#and decided to announce my presence by stating how much I love this animated woman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hafanforever · 4 years

Photo

Bride and Prejudice

Introduction

Although I love to study, observe, and analyze fictional villains, especially those from my favorite movies, both Disney and non-Disney, Gaston has always been my least favorite (animated) villain from Disney because he is extremely vain, narcissistic, arrogant, egotistical, chauvinistic, superior, and shallow. In real life, as well as in fiction, I strongly dislike people who display snobby, condescending, supreme, and superior attitudes by obsessively thinking so highly of themselves, and believing they are better than others in everything, from their social class to their physical appearance, so much so that they coldly dismiss, insult, belittle, and/or ignore others they see as being below them and not worth their time.

But my other main reason for hating Gaston goes even beyond his attempted murder of the Beast and aggressive persistence to force Belle to marry him after she refuses his so-called “proposal”. Because I am a feminist who believes in gender equality, and that women have the ability to do almost anything men can do (even though I accept that men will always be physically stronger than women by nature), I also detest Gaston due to his prejudiced, inferior, sexist, misogynistic views of women.

Now please don’t take this the wrong way; I don’t let my hatred of him stop me from enjoying Beauty and the Beast, because I LOVE the movie, and I do think Gaston makes a great presence with his role as the main antagonist. And I’m not a misandrist, or a person who hates the male gender as a whole, so I apologize in advance to my male friends on here if you think I’m giving off that impression. But in real life, I hate prejudice and bigotry aimed towards people when it comes to their race, gender, nationality, and/or social rank. And since I am a woman with feminist beliefs, I sometimes take it personally (more so than any other types of bigotry) when men exhibit sexist beliefs about women.

So with all of his major flaws, those being his bigoted, condescending, inferior views of women, his beliefs that men are (and always will be) above women, AND his narcissistic, egotistical, conceited, self-centered personality, the overall reason I hate Gaston and announce him as my least favorite Disney villain is because he is THE epitome and archetype of the very kind of man that I despise. Now I don’t know anyone like that in person, but I know that there are still prejudiced people out there in the world today. I have seen both real (like on live talk shows) and fictional men who show these kinds of prejudiced demeanors. When real men in particular show this kind of attitude, I get very offended by it. And Gaston probably holds these thoughts at greater extremities than any other fictional prejudiced male characters (at least those of which I know or am aware).

The more I thought about how strongly Gaston’s prejudicial thoughts on women are displayed, which are what drive Belle away from him, the more that I believe that, despite setting his sights on marrying her and determining to make it happen at all costs, I believe that Gaston considered Belle a challenge, and even a threat, to his public image, to his gender, and to his own identity. I say this because her personality makes her so unconventional and atypical for a woman for the era in which the film is set. And due to these thoughts, I decided to write this analysis on how I think Gaston saw Belle as a threat to himself and his own gender, but remained set on marrying her, regardless of her refusals. And of course, I will throw in my interpretations of Gaston’s prejudiced attitude towards women since the kind of personality Belle has goes against what he thinks both men and women should be.

What Men Want

During their first meeting, Gaston insults Belle by making sexist remarks about women who read and are intelligent. He states that it’s wrong for women to read since it leads to them thinking for themselves and getting intellectually smart, which he also thinks is ridiculous (though more so for women). In their next scene together, which is when Gaston makes his “marriage proposal” to Belle, he makes more sexist remarks, this time about women and housewifery. He describes to her how he envisions his life as a married man: living in a rustic hunting lodge in which his latest animal kill would be cooking on the fire, while his “little wife” would be massaging his feet as their six or seven children (all of whom would be sons) play on the floor with their dogs. Part of Gaston’s sexism in this scene is stressed with how he doesn’t even appear to consider the possibility of fathering any daughters. He arrogantly and proudly announces that his desired number of children is six or seven “strapping boys, like me!” The manner in which Gaston makes this statement sounds as if he is 100% confident (as indicated by him lightly pounding on his chest while saying said gender) that the chances that this many children would be boys, and only boys, is absolutely and logically possible. Therefore, he is also confident that there are no chances that any of his six to seven children would be a mix of boys and girls, or even all girls.

Additionally, in both of these scenes, besides what Gaston says that offends her, Belle recoils from him in annoyance, shock, and revulsion because he is VERY brazen. He makes unwanted advances on Belle to the point that he attempts to physically force himself onto her and get her under his control. By doing so, Gaston shows a total lack of respect for Belle’s personal space and property (hinting that he doesn’t think she should even have any in the first place). This all starts in the first scene, when Gaston literally and curtly snatches Belle’s book out of her hands and keeps it out of her reach to prevent her from taking it back from him. Then he carelessly tosses the book into the mud, and even tries to prevent Belle from retrieving it by stepping in front of it and the mud puddle. While he does this, Gaston flatly tells Belle that she has to stop reading and start paying attention to more important things (namely, himself, which does not impress Belle at all). After she recovers and cleans off her book, Gaston puts his arm around Belle’s shoulder and subtly forces her to walk with him as he suggests they go to the tavern together. Before they start “walking together”, Gaston again snatches the book out of Belle’s hand and attempts to keep it out of her reach when she tries to take it back.

Now this moment interests me because I realize that Gaston was starting to use more direct force to try to get Belle to stop reading. He was trying harder to get her to do what he wants her to do and make her see things his own way. And of course, Gaston arrogantly believes that his views and ways of doing/seeing things is right, so he tries to get Belle to see that while also showing her that what she does and likes is wrong. But Belle finally succeeds in grabbing the book back from Gaston, during which she turns down going with him to the tavern since she has to get home to help her father. The fact that Belle uses physical force herself when she grabs her book out of Gaston’s hand also interests me, because I see it as her way of telling him, “I’m not gonna let you stop me from reading because it’s what I love.” What happens between the two over the book and him “inviting” her to the tavern shows me that Gaston was trying to take the reins and show Belle that he wanted to be in control of her. He wanted to be in charge of her. He wanted to dominate her by telling her what to do, and would resort to using more abrupt force if necessary, in order to make her see things his way. But Belle taking her book from Gaston and turning down going out with him showed that she ABSOLUTELY would not give him that chance to do that. She refused to let him believe that he could dominate and control her, that she would willingly submit to him, that he was in the right to tell her what to do and not to do.

Nope! Just with using her book, Belle stood up to Gaston, defied him, and resisted him. By doing so, she indirectly told him that she is capable of making her own decisions, that she is very independent and likes to do her own thing, regardless of what he and others think. To Belle, Gaston is not someone who has the right to give her orders and make her do something she doesn’t want to do…and this is why he frowns after she manages to take her book out of his grasp while saying that she cannot go out with him.

During the proposal scene, before and while he describes his visions as a married man, Gaston again displays a total disregard and disrespect for Belle’s personal space and property. This begins when he briskly opens the door to her cottage and lets himself in without waiting for her to open it first after he knocks on it (AND without even waiting for her to grant or deny him permission to come inside in the first place). Once inside, Gaston makes more advances on Belle by continuously walking towards her, as if he’s trying to make her keep her eyes on him and block her attempts to get away from him. He then dirties her book (which is placed on the table) for the second time when he sits down and slams his muddy boots on it, kicks his boots off, and stinks up the book with his feet. (The fact that Gaston puts his feet, both boot-covered and bootless, smack-dab on top of the book clearly shows that he is again telling Belle, even without words, that he will NOT stand for her reading because she is a woman, and that he hates the concept of reading entirely.) When Gaston finally makes his proposal, not only does he continue to advance on Belle by trying to corner her, he does not ask her to marry him. Rather, Gaston tells her that he wants her to be his wife, then tells Belle to say she will marry him, like he’s giving her no choice in the matter, which is fitting because by then, he has her pinned against her door.

Like their previous meeting, Belle is shocked and repulsed by Gaston’s actions throughout the whole scene (though she manages to keep a straight face when he is inside her home). She groans and makes a face of pure disgust when she first sees him outside her door. She is repulsed by Gaston’s descriptions of married life, and more so by him dirtying her book and by the odor of his feet. When he finally “proposes” to her, Belle is more appalled than ever, but keeps a cool face as she successfully tricks him into leaving her house while simultaneously telling him her words of rejection.

The things Gaston says, and even the things he DOESN’T explicitly say, and the way he acts, during these two scenes, combined with how he displays his own arrogance, narcissism, and superiority as a man, and as a person in general, provide enough information for me to decipher just how prejudiced he is when it comes to how he sees women. It is CRYSTAL clear to me that Gaston considers men to be the superior gender, that men are (and meant to be) better than women at anything and everything, not JUST physical strength. He believes that women will ALWAYS be beneath men, and that women should KNOW their place by being the inferior gender. As such, Gaston has absolutely NO respect for women at all! In fact, he doesn’t even have respect for other men, despite regarding the male gender as the superior one! The only person for whom he has ANY respect is HIMSELF!!! 😡 (As if that was hard to figure out, anyway! 😆)

As part of his belief that men are superior to women, Gaston sees women only as potential property for men. He sees them as nothing more than objects, as things, as possessions that are meant to belong to men. He does NOT see women as people who are capable of having or are meant to have their own individual personalities. In seeing them as men’s property, Gaston thinks that women are useless and worthless except for the only two significant purposes they have to men.

The first and primary purpose Gaston believes women have to men is being their servants, or, to a worse degree, their slaves. That means when it comes to the concept of marriage, Gaston sees it as the way for men to officially make women their own personal property. He believes that marriage is meant to be permanent, but in meaning that the woman becomes and forever remains the man’s property. As such, Gaston does not see marriage as a partnership based on love and devotion in which both the husband and wife have equal rights. Instead, he sees it as a relationship based on ownership of property, as a master/servant relationship, where the husband is the master and the wife is the servant. That means that married men are supposed to control their wives by giving them commands and orders. Married women are meant to ALWAYS obey commands their husbands give them without question or argument. In a marriage, women are supposed to be meek, passive, dutiful, and subservient. They must respect and honor their husbands (though men are not meant to reciprocate these same feelings) by doing whatever their husbands tell them to do. They are not supposed to be independent in any way or have their own minds. To Gaston, it is the woman’s job, and her job alone, to do all tasks and chores around the house without ANY help from the man.

The second purpose Gaston believes that women have to men, especially in married households, is giving them sex and bearing them children (even though he thinks the mother is the only parent meant to do the childrearing). And since married men are meant to be the masters in the relationship, married women must have sex with their husbands whenever their husbands want it. Even if they don’t want it at the same time, as long as the husbands want to have sex with them, then the women must ALWAYS comply.

So while he believes he has women’s places figured out in the world, especially in married households, like I said above, Gaston believes that men are supposed to be the masters, the bosses, of women, whose primary purpose is to serve their men. This means that only men are meant to be the ones “in charge”. They are meant to be the ones who take control of things. They are meant to be the dominant person in the relationship. As the ones in control, married men have the right to tell their wives what to do and treat them any way they want. Men are supposed to make all decisions, not just for themselves, but for their wives and children. Women (and even children) do not have any sort of rights, especially if they are married. They are not meant or allowed to have any say in the matter; their opinions are never important when it comes to making decisions. Women should never even bother to voice their own opinions, and they must never even speak at all unless their husbands speak to them first and/or give them permission to speak. Since men are supposed to be dominant and the women submissive, women must never, NEVER attempt to meet or rise above men’s level by defying them, disobeying them, or standing up to them, and that includes talking back to them! As part of Gaston’s belief that women must be dutiful and obedient to their their husbands, they are not allowed to ever do anything or make any decisions without their husbands’ approval or permission first. Whatever feelings, thoughts, and desires women have or may have, none of those should matter to their men. Men can always get what they want, and do what they want, whenever they want it. But the same does not, nor should it ever even, apply to women. Men do NOT need to ask their wives’ permission for something, but women always have to ask their husbands’ permission and earn it. If the man does not allow the woman to have what she wants, then she has to drop it all together.

So in summary, in Gaston’s eyes, women were put on the earth to be nothing more than mens’ slaves and sex partners. Women cannot, are not allowed, nor should they ever even try to do anything that is regarded as being stereotyped for men, and men only. They should never try to compete with men in any way, because men are the best gender and will forever be above women. To him, women are always meant to be seen and never heard; they should not be allowed to think or speak for themselves. This essentially means that Gaston thinks women should be brainless and be lacking in any kind of intelligence or intellect, which would explain why he is so dead set on trying to discourage Belle from reading. When in the presence of other people, be it just men or men and women together, women must keep their mouths shut at all times. They are NEVER supposed to speak at all unless spoken to first, and ONLY when a MAN speaks to them first, no less! And furthermore, when a man speaks to a woman first, she must ALWAYS answer immediately, without hesitation, and not keep the man or men who spoke to her waiting for long!

Is That a Challenge/Threat?

In the beginning of the film, Gaston becomes obsessively determined to marry Belle ONLY because she is regarded as the most beautiful women in town, which he shallowly believes THAT reason alone makes her the best woman. And since he is held in high regard as the best man in town, Gaston believes he is entitled to have the best woman (that being Belle) as his wife. Like he asks LeFou after declaring that Belle’s beauty is what makes her the best, “And don’t I deserve the best?”

But despite that, as I said earlier, I think Gaston considered Belle to be a challenge and a potential threat to himself, and to his gender entirely, because she is the EXACT antithesis of what he thinks women are meant to be. She is a portrait of EVERYTHING that he is AGAINST in women, everything he does not believe women should be, what with her outspoken, confident, intelligent, non-repressed, articulate, bold, independent, free-thinking nature.

The fact is, reading books so much over the years has given Belle a strong mind of her own. She is very smart and articulate with a wide range of vocabulary, an open, unbiased mind, and a confident, independent, outspoken nature regarding her opinions. Furthermore, due to her independence, Belle is also shown to be somewhat of a defiant rebel who resists being controlled, mistreated, and demeaned, and rarely likes being told what to do (all of which she displays when Gaston keeps trying to take her book away during their first meeting). The exceptions to this are Maurice since he always believed in her and accepted her for who she is unconditionally, and by the Beast once he learns to respect her and treat her as an equal. Belle is not at all like the other women in the village since she chooses to be who she wants to be instead of letting society mold her into becoming who she is expected to be. Even though she does want a friend, a confidant, someone to accept her for who she is, Belle is also comfortable enough in her own skin that she knows exactly who she is. She wants to remain true to herself, so she refuses to change. She is aware that the villagers think her unique and different personality makes her odd, but she doesn’t let their opinions influence her enough to make her want to change into the exact kind of woman they think she should be.

So the kind of personality Belle has makes her unconventional and atypical for a woman of her village, and for the film’s time period. Her vast intelligence and wit, along with her defiant, rebellious nature against Gaston, can make Belle, and her gender as a whole, look superior to a man like him, which contradicts his belief that women are and always will be inferior to men. Because she knows and is comfortable with who she is, Belle would undoubtedly NEVER project the kind of womanly image that Gaston would WANT her to project if she was his wife. She would never repress herself, nor pretend to be something she is not. She would never give up reading or voicing her own opinions. She would stand up to Gaston, rebel against him, and flatly refuse to do anything he tells her to do, given especially that he would only order and boss her around rather than politely and kindly ask her to do things.

Overall, Belle would never change who she is, so she would DEFINITELY refuse to ever do or be ANYTHING Gaston would want and expect of her. Not just as his wife, but as a woman entirely…and it’s not difficult to comprehend that he would ABSOLUTELY HATE that!

The fact that Belle is everything that Gaston does not like in a woman, does not think a woman should be (especially because she makes it appear that women can be equal to and even above men), and that she would resist changing her ways if he tried to get her to change is why I believe he saw her as a challenge and a potential threat. But he probably didn’t consider her a true threat or have any doubts that he could change her until after she rejected his marriage proposal, and this is especially due to the way she rejected him.

At the start of the film, since he had so many women in the village shallowly smitten with him simply due to his handsome face and muscular physique, I think when Gaston decided that he was going to marry Belle, he thought she would be just like them and fall for his “charms” right away. If she didn’t fall for him immediately (which he realized when she refused to go out with him), then she would eventually. While he knew she loved to read, Gaston was probably so confident that he could schmooze, seduce, and win Belle over that he also believed he could he easily sway and persuade her to give up reading. He believed he could convince her to (pardon the pun, if you please 😉) dumb herself down in order to mold her into the exact kind of woman he wants her to be as his “little wife”.

But Belle rebuffed Gaston’s advances, albeit politely, when she took her book back from his clutches and turned down going to the tavern with him. Like his face shows in the gif below, Gaston was frustrated and disappointed because Belle said “No.” He was unhappy that he didn’t get his way, that he totally failed at charming her and persuading her to stop reading since he was so confident things would go just how he wanted them to go. But despite his disappointment, I think that Gaston didn’t take Belle’s refusal TOO seriously. It’s likely he thought she was just playing a game with him, that she was just playing “hard to get” by rejecting a date with him, particularly because she did so in a gentle and polite manner. Now since this act made Belle the first woman to turn Gaston down, it may have made him consider her to be a challenge this early on. And yet he was apparently willing and unafraid to take her on as a challenge. Even though she had turned down going out with him, Gaston apparently remained confident that winning Belle’s heart was a challenge that he could definitely take down, one that he could easily overcome, one that he could (and would) win in the end.

And so how do I arrive at this conclusion? What’s my proof of this belief?

He organized an ENTIRE wedding outside of Belle’s house, complete with various decorations, a band, a wedding cake, and a priest to officiate the ceremony, BEFORE he even proposed to her! 😮😮😮

This move unequivocally meant that Gaston was WHOLLY confident, to the point of being EXTREMELY impulsive and arrogant, that his chances of winning Belle’s heart would succeed, which convinced him that she was (to some degree) in love with him.

Therefore, Gaston had an utmost expectation that Belle would absolutely, positively, DEFINITELY agree to become his wife! And given that all of the basic wedding necessities had been prearranged, Gaston not only expected that Belle would say “Yes”, but that she would be SO ecstatic by his proposal that she would agree to marry him on the spot! And so he set up the planned ceremony to surprise her, which would have allowed them to get married immediately after Gaston proposed and Belle accepted!

But OH, NO! That is NOT what happened AT ALL! Gaston turned out to be VERY wrong about Belle! 😆😆😆

Like I mentioned above, Belle turned down a date to the tavern with Gaston, but did so politely. However, despite saying polite, gentle words rather than rude, harsh ones when she turned down his proposal (”I’m very sorry, Gaston, but…but…I just don’t deserve you!”), it was more what she did, what with how she indirectly forced him out of her house, that made it clear to Gaston that this was a more blunt, flat-out rejection, that it was a definite, absolute “no”, that Belle was not at all interested in him.

Gaston learned the hard way that Belle was NOT in love with him and did NOT want to marry him…and THAT infuriated him to the core! 😠😤😡

Both times, but particularly how the proposal rejection was carried out, apparently made Belle the FIRST person who EVER gave Gaston an outright “no” as an answer! Gaston is clearly so blindly admired and loved by everyone else in the village, including by other women, that he has NEVER heard ANYONE tell him “No” about ANYTHING, most especially from a WOMAN! This is strongly indicated during his next scene, when he is at the tavern and still fuming over Belle’s rejection and says, “No one says ‘No’ to Gaston!”. Furthermore, Gaston’s massive ego, which is largely stemmed from the villagers’ admiration of him, has him SO convinced that he is the best of the best, and that NO ONE can surpass him OR refuse him for anything!

However, Belle’s proposal rejection completely disproved these beliefs because of the WAY she rejected Gaston, which she did at the same time she conned him into getting out of her house.

First, she played dumb by pretending to think about who the “little wife” would be when he asked her who she thought it would be.

Then she claimed to be speechless as she walked backwards towards her door, subtly but slyly luring him towards it, since he had been approaching her ever since he walked into her home, and she knew that he would corner her if she went there.

Finally, she opened the door so that she would catch him off guard (and off balance 😆), which would cause him to lose his footing and fall into the mud pond outside.

With this move, besides being the first person who gave him a flat refusal as an answer, Belle became the first person, and the first WOMAN, no less, who got the BEST of Gaston! Gaston had been TOTALLY unaware that, when he was following Belle towards the door and managed to pin her against it, she was actually leading him into a trap until it was too late. She was deceiving him to come towards the door so she could (literally) throw him out of her house. 😆😆😆

The way Belle had tricked Gaston into exiting her house shows that she had OUTSMARTED him, and in doing so, she made him look STUPID and FOOLISH in front of the whole town, something that has obviously NEVER happened to him before!!!

Remember, the kind of image that Gaston has to the public is that he is the best man in town. He is highly regarded and considered to be the strongest, handsomest, and most popular man. Thus, he sees himself, as does every other townsperson, as a winner who ALWAYS gets his way, who gets ANYTHING he wants WHENEVER he wants it.

But that is NOT what happened to him this time, OH NO!!! 😤😤😤

When Belle rejected Gaston’s proposal and manipulated him into leaving her house, she tarnished his image. She may have only tarnished it briefly, but still, she made him look bad, like a fool, in front of everyone, and there is no doubt in my mind that the villagers had NEVER seen Gaston FAIL or LOSE at anything prior to this moment!

Overall, just from this scene alone, Belle successfully tricking Gaston and rejecting his proposal made her (a woman) look superior to him (a man). With her intelligence and wit, she proved to him that women can sometimes outbest men, that the female gender as a whole should not be dismissed or viewed as inferior to men, and that women are capable of being equal to or even superior to men sometimes. Gaston gravely underestimated just how smart, witty, and clever Belle is. She stood up to him by showing no fear (though subtly) in letting him know that she was not at all interested in him, and so she ESPECIALLY did NOT want to marry him. As a result, Gaston had COMPLETELY failed in thinking that Belle would agree to marry him, and that he could get her to change her ways. The way she carried out her rejection of his proposal proved herself as being precisely what he dislikes in women and does not think they should be. As @silentviolin678 said to me, everything Gaston thinks a man stands for, he can see it in Belle, and he hates it. He only believes that a man can be like that, and he can’t handle the thought of a woman meeting his level, let alone above it!

