She brought the tines of the fork to her lips but she never said anything to him. His face then lit up and he snapped his fingers.

“That reminds me,” he said.

“What's that?”

“I have something to give you,” he told her.

“More and more gifts each and every time,” she joked.

“Well, it's because we love you,” he declared. “You don't give gifts to people when you don't love them.”

He took another sip of tea and then he gestured for her to follow him into the front part of the restaurant, right to the front room and back in the direction of Joey and Krista.

“Careful with the mistletoe there,” she noted, to which Alex leaned his back towards the wall and let her go ahead to the other room. He then bowed after her, right underneath that little lush sprig of mistletoe. He joined her right by her side all the way back to the front door.

There was that small space right next to the door: near the front of the whole stack stood his guitar case. He crouched down to the floor and he nudged it to the side: Sam lingered next to him with her hands pressed to her hips.

“Let's see, I think—Eric had it stashed with him,” he said aloud, “like I showed it to him right before our second night in Reseda and he was like 'yeah, I'll keep it safe for you, Alex.'” He then lifted his gaze back up to her.

“Seeing as you just have your little purses,” he started, and he took out a large red wine colored handbag with a small five petaled flower comprised of large mismatched beads sewn to the front: a flower that reminded her of the oleanders there in the south land. It was obviously handmade but the sight of it made her gasp.

“Oh, my god, Alex—this is beautiful.”

“I just think of the glorious guitar strap that you and Belinda made for me for my birthday last year,” he confessed, “and I decided to make something of my own for you. I just see you with your purses and all the stuff you put into them, and at one point, I thought, 'man, Samantha could use something a little bigger, but I'm not finding anything larger, though.' It was actually an effort from me, my brother, and both my parents—I don't know the first thing about beading. But I suggested it to my mom and she goes, 'okay, honey, I'll give it a shot.' My brother and I picked out the color and the fabric, and my dad pieced it together—”

Sam threw her arms around him before he could finish his sentence, and then he returned the favor. Those long spidery fingers caressed over her back and her hair.

It was going to be the first New Year's Eve in which she would have no one to kiss especially if Joey was going to tease like that. But then again, Alex stood there next to her with his body close to her. The warmth of his body. The softness of his white skin and his jet black hair.

She looked right into his round boyish face and he showed her a little grin, albeit one full of imperfect teeth.

“So where do you wanna take me?” he asked her.

“I'll take you to the place I know all too well,” she told him. “It's a long drive, though.”

“I'm up for it,” he promised her. “As long as we get to see Anthrax in Long Beach the night before.”

“Of course! And that's Zelda's birthday, too.”

He gaped at her.

“Oh, shit, really?”

“Yeah. I just now remembered it, too. She threw it at me during the Stormtroopers of Death tour. I can't believe I still remember it, too.”

“Wow,” he said in a hushed voice. He adjusted the collar of his shirt and she slung the bag over her shoulder.

“Does it fit?” he asked her; and she brought the bag itself close to her hip.

“Like a glove,” she promptly replied.

“Excellent!” He flashed her a thumbs up.

“We have to go back to Catalina, though,” she told him. “Just—you know. Tell my mom what's up and whatnot.”

“Day after Christmas, though.”

“Of course,” she told him and with a nod of her head, “of course, of course, Alex. If she rubs your butt again, I'll tell her about it. Don't you worry.”

He fetched up a sigh and then he bowed his head a bit. He stepped back for a better look at the handbag under her arm. She brought it up before her thighs: the bud of the oleander was comprised of five small black onyx beads, much like the ones on the bracelet Chuck gave her, as well as one large wooden bead. Light pink and white beads meanwhile made up those five petals for that familiar poison flower.

“It almost looks like a book bag,” he noted. “Like something you take to school.” He froze right then. “By the way, are you even still in school?”

“I don't think I am,” she confessed. “I never got any pieces of mail from there—no grants or anything. As far as I know, Bill ended the whole entire career for me.”

“That greasy bastard,” he proclaimed. “Talk about not practicing what he preaches.”

“Right?” she laughed. “Although if I'm honest, Alex, I almost felt restrained while in school.”

“Well, I'm gonna relay the same thing Eric told you earlier—if it feels right, you're probably right.”

“Hey, Alex!” Eric himself said right behind them. “Biscuits are here.”

“Oh boy!” Alex rubbed his hands together, and Eric spotted the handbag under Sam's arm.

“Oh, hey, you found that in my case!”

“Sure as hell,” Alex replied.

“Thank you again, too,” Sam told him and they embraced one last time before Alex hurried back to the table with Eric. The warmth stayed in her face as she walked back to Scott and Belinda.

It was only fair to herself and Joey after all.

3 notes · View notes