Getting back to the proposal scene, before he even proposed to Belle, Gaston had organized the entire wedding outside of her house, with many, if not all, of the villagers present. When he fell out the door frame and into the mud pond outside after Belle opened it, the villagers were still there, waiting for the two to come out together. When they saw Gaston in the mud and noticed that Belle wasn’t with him (given that she slammed her door after she tossed Gaston’s boots out on her porch), they realized that she had turned him down. They realized that she tricked him and made him look like a loser who DOESN’T always get what he wants WHEN he wants it. What happened to Gaston proved to him that he had been totally wrong in his belief that he could charm Belle and that she would accept his proposal. Not a single thing had gone his way like he had wanted and planned.

With the townspeople having witnessed just what went wrong for him, Gaston was completely humiliated, and THAT, combined with his failed plans and him having been rejected by Belle, is why he was fuming as he walked away! 😡😡😡

Bound and Determined

So as I said before, Belle’s personality type, along with her rejection of Gaston’s proposal, what with how she successfully tricked him into exiting her house, which made her look so much better and smarter than him (which goes against his belief that men are and always will be superior to women), and embarrassed him in front of the villagers, makes it obvious to me that Gaston did see her as a challenge and a threat to himself, his gender, and his image.

Now he probably considered Belle to be a challenge once she turned down a date with him, yet didn’t take it very seriously. I think part of that is because it’s one thing to turn down a date, but to turn down a marriage proposal is an entirely different matter. Marriage is a permanent commitment, and more often than not, men who propose to women succeed at it. So even though Belle turned down going out with Gaston, he obviously thought she would NEVER turn an offer to marry him, given what bigger, permanent things a marriage would offer them (though only Gaston would get the benefits, of course)! Furthermore, since he thought that Belle was simply playing a game with him by refusing to go on a date, Gaston setting up the whole wedding under the assumption that she would accept was him wanting for the “game” to end and for him to finally win.

In other words, Gaston prearranging the wedding ceremony meant that he wanted to indirectly tell Belle that, one way or another, he will always win and get what he wants, so she must stop playing with him and allow him to win by agreeing to marry him.

But once she rejected his proposal, THAT was what made it clear to Gaston that Belle posed a SERIOUS challenge to him, to the point that he considered her a threat, too!

Regardless of all of that, almost immediately after she boots him (again, excuse the pun, but I just cannot resist! 😆) out of her house, Gaston grabs LeFou and says that, despite her refusal, he is not giving up and is determined to have Belle for his wife.

But then you may ask, if Gaston truly believed Belle posed a challenge to the point of being a major threat to him, then why did he STILL want to marry her? Why did he still want to make her his wife, given the way she rejected him by outsmarting and embarrassing him, thus making him look like a loser in front of the townspeople?

I think it was because of Gaston’s senses of entitlement and superiority. Like I’ve said before, he sees himself as the best of the best, as a winner who always gets what he wants. As part of his superiority, including with his beliefs that men are the superior gender, Gaston LOVES to get his own way. He feels entitled to have things his way any time, and probably so because he has always gotten his way without any hitches. So he cannot stand or tolerate it when things don’t go his way at all (as is the case with Belle rejecting a date with him, then rejecting his proposal). The film portrays Gaston as arrogant, proud, egotistical, and narcissistic to such extremes that he has a superiority complex. The fact that the villagers praise and admire him for all of his “good” traits has enhanced Gaston’s belief and inflated his ego that he sees himself as a winner, that he ALWAYS has come out on top and win the prize!

During his first scene, when Gaston decided that Belle was the woman he was going to marry, his mind was made up. Since he believed that her beauty alone made her the best woman in the village, he saw it fitting that he, the best man in the village, was the only man who deserved her. Being the town’s best-looking woman, Belle was considered by Gaston to the ultimate prize for him as the town’s best-looking man, so he had this concept that having her as his wife would cement his place in the village as the best man. Anyway, as I said, when Gaston decided that he was going to marry Belle, he had made his decision, and he was never going to change it. This shows that Gaston is the kind of person who is far too stubborn and persistent to reconsider things once he is set in a decision. When he makes up his mind about something, that’s it. His decision is final. He absolutely refuses to change his mind. And regardless of what happens, even if and when he is unable to get what he wants immediately, Gaston won’t let anything stand in his way or stop him from getting what he is pursuing. He obstinately and stubbornly refuses to give up and will continue to fight to get what it is that he wants UNTIL he gets it, and ALL because he has this deep-rooted need to win! Gaston’s persistence to win is such that he will go to great lengths and sink so low to ensure that he wins. He will literally stop at nothing to get whatever it is that he sets out to get, even if it means resorting to cheating and dishonesty just to get it. This means that Gaston does not care about fairness, justice, or playing by the rules unless it benefits himself.

After his marriage proposal was rejected, Gaston’s pride was dented and his image was tarnished. While he still wanted to marry Belle because of his belief that “she’s the most beautiful girl in town, and that makes her the best, so only I deserve her”, his determination to win, to get his own way, became the stronger motive over his motive of getting “the best of the best”. Gaston’s failure in winning Belle’s heart, his rejection by her, and being humiliated in front of the townspeople made him look like a total loser. So he developed a compulsive, relentless need to fix that by marrying her anyway, which would prove to them, to Belle, and even to himself, that he ALWAYS wins. In the end, Gaston ALWAYS gets what he wants simply because he truly IS a winner. Winning and coming out on top as the best is everything to him, which is a huge part of his public image and feeds his massive ego. Gaston cannot stand the idea of failing or losing, and so being denied, rejected, refused, and being told “no” in any way, shape, or form for something he wants and on which he sets his sights is considered losing. Hearing “no” as answer is something to which he is EXTREMELY intolerant and finds ABSOLUTELY unacceptable! Like he himself said while at the tavern in his next scene, “No one says ‘No’ to Gaston!”! But Gaston’s desire to marry Belle despite her refusal was more than just to prove to everyone that he always wins in the end. Because she had hurt his pride and dignity with the rejection, he wanted to marry Belle to satisfy and heal his ego, to preserve, protect, and enhance his place as the most admired man in town. With the kind of status Gaston has amongst the villagers, having Belle, who is the most beautiful woman in town, as his wife would completely secure his place in the village, AND further make him the envy of everyone.

Gaston’s fixation on his remaining desire to marry Belle turned into a deep obsession that he was starting to lose his mind. In other words, he was slowly being driven to insanity because she already said “No”, but he obstinately refused to accept that as a final answer. Gaston did not care that Belle didn’t want to marry him, because it wasn’t at all about what SHE wanted; only what HE wanted. Gaston just HAD to win by succeeding in his goal to marry Belle, and he was never going to stop until he got what he wanted. One way or another, Gaston was going to have things his way by marrying Belle, regardless of what she thought or how she felt!

In fact, now that I think of it, remember after Gaston falls into the mud pond, there is a pig on top of his head when he emerges from it? This was done as an inside joke to the term “pig-headed”, which is used to describe someone who is obstinate and stubborn to the point of stupidity. Perhaps this was done as a way to foreshadow how obstinate and stubborn Gaston becomes during the course of the movie with him keeping his mind set on marrying Belle, even after she rejected and humiliated him. 😉

The Man and the Monster

So like I said, his obsession with making Belle his wife began to consume Gaston that he started to lose his sanity. Winning her hand in marriage was the only thing on which he began to focus that he presumably all but ignored everything else he normally did or thought about until got his wish. And since a simple proposal did not win Belle’s approval, Gaston decided to resort to more forceful, drastic, and sadistic, measures to achieve his goal. Once Maurice was mocked and jeered by Gaston and the other townsfolk for his claims about Belle being held captive by the Beast, and due to everyone else already having regarded Maurice as a crazy lunatic, Gaston came up with his idea to blackmail Belle into marrying him. Knowing how much Belle loves and is protective of her father, he believed she would do anything to keep him from being locked up. So Gaston decided to blackmail Belle with a threat of having Maurice thrown into the asylum owned by Monsieur D’Arque…but if she agreed to marry him, Maurice would be a free man.

We don’t see it on screen, but between when he left LeFou at Belle’s house and until Belle and Maurice finally came home, Gaston was probably growing impatient, waiting for them to return so he could finally set his plan in motion and hear Belle finally say “Yes”. While his confidence that Belle would accept his proposal (what with how he organized the prearranged wedding outside her house) had been shattered, it was all too obvious that Gaston was FAR MORE confident that this plan would NOT fail at all since it involved an ultimatum. He believed that Belle would be left with no choice but to give a positive response to his desire that she would marry him just to ensure that her father would not be taken away.

When Maurice is being carried off by D’Arque’s men and towards their carriage, Gaston slinks out of the shadows and tells Belle he will clear up the “misunderstanding” about her father…if she marries him. Horrified and disgusted, Belle again refuses to marry Gaston, and in his anger at being rejected by once more, Gaston allows Maurice to be dragged away. However, using the magic mirror the Beast had given to her before she left his castle, Belle reveals the existence of the Beast to the villagers. Gaston grows even more frustrated after his whole plan fails and is shocked that Maurice was indeed telling the truth. But when Belle begins referring to the Beast as her “kind and gentle friend”, Gaston grows increasingly jealous, realizing that she prefers a “monster” over himself. When he calls Belle out for having feelings for an ugly monster like the Beast, she angrily defends the latter and retorts back to Gaston that he is the real monster. This proves to be the final straw for Gaston, as he finally snaps, calling Belle as crazy as her father and quickly convinces the villagers that the Beast is a threat to them and must be destroyed immediately. So he leads a mob to the castle, telling them to take down what they find while he takes on the Beast himself.

Now the actions and words exchanged between Gaston and Belle in this entire scene provides a lot more information for me to interpret with what they are really thinking and feeling, especially because they both reach their tipping points and snap. With Belle, when Gaston tells her he will have Maurice be set free as long as she agrees to marry him, Belle says “WHAT?!” in a very shocked tone of voice. The way she speaks and even the look she has on her face as she says it tells me that Belle has realized that Gaston set this whole thing up with Monsieur D’Arque and his men. She is completely disgusted to learn that Gaston still wants to marry her, even though she made it VERY clear from her earlier rejection that she does NOT reciprocate his feelings and does NOT want to be with him! But Belle is also appalled that Gaston has stooped so low by resorting to blackmail just to have his way by marrying her! When he says, “One little word, Belle. That’s all it takes.”, Gaston wraps his arm around Belle and gets up in her face, as if he’s trying to be smooth and sweet-talk her into finally saying “Yes”. Also, given that he gets so up close to her face makes it appear that he is waiting for a kiss from her to seal the deal. However, Belle, who is further disgusted by Gaston making more advances on her by “affectionately” TOUCHING her, roughly PUSHES Gaston’s face away from her with both of her hands, allowing her to be removed from his “embrace”, and shouts “NEVER!” Belle’s rejective answer and gesture of pushing him away angers Gaston so much that he responds, “Have it your way!”

When Belle reveals that the Beast is real, everyone is horrified upon seeing him, but Belle tries to assure them that the Beast is her friend and is not at all dangerous despite his monstrous, hideous appearance. But when Gaston grabs her by her shoulders and accuses her of being in love with a monster instead of a man like himself, Belle becomes even more shocked and furious by this insult. She pulls herself away to get Gaston’s hands off her (again, showing her disgust at being touched by him) before she snaps back that HE is the real monster. Belle’s anger and offense over the Beast being dubbed a monster by Gaston, and her retort that the latter the real monster, shows that she has reached her tipping point. But it’s not just because the Beast has been insulted; her rage at Gaston shows that she is COMPLETELY fed up with him! She has had ENOUGH of him! Like I said above, Belle had realized that Gaston had arranged for her father to be taken to the asylum unless she caved in and agreed to marry him (Gaston). She was so repulsed that Gaston resorted to using this kind of force to make her change her mind when she made it clear to him before that she does NOT want to be with him! And NOW Gaston had the nerve to insult the Beast, the only real friend Belle has, and has ever had, and all JUST because of his appearance, while knowing NOTHING about him at all like she does!

With Gaston, he becomes very frustrated when Belle rejects his offer to let Maurice go if she marries him, proves the Beast is real, meaning that her father’s claims have been true all the time, and when she insults him after he insults the Beast. Why? Because Belle has AGAIN gotten the best of him AND humiliated him in front of the whole town! Once more, Gaston’s plan to get Belle to marry him has TOTALLY FAILED! He has again been proven wrong that he would get what he wanted. He has again realized the hard way that he was wrong about Belle, and about the Beast once Belle revealed him. With this plan having fallen apart, too, Gaston’s anger slowly starts to rise when Belle describes the Beast in a positive way. The way she speaks so fondly of him, regardless of his ugly exterior, makes Gaston realize that Belle is in love with the Beast, which fills him up with jealousy and rage. But he’s not simply jealous and angry because Belle loves someone else; it’s that she prefers a monstrous-looking CREATURE over a good-looking HUMAN like himself. Gaston cannot stand or tolerate the fact that this “monster” is his competitor, his rival, the one who poses a threat to him in trying to win Belle’s heart. His intolerance proves just how shallow Gaston is, because he only sees what is on the exterior, so it’s why he dismisses the Beast as nothing but a monster! In fact, when he is called the true monster as opposed to the Beast, like @silentviolin678 and I agreed, Gaston reaches his tipping point and snaps because he is EXTREMELY offended that he, a handsome man, has been compared to a hideous beast…and ESPECIALLY so because Belle has insulted him in front of the villagers!

Belle has tarnished Gaston’s image, dented his pride, and hurt his ego again by hurling this kind of insult at him, which is even worse than her refusing to marry him and outwitting him front of everyone for a second time!

When Gaston declares that he will kill the Beast, and especially when he shouts “The Beast is MINE!”, it’s not difficult to realize why he makes this decision. Although he easily convinces the villagers that the Beast is a danger to them, this is not at all what Gaston really believes. Gaston wants to kill the Beast, and do it all by himself, because he sees him as being in the way of what he wants, that being Belle, and so he takes this VERY personally. Gaston cannot and will NOT tolerate the idea of losing Belle to this “monster”, and he absolutely refuses to let there be a chance of it happening! So he plots to eliminate the Beast in order to make Belle his once and for all. Now of course, Gaston remains aware that Belle will never love him and never agree to marry him. But again, it all comes down to his deep-seated need and desire, his feelings of superiority and entitlement, to get what he wants, to come out on top, to win.

By this point in the film, Gaston’s obsession to marry Belle and rage over her love of the Beast, and not him, has consumed him that his desire to win is stronger than ever. He may be a man on the outside, but like Belle so correctly described him, Gaston has turned into an insane, sadistic, ruthless, murderous monster.

When Gaston finally finds the Beast in the West Wing, he fires an arrow into him, tosses him out of the window onto a lower section of the roof and taunts him, trying to get him to fight. The Beast doesn’t respond or try to fight back, having lost his will to live since Belle’s departure. So Gaston breaks off a nearby castle statue to use it as a makeshift club to try to kill the Beast. Just as he is about to deliver the first blow, Belle arrives outside the castle and calls up to Gaston. Seeing Belle again regains the Beast’s strength and he grabs the club, growling viciously and fighting back with great strength and animal ferocity, much to Gaston’s sudden surprise.

Gaston quickly discovers that he cannot rely on brute strength alone to kill the Beast. So instead, having correctly deduced that the Beast is in love with Belle, he taunts him to anger him and bring him out of hiding, saying that Belle would never love a monster since she already had a man like him (Gaston). This draws the Beast out of his hiding spot, and the two resume fighting. Gaston pushes the final button by saying that Belle belongs to HIM. The remark draws the Beast’s ire more than ever, and he furiously head-butts Gaston in the chest, disarming him, then grabs and holds him by the throat above the castle moat. With his life at stake, Gaston reveals his cowardly side, abandoning his pride and pathetically begging for mercy. So the Beast relents and gruffly orders Gaston to get out and never return.

However, when Gaston recovers his strength, he looks up to see the Beast climbing the castle wall towards the West Wing’s balcony to reunite Belle. Seeing the two lovers approach each other makes him more jealous and furious than ever. Still refusing to lose Belle to this “monster”, Gaston follows the Beast, fiercely determined to kill him once and for all. As the Beast and Belle embrace, Gaston takes them by total surprise when he plunges the entire blade of his knife into the Beast’s back while dangling unsteadily from the balcony. Before he can deliver a second blow, the Beast swings his arm backward at him in pain. While trying to dodge it, Gaston suddenly loses his balance, falls off the castle, and screams at the top of his lungs as he plunges down into the abyss below to his death.

Now I said recently that Gaston’s pride, prejudice, and arrogance ultimately proved to be his downfall. In the moments before his death, he becomes so caught up in trying to kill his enemy that he appears to be paying no attention to his surroundings. When Gaston stabbed the Beast, given his dangerous, unsteady position of dangling from the balcony, he was probably more desperate and determined than ever to kill him, to eliminate his competition, that he didn’t even notice where he was and the danger in which he had put himself. Of course, there is still a chance that Gaston did realize this, but didn’t care. If he didn’t care, then I believe it was because by that point, he honestly felt that if HE couldn’t have Belle, then NO ONE could…but especially not a hideous monster like the Beast!

While Gaston would die all alone that night, the Beast would succumb to the injury Gaston had inflicted on him. But Belle confessed her love for him before the final petal fell off the rose, and he was revived in his human prince form. The prince had gone from monster to man thanks to the influence of Belle and their love for each other, while Gaston has gone from man to monster due to his twisted obsession with Belle.

All things considered, Gaston learned the hard way (in fact, much too late) that pride LITERALLY and TRULY comes before a fall. 😉

Conclusion

And so there you have it with my thoughts on Gaston’s sexist, misogynistic views about women, superior beliefs about men, and how he considered Belle to be a challenge and a threat, but still wanted to marry her, and regardless of her refusals!

I tell you, Gaston may be my least favorite Disney animated villain, but like with any analysis I write, it WAS a lot of fun writing about him and deciphering his prejudicial views about women while considering men to be superior to women. But I guess this is why I enjoy studying villains as a whole AND individually. You see, I love villains because there can be so much psychological depth to them. A lot of them share the same personality traits but to different levels. A lot of them share the same motives, but for different reasons. Now it’s not like ALL good stories NEED a villain, but I think having a villain in a story can add conflict, buildup, and challenges for the hero, one that he/she must overcome and achieve his/her goal by the end. And sometimes, the challenges and conflicts that are brought in by the presence of the villain can even add excitement to the story. All in all, lots of good stories feature the protagonists achieving his/her goals and having a happy ending, while the villains face justice and punishment for their crimes. On occasion that the villains do die in their stories, it can still come out as poetic justice for their misdeeds.

So thank you all for reading this MONSTER of an analysis about Gaston and his prejudicial thoughts and beliefs, which is an even more monstrous analysis than my beloved “When Megara Met Hercules”! Until next time, happy reading, and have a wonderful day! 😁😁😁

#Beauty and the Beast analyses #Disney #Disney Beauty and the Beast #Beauty and the Beast #Gaston #Disney Villain #villain #Belle #prejudice #sexism #narcissism #superiority #arrogance #misogyny #men #women #my stuff #mine

212 notes · View notes

squadrablog · 4 years

Note

Now hear me out: (Non-binary reader x Hot Pants) Reader has a stand that can read people’s souls, sort of like an aura and gets curious about what they see on Hot Pants, extreme guilt (we all know what happened to her brother right?). They follow her around awhile through the race trying to see what up with her and slowly befriends her along the way. Reader also has no combat experience so H.P. has to save them a few times but she still lets them ride along with her because they’re nice.

Finally finished it! I keep it free of most major spoilers for Steel Ball Run. I also decided to make Hot Pants a trans woman as per my wife’s request, and both your and her conception of gender is like... affirmed but also contemporary with the time period and understood through the lens of what would be available in the 19th century.

Hot Pants x Nonbinary Reader

Ao3 Mirror Here.

Words: 8414

Warnings: Really light body horror (just Hot Pants’s Cream Starter), and mild violence + animal death. Light angst.

Under cut for length!

Something happened to you in the desert during that last stage.

You had barely escaped with your life from what you had rationalized was a sinkhole, or a sandstorm, or maybe one of those hallucinations of an oasis people have when they’re on the verge of dehydration, although you hadn’t been tricked into seeing water but rather large arching natural rock formations around a smooth bowl shaped crater. Before the ground swallowed the whole landmass up and buried you in a tomb of sand you managed to guide your horse away from the danger, but not unscathed.

While you and your horse had managed to avoid a terrible death with only minor physical injuries, after you had set up camp you started to realize that something was wrong with you. As you fed the fire you realized despite the growing warmth, your hands were shaking. You were in something of a daze, and you kept seeing things out of the corner of your eye, causing you to jump and yelp and call out to any possible intruders only to hear no answer. You could tell your horse was starting to get a bit jumpy too. Could she sense the strange presence as well?

No, she could not. She was reacting entirely to your stress. You were making her nervous... concerned for you, even? Yes… concerned. Was that too human an emotion for her to feel? Were you projecting onto her, anthropomorphizing her to cope with your current mental state? You were close to her, sure, and you could pick up on her body language better than anyone. But this feeling you had watching her now was so strange, as if you were looking past those usual outward displays you used to read her and were seeing something else. Almost as if she was whispering to you in a language only you could understand… or you were at least hearing an interpreter whisper for her.

You screamed again when you saw something in the corner of your eye. It was a hand, translucent and only vaguely human, hovering right above your own, but when you turned to look at it, it was gone.

The near-death experience had been pretty traumatizing. You cursed yourself for following after that Gyro man in some attempt to get the edge on the competition; he might have been reckless and unconventional in how he had approached the race so far, but he had the skill to back it up. You weren't bad on a horse by any means, but the rough terrain and constant toughing it in the wilderness was way harder than you had ever imagined, and it was taking its toll on you. From here on out you would take the paths that the majority of the other racers were using and not get tempted by every promise of a shortcut from some eccentric rider playing loose and fast with life and death.

You apologized to your horse for scaring her again before crawling inside your bedroll and covering your head, shutting your eyes tight, willing yourself to sleep and leave these phantoms behind with the night. Come morning you’d be better.

And come morning, you were better.

For a while.

When you were riding with your horse alone in the wilderness, finally comfortable in the safety that the main course provided, you felt ecstatic. You loved horse riding of course, you wouldn’t be doing this otherwise, but something was different today. You and your horse were in perfect sync and you swore you felt as energetic and driven as if you were her yourself. If this was going to be the tone for the rest of the race then you’d have no problem leaving your waking desert nightmare long behind you.

When you saw the checkpoint in the distance you became even more excited, rushing ahead with all the energy your horse had been saving up for this point. You probably weren’t first but you were absolutely giddy at the thought of crossing another checkpoint. The closer you got, the more excited you were, until you realized something definitely felt off about everything.

Your excitement was starting to make you jittery. Frantic, even. The closer you got to the crowds of people cheering at the top of their lungs the shakier your breathing got. You didn’t have a problem with the crowds before the race, so why now?

Your horse of course picked up on your stress and you felt it magnified back towards you worse than before. You weren’t sure what was worse, the joyful excitement that threatened to drown you, or the anxiety feedback loop between you and your companion.

When you crossed the finish line you didn’t even listen for the announcer to try to figure out what place you were in. You dismounted your horse, tied her to a hitching post, and stumbled as best as you could towards the food and water table set up for competitors. All you needed was some cold water to ground you, that’s all. Maybe you were still shaken up from last night and it had just chosen a bad time to boil back up to the surface.

You practically fell over, stepping back suddenly, when another hand that wasn’t yours extended from your own to grab at a cup of water you were reaching for. It was the ghost hand from last night, only this time it didn’t disappear. To your horror it actually grew out of you until it was an entire creature, humanoid in shape but alien in appearance.

You looked around frantically at everyone in your vicinity, but all they did was raise their eyebrows at you in confusion, looking at you like you were out of your mind. Could no one else see it? You could only faint from the shock.

---

When you woke up you were in a medical tent, but you felt no relief when upon scanning the room for any staff members you once again met the gaze of the ghost that had put you here to begin with.

“What are you!? What do you want with me?” you demanded, only to receive no reply.

“So you do have one,” an intimidating voice called out behind you. Your head snapped back and you saw an androgynous stranger dressed in hot pink sitting in one of the chairs by the tent’s entrance, staring at you with an apathetic expression. The words seemed less directed at you and more just the stranger musing out loud.

Despite what must have been a conscious attempt from the stranger to disguise any secondary sex characterisitics, you knew right away she was a woman. You knew it before your eyes had even adjusted to get a good look at her. You suddenly knew a lot of things about her that you had idea how you knew. Her face was entirely unreadable and gave nothing away, but it didn’t need to.

This woman was a cosmos of warring emotions that threatened to rip her apart from the inside. How could she sit there and look so calm when she was currently drowning, burning, and crumbling before your very eyes? Shame, fear, despair, grief, an ocean during a storm.

You had many questions fighting in your mind for permission to be asked first. Who was she? Could she see the ghost? Did she know what it was?

“Are you… are you okay?” you sputtered out instead. Her overwhelming aura had won out against all your curiosity.

She raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

You couldn’t articulate why you had asked her that unprompted, but there was no way you were just projecting emotions this time like you had with your horse. These were human emotions from a human woman that were attacking your human mind. You clutched your head and winced in pain.

“What’s happening to me?” you choked out, the beginning of sobs starting to form in your throat. “What are you doing to me?”

The ghost that had been watching you with curiosity this whole time floated up to you, placing its hand on your shoulder. Your instinct was to flinch, but now something else was overwhelming all your senses. You didn’t notice at first, but this ghost had a mirror where its face should be, and now that you were staring at it you could only see yourself. Then there was a gentle calm, a bright light snatching away your vision, and a sudden realization.

This thing was you.

Although you were spared the continued assault of the stranger’s emotions, your now exhausted body drifted off once again.

When you woke up again it seemed as if not too much time had passed, as the announcer’s voice could still be heard calling out race results in the distance and the lighting in the tent hadn’t changed much. You sat up again and glanced around. The ghost was gone, and so was the woman. It hadn’t been a dream, had it?

Well, if there were no nurses available to check up on you before heading out you supposed you’d make your leave. As you popped out of your own tent and glanced into the others you passed by you supposed you could understand. While you had fainted most of the other people needing medical attention had some pretty nasty injuries from the race. After finally leaving the medical tents behind you saw a familiar (and very much not a figment of your imagination) pink figure in the distance, preparing to mount her horse.

She wasn’t getting away that easily! You ran to intercept her, unsure of what to call to get her attention, settling on just, “Hey! You!”

She turned towards you as you approached, and without a change of expression she went back to readying her horse. “You’re awake,” she stated, matter of factly.

“You left before I could talk to you!” you wheezed out, catching your breath. “You didn’t explain anything!”

“I don’t have anything to explain,” she replied flatly, still not turning to look at you as she untied her horse from the hitching post. “But if you have something to ask I suggest you ask it now.”

“But you were waiting for me to wake up! And you know about the ghost that I saw, right? And… when I looked at you before everything got all… weird and dark…? But it’s not like that anymore! Did you fix me?”

“I saw you out in the desert,” she replied, ignoring your questions. “You found the same rock formations I did, didn’t you? No one else could see the thing you call a ‘ghost’ except for me. I thought you’d have answers, but you don’t know anything, so I saw no point to sticking around,” she explained before climbing up onto her horse.

“Wait, don’t go!” you called after her, but her horse was already trotting off. You looked around for the hitching post with your own horse and quickly got to work mounting her before trying to catch up with the mysterious woman. You pulled up beside her and gave her a big frown, but she didn’t even look over at you. “Please, I have no idea what’s happening!”

“I answered all your questions, didn’t I?” she asked, increasing her horse’s pace while you pulled ahead to match it. She didn’t, not even a little bit, but it seemed like she might be in the same boat as you. Didn’t she want to figure out what was going on? How could she be so disinterested?

“Are you being serious right now?”

“I’m always serious,” she said, finally sparing a scathing glance in your direction. Approaching the border of the town where streets finally made way to an open dirt path, her horse started up a reasonably well paced running speed, leaving you behind in a cloud of dust. She really wasted no time cooling down between stages before getting right back in there, did she?

Fine then, you’d keep pace. You’d follow her across this entire damn continent if you had to in order to get an explanation you were satisfied with.

At first you didn’t try to continue your conversation since most of your energy was placed on just trying to catch up and stay caught up. While the overwhelming anxiety you had felt in the presence of the crowded city streets had faded to background noise, distancing yourself even further was still a huge relief. Whatever your ‘ghost’ had done to you before you passed out the second time, it seemed to make the influx of emotions ebb to a steady trickle. You also felt like you had a bit more control of what you took in now, focusing your new ‘ability’ at your horse and shutting everything else out.

Whatever was going on with you at least it was making you a better competitor, more in tune with your horse than you ever had been. You were starting to realize you’d need any advantage you could get if this was only a starting pace for the woman. Once your horse got comfortable staying in line with her horse and you felt confident she wasn’t going to try to pull ahead again you called out to her.

“Who are you?” you asked. A reasonable question that could perhaps break the ice. When she didn’t answer you told her your name instead. Nothing. You glanced over and noticed the brand on her horse that read: “HP? Are those your initials?” Again, silence.

You had something you could use to get her attention, although you hadn’t wanted to start with it. Still, it was something about her that made you very curious. She was clearly trying to disguise the fact that she was a woman from other competitors, and while there were plenty of viable reasons a woman would want to do that, and she might not react well to being found out, you had to know if her reasons were similar to yours.

You wore clothing that disguised aspects of your figure and facial features, in addition to a wide brimmed hat, bulky scarf, and gloved hands. A lot of people assumed you were a man by default, but others sometimes projected different traits onto you. Truth is that you’d rather keep it a mystery, leave everyone guessing. You never felt like you fit into either the world of men or of women, but you had never met another person who felt the same way as you.

While you knew this stranger was definitely a woman, could the fact she disguised herself mean she understood too? Or was it for her safety?

“You’re a woman, right?” you asked, a bit awkwardly. You immediately regretted it when although it had the desired effect of getting her attention she now turned towards you with a glare.

“What makes you think that?” she asked, controlling her expression back to its neutral unreadable state, turning back to look ahead.

“The ghost told me so,” you said. “But you don’t want people to know.”

“It would be inconvenient, but I don’t really care what anyone thinks of me. I can’t be blackmailed,” she responded, a bit of gruff annoyance seeping into her voice. “What about you? Are you not also attempting to hide your identity with the way you’re dressed? I’ll warn you now, if you’re an outlaw I won’t hesitate to knock you off that horse and hang you.”

“Oh my God, what?” you yelled at her, taken aback. “No! I just… don’t want people looking at me, is all!”

“I’ve noticed,” she replied. “Which is why I wasn’t expecting you to follow after me.” Had she been keeping an eye on you? Noticing your withdrawn and secretive nature? You did rank decently in the first race, so it would make sense if she did some snooping on her competitors. “But here you are, after I’ve already told you I have nothing for you.”

“But... you have a ghost too, right?” you prompted. Even if she seemed to think comparing notes wasn’t worthwhile, you had to disagree. And now that you had her talking maybe you could get some answers.

“No,” she said. “But I have this.” She pulled out what looked like a… lighter, perhaps? The handle of a gun? She did take it from her holster. “It appeared after I encountered that place in the desert. It’s called Cream Starter.”

“What is it?”

“A weapon. It lets me melt flesh.”

That was a scary thought. You hadn’t done anything like that yet. “And it’s called Cream Starter? How do you know? Is that just what you named it?”

“No,” she responded, holstering it again. “I just know.”

Did your ghost have a name too? You thought about how you’d like to get another look at it since it had not reappeared yet, but simply thinking that made it materialize into existence next to you. You flinched a little, but this time you were able to keep your fear under control. You didn’t want to scare your horse again.

You gave it a quick glance, not wanting to distract yourself from the road ahead of you. It still had that same mirror face and you noticed what looked like a rotary phone embedded into its chest. Without understanding why you knew, you knew.

“Mine is called Kiss Me Through The Phone,” you said out loud, not necessarily at her. You weren’t expecting a reply to that. You sent the ghost away and spoke again to her. “I don’t exactly understand what it does, but it lets me… tell what people are like. Who they are and how they’re feeling.” You weren’t sure if she gave a grunt in reply or not, but she didn’t say anything else.

The both of you rode in silence for a while as she seemed to have no intention of trying to ditch you, but she didn’t seem happy about you following her either. You could always check to tell exactly how she felt about you riding with her, but you were afraid of feeling that same drowning sensation you felt before you were able to control what got in and what didn’t.

Before you knew it the sun was setting and you finally broke the hours of silence. “There’s an inn up ahead in a small town! Some of the competitors look like they’re stopping there for the night!” You pointed ahead even though she wasn’t looking at you and could probably already see the distant figures of three of the other top ranking competitors heading towards a town in the distance. You recognized them as Gyro, Johnny, and Diego. While Diego had been a favorite to win from the start, the other two were generating their own buzz after their performance.

But your companion did not change course to veer closer to the cliffs leading into town, but stayed on the lower path.

“Wait! The inn is at the top of this hill!” you called, as if it was possible for her to not already know that.

“Don’t let me stop you,” she called back at you, continuing ahead as your horse’s speed faltered a bit. You wanted to rest in a comfortable inn and you had already sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t follow any more shortcuts presented by other riders after what happened in the desert. But you didn’t die in the desert, did you? It was almost as if you were fated to end up there and receive this power. And now you had met someone else caught up in the same situation.

You already knew what type of person she was. She was cold, but not malicious. She was harboring a deep pain within her, something she was able to keep hidden from everyone else but not from you. She was lonely, and you were no stranger to loneliness yourself. You had kept your true self hidden from everyone since the race started, and for some time before it if you were being honest. You were drawn to her, despite the way that your stomach turned every time you imagined the terrible pain that peering into her soul had given you.

But she was the one who had to bear that pain the worst, always. She couldn’t shut it off like you could. If you couldn’t help her fight it, maybe you could at least help her carry it.

---

“Why couldn’t we just sleep at the inn and leave earlier than everyone else? Are we really saving that much time by camping a bit ahead of the others?” you whined. You had been complaining like this for a while as you helped Hot Pants set up camp.

You had finally learned her name was Hot Pants, but knowing HP was indeed an acronym had you playfully calling her that occasionally, her much to her indignation. You also saw her Cream Starter in action briefly as it managed to heal some scrapes on her horse’s legs as if they had never been there. The thick meaty substance was a little gross, but the fact that it had applications outside of use as a weapon made you a little less afraid of it.

“I’m not making you camp with me,” she said in her usual blunt tone. “You chose to follow me.” You knew she was right, but you still grumbled. It took some convincing for her to even let you camp in the same spot as her, but you had offered to share your resources and help her gather firewood.

“Sorry,” you sighed. “I’m just not used to roughing it.”

“I’m not here to take care of you,” Hot Pants said, looking at you firmly. “I won’t wait up for you in the morning, either.”

“Hear you loud and clear HP,” you said, giving her a smile. Despite the outward apathy in her expressions and words, you could be sure her hostility was mostly empty. You did try probing her with your ability just a bit more, focusing on the outer layers of her psyche without diving any deeper than you needed to. At the forefront of her mind, beyond the despair she held deep within, was a fierce determination and a sense of hope that had been overshadowed last time you looked at her soul. Knowing that she had found some distant light to strive for had you a bit relieved for her sake.

Still, as surface level as you tried to keep your readings now, you still felt a bit guilty about seeing her as you had before. It didn’t sit right with you to keep silent about it, and you felt like in the spirit of trying to gain her trust you should be open about it. After the fire was built up to a level where it didn’t need your constant attention you leaned back and decided to bite the bullet.

“HP… about when I first saw you,” you began. You were expecting her to ignore you until you got to your main point since she wasn’t very tolerant of any preamble in your conversations, but this time she did look at you with a raised eyebrow. “With my ability… I saw something really scary inside you, really painful to experience. I don’t know what it means, but I just thought you should know.”

“My soul has strayed too far from God’s light, then?” she said as a question, although with her flat delivery it sounded more like a statement. You were expecting denial of what you saw, or annoyance that you saw it, but you weren’t expecting her to say something like that.

“What? No? It wasn’t like… evil or anything. Just… sad,” you said. You hadn’t wanted to use the word ‘sad’ because it stood in such stark opposition to the unaffected aura she was trying to project, and you didn’t want her to feel insulted.

But she gave a small chuckle, quiet enough to where you almost didn’t hear it. “Just sad,” she repeated, to herself. She looked towards you with a weird kind of curious smile. “Earlier you had also said that my soul is that of a woman, correct?”

“Y-yeah… that’s how I could tell. And, I mean… if you already know it then some of your prettier features start to stick out, more,” you began, your cheeks quickly flushing a bit in embarrassment for admitting you found her attractive. You tried to backpedal. “But if you’re worried about other people finding out-!”

“No,” she said, interrupting you. “I told you already, I don’t care about that. I’m just surprised is all.”

“Surprised?” you asked in a tone of confusion.

She looked at you as if it was the first time she was really taking you in as another person, not just a competitor or obstacle she was sizing up. But before too much vulnerability could show through, she was closed off again. It was silent for a long while and it was clear the conversation was over for her, but you didn’t want to relinquish any of the progress you had made so far so you awkwardly tried to start up the conversation again.

“I’ve just never met someone else who’s tried hiding their gender is all,” you blurted out. You had thought that maybe being vulnerable about your own secret would show her you were trustworthy, but you regretted it soon after you said it. “I mean, whatever you’re doing it for is probably different, but! I was just… I don’t know… curious!”

“Your disguise is for hiding your gender?” she asked, seemingly interested in the conversation again. “It’s effective. I really can’t tell one way or the other.”

You gave an involuntary smile at that. “Th-thanks! Truth is… I don’t really like being seen as anything in particular… ever since I was a kid it always felt weird. I know that probably doesn’t make much sense to you… you probably want to know what I actually am...”

Once again, she was looking at you very closely, her face its usual neutral but far more relaxed and visibly contemplative. “No,” she said again. “It doesn’t concern me.”

While she had tried to say it the same apathetic way she had said it before, as if she really didn’t care to hear any more about your life story, once again reading her revealed a softness to her intentions. It was meant as an affirmation. You gave her a big sheepish grin in response to that, and she let out an annoyed huff before standing up and heading to her bed roll.

She said she wouldn’t wait up for you in the morning, but the next day you could tell that the noisy way she packed up her supplies was intentional.

---

“Those two took my cattle,” Hot Pants said with some uncharacteristic frustration, reaching over to one of the bags on the side of her horse to dig around for something. She pulled out two ropes and began tying them into what you slowly realized was two nooses. “They’ll hang for that.”

“Huh!? Really? I can understand being upset but don’t you think that’s kind of harsh?”

She looked towards you as if she could not possibly understand what your reasoning was. “They’ve broken one of the laws of this land, correct? Is the punishment outlined by your laws not hanging?”

You weren’t familiar with the exact word of the law, but something like that was probably true. Still, the idea that she could be so casual about hanging two men who you hadn’t even investigated yet had you pouting.

It was also interesting to note the way she said “your laws” and the laws of “this land.” She had registered in this race as an American, right? Did her origins have to do with her disguise? Or was she just from the other side of the continent? Maybe you’d ask her about it later. She had been a tad more open with you lately, although she had yet to tell you her “true objective,” which you slowly began to realize through small clues here and there that it was not winning the Steel Ball Run.

As you got closer you saw it was Gyro Zeppeli and Johnny Joestar. “Nice weather for racing, isn’t it?” Hot Pants asked casually as she threw both nooses over a tree branch. “But I’m not here to talk. Can I ask the two of you to dismount so I can hang you properly?”

Gyro furrowed his eyebrows and looked between Hot Pants and you. You just looked at him a bit wide-eyed and awkwardly shrugged your shoulders. You didn’t like the idea any more than he did. Hopefully the three of them could talk things out.

“You’re that Hot Pants guy, aren’t you?” Gyro asked before looking at you and saying the false name you had entered the race under as well.

“The two of you finished an hour before anyone else, what need do you have to kill off the competition like this?” Johnny asked, frustration as well as curiosity laced into his voice. You directed your ghost’s power towards the two men and found no hostile intentions between either of them on a surface level.

“You misunderstand my intentions,” Hot Pants said. “That cattle you slaughtered for its meat was mine. For theft of cattle the punishment is hanging.”

“Hey, HP? I think that we should hear them out…” you said, but it came out a bit more quietly than you were hoping before Gyro was speaking over you.

“Hey, hey, hey, let’s not be hasty. We only took a little bit, but only because the cow was already dead and picked apart by scavengers by the time-” he started, but he was interrupted by Hot Pants jumping off her horse with her spray bottle at the ready. You really wished Hot Pants wasn’t the kind of person to act before talking. She had already started spraying them with her Cream Starter, and while Gyro had reached for what appeared to be a weapon of sorts he was immediately overtaken by the fleshy substance.

“Ah! HP!” you yelled to try to get her attention, but she was paying you no mind, tackling Gyro off his horse and to the ground. Johnny Joestar held his finger out towards her in a gesture reminiscent of aiming a gun, although unlike Gyro he didn’t have a weapon on him, but HP was quickly spraying him as well. Soon the faces of the two men were covered with a thin layer of flesh that blocked all their orifices, causing them to thrash around sightless and unable to breathe.

You probed them a bit deeper to ascertain their guilt, since Hot Pants wasn’t going to listen to reason. As far as you could tell Gyro had been truthful in saying that they had come across the cow already dead, and deeper than that he didn’t seem like a bad person by any means. Certainly not the type of guy who deserved to be hung. Johnny Joestar was a little trickier to get a read on, and while you could tell he too was not necessarily a bad person he did harbor a deep anger and an almost dark level of determination that kind of frightened you a bit. If you could stay off his bad side, you definitely would. Hot Pants wouldn’t listen to them, but you hoped she’d listen to you.

“HP, please! They didn’t kill the cow! Gyro is telling the truth, they really did just find it like that!” you called out to her. She hesitated for a second before crawling off Gyro and calling off her Cream Starter’s attack. Just in time too, it looked like Gyro was about to hit her with that iron ball of his.

“If you say it’s true, then it is,” she said, casting a glance in your direction. “But I won’t apologize to someone who ate meat that legally belonged to me, regardless of how much they took.” She walked casually back over to her horse and remounted it.

“Bastard,” Gyro grumbled under his breath. “Good riddance.”

“Wait!” Johnny said before Hot Pants could move her horse. “Did you get your stand from the Devil’s Palm too?”

“Stand?” you asked.

“Yeah, that’s what they’re called. I got one during the Arizona leg of the race too, out in the desert,” he further explained.

Hot Pants looked thoughtful for a moment, although she remained quiet. You weren’t about to let the opportunity go to waste though, and you pulled out your Through The Phone.

“Is this ghost a stand too?” you asked.

The two men looked a little shocked at first before relaxing. “Probably,” Johnny said. “Looks like mine and some others I’ve seen.”

“There’s others? How many!?”

“I dunno… we’re bound to see more by the time this race is finished, though.”

Hot Pants was looking over her shoulder at you, clearly already content with the amount of information she had received and ready to get going. You were a bit surprised that she was actually waiting for you before going on ahead, but the thought made you happy.

“Well, maybe we’ll run into each other again!” you offered with a friendly wave good-bye. The two men looked at each other with raised eyebrows, confused with your demeanor considering your riding companion had just tried to kill them, but they offered a reluctant farewell as your horse trotted off after her.

After you had put some distance between yourselves and them she muttered out, “We still need to hang the one responsible.”

“I’ll give you some of my food tonight if it would make you feel better,” you offered to placate her.

“It’s not about the food. It’s against the law. If justice doesn’t exist out here, I’ll bring it myself,” she stated. While her convictions seemed almost a little ridiculous to you, you could tell from her aura that she did in fact abide by this black and white sense of righteousness. You hoped for the thief's sake that you two didn’t stumble upon them.

After a while of trotting along on your horses you started to feel like all the trees looked the same. It felt like you were making no progress at all, no matter how long you walked for. Eventually Hot Pants took out her compass and gave a confused huff at whatever she saw on its display. The two of you noticed some familiar figures that you thought you had just left behind drawing closer, and a small log house some ways behind them.

“Well, at least we can trust those two to help us out,” Hot Pants said plainly, pulling up ahead of you. Despite your fear from the current predicament you were in, you couldn’t help but smile a bit. Her choosing to trust those two was an extension of her choosing to trust you. That thought also made you happy.

---

You hadn’t been ready for a gunfight, let alone a stand fight. That man, Ringo Roadagain, didn’t even bother looking at you. You weren’t worth his time, and you could have honestly gotten out unscathed if you had stayed back like Hot Pants told you to. But when he aimed to shoot her you ran to push her out of the way, acting on pure instinct, and you were shot pretty badly in the process. You were out cold after that and by the time you finally came to your senses it was night time.

You sat up quickly, frantically feeling at your shoulder to assess the status of your wound, but you quickly realized that there was nothing there except a faint dull pain. You were on top of your bedroll in front of a campfire, your horse next to Hot Pants’s horse.

“You’re awake,” came a familiar voice, and you turned to see her sitting on a log, watching you, her head leaned on her steepled fingers.

“Did we… get out of there?” you asked, a bit groggy.

“Yes. I healed your wound.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, laying back down on your bed roll.

“You would risk your life to save that of a stranger?” she asked, straight to the point. No ‘you’re welcome’ or ‘how are you feeling’ or even ‘that was a close one’, as her eyes continued to bore into you. “You have no reason to believe I’d do the same for you.”

You gave her a tired smile and chuckled, which only made her eyebrows furrow in annoyance. “You could have left me back there. Even if you just wanted to heal my wounds to be polite… you could have left me behind.”

“You’re clearly trustworthy,” she said, a little too quick, as if to dismiss the idea that it was purely out of the goodness of her heart. “I need allies I can depend on, and your stand will be useful in discerning who stands in the way of my objectives.”

“Hmm… so it’s just because I’m useful? How utilitarian of you,” you said, your smile turning into a smirk. But still, did that mean she was officially inviting you along? Was she no longer going to pretend that you just happened to be in the same places she was in and that you were of ‘no concern’ to her? The mention of her ‘objectives’ also made you think she might let you in on whatever she was really in this race to do.

Hot Pants finally broke eye contact with you. “You’re a good person. And you can keep pace with me.” There she went again, dampening a compliment by following it with another less sentimental, more practical one. She stood up and made sure the now dwindling fire was fully out before she went to her own bedroll, slipping inside it and turning her body so it faced away from you. “Next time do not sacrifice yourself for my sake.”

You just smiled to yourself, getting settled in your own bedroll, which you realized that she must have spread out for you. Your heart fluttered a bit at the deep appreciation and respect noticeably radiating off her.

---

“They got ahold of another corpse part,” Hot Pants said, putting her binoculars down. “Good.” Gyro and Johnny were off far in the distance with a girl who Hot Pants had recognized as Lucy Steel. It seems as if you caught them in the aftermath of some battle, as they were looking pretty beat up, but they had managed to secure the spine. There had been some heavy rainfall earlier, but the sky was finally starting to clear up, which you were glad for.

“Why can’t we just work with them, instead of waiting to steal the parts later?” You already knew why, of course. You’d seen Johnny’s overwhelming desire to obtain the corpse, and you knew he wouldn’t give it up easily, especially not if Hot Pants was unwilling to reveal her true intentions to him. You’d told her as much before, so she didn’t bother answering your question. While you didn’t want to hurt Johnny even you had to admit something like the holiest corpse on the face of the Earth was too precious a thing to belong to any one man. The Vatican collecting it seemed the most reasonable option to you.

“Well… let’s keep moving then,” you said after the figures in the distance were out of sight even with Hot Pants’s binoculars. The two of you continued along, and as usual you were the one trying to lead a conversation. “So, you’re like a high ranking agent of the Vatican, right? Do you go on other missions as big as this one too?”

“The Vatican deploys me as they see fit,” she said, devoid of any of the juicier details you were hoping for. “Before this I performed the duties of a sister in my covenant.”

“You’re a nun?”

“No. The Church felt my skill set made me better suited for an uncloistered life. I did spend years training to become a proper sister with the idea I may one day become a nun, but once the period of my temporary vows elapsed I underwent a different type of training.”

“Secret battle nun training?” you asked with a playful smile. She just stared at you blankly.

“It’s probably for the best, in the end. I don’t think it was God’s will that I continue on as a sister,” she said, her voice lacking its usual conviction. “Although…”

“Hm?”

“It seems it is still God’s will I live my life as a woman,” she said, almost too quiet for you to hear. “As I believe it is also He who brought us together.”

You bit your lip to stifle a giant grin that was appearing on your face, although Hot Pants was not looking in your direction anyway, now lost in her own thoughts. What types of vows did a covert agent of the Vatican have to abide by? Was it wrong that you felt yourself falling for her, little by little? Could she even be with someone like you, someone who lived as neither a man nor a woman?

The more you learned about Hot Pants, though, the more you began to suspect she and you were more alike than you originally had thought, as clearly her relationship to her gender was more complicated than it appeared on the surface. You never asked outright about it; if she wanted you to know she would tell you herself.

There had been a night when in the middle of a round of questioning from you on various aspects of Catholicism the topic of Joan of Arc had come up. Apparently there were ongoing efforts to canonize her as a saint. Joan of Arc was acting under the directions of God when she wore men’s clothes, right? It wasn’t the same at all, but… was it too hard to believe that God’s plan had accounted for your circumstances?

“Well, if that’s true, this God fellow is alright in my book,” you said with a chuckle. She turned back to give you a glare as she usually did whenever you didn’t show God what she felt was the proper amount of reverence, but it was hard taking her seriously when you could read her actual feelings at any given moment.

And for the first time since you met her she seemed content.

---

“HP!” you called out, shaking her awake with one hand, holding a lantern you had quickly lit up with the other. “HP, there’s something in the woods! Our horses ran off!”

She blinked a few times to clear the sleep from her eyes before she heard the same snapping of branches that woke you up. She shot up onto her legs and grabbed Cream Starter from her side, turning towards the noise.

“Enemies?” she muttered.

“Whoever it is, they’re angry, and… hungry? Really simple thoughts. I think it’s an animal,” you murmured, positioning yourself behind her.

Your suspicions were confirmed when a bear lumbered into your lantern’s light, its eyes a bright yellow green as they reflected back eerily at you two in the dark. It stood still for a while, sizing you two up, and you noticed that Hot Pants had noticeably tensed, her hand with her weapon still held uselessly at her side.

Just like that you were transported back to that moment you first met her, before you understood your stand’s power, when you felt the weight of the entire world crushing you from all sides as you sank lower and lower into despair. All the layers between the image Hot Pants projected outwards onto the world and the deep sadness she felt at her core were gone, and you were hit with it all at once before you could guard yourself against it.

“HP!” you yelled, clutching at your head. “HP, please!”

She was breathing heavily as she slowly turned to look at you, her eyes wide and horrified in a way that looked so wrong on her usually calm and collected face. She looked past you at something else, someone else, far away from here. Her mouth hung open with the promise of a silent shout, but the only sound she made was her panting.

“Look out!” you yelled, pushing her out of the way as the bear behind her swung its claw. She fell to the ground with you following after her, your bulky clothes ripped to shreds at your side where blood seeped out from a few of the deeper cuts. Despite the pain your adrenaline allowed you to shoot back up and drag Hot Pants away from the bear as it turned around to follow you with its gaze.

“Hot Pants, please,” you begged, your breathing just as ragged as hers. “My stand isn’t strong enough to hurt it.”

“I’m sorry,” she cried out, tears spilling from her eyes. She wasn’t talking to you, still looking past you. “Lord, I’m sorry… I’m sorry.” She repeated it over and over and when shaking her by the shoulders didn’t snap her out of it you turned around to face the bear again.

You summoned your stand and tried to think of what you knew of bear safety. Were you supposed to play dead? Was it too late if it was already attacking? Did you aim for the nose or did you try to run and not engage? Your stand was only about as strong as an average person’s strength, but you used its arms to hit the bear hard on the nose. That seemed to stun it momentarily, which gave you the opportunity to pick up Hot Pants and drape her over your shoulder as you started running away, the feelings of anger only intensifying behind you.

While Hot Pants dragged her feet initially, eventually she was able to take steps in time with your own, although she still needed your support. “I’m sorry,” she said again, although it sounded a little more grounded this time. “You’re injured.” She sobbed loudly upon finally comprehending the situation at hand. “I told you not to sacrifice yourself for me, I told you to never sacrifice yourself for me...”

“HP, it’s still after us,” you said firmly now that you had her attention. She stopped walking and removed herself from your grip.

“Keep going. I can handle it now,” she said, her voice a shaky imitation of her usual confidence.

“I’m not leaving you!” You knew she was hardly in a state to handle a bear all on her own, and you could still feel all the negativity she exuded like thick gooey tar. You didn’t want to leave her to any self-destructive impulses she may have.

“You have to live,” she said, turning back to you with a weak smile. “That bear is just here for me.”

“It’s a bear!” you shouted indignantly. “It came here for food! It doesn’t know who you are, Hot Pants! If it was a holy messenger of divine wrath I think I’d know!”

“But-” she stuttered. “My sins- I can’t-”

“I told you before,” you said, loud and firm but more gentle than your previous yelling. “Your soul doesn’t have a shred of evil in it.”

She paused for a second before turning back to face the oncoming bear, her Cream Starter raised and poised to attack. “No… not evil,” she quoted with a wavering laugh, “just sad.”

With that she was leaping forward, spraying the bear’s face with a thick layer of her meat spray and taking away any of the senses it had to track either of you. Unable to breathe or see or smell its surroundings, it thrashed wildly in all directions as she continued to spray without end, borrowing flesh from its legs which now wobbled weakly under its weight.

Eventually it collapsed and the heaving of its body as it struggled to find any air finally ceased.

Hot Pants was shaking again as she fell to her knees in front of its corpse, her Cream Starter falling out of her hand. As you tried to calm your own heart still pounding in your chest, you approached her and plopped down next to her on the dirt. She cried for a while, silent this time, as the two of you just looked at it.

“Well, at least this takes care of our food situation for a good few days,” you said at last to break the tension. When you heard her give a small laugh you were glad that you didn’t come across as insensitive. “Although I hear bear meat is pretty gamey.”

Instead of responding she abruptly wrapped her arms around you and squeezed you tight. “You saved me,” she whispered.

You were taken aback, but you slowly brought your arms to wrap around her as well. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who took it down.”

But the true meaning of her words was not lost on you. Once again your heart was overflowing with the ambience of her inner self, and while she still held an ocean within her it felt as if the storm clouds had finally parted and the waters were steady.

You two finally disentangled and stared at each other in a contemplative and comfortable silence for a long time. She had a sweet smile on her face, and you didn’t need to use your stand to see the way her eyes were sparkling with adoration.

“I won’t leave your side, Hot Pants. I’ll stay with you until this whole thing is over,” you promised, holding up your hand to cup her face. “And I’ll follow you after too, if you’d let me.”

You leaned in slowly, giving her ample space and time to move away, but she only fluttered her eyes shut and leaned in as well. Eventually the two of your lips met in a soft kiss, almost chaste but definitely warm and just a touch desperate. Slowly the two of you backed up again, searching each other’s eyes for some help in deciphering the intimate moment, but it was clear neither of you had regretted it.

She gave you a smirk, a playful twinkle in her eyes. “Whatever you do,” she began, grabbing at the hand on her face to intertwine her fingers with it. “It doesn’t concern me.”

#hot pants #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo imagines #hot pants x reader #jjba reader insert #jjba #my writing #mara-carbonaras

46 notes · View notes

nellaesarts · 3 years

Text

Fairy Tail & The Paragande Kingdom - Chapter 2

FIRST CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

X795, the following day - General headquarters of the Fairy Tail Guild

When Gray Fullbuster crosses the Guild’s principal entrance, he expected everything except to see so many serious faces. All the guilds members seemed absorbed in their discussions, so much so that nobody had seemed to notice his arrival.

“Well… I was away for only a week, and everybody looks in distress or what ?” he thrown to the assembly with a compelled smile.

His own comment, which was a little bit acerbic considering his own mind state at this moment, totally failed. Nobody turned to look at him. The Ice mage, a little bit disappointed, shrugged his shoulders and moved forward into the restaurant’s room, looking for his friends. The memory which forced their way into his thoughts every place he looked at were still so painful… It was going to take a while before he could totally accept the disappearance of his loved one but… He couldn’t run away for more time.

Gray move forward a little more in the principal room of the Guild Building but he doesn’t sees any of the Natsu’s team members. Pretty unsettling, as they were supposed to be back from their mission the night before. He then goes to Levy and Gajeel, who were sitting to a table with the Shadow Gears and Lily.

“Hey, what’s up, guys ? he says without belief. For God’s sake, he had the feeling to have been gone for months… Levy was the first one who turned to him.

– … Gray ! Oh my goodness ! How are you ?! she shouted, not without a bit of surprise in her voice. Oh, sorry ! I mean…

– That’s OK, that’s OK, said Gray to reassure her with a soothing gesture of his hand. There’s nothing wrong, don't worry Levy.

– Ya look in a good shape, buddy, said Gajeel with just a kind smile, which was neither full of pity, nor excessively happy, a thing which Gray liked very much.

– That could be better, we’ll say. Heh, did you know where are Natsu and the others ?

– Oh, right ! You wasn’t here yesterday evening ! said Jett, So you don’t know what happened !

– I don’t know about what ? Anyway, considering your faces, that wasn’t cool I guess… They bring a cursed thing or what ? asked the ice mage, very curious.

– Ah… That’s a thing we’ll know when she’d wake up. commented Gajeel.

– She ? But who are you talking about ?

Finally, that was Levy who gives him an answer.

– Yesterday evening, Lucy, Natsu and the team showed up with a girl, who was entirely out of her magic energy, and a funny creature, a “Chosen’, a kind of magical fox. The girl was almost dead. She has been taken to the infirmary of the guild right away and the Master has called Porlyusica. She’s still on the girl’s side with Mirajane. I imagine that what happened to her is really serious. About the rest of the team, they returned home to rest after spending a lot of time in the Master’s office. They went out late at night, so I guess they will come back here in a few minutes.

– I see… But why does everybody seem so concerned about this event ?

– Because we don’t know who she is and according to Happy, the mage and the chosen are pursued by enemies. We are just asking ourselves what exactly going on here, Droy answered to him. Nobody dared to get to the infirmary to learn more about. Porlyusica is waaaay too scary.

– Bah, personally, I don’t worry, said Gajeel. The Master have say that he will make a speech about it this afternoon. It shouldn’t be too long now, by the way.

– Well, what a story. I’ll let you here, I climb to see if the old man is in his office to tell him that I’m back.” Delacred Gray before moving away from the group.

The mage headed for the stairs and climbed to the first floor. He passed the hallways, surprisingly quiet, to Makarov’s office. He traveled around ten meters before stopping in front of a slightly opened door. The infirmary… I looked in and saw Mirajane with a pretty worried look and the famous magic fox which Levy spoke about in her arms. Then, he saw Porlyusica, who was turning her back to him near a young unconscious woman in a bed. So, that was her, the famous mage bringed back by Natsu and the others… She seemed to suffer despite the fact that she was clearly in a deep coma. It was quite clear that Porlyusica and Mirajane where talking about her. The young man decided to stop for a few seconds to listen to their conversation. He knew that this wasn’t correct at all, but he wanted to know more about this girl. He just have the time to look a little more that Mirajane turned herself to him. She had felt his presence for sure… She smiled to him and invited him to enter in silence before turning back to the healing wizard, showing a worried look again. Gray leaned against the infirmary door frame, discreetly.

“You says that she is out of danger, Porlyusica ? asked the sweet mage to the healer.

– Yes. She’ll stay unconscious for a long time, as she have to fully recharge her energy, but she will not die, answered Porlyusica with her usual strict voice.

– Oh, you see, Pog ! No reasons to worry anymore !

– *Yes what a relief !*

Gray jumped when he heard the voice in his head. What was this little fox who had spoken ? He looked at him a little more. That was him, without any doubt. That noticing done, he shrugged his shoulders and lowered his eyes again, just to remain discreet.

– With good reason, she was near to pass away. You have been lucky, Chosen, to found some mages of our guild, said the healer.

Pog nodded his head.

– *Yes and I am more lucky about the fact that you are not harmful at all.*

– Indeed, but as I know, there is really a few harmful mages near Magnolia, thanks to us ! added Mirajane with a smooth laugh. And I’m pretty convinced that your instinct had a lot of influence in it, Pog. Didn’t we say that the kindness attracts kindness ?

– *You are too sweet with me, Mira, you know nothing about me and you already categorize me as “kind”. Maybe I’m a horrible and evil person !*

– Let me have a serious doubt about it, Little Being. commented Porlyusica. By the way, Gray, can we do something for you ? Did you need another little bit of help ?

The ice mage jumped again and pick his eyes up. The wizard turned herself to him, with a welcoming smile on her lips - a thing rare enough to be highlighted.

– No, I… The thing you gave me the last time worked nicely, I feel better, he mumbled because of the surprise. A few weeks ago, she gave him a potion to help him to find sleep easily. Thing which he was missing… Since this day.

– Good. So, what are you doing here ?

– Originally, I climbed to see the Master, but the colleagues told me about this young woman and her magical fox, and I admit that it piqued my curiosity. When I saw the door open, I wanted to know. That was rude, please accept my apologies.

– That’s rude, indeed. But I accept your apologies for this intrusion. Porlyusica looked at the Chosen. Pog, let me introduce you to Gray Fullbuster. This is another mage of the team who saved you yesterday.

The magical creature jumped off Mirajane’s arms to come closer to Gray. The mage looked at the small being with curiosity. It was so human and so animal at the same time, but in a totally different way than Exceed were.

– *Nice to meet you, Gray. My name’s Pog, and the young woman over there is called Alexandria. We come from the Paragande Kingdom.*

– The Paragande Kingdom ? Never heard of it before…

– *That’s normal, our country is located on the other side of the ocean, from several months of sailing, on a continent which is not know and with which there are not much contact because of the distance. So, that’s not astonishing that you never heard about this country before.*

– I see… answered the mage, But what are you doing here, so far from your country ?

– You will know why soon, Gray !

Gray looked at the door to see who was just talking. Makarov smiled to the ice mage and moved into the room near to the Chosen.

– Pog, I think it’s time to go tell your story to our guild members as Alexandria is in a better condition, don’t you think ?

– *Right, Master. Let’s go !* approved Pog, preceding the old man in the main room direction.

– Let’s follow him, Mirajane, you’ll announce the ongoing speech like that, added Porlyusica.

The beautiful mage nodded in approbation and the both women goes out of the infirmary too. Just before joining them, Makarov turned himself to Gray for a last time.

– I’m glad to see you back, Gray. You know, that’s an unfair and difficult ordeal to cross. Only time will heal the wounds of your soul… Believe-me, I cross it too.

Gray nodded his head.

– I know. I am less negative than before, that’s a start.

The master smiled to him before following their partners. Before going out, Gray looked at Alex. She seemed to have fever, because she was sweated a lot… He approached her and with the help of his magic, put a little bit of ice on her forehead.

– Hey. We didn’t know each others, but come back hurry. Pog is worried about you.”

To these words, the woman seemed to be more peaceful. Gray smiled. This girl was a damned warrior, for sure ! With this thought in mind, he leaded himself to the central room of the guild. He was really impatient to learn more about this young woman and her story, now.

——————————————————————————–

Sooo, here’s the following of my Fairy Tail fiction ! :D

Well, I hope you’ll enjoy it, as I have enjoyed writing this chapter. I like the vision of Gray I give here, more attentional and less rude than usual.

Please excuse my english, as this is not my native language, I have certainly do a lot of errors in the text. I just hope that will not ruin the reading ! :/

See you soon for the next chapter ! :D

#fairy tail #fiction #fanfiction #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #erza scarlet #wendy marvell #carla fairy tail #happy fairy tail #pog #Alexandria Delaus #alexoc #fantasy #fairy tail universe #hiro mashima #literature #illustration #chapter #paragandekingdom

4 notes · View notes

kelyon · 4 years

Text

Game: A Golden Cuffs Story, Chapter One: Curse

A month after their wedding, Belle asks Rumpelstiltskin if he'd like to indulge in one of their old favorite ways of passing the time.

Read on AO3

Belle kept most of her riding clothes on before going up to the tower to see Rumpelstiltskin.

When she was a girl in her father’s house, Belle had only been able to go out riding when there were no other obligations--and even then she’d had to be accompanied by her ladies and at least a few servants. Her horse then had been a docile gray mare who had been trained not to jump or even gallop, no matter how Belle had tried to spur the creature on. She’d had to ride sidesaddle in a dress, the only way that was proper for a young lady.

But she wasn’t a young lady anymore. Now she was a woman, the wife of the Dark One, protected by his magic and free to do as she pleased. She had bought a horse with gold coins her husband had created from nothing.

Philippe was only a farm horse, not fast, but strong and unflappable. Every morning, after waking up in her bed with her husband beside her, Belle went out for some exercise. She rode in a regular saddle with both legs astride the horse--not like a lady, but like a person in control of their own destiny.

To aid in her mobility, Rumpelstiltskin had fashioned riding clothes for her. The two of them had experimented with giving her divided skirts and different sorts of habits, but eventually it was decided that tight-fitting trousers worked best. He had made her a dozen pairs in different colors and various blends of wool and linen.

When it got colder, Belle planned to ask her husband for a pair of leather breeches. Even if they proved impractical for riding, she wanted to see if such an ensemble would flatter her body as much as it did his.

For now, in these lovely summer months, it was good to get outside every day. Atop Philippe, Belle explored the forests and mountains that surrounded Rumpelstiltskin’s castle. The woods were rich with life. Walking slowly through the trees, Belle looked for birds and deer and bears. Sometimes she even caught the morning sun glinting off a dew-covered spiderweb. She had no fear of anything in the forest. Rumple’s magic kept away supernatural creatures, and animals rarely attacked something that was no threat to them.

Humans were less understanding.

When she had first started going out, Belle had tried to visit the little town at the base of the mountain. She had thought that she might make friends with the townsfolk, at least with the innkeeper and his wife. But she soon realized how uneasy her presence made people.

Anyone who saw her coming down from the Dark One’s castle tended to avoid speaking to her unless she spoke to them first. Even then, they kept their eyes downcast and their voices were strained with fear. All of them gave her and Philippe a wide berth, moving to the opposite side of the street as they approached. Children gawked at her from windows until adult hands pulled them back out of sight. Belle couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that the villagers started talking about her as soon as her back was turned.

She hadn’t even told anyone that she had married Rumpelstiltskin. Simply being associated with him was enough to ostracize her from polite company.

So she kept to the forest, and kept to the castle. She stayed close to her husband and her home. There were people in the various worlds who loved her and understood her, and those were the relationships she cherished. No one else’s opinion mattered.

Still, she enjoyed her rides. It was pleasant to have an activity of her own, something that took her away from Rumple for a few hours every day. And every time, the brief separation made their reunion that much sweeter.

“I’m home!” Belle announced as she entered the castle after putting Philippe away in the stables. Rumple knew she was back, of course. He knew everything that happened in his home, and he’d told her that he kept watch over her while she was out and about.

But declaring her presence meant more than merely stating a fact. When she said those words to Rumple, she was telling him that the castle was her home and she was happy to be there with him. She told him that she was well, that she wanted to talk to him, that she wanted him to want her around.

She told him that she loved him.

She made her way to the landing that held the door to their bedroom and to the tower where Rumple worked most of his magic. Belle stopped by the bedroom just long enough to take off her light riding coat. The lilac-colored garment was damp with sweat and the castle air felt deliciously cool against her loose linen undershirt.

Belle hung her coat in her wardrobe, knowing that it would be clean and pressed the next time she wanted to wear it. She kept on her brown riding boots and trousers. Rumple had never said anything out loud, but she had seen the way his eyes lingered over the shape of her legs, even when they were covered in cloth.

When she removed the linen kerchief at her throat it exposed the openness of her shirt and just a hint of her bosom. The white fabric was thin and her perspiration had made it almost translucent. She thought about removing her stays before she went up to see Rumple, but decided against it.

She never needed a riding crop for Philippe, but sometimes she wished she had one, for special occasions.

To cover up any unpleasant odors of sweat and horse, Belle pulled out a jar of perfume and sat down at her vanity to put it on. The jar itself was a work of art--a cube of cut crystal in a red so dark it might have been carved from a ruby. She set the top of the jar next to a sapphire-blue pyramid that contained a different liquid fragrance. Belle dipped her fingers into the red jar and swiped up a few drops of perfume.

If anyone asked her what the perfume smelled like, she would have told them roses. But in truth, this scent was almost nothing like the flowers that had bloomed around the castle gates on her wedding day. This perfume was the soul of roses, or roses in love, sultry and deep. Only magic could create this smell of heat, of desire, of a living, primal need.

She felt that heat in her cheeks and her chest before she even began to apply the perfume. With a light touch, she swept the scent over her wrists and her neck. One drop rolled down her throat into the valley between her breasts. The sensation made Belle shiver.

As a final touch, Belle untied the ribbon that bound her hair and shook it loose over her shoulders. Running her fingers through the curls, she coated them with the last of the perfume--Rumple had never given her a hairbrush of her own. Then, she tied the lilac ribbon back around her hair, but loosely, so the bow could be undone at a moment’s notice.

Even by her vanity, there were no mirrors in the castle. She usually didn’t miss them. If the Evil Queen could use mirrors as her spies, it was better to keep them covered. But every now and again, Belle would have liked to inspect her own appearance. Particularly on those occasions when she wanted to look especially alluring.

When she got to the foot of the stairs, Belle called to her husband. “Is it safe to come up?”

This was another sentence that meant so much more than the mere words would imply. When Belle asked if something was safe, she was telling her husband that she trusted him. She was telling him she knew he might have more knowledge than her, and that she relied on him to protect her from harm, that she would follow his guidance if he told her to stay away. She was telling him that she loved him.

And when Rumple’s voice came down the steps as “Yes, sweetheart,” Belle knew that he was really telling her that she was welcome in his place, in his work. He was telling her that he wanted her around him, that her presence was better than solitude. He was telling her that he loved her.

Did all couples speak to each other in a code like this, or was it only that she had married a man who lived by riddles and hidden meanings?

Either way, Belle went up the stairs to be with him.

Rumpelstiltskin was standing in front of his work table. As Belle approached, she saw him taking off a pair of dragonhide gloves and a leather apron. He pulled a beaked mask away from his face. She knew he didn’t need those protections, but he wore them so he wouldn’t have to take the time to decontaminate himself of any dangerous magic before he touched her.

The room smelled faintly of char, but there was no sign of a fire or an explosion. Several books lay open on the table, and there were beakers and vials full of brightly-colored substances. Some of the liquids floated in their bottles, while others glowed with pulsing light. In the center of the table there was a glass dome on top of an iron plate. The plate and the dome were bound together by iron chains and inside the dome something moved.

Rumple greeted Belle with a soft kiss and wrapped his arms around her waist. He sniffed at her perfume, but didn’t mention it. “How was your ride?”

She snuggled into his embrace, rubbing the scent onto his clothes. They didn’t kiss again, but they knew they could. “It got hot once the sun burned off the morning mist. I’m almost surprised that you allow the summer sun to enter your domain.”

“A bit of sunshine is good for the complexion.” He grinned at her, his green skin sparkling.

Belle giggled, less because his quip was that funny and more because she was so happy. “And how is my husband?”

He pressed his lips to her forehead and breathed in slowly. “Better, now that my wife is in my arms.”

“Better?” Belle rested her hands on his shoulders. “Were things not good enough before? Is your work troubling you?”

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. “It’s nothing urgent,” he said. “Nothing that must be done or else there will be catastrophic consequences. But I thought I might try something and the results were not as I had hoped.”

Turning to the table, Belle broke their embrace. She stayed close enough to keep her body against his. Rumple kept one hand on her hip, slowly caressing the light brown fabric of her riding trousers. His mind was no longer on his magic. However, Belle had suddenly become curious.

“What is it that you’ve got trapped under the glass?”

The moving thing was a strip of darkness, smaller than the length of her hand. The smell of burning seemed to emanate from it. The edges of the thing wavered and sparked, like some sort of black flame. It darted in every direction around the dome, searching endlessly, relentlessly. There was an aura of malice around it that was more than just the wriggling tendrils of death-colored magic.

Slowly, Belle approached the table, and Rumple kept his hands on her. She knew better than to reach out to the thing in the dome, but she bent at the waist to examine it. The thing wasn’t entirely black, but held the faintest tints of a deep, angry red. It reminded her of blood, of meat.

“It’s not some kind of creature, is it, Rumple?”

Gently, he pulled her back, away from the thing. “It is a curse, my dear. But a small one, and fairly harmless.”

Her gaze shifted from the dome to her husband. She wasn’t afraid of this magic, not while he was there to protect her. “What kind of curse is it? What does it do?”

“Like I said, it’s a simple hex. It wouldn’t do much trouble even if it got out. The curse is, ‘May your bacon always burn.’”

At the sound of its purpose, the curse reared up and started banging itself against the glass. Belle jerked back against Rumple’s body, but her reaction was more out of surprise than fear. The chains kept the dome weighted down against the plate and the effect that cold iron had against certain spells held true. In no time at all, the curse seemed to have exhausted itself. Though it didn’t stop, its movements became listless and sluggish. Tendrils drooping, it floated instead of flying around the dome.

Full of nothing by curiosity, Belle looked at her husband. “What did you think you would find out from studying a curse?”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed before he spoke. “I, uh, I was trying to study the nature of curses and the effect of malicious intent on a spell. My perspective on such matters has… shifted, in the past month or so.” He twisted his wedding ring around his finger.

It had been a little more than a month since she had put that ring on him, since she had claimed him as her own forever. Belle put her hand over his, to still his nervous fidgeting. “What did you find out?”

He squeezed her hand before he let it go and went to one of his books. “Tell me, my love: What is the difference between a curse and a blessing? Don’t think, just tell me the first thing that comes to your mind.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. He had gone from magic to philosophy, and his question surely would have a philosophical answer. “I suppose… curses are evil.”

“And what is the difference between evil and good?”

Belle thought only a moment before answering. “Well, evil things hurt people.”

“Aha!” Rumple snapped his fingers and pointed. She had gotten to the heart of his explanation. “But is it always evil to hurt people? Would you say a soldier at war is evil? How about a knight at a tournament, even if he just knocks his opponent to the ground? Is an executioner taking a murderer’s life less evil than the criminal himself?”

“But those are all people, Rumple. And what harm is acceptable under what circumstances is a matter for law-makers and clerics. You were examining a curse.”

“Yes.” Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes darkened as he gazed at the strip of black fire he kept under glass. “Unlike a person, a curse has no choice, not even an ability to mitigate the pain it causes. And a curse is pain, my sweet. For a magic-user to create a curse requires a wealth of intense, concentrated, damage on the heart. A hurt so unspeakable that the only way to be rid of it is to inflict it on another victim. And even then, the wound remains. It festers, like a stinking mold on the soul. No matter how you try, you’re never really clean again.”

He had turned away from her as he spoke, bracing his hands on the table. He stared intently at the curse and Belle could feel dark magic gathering around him. How many curses had her husband created? How much pain had he suffered and made other people suffer? How much damage, how much ‘stinking mold’ was on his soul?

The thought frightened her and she wanted to pull away. Instead, she stepped closer.

She put her hand on his arm. “Rumple?”

He didn’t react to her touch. His eyes had become black and unfocused. He was seeing things that did not exist in the world where she stood. Ghosts and regrets were never far from his mind, Belle knew, and this talk had opened up a door for them.

But she had the power to shut that door.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle ordered, “look at me.”

With a shudder, her husband came out of his trance to obey her. He blinked several times, and each time his inhuman eyes became less black and more gold.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I--what were we saying?”

“You were telling me how terrible curses are.”

“Yes.” He took a heavy breath. “Yes, Belle. And you were listening to me.”

“I was.” Belle kept her hand on his arm, but gave him enough space to breathe. “But we don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, his eyes closed. He rubbed his face with one hand, the hand with his wedding ring on it. The golden band shone, reflecting the late morning light. His other hand gripped at the back of Belle’s loose shirt. He held her tightly, afraid to let go.

“I did have a point,” he said with a rough exhalation. The sound might have been a chuckle. “My experiment today was to see if a curse could be… redirected. Not broken, not reversed. I wanted to see if I could keep it whole, but shift its purpose, the same force for the opposite ends. I thought I might, somehow, compel harm to become helpful. I thought I could create goodness out of something that is built of nothing but rage and destruction.” He shook his head, sour and weary. “But it’s hopeless.”

“Well of course it is.” Belle put her arms around her husband’s waist and rested her head on his chest. His breathing had slowed, but it was still labored. “You said it yourself, Rumple: a curse has no choice.”

He shuddered again and clutched his arms around her body, buried his face in her hair. “Then what hope is there for evil people?”

Like a key turning in a lock, the mystery of his thoughts suddenly opened to her with a click.

“Oh,” Belle said out loud. “Oh, Rumple. Is that what this is all about? About you?”

He pushed himself away from her embrace and took a few long strides around his workroom until he was alone in the center of the floor. “Dark magic is all that I have done--all that I have been--for so long, Belle.” He took a deep and heavy breath. “I cannot dream of giving up evil entirely, not yet. But I thought that I could… transform it, a little. I thought I could make myself better, for you.” His hands balled into fists. He stared again at the trapped curse. “But the principle doesn’t hold, not even on the simplest of spells. A curse cannot be made good.”

As much as she understood her husband, Belle knew she had to disabuse him of at least one notion before they went any further. “But you are not a curse, Rumple.”

“Am I not?” He held up his hands for her examination. “This is a curse that I need, that I use every day to provide for myself and for you. Being the Dark One means living off of dark magic and all magic comes at a price.” He sighed, casting his gaze around the room. Belle saw him look at his spinning wheel, his spellbooks and potions, at the curse he had contained but could not control. Then he looked down at the floor, dejected. “I never minded paying until now,” he said softly. “I never minded being evil, until a good woman pledged to love me.”

Belle stepped up to her husband and gently took his hands. He gave himself to her, unresisting, but he did not meet her eyes.

“For as long as I’ve known you,” she said softly, “you have never made a secret of your evil.” She rubbed her thumb against his knuckles. “You’re usually more prone to hiding your goodness and your vulnerabilities.”

His eyes were still downcast, but his lips twitched into a half-smile. “And you found them out anyway, you remarkable woman.”

“And they were worth the search,” Belle assured him. “Rumple, I love your goodness, but I know that you are more than just one thing. I know that darkness is a part of you. It was the first part of you I ever knew.”

He grabbed her hands and shook his head. “I wish it wasn’t,” he said. “You are so good, Belle. You deserve a good man for a husband.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re trying to become a good man instead of trying to force me to be with someone I ‘deserve’ instead of with you, the man I love.”

He squeezed her again and pulled her into his arms. He embraced her so fiercely Belle thought it would leave bruises. She didn’t mind the idea.

“I can’t live without you, Belle,” her husband whispered. “I tried, but I hated it. I’m sorry I’m so weak.”

“I hated it too,” she reminded him. “I didn’t want to be away from you, that’s why I came back. And I know who you are, Rumpelstiltskin. I know what you’re capable of and how your mind works--and I still agreed to marry you. I appreciate that you want to be a better person, but please don’t think that I want you to become something entirely different than what you are.”

Rumple said nothing, but he rested his head against hers and nodded.

“I meant what I said before,” Belle went on. “You are not a curse. You are a person who does actions. And yes, some of those actions are curses, I won’t deny that. Some of your actions are cruel and thoughtless, and most of your magic is dark. But you!” She held his face in her hands. “You, my love, my husband, my Rumple--you are more than your worst actions. A curse doesn’t have a choice, but you do. Every time, you have a choice.”

“But so often my choices are wrong. If evil is what hurts people, I have done plenty of that.”

“I know,” Belle conceded. She rubbed his temples with her thumbs. “But that doesn’t mean that you are beyond hope, that you are unworthy of love. I have never believed that.”

“I know.” He held her close again. His hands stroked her back, twisted into the ends of her hair in its ribbon. They breathed together for a moment. “Even in the beginning, you never hated me as much as you should have.”

“Stop,” she ordered gently. “If I could order you to stop hating yourself, I would.”

Rumple chuckled and kissed her forehead. “Even that magic has its limits.”

She rested on his chest. “But I love you,” she said. “And I wish you could love yourself.”

“It’s easier to contemplate, when you’re around.” He held her by the shoulders to look her in the eye. “I do want to be a better man for you, a man who is actually worthy of your love.”

Belle smiled. “I’m just happy you’re thinking of yourself as a man at all,” she said. “It wasn’t that long ago you didn’t.”

“It wasn’t that long ago I wasn’t,” he countered. “You did transform me, my Belle. Your love… kept me from ever being a complete monster.”

Belle tried to keep her smile, but she couldn’t hide the slight slump of her shoulders.

“What is it?” Rumple asked.

“Nothing,” Belle said too quickly. She looked down at her hands, at her ring. “I just… I’ve had some selfish thoughts lately.”

“Oh?” he said lightly. “What is selfish for you, my sweet?”

It was Belle’s turn to fidget, to not look her lover in the eye. She stepped away from him, wandering uselessly in the small room. “It’s just… something I wanted to ask of you. But I worry that it isn’t something that you want to do anymore.”

Rumpelstiltskin cocked his head. “Now what on earth could there be that I wouldn’t give to my wife?”

Suddenly very hot, Belle swallowed. “I…” she began. “I worry that you will blanch at the idea, that it will be too evil for you now, for the man you want to be.”

Now his eyebrows furrowed and his voice became serious. He crossed the space that separated them. “What evil would you ask of me, Belle? Did someone hurt you? Do you want a head on a platter? I will destroy your enemies in an instant, if you just say the word.”

“No,” Belle almost laughed. But what she really wanted seemed too absurd for laughter. It had been weighing on her mind even before the wedding, before she came back to the castle, ever since the night she had been brought back from Regina.

Had it really been that long?

She took a breath. “Rumple,” she began. “Do you remember the chipped cup?”

He looked at her, quizzical. “Of course I remember your chipped cup. It’s still downstairs. We look at it every day.”

“Do you remember how we used to use it? W-what it meant?”

When Belle looked again at Rumpelstiltskin, she realized that she was probably seeing what her own face had looked like at the beginning of this conversation, that sudden moment of clarity.

“Oh,” he said simply. “You… would like us to do… that sort of thing… again. Is that what you mean?”

Belle hung her head, but nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I told you, it was a selfish impulse. And if it’s not something you want to do, I understand. But Rumple, you have to know--I never hated your darkness, and I never hated it when you let that darkness play with my body.”

A tremor went through Rumpelstiltskin. The muscles in his face twitched and his lips moved without sound. When he did speak, his voice was slow and breathy. “You… want me… to hurt you?”

Swallowing her embarrassment, Belle nodded. “A game, like we used to play. You were never really angry with me, it was never a real punishment for a real transgression. We were just… pretending.”

“But the pain was real,” he whispered. “The blood was real, the scars, the bruises. I really did hurt you, Belle.”

This time, her nod was more vigorous. “And I’d like you to hurt me again.” She looked down at the floor. It was harder to say these things as his wife than it ever had been when she was his whore. “I used to enjoy wearing your bruises, Rumple.”

His breath caught and Belle looked up. Rumpelstiltskin’s face was unmoving, but his eyes had gone dark and his lips were parted.

Walking up to him, Belle stood in front of her husband for a moment. Slowly, deliberately, she reached into her hair and pulled at the lilac ribbon. Released from their bondage, her curls tumbled over her shoulders in wild waves. She shook her head to help her curls settle into place and to unleash the hidden reserves of her perfume. The smell of roses--of heat, of desire--wafted from Belle to Rumple.

His mouth opened wider as he breathed her in, as he took in the sight of her and all the signs of her yearning. He gaped at her now. He stood up straighter, as if his leather trousers had suddenly grown too tight.

Then, Belle slowly sank to her knees. She hadn’t done this in months. The position was more awkward in her riding clothes and boots than it had been when she had worn nothing but a blue robe. She sat back on her heels, with her hands resting on her husband’s calves. She licked her lips and looked up at him.

“Would you like that, Rumpelstiltskin? Would you like to play a game with me?”

“Fuck.” He shivered and looked down at her. “Are you sure?”

“I fell in love with the Dark One,” Belle answered. “I fell in love with the man who owned me, who brought me over the brink of pain again and again. My husband is gentle and kind, but he can also be fearsome and terrible. And I love all of him.”

“Fuck,” Rumple said again. Then he bent at the waist. Then his hands were in her hair and his mouth was over hers and Belle was on her knees and utterly at the mercy of the most powerful dark magician in the world.

They broke apart, both of them breathless and overwhelmed. They didn’t change positions after the kiss. Belle remained on her knees and Rumple loomed over her.

“Do you have a preference?” he asked. “Where we do this?”

“Our room,” she said at once. “We make love every other way there. We shouldn’t treat this as separate.”

Bent over, he cradled her face in his hands. “Do you really think that, Belle? That what we’re about to do is just another way to make love?”

Belle nodded. “It is an action, not a curse.”

Rumple looked stricken at that--shocked that she had known what he was thinking, and touched that she would care. “I love you,” he whispered.

“And I love you.”

“I love you,” he repeated as his hand clasped around her throat. Belle gasped and felt her whole body clench in desire as he forced her to the ground. “And that’s why I’m going to make you scream.”

#game #a golden cuffs story #Golden cuffs #rumbelle #rumbelle fic

11 notes · View notes

dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

Bluegrass-Chapter Three

Special thanks to @statell for all your help.

Previous chapter at AO3

Chapter Three

Claire was dripping on the carpet, buck naked, and shaking again from the cold. It was a staredown between the two women. One belonged there, one didn’t, but here they were.

“I am Doctor Beauchamp, your veterinarian, and you are?” Claire reached for another towel and the woman jumped at her, eyes wide with hatred, as Claire backed off and tried to walk around her to put her clothes back on. The woman pushed her into the wall, shocking Claire into action. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit. Is this how you treat all your guests? You are acting like a gangster girl protecting her territory. I wouldn’t think Jamie would go for such a cheap model, but I cannot ignore what’s in front of me. Kindly stand aside and I will relieve you of my presence.” The woman stood her ground with flaming hatred in her eyes like she might tear Claire apart. “Don’t you get it? You are nothing to me, Jamie is nothing to me, and this poisoned business means nothing to me. You are a couple of losers and our paths won’t cross again because I don’t deal with fucking riffraff!” As the words flew out of her mouth, Claire was shocked, wondering where they were coming from. She felt her cheeks hot with a blush from her uncharacteristic aggression. She grabbed her clothes and yanked them on as she ran for the door, it sounded like Dustin just pulled up to save her. The woman was screaming into her cell phone at Jamie to get back to the house before she died of shock after being attacked. Her tirade was so long Jamie just kept the line open and drove home to see his future wife. Dusty waited in the driveway for Claire and laughed when she did a perfect handstand off the three-step porch. They each sighed with relief as Highland Brothers Farms receded in the rearview, hopefully never to be seen again.

Jamie pulled into his driveway and watched Claire and Dusty turn the corner and drive out of his life. For some reason, he felt hollow inside, shaking his head he walked into the house to hold his fiance for the first time in eight weeks. She flew into his arms and held tight to his waist; head pressed against his chest with a nonstop description of how Claire attacked her. Jamie tried to pull her chin up, but she managed to squirm away from his control and continue her tirade.

“Isobel, why didnya tell me when ye were gettin in so I could pick ye up? I’ve been waitin eight weeks for a kiss from ye lass.” Isobel looked up at Jamie and demanded to know what that girl was doing in their shower. Jamie pulled her to a chair and started his long story of the past three days, softening the truth wherever possible. Isobel cried like he thought she might, but it wasn’t an hour of sobbing that kept him from her body, it was two days of continuous complaining, crying, and pushing him away. He needed to reconnect, and sex had always been the avenue back to each other but she resisted.

By the fourth day, he stopped trying, stopped talking to her, and stopped coming home for dinner. As the wedding date loomed, Isobel announced her father had rescheduled the nuptials six months in the future to see if they grew closer, as they once were. Jamie just shook his head feeling like he had lost all control over his life as the FBI tortured him during the day and Isobel took over at night. On the rare occasion she would cuddle with him, he made short work of grabbing an orgasm before she turned her back on him for another month. Now and then, Jamie would google Claire Beauchamp, DVM to catch up on her life. His smile was big and soft when he saw the celebration for the return of the tiger family. No longer babies, the mother still licked, loved, and disciplined with the male right behind her. He found Claire in the pictures and studied her face, wishing her well. Jamie tried to get Isobel involved in the business because this was the life they promised each other, the life her father had financed for them. She wanted no part of Jamie’s world, yet she complained vehemently about boredom and her hatred for Kentucky. Several times when Jamie showed up at home for lunch, he would hear the back door click closed or find Isobel in an animated conversation on the phone which quickly ended, then her sour attitude took over again. He wondered how they ever got to this emotional wasteland.

It was on a whim that he ended up in Ireland the summer of his sixteenth year. He and his friends dared and double-dared each other until they were rounded up at the airport by the barn supervisor and taken to a breeding farm for racehorses. It was hard work, but racing got into his blood and he went back the second year without the others. Because no one had ever come back for another summer, the barn supervisor took a special interest in Jamie, encouraging his questions and sending him to help with day races.

Coming back to Scotland he looked for an opportunity with racehorses, crossing paths with Geneva Dunsany. The beautiful flirt could not hold a candle to his true love of racing and she became petulant and cranky before long. Jamie could not keep up with her moods and temperament and the relationship ended after a year. He got to know Isobel from family dinners and weekends away during the holidays. She was the polar opposite of her wicked sister, at least she was then.

While Jamie was still deciding if it was proper to date Geneva’s sister, Isobel pulled him into the barn at their family estate and professed her love for him. She spun a web with her words and pushed her tongue into his mouth, two months later she was pregnant and sobbing on his shoulder.

Jamie was filled with emotions like guilt, terror, remorse, and regret. He could not fathom how this could happen when Isobel was on the pill, but there it was, his pregnant girlfriend.

He spoke to Mister Dunsany with tears in his eyes and confessed Isobel was pregnant and asked for her hand in marriage. They talked at length about what Jamie wanted in life and how this news would affect his chance to get it. Jamie knew his prospects at joining the horse racing world were far out of reach and it devastated him.

Dunsany was a smart man and knew a devoted husband required options, goals outside of the home, and a belief in himself. He doubted his daughter would sustain those needs because she was self- centered and stupid. He arranged to send the unhappy couple to Kentucky and put up the money to buy land and build a state-of-the-art facility for breeding horses. The original dams were purchased by him and all costs to maintain the business for the first year were paid in full.

He hoped the prestige of owning such a complex would keep Isobel happy and in America because he couldn’t stand the sight of her anymore, or her sister for that matter. To Jamie, it was a dream come true and he asked Isobel to marry him before they left Scotland.

Jamie felt wretched about his lack of love for Isobel, but they both tried hard in the first two years to please each other, to find joy in their new life, and excitement in their future. Isobel loved one of Jamie’s new horses, Porcelain Love, and spent most of her time riding and working with her trainer. To what end was never clear to Jamie but Isobel seemed happy.

On a warm summer day, Isobel took a fall while riding with her trainer. She complained loudly about pain in her abdomen, rolling back and forth on the bed in their room. Jamie was beside himself and put his fist through a wall outside their room. Isobel would not let him enter, help or comfort her, and the continuous sobbing was driving him crazy.

The next morning Isobel was at the breakfast table with a puffy face telling Jamie she lost the baby during the night. He tried to get her to a hospital, but she refused and was riding again three days later. Jamie worried about her, but she looked the picture of health and was willing to give him her body a short week later. When he looked up miscarriage on Google he was utterly confused and when the tiny voice of reason suggested maybe she never was pregnant he slammed the lid on his laptop and forced himself to think about other things.

Their lives continued much the same over the next year and Jamie had prized foals for his breeding efforts. He was able to pay double and triple loan payments back to Dunsany and his confidence grew with each foaling. His best broodmare would shoot Jamie to the top of breeders in Kentucky, when her foals from previous years started winning big races. He knew if he could spend more time choosing studs, researching sire lines and being at the track he would do so much better, but Isobel needed too much attention.

When Isobel announced she was going home for two months to see her family, Jamie felt nothing and did not try to stop her. His first night alone he walked the numerous hallways of the enormous house that Isobel insisted on. The emotions that filled him were relief, happiness, and excitement. He was stuck with a shrew, but for the next eight weeks he would live in blissful silence.

With so much extra time he devoured books about how a man loves, what made marriages work, how to fall in love and a dozen more. He was determined to read himself into the perfect groom. He created mantras to say daily like “I love my woman”, “she completes me” and other, equally corny phrases that he hoped would bring love for Isobel to his heart. He put his best face forward when she came home but it was little more than a mask on a sack of grain. When Isobel returned more hateful than ever it was just so easy to ignore her. The mantras were dropped, the books were thrown away, and Jamie threw himself into the work he loved. Claire’s name came up in conversation with another breeder and that night he checked Claire’s Facebook, and saw pictures and comments about Dusty leaving for vet school. There were comments and messages from most of the breeders at Jamie’s level. He was so proud of her and Dusty both. Angus and Rupert remained Jamie’s trusted companions, but even they would be caught looking at him strangely at times. In an effort to pull them back into his life, Jamie arranged a poker night and stocked his bar with the best whisky that all three men enjoyed a bit too much. Once they were good and drunk, Rupert mumbled something about the poisoning making Jamie’s head snap up. He couldn’t let it go and continued to ask them questions about their thoughts on that day until it came tumbling out of Rupert’s mouth. “Ye lads think I did it, is that it?” Jamie wanted to tear into his friends and struggled to give the appearance of calm innocence. “We know it was yer horses that were poisoned, none of the others. It just looks bad Jamie boy, like you wanted the insurance money or somethin.” The questions became more pointed and the moods more combative until Jamie finally stood up and glowered at them making them both stop talking. “Ye two idiots are overlookin one horse that remained healthy, and mine, Porcelain Love was not poisoned, and she’s insured same as the others. Suppose ye explain that.” “Isobel’s horse?” Rupert turned a suspicious eye on Jamie. “I held her back from the breeding program because Isobel fell in love with her. I never transferred ownership so yer theory isna worth a shit.” When his drunk friends left, they were quiet because they were too drunk to think. Jamie staggered to his room and slept in his clothes because he couldn’t remember how to get them off. He spent two days in bed with a righteous hangover and remembered nothing about the argument with his friends. The events that Claire endured in the three days following the poisoning were such an assault to her life, that she vowed never to share space with James Fraser again. She worked very hard to forget the dead horses, the FBI abuse, and the crazy girlfriend who accosted her in Jamie’s bathroom. She and Dustin resumed their ordered world and for the next seven months pretended that nothing could stop them. If one of them mentioned Dustin’s leaving for school the other would shut the conversation down and change the subject. Doors to the best breeding farms continued to open and Claire’s reputation grew, along with her income. “Hello Claire, I don’t know if you remember me but…” “How could I ever forget what you did for me, of course I remember you! What is happening over there?” “Well, the director was fired shortly after you were here which is a big plus. It took a while, but I finally found the tigers, Claire. The zoo purchased them back after the public uproar caused by that news release. You remember, when you tried to tear the director apart for what he did?” Claire giggled at the memory and felt a growing excitement because the tigers were coming home. “We want you here when we release them back to the male. The babies are grown now, still under the mama’s control but it's uncertain if the male will accept them. I was hoping you could spend some time with him before they come. Prepare him.” Claire almost felt dizzy from the absolute acceptance of her gift. It was the first time she had a conversation with someone who believed her, and she found it liberating. She was excited to see the tiger again and join in the celebration. The tiger was back in his original enclosure where he had better access to Claire. She sent him pictures in her mind of what his children now looked like. Over and over he rejected them, transferring to Claire an image of young tiger cubs instead. “You were little once.” Holding each picture in her mind. “You grew up into a magnificent adult, but you are the same tiger inside that you’ve always been.” She continued to see pictures of babies in her head. They were getting nowhere. Claire sat on the floor and ran her hands down the tiger’s back. “Your wife is coming home, does that make you happy?” she laughed at the sparkling colors that exploded in her mind. “I’ll take that as a yes!” The arrival of the tigers was kept quiet by Claire’s request. The male tiger was not accepting the change in his offspring and she worried about the public witnessing a confrontation. The adult female was shown first, her crate pushed against the bars so the tiger could get reacquainted with her. Watching them sniff and growl quietly made Claire so happy. He was thanking her, over and over again with his images of sparkling color. After two hours they released her and the two made short work of showing their joy. The next day the juvenile tigers were released one at a time as everyone held their breath. The first young tiger pressed into his mother and she licked his head and laid down with him. This ritual was followed until all three were with their mother. Claire hated to leave the tiger, but she had surgeries scheduled in the afternoon. One last time she sent him images of his tiny babies and how they looked now. The old handler walked her to the parking lot and again stayed with her until Dusty came for her. She waved happily and they drove away. “Is that guy sweet on you?” Dusty almost sneered at the man before turning around to drive away. “No, he’s just a friend and very important to the tigers. Ready for a busy afternoon?” “Of course.” Claire thought about Jamie sometimes, mostly wondering if they ever solved the mystery, whodunnit and how did he do it. Her curiosity faded over time and he would drift in and out of her head quite randomly it seemed. When August rolled in, Claire and Dusty were pulled in every direction with vet checks as the animals were prepared for the September auction at Keeneland. This was where owners chose the horse that might enter the road to the Kentucky Derby. The racing industry was abuzz with excitement as breeders advertised the product of their matches. This is what separated the exceptional breeders from the rest. Expertise to choose the best stud, and more importantly a dam with a history of foaling stakes-winning horses, especially two-turn races. These foals were highly valued, and the selling price could exceed a million dollars. Claire was unaware that the foal she cut out of the dead dam at Highland Brothers on the day of the poisoning, was just such a colt. Claire leaned against a tree and had a snack with Dusty watching the two-year-olds run the track. Clearly, there were those that were endowed with the physical attributes and mentality for racing and those that were not. They were spending the day vetting weanlings and yearlings. She looked at Dusty laying on his back, sound asleep. It would all come to an end in a week and she hadn’t dealt with that yet because it felt like she was losing a part of herself. She knew he was worried about her, but he was excited to start the greatest experience of his young life. She just watched his serene face and tried to memorize it for when she missed him. He wanted to work together when he came home a DVM and talked about it constantly. She loved his enthusiasm but didn’t share his vision of the future, so she remained quiet during these times.

“Why can’t we talk about working together when I come home Doctor B? It makes it easier to leave.”

“Knowing that possibility is alive as a possible future will give me comfort too Dustin. I have not shut my mind to it, nor do I want you obligated to me. Take your life as it comes and I will do the same. Who knows, we may decide to work together when you’re done.” She kept her schedule very light for the next week so Dustin could get packed and she could interview candidates to take his place. She felt her phone vibrate against her hip and felt a bump of excitement looking at the caller. “Doctor Beauchamp.” “Claire! Glad I caught you. Would you forgive a guy for being bold and asking you to dinner? If not, then this conversation is over.” Claire smiled to herself and tried to think about what he was asking? She decided this was not a professional call so that could only mean… “You may speak freely sir,” she giggled. “My brother is opening a restaurant next weekend and I need a girlfriend for the evening. Sorry, that sounds ridiculous. To be honest, I have fallen into the category of men who marry their careers and I have no social life. It’s pathetic. I’ll say it for you.” He laughed a little self-consciously, with just enough humility to tug at Claire’s heart. “That sounds wonderful Chad, it would be my honor. Should I meet you at the compound?” “If I remember correctly, that would be a heinous mistake. If you don’t mind, I will pick you up. Since you were so nice to agree, pick any dress you want at Logan’s and it’s on me. One stipulation, it has to be over one-hundred dollars.” “That is a nice treat and since I am woefully short on evening wear, I might just take you up on that offer. Thank you Chad, I’m excited already.” The date, time, and address were exchanged, and Claire clicked off feeling something unfamiliar like she suddenly felt pretty. It was enough to put some extra energy in her walk for the rest of the day. Claire interviewed eight people feeling even more miserable about Dustin leaving. Her perfect assistant would be a strong male, well-grounded so he could take orders without feeling emasculated, an open mind to deal with her diagnostic methods, and was agreeable to assist her day or night. She only had one more day to interview new people and she was feeling hopeless. This is the very reason female veterinarians rarely choose large animals as a specialty, they needed strength to assist them. She looked down her list of candidates she had interviewed, and her heart sank. There was one more interview, a female named Molly, she felt utterly defeated. Molly knocked on Claire’s door ten minutes before their meeting which added a plus one before the door even opened. Claire smiled and leaned forward to shake the woman’s hand and felt the grip of strength and purpose. Molly had a pretty face and charm so characteristic of a Kentucky upbringing. She also had the body of a female wrestler and enough inner strength to look into Claire’s eyes when she talked. Plus two. They wandered in the woods and chatted away about the job, Molly’s experience with horses, and her willingness to learn. Claire was over the moon with this young woman and asked if she wanted to ride along with her and Dustin for the last day. Molly was excited and could hardly contain her enthusiasm. Plus three. When Dusty honked outside, Claire’s throat closed up and her eyes stung with tears. He would never be waiting for her again, she realized, and she pushed back hard on that emotion. Molly could see her struggle to compose herself, realizing she was stepping into shoes that were very important to her new employer. She felt nervous and tried to rally her confidence that deserted her as she watched Claire and Dustin together during afternoon treatments. Just before she was ready to abandon ship and run, Claire left her alone with Dusty for a quick meeting with the breeder. Dusty was aware of Molly’s growing silence and he wanted to infuse her with confidence to help Claire. It was all for Claire, it was always Claire that motivated his direction. “You will be a great assistant for Doctor Beauchamp Molly, I’m glad you’ve accepted the job. Crap, when I think of how awful I was in the beginning, it makes me cringe. Doctor B never said a word when I fetched the wrong horse or forgot to connect the cross ties and let one run away. I was all thumbs looking for the right gauge needle or syringe and my hands shook all the time.” Dusty shook his head and smiled at the memory. He noticed Molly had straightened her posture and was listening intently. C’mon girl, buck the hell up, he thought, you walk in the shadow of the most amazing person on earth. The sooner you see that the better. On the way to Dusty’s house, Claire went through her files and updated the notes for the week. “Did we just do vet checks at Sterling last week? Jesus, I don’t remember how many.” “Ten two-year old’s, nine perfect, one shin splint, the gray gelding, Happy Runner. You need to bill that day if you haven’t already.” Claire wrote furiously as Dusty talked and Molly watched. “The colt we treated at 3 Chimneys?” “Shelly hooves, biotin supplement with rapeseed daily, sound otherwise. Wormed five three-year olds, need to bill whatshisname. I don’t like the way he looks at you Doctor B so be careful around him, don’t go alone.” Claire wanted to ask if that included her date with him next weekend but thought better of the idea and went on to the next file on her lap. She forced herself not to look up until she felt the truck stop and knew they were at Dustin’s house. Try as she might, the tears were welling up already and she couldn’t stop them as she felt Dustin get out of the driver’s seat.

“You remember how to drive, right Doctor B?” When he saw her tears, he pulled her out of the truck and hugged her tightly. He told her he wanted to stay another year, but it would jeopardize his scholarships and he was so sorry he had to leave. He let her hug him while he thanked her for every single thing she had done for him until his voice shook with emotion. For Molly, it was a view into the relationship her employer was losing, and it rocked her to the core. Claire looked up at this incredible young man and told him to be early for everything, no dating until his GPA was 4.0, and get a Facebook page so she could spy on his progress. Dustin laughed, wiping his eyes and made a hasty exit, waving to Molly as he sprinted toward his home. Claire looked at the steering wheel of her truck and wanted to yell for Dustin to save her from this task. You just hugged that right goodbye she told herself, so find your bravery and get into that truck. Molly watched her new boss wondering why she was hesitating. Like a whisper from her angel she got out and asked if she could drive. Claire shot around the truck and jumped into the passenger seat with a rush of relief. Molly dropped the vehicle into drive and expertly maneuvered the cars and other obstacles on the drive back to Claire’s house. The only distraction was Claire’s sobbing. Plus 4 for Molly. Claire was composed when they climbed the steep steps to her home. She noticed Molly’s white knuckle death grip on the rail and was horrified at the spontaneous laugh that burped out of her mouth. “I’m sorry to laugh dearest, but it seems you have a height issue. It bothered me in the beginning too, you will get used to it, I promise.” She held an elbow until they were successfully at the top and invited Molly in for a bit to talk about the job. She would make it quick as she had already taken an afternoon of her time. Plus five for Molly. Later that evening when Claire enjoyed some peaceful moments on her patio she looked to the quiet beast of a vehicle and decided she had to get used to driving again. Before she changed her mind, she was in the driver’s seat heading down her dirt road at ten miles per hour. Seeing the end of the road she deftly pushed the gear into reverse and twisted the wheel hard, then drive, and twisted the wheel again, then reverse with the wheel getting hard to turn. She was winded when she looked up finding herself quite stuck between a very large tree in the front and a duplicate in the back. “Jesus Christ, how did I do this?” She got out and looked at both bumpers in relation to the offending trees and decided it was impossible to get out of this position without removing a tree. She went from one bumper to the other for ten minutes with mounting panic and was startled by a neighbor who asked if she needed help. She spun toward the voice and her face brightened with hope. “I seem to have jammed my truck between trees and I cannot get out.” “We don’t hear that kind of accent around these parts, but I like it. May I?” Claire’s smile was all about permission and gratitude as she shook her head and moved out of his way. She watched what she decided was expert handling of her massive, stupid vehicle and shook the man’s hand vigorously as he laughed. The neighbor watched her ease down the street, a bit slower this time and laughed again. Claire ran up her steps and locked herself into the house looking out at the vehicle like it would somehow demand she drive again. That is enough of everything for today, she decided. She poured a healthy glass of whisky to reward her efforts, heal her broken heart, and celebrate her new assistant, Molly.

60 notes · View notes

notapaladin · 3 years

Text

a little mystery to figure out

The rumors reaching Nezahual’s ears can’t be true. They suggest that Tenochtitlan’s Master of the House of Darts and the High Priest for the Dead are...together, and Nezahual’s met Acatl. No, Teomitl is clearly going to be pining forever.

He decides to visit his sister city, and learns much more than he really wanted to.

Also on AO3!

Not for the first time, Nezahual reflected that his life couldn’t get any better than this. He was a healthy young ruler with slaves to serve his every whim and his pick of lovely, inventive concubines to share his mat; he had only to wave a hand, and a dozen servants would rush to attend him. The mat spread out in his palace gardens boasted two thick cloaks and a deer pelt to cushion his reclining form, and above him a pair of noisy motmots fluttered like living jewels.

By his side, his current favorite concubine—Miyahuaxochitl—picked up a delicately carved rosette of fruit, studying it for a moment before popping it into her mouth. “Hm.”

He put an arm around her, pulling her a little closer. “Is it not to your taste?”

She thought for a moment and shook her head. “No, my lord, it is. Forgive me, I was only...thinking.”

“Oh?” It wasn’t an accusatory question—of course she was entitled to the contents of her own head, though he’d never been especially impressed by her sagacity—but she flinched anyway. He registered, belatedly, that he’d been using what his childhood playmates had called the “creepy snake face,” the one that supposedly made him look like a rattlesnake eyeing a bird’s nest. It wasn’t like he could help being curious, but when you were an agent of Quetzalcoatl, that apparently came with side effects. Oops.

At least she got over her unease quickly. “About the tales you told of your last visit to Tenochtitlan. Working with Teomitl-tzin and Acatl-tzin.”

“...Thinking about other men?” He smiled.

“Not like that.” As he hope she would, she shoved him lightly and pretended to take offense. “I was wondering how Teomitl-tzin’s marriage is going. I don’t like to think of anyone being unhappy in love.”

“His wife is the Guardian of the Duality in Tenochtitlan.” And absolutely the most terrifying woman I’ve ever met. Too bad Teomitl snatched her up first. We might have killed each other, but gods, I’d die happy. He twined a lock of Miyahuaxochitl’s hair around his fingers. “I’m sure it’s going fine.”

She didn’t seem soothed. Her gaze drifted over the sparkling water of the nearest fountain as she replied, “...Well...yes, my lord, but…”

“But?”

For a long moment, she silently traced meaningless patterns over his bare chest. It tickled, but not enough for him to be distracted from her words when she finally spoke. “It’s only that...you mentioned he seemed awfully close with her brother.”

“Acatl is his teacher.” But even as he spoke, his mind whirled. The pup is often angry—I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s his base emotional state—but when Acatl was accused of treason...gods, he was frantic, and not on his own behalf. And there’s the way he looks at him when Acatl can’t see him... Nobody looks at another person like that if they aren’t at least a bit infatuated.

Miyahuaxochitl had clearly reached the same conclusion far ahead of him. He mentally revised his opinion of her brainpower. “Mm. That’s...not the kind of closeness I mean…”

Anyone who could do the things she could with her tongue had no business blushing like that at a mere insinuation. And she hasn’t even seen them together. I swear the only time Teomitl wasn’t glaring at something was when he was looking at Acatl. “You really think so?”

She nodded. “I listen when the slaves talk amongst themselves. They all say that when those two were guests at your summer palace, they seemed...very close. And some of the merchants, too—rumor has it that Acatl-tzin never used to even step foot in the palace until he met Teomitl-tzin, and now he’s there all the time.”

He found himself remembering the last time he’d been in their combined presence. The bloodstained courtyard. The ghosts. The ahuizotls, all teeth and claws. And the way Teomitl had looked at Acatl, even with his sword drawn and visions of the Turquoise-and-Gold crown filling his head. Well. That would certainly explain a lot. I wonder if...no. If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I’d question whether Acatl even had blood in his veins. The poor pup is doomed.

The thought made him grin. There was, after all, a way for his life to improve—watching Teomitl splutter in impotent rage. “I think it’s time I spend a week in Tenochtitlan again.”

Pomp and circumstance were, of course, the prerogative of a Revered Speaker traveling to an allied city. But for once, Nezahual found himself curious as to what would happen if he took the subtle approach. Accordingly, his boat docked in the Atempan calpulli—if the memories of his spies served, Acatl had been from there—and he prepared himself for a nice, long walk on a sunny day. He’d even taken the steps of leaving his guards with the boat and most of his jewelry; they would follow an hour or so behind, to be ready in case he needed them. Meanwhile, in his least elaborate cloak, he could pass for a nobleman’s child instead of an Emperor for a day.

Ah, the sacrifices he made for the sake of information.

For being the domain of peasants, the calpulli really wasn’t as shabby as he’d imagined it would be. Children ran underfoot just as they did in the outskirts of his own city, and women called to each other as they spun thread and ground corn. He’d been walking for perhaps half an hour, heading deeper into the city, when he heard a name that gave him pause.

A group of women had gathered in an open courtyard to spin maguey fibers; one, middle-aged, sat down on the outside of their little circle and commented, “Saw our Acatl the other day.”

Acatl was a common name, but the degree of pride in her voice suggested he was more than just a fellow peasant. If he squinted, he thought he could make out a certain family resemblance—that girl shared his nose, and that woman had a precise copy of his jaw. Cousins, then. He made a production of stretching and leaning against the wall of the opposite house, for all the world as though he was fascinated by the birds in the tree branches above, and watched as a woman with red ribbons twined through her marriage braids perked up noticeably at her words. “Oh? How’s he doing?”

Their arbiter of knowledge grinned as she set her spindle whirling. “Seemed to be doin’ quite well for himself; had a nice new pair of silver earrings and all.”

Now that was interesting; Acatl was entitled to a degree of splendor as a High Priest, but her tone suggested he’d only recently begun to take advantage of it. Red Ribbons nudged the woman next to her. “Remember when he went off to calmecac and announced he’d stay on as a priest? His parents were furious!”

General sighs around the circle. Nezahual privately marked down Acatl’s parents as idiots.

A buxom woman in a flower-embroidered blouse muttered, “What a waste.”

Though this mildly blasphemous statement seemed to meet with some approval, the older woman let out a defensive huff. “Hey—he’s an excellent priest! Our Acatl, a High Priest!”

Flower Blouse sighed wistfully, a motion which did interesting things to her chest. “I know, Auntie. I’m sure you’re proud. But...he’s so handsome.”

There were collective nods. One girl clasped a hand to her chest and gazed wistfully up at the heavens, as though the mere thought of Acatl was enough to send her into rapture. Nezahual raised an eyebrow. While that is certainly an apt enough descriptor if you’re into older men, his personality...then again, I do seem to have a knack for running into him in stressful times. Stressful times he’d occasionally caused, but that was besides the point.

Red Ribbons looked thoughtful. “No wonder all the girls were so upset. Remember Huchimitl?”

A slender woman with her hair in a maiden’s plait smirked at her. “Just the girls? Because I remember your husband, when he was young—”

“Her husband, then? My brother, now! You should have heard him when he was at the boy’s calmecac, it was all Acatl-tzin this and Acatl-tzin that—“

“Girls!” Their auntie aimed a scorching glare around the circle, and all five of them suddenly found their spindles utterly fascinating. “You should be ashamed, gossiping like that about our High Priest for the Dead!”

The maiden was either brave or suicidal. “Auntie, you started it…”

“I was merely telling you what I saw!” She sniffed. “Ridiculous girl, it’s hardly my fault if our Acatl wants to finally take advantage of his place in the world—the Duality knows it took him long enough. Why, I remember when you all were young...”

Judging by the assembled eye-rolls and badly stifled groans, it seemed she was about to break into one of the dreaded When I Was Your Age speeches bemoaned by younger generations everywhere. Nezahual had heard his fair share as a child, and had no intention of staying and listening to this one.

Accordingly, he pushed off from the wall and continued on his way with a thoughtful hum. Clearly, Teomitl would have significant competition in the—vanishingly unlikely, he’d seen the way Acatl reacted to the suggestion of sexual intercourse—event of Acatl ever breaking his vows of chastity. Still, he mused. New earrings, for a man who never wears any. The pup must be trying very hard.

Hm. His last meal had been just after dawn, and he was getting hungry. The market should be packed at this time of day, and he had an excellent memory of a certain old grandmother’s tamales. He steered himself towards it.

Tenochtitlan’s main market was, indeed, packed. He felt the cacao beans and gold-filled quills wrapped in his cloak, gaze drifting over stalls selling jewelry and knives and caged animals. A woman on a spread-out blanket was haggling intently over the price of a caged parrot; her neighbor was trying desperately to interest a sacred courtesan in a length of orange cotton. At another time he might have bought both—he could always use a sacrifice to Xochiquetzal, just to be polite—but the smell of roasted meat was distracting.

He wound up buying two tamales, leaning against a tree to eat them just in time to avoid bumping into a porter with a load of bulky, fragile feather fans. Quetzal feathers predominated, a blazing iridescent green, but he spied bright blue cotinga and the delicate reddish-pink of spoonbill feathers as well. They were fit for a nobleman, if not the imperial court itself, and he wondered which featherworker’s shop had turned them out.

They were apparently quite impressive to the merchant manning a blanket full of wicker baskets, who remarked, “...Big order.”

The porter shrugged, adjusting his hold as the topmost fan made a bid for freedom from its carrying strap. “Oh, these? Straight to the Temple of Mictlantecuhtli.”

“Again?!”

“Yep.”

The merchant blinked slowly. “...Tlaloc’s green dick, who died?”

Another shrug. The errant fan hit the ground, and he swore as he knelt to pick it up. “Nobody important, so far as I know. At least, not recently.”

Given the way the merchant leaned forward, eyes gleaming as he lowered his voice, he’d come to the same conclusion Nezahual was rapidly arriving at himself. Such expensive feathers were either payments for services rendered, or...well. Payments for services you hoped would be rendered. Nezahual stopped chewing momentarily, the better to eavesdrop on the man’s murmur of “Must be a personal gift.”

That got a snort and a badly hidden grin. “Dunno why they bother. Acatl-tzin’s just gonna sell ‘em and give the proceeds to the poor anyway.”

“Pft, you have no romance in your soul—oh, I’ll let you go.” He’d spotted a potential customer, and beamed encouragingly at the woman who’d made the mistake of getting too close with intent to buy.

As the porter trudged off, Nezahual returned his focus to his lunch. They were really excellent tamales, spiced meat punctuated by the sharp bite of roasted chilies. He wondered if the woman who sold them would be interested in moving to Texcoco. It’s generally frowned upon to kidnap your allies’ citizens, but I might just risk it for more of these. It wasn’t like Tizoc would care, after all. Acatl might—the man was irritatingly principled—but a man who would sell that many expensive gifts to feed the poor probably wouldn’t complain too strenuously if one old woman got a new job in Nezahual’s palace kitchens.

He shook his head, biting back the smirk that wanted to escape. Poor, stupid Teomitl. That’s not a man that can be bribed onto your mat.

A pair of market girls passed by arm in arm, snapping their gum. He was about to tune them out, but their chatter snuck into his ears anyway.

The one in the pink blouse had a particularly chirpy voice; it would be just the thing to cheer him up after a tedious day, as long as she never brought up her current conversational topic again. “Did you really see the Master of the House of Darts down by the knife-seller the other day?”

Her companion—pale blue skirt, yellow makeup—nodded cheerfully. “Mm-hmm!”

A long, wistful sigh. “Mihmatini-tzin is so lucky.”

Blue Skirt puffed her cheeks out thoughtfully. “I wonder when he’ll take a concubine or two…”

That earned her a cheerful, laughing shove. “What, you think you’ll stand a chance?”

She was promptly shoved back, nearly colliding with a young man carrying a load of blankets as she cackled. “I just might!”

The joy in both girls’ faces was infectious, and Nezahual found himself with a genuine grin. Pink Blouse was smirking widely at her friend, showing off teeth that had been dyed a brilliant red. “You’ve got some competition, don’t you?”

“...Hm. I guess so. But...Teomitl-tzin’s really handsome.”

While Nezahual found himself regretting his decision to go incognito—neither girl had noticed him, and he was sure they’d revise their opinion of Teomitl’s supposed good looks if a better option presented himself—Pink Blouse let out a crack of laughter. “Hah!” Gum snapped cheerfully between her teeth as she added, “You’re not the only one who thinks so, I’ll tell you!”

He wondered who those people were—besides Mihmatini, who was proof positive that love made you blind and stupid. Nobody who looked that much like Tizoc could be that handsome, surely. Maybe on a foggy night. At a good distance. But before they could elaborate, he lost them in the crowd.

Both tamales were becoming distant memories, and he closed his eyes against the glare of the day to ponder his next move. Atempan and the markets had been enlightening, but they wouldn’t give him the answers he sought. He knew the palace would be his best bet, but there would be questions and politics and Tizoc there, none of which he especially felt like dealing with. At least not yet.

The Sacred Precinct was on his way, so he’d walk slowly. And if he engaged in the time-honored pastime of flirting with the next pretty girl he saw, that was absolutely besides the point.

It was mid-afternoon by the time he crossed over the canals to the Precinct walls, but the open plaza was as crowded as the markets had been. He kept his ears open and his mouth shut anyway. You could learn a lot from gossip if you were quiet. You could learn even more if you were Quetzalcoatl’s agent in the Fifth World, but he decided not to press his luck yet. His attendants were still keeping a significant distance behind him, and calling on the Feathered Serpent was something he preferred not to do in public. People always made such a fuss when your eyes rolled back in your head and spectral scales shimmered along your arms.

Ahead of him, one priest of Huitzilopochtli was huddling with another. He slowed his pace and pretended to be very interested in the sight of two sacred courtesans bickering.

The younger of the two priests was looking around warily, but his gaze slid right past Nezahual without seeing him. He clearly had different, worse problems. “...Quenami-tzin still seething?”

“Mmyep.”

“...I think I’ll take the long way back to the temple.” Nezahual couldn’t judge the priest for his wince; being under Quenami’s power had been bad enough for him, and he had been an Emperor since boyhood.

It didn’t take a genius to imagine why he was in a bad mood now. He remembered that load of feathers for the temple of Mictlantecuhtli, and smirked to himself. I can only imagine what he thinks of a peasant’s son accruing so many riches—and then to give them away! All because Teomitl thinks Acatl is one to be courted like a maiden.

The older and wiser priest nodded, but he was already distracted. The two bickering courtesans had descended to a screaming match, with vocabulary even Nezahual hadn’t heard employed in quite that way. It was fascinatingly undignified. “Good idea.”

“I mean, can you blame him?”

“It’s not Acatl-tzin’s fault that he—“

But Nezahual’s pace had slowed too much, and whatever wasn’t Acatl-tzin’s fault was lost when he nearly collided with a priestess carrying an armload of bloodstained grass balls. Since they had a regrettable tendency to roll all over the place when dropped, and since he had been raised with manners, he had to stop and help her pick them up. By the time they were finished, the priests had moved off.

He sighed. There was nothing for it; he’d have to enter the palace.

As he’d predicted, it was a unique form of torture. He’d met up with his attendants, so at least he was properly dressed for the obligatory good-to-see-you-glad-you’re-not-dead-yet audience with Tizoc-tzin, but having to listen to the man’s voice sucked all the pleasure out of what should have been a soothingly rote speech. It would take time for a proper banquet to be arranged, leaving him with several hours of free time he seriously debated spending in the women’s quarters. It would probably be worth it if he got caught. Tizoc was almost definitely not up to the task of entertaining a lady, and the women were sure to be bored.

He’d made up his mind to try it when he ran into Teomitl. Almost literally ran into, in fact; the man was striding through the palace corridors at his usual brisk pace, only to stop dead when he saw him. He was wearing the red cloak of an off-duty Master of the House of Darts and a frown.

After a pause just long enough to be insulting, he addressed him. Aww, he was learning politics. “Nezahual-tzin.” A stiff, perfunctory bow. “What brings you here?”

“Would you believe a diplomatic visit?” He tried for his most winning smile.

It didn’t work. Teomitl’s eyes narrowed, and when he drew himself up Nezahual realized that the man was still taller than him. Every line of his body screamed irritation. “...No.”

He paused for an instant, considering, and then let his smile widen. It had always been fun to needle Teomitl, even when they were children—the man was always so serious, so dignified. Of course there was a place for such things, but if the man was in love...it would be terribly amusing to watch that dignity crack. “It is! I heard some very...interesting things about your lovely city on my way here, you know.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Apparently Acatl-tzin’s very well-liked.”

Teomitl’s fists clenched briefly, then relaxed. Oh, he was touchy. “As he should be.”

And quick to jump to Acatl’s defense, as well—there’d been no hesitation in his words. Nezahual remembered the day they’d rescued Acatl from a traitor’s death; it had been the only time he’d ever seen Teomitl so frantic. Acatl had been oblivious then, and he was oblivious now. “A shame he hasn’t noticed. I’ve heard he’s gotten some expensive gifts recently.”

“Mm.” His jaw was tight, and he was resolutely not meeting Nezahual’s gaze. There was a faint tinge of red in his dark face.

Nezahual fought an urge to snicker. Allied ruler or no, they were presently alone in the courtyard and he didn’t particularly care for being punched in the face. The jade rod piercing his septum as a symbol of his rule was just as breakable as his nose was, after all. “Is he the sort of person who enjoys a bit of luxury? Do you suppose he’s the sort of person who’d then think kindly of the sender? You know him so well, after all.”

Teomitl sucked in a breath. “I suppose it’s none of your business, Nezahual-tzin. Good day.”

Then he stormed off, and Nezahual didn’t stop him. Baiting Teomitl was highly entertaining, but he’d had his try at that for the moment. Until the banquet, he’d enjoy himself in more leisurely pursuits.

The banquet, when it came, was fascinating to watch.

Mihmatini and Teomitl sat together, and he found himself studying them. She was radiant in feathers and jewels, but were her eyes tight around the edges? Did she suspect that her husband was besotted with someone else? It had been blindingly obvious to him even when he’d attended their wedding; he’d made it through the ceremony and half the feast before he’d had to sneak off to laugh himself sick. Mihmatini was an intelligent woman, but...well, love did make you blind.

Or maybe she’s just trying not to see it. Of course, all men took their pleasure where they pleased, but he imagined it had to be much different—much worse for the wife—when the one your husband had designs on was your own elder brother. But they weren’t acting as though anything was amiss; as the evening wore on, she leaned against her husband’s shoulder, and Nezahual strongly suspected she was holding his hand where he couldn’t see. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think Teomitl had never gone behind her back to overthrow his brother.

...Speaking of brothers…

He turned his gaze to Tizoc’s gilded screen. Tizoc had always hated priests in general and Acatl in particular; his attempt to get the man killed proved that. The part of Nezahual’s mind that was always turning over schemes and inspecting them from new angles wondered idly how he’d react if he knew his younger brother was interested in his greatest foe, if that was something he could use...but no, he wouldn’t sink that low. Teomitl was not an enemy he wanted to have when the man became Revered Speaker in his turn. And an enemy I’d have in truth, if I did something to jeopardize the life of his favorite priest.

Who, to Nezahual’s surprise, was in attendance. Apparently his unannounced visit was judged a significantly important occasion to merit the presence of all three High Priests. Acatl was seated between his fellows, wearing full regalia and an expression which suggested that if either man tried to speak to him, he’d drown them in their soup bowls. Next to him, Quenami was grinding his teeth; it appeared his foul mood had persisted all day, and Nezahual would bet quite a lot that it had something to do with the silver earrings in Acatl’s ears. They weren’t large or ornate, but they glittered where they caught the torchlight.

As he watched, Acatl turned his head in Teomitl’s direction, and their eyes met. Teomitl, caught in the middle of raising a soup bowl to his lips, flushed and set it down.

Nezahual tried very hard not to start cackling into his grilled turkey.

In the end, the confirmation of all those rumors was an accident. He really didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But he’d been about to turn in for his own mat when the idea struck him, and so before he could think better of it he was on his way to Teomitl’s chambers. Maybe the man would spill something interesting if he prodded him hard enough.

Teomitl’s chambers turned out to be occupied.

Very occupied.

To give them credit, they were trying to be quiet; if he hadn’t been actually in the courtyard and aiming for silence himself, he might not have heard them. But there was a very familiar rustle of cloth, and the distinct crackle of a thin reed mat, and then—

He knew that voice. He knew it very well, even though he’d never heard it like that.

“Ah, hah, Acatl…”

Impossible.

He sat down hard in the packed dirt, feeling his world rearrange itself to make room for the noises he was hearing. That was Teomitl, half-breathless with pleasure, and that was Acatl’s answering indistinct murmur, and that was the faint slap of flesh against flesh, and that was the steady rustling of reed mats under a man’s weight. He’d thought Teomitl pining, trying desperately to catch his dignified tutor’s attention. The idea that he’d succeeded...

He realized he faced a crossroads. He could slink away while they were busy with each other—undoubtedly the honorable choice. He could interrupt them—crude, dishonorable, and likely to result in severe physical pain if not immediate death.

Or he could sit down in Teomitl’s courtyard to wait.

He found himself waiting for a long time—enough to pick out the constellations above his head and develop a certain respect for Acatl’s stamina, but not long enough for him to fully pin down what he was going to say. It seemed he might owe Teomitl some sort of apology, which was a distasteful thought. He could bear it, though. Apologies, advice, perhaps some gentle mockery—yes, that was how he’d deal with this.

Eventually the sounds from within faded to a quiet conversation, and then to the faint rustle of someone getting to their feet. He glanced idly at the entrance curtain as its bells jingled, taking in the sight of a formerly-chaste High Priest making his escape from a lover’s embrace. The key word there being formerly; Acatl may have once sworn a vow of chastity and celibacy, but he’d clearly not so much broken it as shattered it to pieces and performed a merry dance on the shards. There were the faint marks of teeth in his collarbone and bruises at his hip, and his previously neat hair was in disorder.

Oh, and he was staring at Nezahual in open horror, such that Teomitl scrambled up off the mat and all but knocked him aside in order to take up a protective stance in the doorway. Any moment now, the open horror would transmute itself to outrage.

Absolutely nothing could have stopped his tongue. “You two seem to have had a very pleasant evening.”

Teomitl had clearly gotten as good as he gave; there were the beginnings of some fantastic marks on his throat. Much more important, however, was that his eyes had gone solid jade, and the air was starting to fill with the scent of the lake. “You.”

“Teomitl!” Acatl seemed to have shaken off his horror; now he laid a hand on his lover’s arm as though that alone would stop him from doing violence. Then again, he’d seen the man accomplish the same with words before.

“Acatl…” It came out in a snarl. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off Nezahual, who was beginning to feel some mild concern.

“Look, if you kill him, it’s a diplomatic incident and it’ll start a war with Texcoco!”

“...And?”

“And I think Tizoc-tzin will probably want to know why!”

Nezahual decided he could probably risk interjecting. Acatl was being reassuringly sensible about the whole thing, and Teomitl’s eyes were returning to their normal dark brown. “I heard some very interesting rumors in Texcoco. You’re lucky that Tizoc-tzin never thinks beyond threats to his person.”

He watched as Acatl and Teomitl exchanged uneasy looks. It was Acatl who spoke, with his gaze fixed on Nezahual; the air around him grew measurably colder, though it didn’t seem to affect Teomitl at all. “...Rumors?”

He’d had a lot of time to stitch together the day’s overheard conversations into a cohesive whole, and he discovered he was amused by the tapestry it presented. “You two, together, seem to be rather a...popular notion among the people of Tenochtitlan. Aside from Huitzilopochtli’s clergy, of course.”

Both men recoiled for a moment, their faces red, and then they spoke at once. “I—“

“—That is—“

He held up a hand. “I won’t breathe a word.”

Teomitl’s eyes narrowed, cold as the bottom of the lake. He saw jade reflections dance in their depths. “You wouldn’t be so accommodating unless you want something from us.”

He’d also had a lot of time to determine what that something would be. It seemed a simple favor, and one unlikely to cause offense. Not with what he’d seen. “...Should Tizoc-tzin’s death come with a reasonable amount of warning…”

He paused, watching the way both men stiffened. Acatl’s fingers twitched as though to take Teomitl’s hand before he visibly pulled himself back; Nezahual couldn’t help but smile. As though we don’t all know the useless craven isn’t long for this world.

“You let me tell him on his deathbed.”

Teomitl was still suspicious, but he seemed inclined to listen. “...Why?”

“Star-demons,” he said promptly. He’d seen them only at a distance, but the carnage—the bodies in pieces, such as he’d never even seen on the worst battlefields—had stuck stubbornly in his mind. And to know it was Tizoc’s fault...yes, he’d be very much pleased with the chance to make the man’s last moments that little bit worse.

“...I’ll give you that,” Teomitl muttered.

“Excellent!” He affixed a charming grin to his face. “So we have an accord. I must confess, I really hadn’t expected Acatl-tzin to be swayed by pretty silver earrings. I would have held out for solid gold—“

Through gritted teeth, Acatl snapped, “I think you should leave.”

Since he didn’t want to be an ahuitzotl’s dinner—an annoyingly likely scenario, given the way Teomitl was vibrating with rage—he left. Quickly.

EXTRA: Some Weeks Earlier

Teomitl’s life changed irrevocably over lunch, of all things.

He’d started showing up at Acatl’s house with tamales after a long, frustrating argument with the rest of the war council regarding preparations for the next campaign, when he’d only wanted to comfort himself with the thought that at least he could do one useful thing by making sure the man he loved remembered to eat that day. It had quickly become a routine. Hearing Acatl’s voice, seeing him smile...it was good. It was all he would ever get, but it was good. He’d become an expert at ruthlessly beating back the corner of his heart that still stupidly yearned for more. He knew he wasn’t going to get it.

Even if Acatl kept looking at him. And smiling. And laughing, sometimes, a half-disbelieving chuckle that made his heart do unpleasant things in his chest.

Acatl wasn’t laughing now. He’d seemed preoccupied all day, and barely picked at his food. Teomitl’s chest hurt, and he told it sternly to cease. If you keep doing this to me, he told his heart, I will have you removed. Today’s meal had been worryingly quiet.

Acatl broke the silence without looking up from his half-eaten tamale. “...I heard some...interesting rumors from my cousins yesterday.”

Teomitl swallowed. Acatl had a lot of cousins. Not as many as he did—he could still count them all and didn’t need a chart to figure out how they were related—but a lot. It was probably nothing. “Oh?”

“They seem to think your feelings for me are…” He trailed off, and Teomitl had the pleasure of seeing him blush. It almost distracted him from the heartstopping terror coursing through his veins. “...Not quite platonic.”

“Ngyrk,” he said intelligently.

Acatl dropped his gaze to the floor. “...I try not to give credence to gossip.” He swallowed visibly. “But.”

“But,” he echoed. Maybe if he prayed hard enough, the earth he sat on would sink into the lake. Or one of the gods—at this point he wasn’t picky—would strike him down.

Acatl drew a slow, hesitant breath. He still wasn’t looking at him, and Teomitl realized his hands were starting to shake. His own were only spared that indignity by balling themselves up into fists so tight that his nails cut into his palms. “...If...they were accurate…”

He managed to force the words out somehow. I am no coward. If he’s going to throw my heart back in my face, I can damn well meet it head-on. “If they were? What would you do, Acatl-tzin?”

“...I’d say we should be more discreet, for starters.”

We. His heart leapt, and this time he didn’t tell it to stop. He could barely breathe; the dread had faded, and pure joy was fizzling up to replace it. “Does that mean you—“

Acatl pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand to help him up as well. “It means, I think we should continue this discussion inside.”

They didn’t wind up doing much talking.

#nezahual #teomitl #acatl #teocatl #obsidian and blood #paladin writes stuff

2 notes · View notes

lighteyed · 5 years

Text

once upon a dream ❦ peter parker au

summary: sleeping beauty au but peter is aurora and reader is prince phillip

word count: 8.8k so hold onto ur hats

author’s note: if u would like to give feedback that would be REALLY NICE ok akkfasjlakfjljdf thank you i love you

It starts once upon a dream, with a boy who had rose petals for a mouth and honey for eyes, a boy born of the King and Queen, the kindest and gentlest soul to ever grace the grounds of the kingdom, as was apparent from the moment he blessed the lives of those around him. Good-natured and sweet, even as an infant, he smiled and laughed rather than cried, and he was the King and Queen's greatest joy. His name was Peter, for it meant stone, and they dreamt of their precious boy who filled their lives with the brightest of sunshine one day growing strong enough to rule over them with his benevolent hand. A celebration was proclaimed to pay homage to the newborn prince, and the entirety of the kingdom was beckoned forth to the castle to take part in the grandest of holidays.

From the neighboring kingdom came the King and Queen’s dearest friend, another King who brought with him you, his darling daughter only a few months old, his gift to his lifelong allies, as they had long and fondly dreamt to unite their two kingdoms through the marriage of a son and a daughter. Your sleepy, infant eyes hardly glanced at the other baby being presented to you, the boy you’d one day adore, the boy whose presence was to incur the wrath of the most vicious fairy in the land.

Though, of course, not all of the fae were vicious. In fluttered three kindly fairies, the announcer proclaiming, “The most honored and exalted excellencies, the three good fairies. Mistress Flora, Mistress Fauna, and Mistress Merryweather.”

They appeared at his cradle, cooing at him profusely as the guests of the celebration, delighted, waited for them to bestow their gifts upon the child. Each was allowed only one.

The first smiled down upon him and decreed that her gift shall be the gift of beauty of the rarest kind, the warmth of springtime in his every step and loveliness beyond compare.

The second smiled down upon him and decreed that her gift shall be the gift of song, his precious life filled with joyful melody, his heart filled with the croon of a nightingale.

The third smiled down upon him, but before her gift could be given, all the light in the room winked out of existence, the candles blown out by the abrupt gusts of wind rattling the chandeliers, the doors to the room thrown abruptly open. The gathering of villagers and nobility alike parted for her, for Maleficent.

Any semblance of good residing in Maleficent had left her long ago, and the flair with which she had entered the room, to join the party she hadn’t been given an invitation to, foretold that the fairy was not here to join in on the revelry of the day. The smirk adorning her red lips, as her patronizing gaze fell on the King and Queen, was indicative enough of her intentions. “Well, well,” her tone is velvet, falsely sweet, and she ascends the stairs to where baby Peter lies in his bassinet. “What a glittering assemblage, King Richard… royalty, nobility, and, how quaint, even the rabble.” Her leer turned on the trio of fairies surrounding the child’s cradle before it went back to the King, and she let out a mocking sigh. “I must say, I really felt quite distressed of not receiving an invitation.” She paused to allow room for an apology.

King Richard, making a show at being brave, said, “You’re not welcome here.”

Maleficent, in turn, made a show at being hurt, but it does not last. She lifted her head and laughed at him. “Oh, dear. What an awkward situation.” She turned, seemingly to make her leave.

The Queen, however, asked quickly, for reassurance, “You’re not offended?”

The fairy’s strange eyes fixed upon the Queen, a shudder creeping up her back. “Why, no, your majesty. And to show I bear no ill will, I, too, shall bestow a gift upon the child.” She ignored the protests of the King and swept the meddlesome fairies aside with one wave of her hand. She glared down at the tiny prince, who stared back up at her with innocent, doe-like eyes. Her hand hovered over him and her sinister voice, the falsetto of sweetness gone, echoed through the throne room. “Listen well, all of you. The prince shall indeed grow in grace and beauty, beloved by all who meet him, but,” she leaned back from the child, raising her arms, “before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday, he shall prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die.”

The Queen rushed forward for her child as her husband called for Maleficent to be seized, but the only thing left of her when the guards lunged forward was her maniacal laughter ringing in their ears; just a flash of green lightning and black smoke and she was gone.

The curse itself could not be undone, for Maleficent’s magic was so mighty, all other magic-wielders lacked the power to reverse it. The third fairy, Merryweather, having been unable to present Peter with her gift before, smiled down at him, and gently decreed that if he should prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, he would descend not into death but a deep slumber, and there he would remain until true love’s kiss is bestowed upon him to break the fateful spell.

Such was a temporary alleviation to the nerves unsettled by Maleficent’s curse; it was not a good enough antidote to the fears of King Richard, who then and there commanded every spinning wheel in the kingdom to be burnt forthwith, and so it was done. However, the safety of the kingdom’s most precious possession remained uncertain, and it was henceforth decided that, for the young prince’s safety, he was to be sent off to live with the three kind fairies and that night, the King and Queen watched, hearts heavy, their only son be carried away from them.

For sixteen years, the location of the prince remained a mystery to all, but there he lived deep in the woods with the three fairies who had raised him as their own, disguised as three mortal women with hair of red, brown, and gold. They bustled around the tiny cottage, a flurry with preparations for his birthday party, mumbling amongst each other about how to get the boy out of the house.

Peter, lacking in his former title of prince, appeared down the stairs of the cottage, and it is evident that the years were kind. Beauty of the rarest kind indeed; something sunshine-filled about each move he made, his soft smile and sparkling, joyous eyes the sweetest gift, given to him to bless the rest of the world. He tilted his head curiously at the trio. “What are you three up to?” He asked, their suspicious stances poised over the kitchen table piquing his interest.

They stumble over an answer in unison before the golden-haired woman stated, “We want you to go out and pick some berries!” in a hurried, panicked tone.

His brow furrowed, Peter replied, “But I picked berries yesterday.”

The red-haired one sternly said, “We need more.”

The brunette places a hand on his shoulder, pushing him out of the house, “Lots more!” She chimed. “Don’t hurry back, but don’t go far, and don’t speak to strangers!” And with rushed goodbyes, they ushered him out of the little house. He didn’t question their mischievous behavior, it was hardly in his nature to question the women who had raised him. They watch him retreat good-naturedly, recalling the day they brought him there, a tiny thing swaddled in a blanket sleeping soundly as if not a thing in the world could possibly harm him, and it was a beautiful thing to behold: the innocence of an infant. Soon, he’d be theirs no longer, once the curse came to pass and he could return to the castle that would one day be his.

Peter hummed a tune as he journeyed through the forest, and it’s almost as if the creatures hum it right back alongside him. Birds, rabbits, chipmunks, they follow his quiet, honeyed voice as it picks up, no longer a hum but a song, though he keeps it low as to remain as inconspicuous as possible. His guardians had always emphasized the importance of a discreet existence, one where he kept to himself, ran his errands for them if need be, then returned quickly without much talking to anyone. He never really minded. It was all he’d ever known, so what was there to mind?

Elsewhere, you lifted your head, surveying the woods. The pretty voice seemed to ride in on the warm spring breeze, drifting through the canopy of trees overhead. “Come,” you pat your horse lightly, “we’ve been needing an adventure.” You start toward the melody, now a saddened sort of tune.

The animals watch Peter as he sings and picks the berries. When he speaks, more to himself than them, they answer regardless, in their way. “They treat me like a child,” he grumbled, pushing a curl off his forehead as the owl answered who? He sighed, placing a few more berries into the basket. “Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. They never want me to meet anyone, and I’m always alone.” He paused, then smiled, for all was not lost. There was one thing he held on to, night after night, dream after dream. “I have met someone, though, sort of.” He amended the statement. It was not a formal meeting, but all in his head. Another chorus of who? comes in from the owl, prompting him to say more. “A princess. A beautiful, darling one, kind and intelligent and caring toward everyone, yes, even you,” Peter taps a finger on the nose of an inquisitive rabbit. “It was brilliant, we would talk for hours upon hours, and before we say goodbye, I take her into my arms, and then, of course, I wake.” He shook his head. “Yes, only in my dreams. However, they say if you dream a thing more than once, it’s sure to come true, and I see her each night, so I can only have hope that she’ll reveal herself to me one day when it is time.”

You, hidden behind a tree out of his sight, glow with adoration at his pronouncement. It was quite a sweet declaration, paired with his charming voice, a voice you’re sure you’ve heard a thousand times in your dreams, a lullaby that helps you drift back off when you’ve risen only briefly, you’re sure of it. You long to step out from the shadows and greet him; his apparent shyness, indicated by those eyes he casts around wearily and the softened, almost inaudible pitch of singing, while endearing as anything, made you hesitate from such actions. You decide to leave him be, but before you can climb soundlessly back onto your horse, you step on a twig, the resounding snap of the branch echoing unmistakably. You winced.

Peter nearly dropped his basket and the woodland animals scurried off in fear. He’s never had to deal with people before, let alone people sneaking up on him in the woods, so his fear is heightened extraordinarily at that very moment. Nevertheless, he lingered, waiting for the creator of the noise to reveal itself. Perhaps it was simply another animal being a troublesome little thing, as some were prone to be. However, when what steps out from behind the throng of trees is a girl, pretty and smiling nervously and taking a tentative step forward, he realizes he’s even more unprepared than he had initially thought. You’re awfully familiar to him. He feels it like a punch to the throat, leaves him breathless and utterly incoherent. He knows you without knowing you, impossibly so.

“My apologies,” your face feels warm in a bashful sort of way, and you’re not accustomed to feeling bashful. You pride yourself on the confidence you possess (you’ve hardly had much reason to doubt yourself, an advantage of being royalty), but it all seems for naught in the presence of this boy, the glowing, springtime-eyed boy gazing at you, stunned. “I, um, I didn’t mean to frighten you…” Your hands find your dress and clutch at it tightly to have something to focus on rather than the boy with his mouth agape.

He shut it abruptly as if finally noticing his impropriety. “Oh, oh, no, it- it wasn’t- you didn’t- you’re just…” he took a deep breath to settle his nerves, acutely aware of his cheeks aflame and shaky hands. “A stranger.”

“I gathered as much,” you replied, remaining at a distance as to refrain from frightening him further. “I- I- well, I wanted to tell you that, that your voice is very pretty. I am sorry if I startled you, I’ll be on my way-”

“You heard me?” He squeaked out, the pink of his cheeks darkening like mad. “Singing and talking? You heard me?”

“Indeed,” you school your features into an ambiguous expression, afraid the pleased smile you bite furiously back might be misinterpreted. “You sounded quite nice. I thought maybe it was the fae playing tricks on me, they do that often, but no, just you. A welcome surprise.” The twinkle in your eye makes Peter’s heart flutter rapidly against his ribs. “I do think I’ve heard your voice before.”

“Have you? Where?”

“Why you said it yourself, did you not? Once upon a dream,” you murmured to yourself before glancing back at him, a prominent grin adorning your face. “That’s where we met, of course. That’s where I’ve heard you. Assuming it is me you’ve been meeting in that head of yours.”

“It is, indeed,” he echoed your previous words. “You remember my voice, but I remember you. You are not easily forgotten.”

“Oh, please,” you waved a hand at him. “Your voice is far lovelier than my face could ever manage to be.”

“I must disagree with you there, my dreams did you an injustice compared to the loveliness I see now.” He’s unsure of where this self-assurance has risen from and he does not waste time on thinking too much into it. He must say it whilst he still can, lest you vanish before his very eyes as you do each night as he awakens from his slumber.

“You flatter me, truly,” you smoothed out your dress, stained from traipsing through the forest all day. “Though I must know your name, after meeting you in my dreams and such, it would only be right.”

He hesitated. “I- I’m not supposed to give it out, ‘m very sorry, I would if I could, but you must stay at least a while longer until I’ve finished collecting these,” he held up the basket clutched in his hand.

“Very well, then I won’t tell you mine, either.” You take your horse by the leash loosely tied around its neck and follow the boy into the forest.

His walk gave a vague, pleasant impression of poetry. Loping grace, calculated strides, like a doe in its natural habitat. It wasn’t just his walk that was poetry, it was entirely him. Every blush of his cheek, each blink of his eyes, the radiating (if not teasing) smile he sent your way when you cursed underneath your breath about the bugs nipping at your ankles exposed by your dress. He could tell, easily, that you were unaccustomed to the throes of the deep woods, despite your most valiant efforts to hide it save for the string of profanities you uttered every time you felt another bug bite into you.

“If I had to guess, I would say you were a princess,” Peter cracked another grin as you slapped a mosquito away from your arm, its body leaving a bloody splotch there on your skin in its death.

“What gave you that impression?” You flipped your hair away from your eyes.

A lot of things, he supposed. Perhaps he could simply say it was your unfamiliarity with your current surroundings, as if you’d never been in the presence of a tree that wasn’t perfectly cut and shaped courtesy of some royal gardener or whatever they called it. That wasn’t, of course, the only reasoning behind his assumption. It was the way you carried yourself. The regality of it. An air of confidence you gave off, the formality with which you spoke. You, simply put, looked like a princess, an ethereal being. His first thought upon meeting you was that you mustn't be real. No, impossible. You were a fairy creature; you should have wings like a butterfly’s sprouting from your shoulder blades, flowers wreathed among the strands of your hair, your voice like a wind chime and your laugh like a bell. You were spun from his fantasy-filled sleep, all terribly pretty with those dreamy eyes. He knew you, as you said you knew him, but he had been woefully unprepared to encounter you in the real world. Oh, he could hardly bear it. Just shyly observing you, as you did him, made him flush from his neck to his ears, across his lightly freckled cheeks and nose until he had to refrain from looking at anything other than the ground to prevent further embarrassment.

It was perfectly reasonable for him to say that you, simply put, looked like a princess, but instead he just said, “The way you have no idea how to deal with being outside in nature.”

“I appreciate nature a great deal, I’ll have you know, however, I am, unfortunately, not wearing proper hiking attire, nor was I expecting such an adventure today with a boy so accustomed to these woods in a way I neglect to be.” You huffed in faux-annoyance. He was clearly jesting. You were in no position to argue too vehemently, lest you blow your cover. “I can assure you, I’m no princess. I just tend to stick to my little garden in the back of my home rather than the dark woods.”

“Your ornate dress would also give the impression of royalty, but if you insist you’re of humble birth I am inclined to believe you, as per our agreement to secrecy.” He wished he was able to tell you his name… well, he could, if he desperately desired it so… but, no, he respected his guardians far too much to disobey them to such an extent, and there was no harm in spending these hours with you as long as he didn’t reveal his name. No harm whatsoever. Though he did not always understand their rules, he abided by them out of his goodness and his inherent loyalty.

“Who’s to say I am not a thief and this dress is stolen?”

“You don’t strike me as a thief,” Peter continued pulling off the berries from bushes he knew were safe for eating.

“And why is that?”

He paused. Does he dare? “Too pretty.” He did dare.

You fought off the look of surprise threatening to break open your face. Composure was your finest, most practiced quality. “Too pretty to be a thief? Thieves aren’t allowed to be pretty, then?”

“They can,” he decided, then said, “Your prettiness just looks like it stems from goodness. That’s all.”

“Thieves can steal for good reasons.” You avert your eyes from him, examining a tree with brilliantly bright flowers hanging low from its branches. Easier than looking at him was looking at flowers, but what was the difference, really? Both were beautiful.

“You just don’t look the type.” He said after a while. He came to where he had wanted to take you since the minute you’d chosen to keep him company. “Close your eyes for a second.”

You turned back toward him once you had secured your horse to the tree, arms folded across your chest. “Presumptuous of you.” He shakes his head at you, the florid hue of his complexion quickly becoming a permanent fixture of his face. “Fine, as you wish.” You held your hands together as you shut your eyes. He shuffled closer toward you, grass ruffling underneath his light footstep.

“Open them.”

You did, and clasped in his grip was a dainty rose, held out for you. You feel a swarm start inside your stomach, butterflies fighting to be free of their cage. They did not appreciate the proximity between you and Peter, they begged closer closer closer, they pleaded kiss him kiss him kiss him, they cried indignantly when you did not. Your breath seemed nonexistent when standing so close to him, so close each fleck in his brown eyes stood out against the gold and pink of the blooming sunset. Composure no longer existed. Before you could say a word to him (though you were unsure how you were going to do so without sounding like a complete and utter fool), he said, “I have more for you, but… well, may I?” You nodded, and he slipped it through your hair, careful to mind the thorns. “There, now you look like you belong among the briar patch, a wild rose.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” you said while his fingers were still twined in your hair, lingering on the soft curve of your cheek. He couldn’t match your gaze for long, the intensity made his skin warm all over, if it were even possible to blush that hard, and he was afraid he’d do the impulsive thing in the rush of heat and kiss you full on the mouth. Oh, it did cross his mind, but he was not an impulsive boy, and he pulled back the littlest amount to restrain himself. He tried to feel the wind whip across his face, to cool him down. Passion, apparently, was going to make an idiot of him, and he’d only just met you. He couldn’t allow himself to be an idiot in front of you, yet. “Thank you, truly. I don’t get out much, or talk to people much, and this has been a lovely day.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted. “Hardly at all.”

“When might I see you again?” Earnest in your question, you reached for his hand. You liked his hands, nervous and all over yours, a perfect fit. “Or, better yet, when might I learn your name?”

Maybe making such hasty promises was the wrong move, but regardless he said, “Tomorrow, at the cottage by the glen,” and walked you back toward whence you came, the rose in your hair and a quickly made bouquet in your hands. He watched you mount your horse, basking in the feel of your lips delicate on his cheek from when you had bid him goodbye. You departed from him in the grip of some bright, beautiful, bold dream, lighter than life or air.

Peter headed back to his home, humming happily to himself. A raven is perched atop the tiny cottage’s roof, but Peter paid it no mind. He was held aloft in the clouds, in the radiance of the sunset, in the hands of another. When he entered the cottage to see the slightly lopsided cake that Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather had made for him, his happy mood increased tenfold. Their cries of happy birthday helped a smile light up his face. “Oh, thank you! You’ve made today even better than it already was!” His sincerity is touching, but the three women pause.

“What else happened today?” Fauna asked, taking the basket out of his hand and noticing a stray rose left inside.

“I met someone,” he informed them, and he’s glowing as he says it, glimmering with happiness and hope and dreams. “A beautiful someone. The most beautiful someone the world has ever seen.”

They cast quick looks among one another. This just wouldn’t do. “You’ve met some stranger!” Flora exclaimed. “After all we’ve taught you?”

“She’s not a stranger, though, I’ve met her before, once upon a dream,” he laughed at his loophole to their rule, and he began humming dreamily again as he helped himself to some of the cake on the table.

“He’s in love!” Fauna felt his forehead for the unmistakable flush of first love, and there she found it.

“Oh no!” Merryweather sat down in a chair, fanning herself dramatically.

“This is terrible!” Flora took the cake out of his hands and started eating the rest herself.

Startled, Peter wiped the frosting off his lips and stared around at the trio of women, pale and acting more melodramatic than ever. “What is the problem? I would say I’m old enough for love. I am sixteen now, after all.”

Flora sighed. “It isn’t that, dear.” She glanced at her sisters for help.

“You’re already betrothed.” Fauna explained, wringing her hands. Perhaps they should have told him sooner, rather than later. It was just that, well, if the curse were to come true it would be today, on his sixteenth birthday, and it only felt right to wait until today, up until this very moment, of course, watching his previous elation fade into dejection and hurt. “To Princess Y/N, of the neighboring kingdom. She’s lovely, as well-”

“But that’s impossible because for me to marry a princess I would have to be a-a-a-”

“A prince, dear, yes,” Merryweather reached over to him to pet his hair gently. He backed up toward the kitchen window before she could touch him.

“You’re Prince Peter, son of King Richard and Queen Mary, who we are to take you back to tonight.” Flora tried to place a motherly hand over his, and again he jerked back from touch. He felt completely and utterly betrayed. Outside, a raven caws at the sky and flies off, an omen or a metaphor.

“I-I-I can’t go there, she’s coming here tomorrow, and I promised to meet her!” It’s the only thing his mind can focus on, out of the billions of thoughts swarming around up there right now. Her. You. The impossibility of having to marry anyone other than you. It was incomprehensible.

“I’m sorry, dearest, but you can never see that girl again.”

Peter said nothing. He stormed out of the room, the rose you’d placed in his basket when he wasn’t looking to make him think of you later in the evening between his fingers. Tears well up in his eyes, burning against his shut lids. He settled himself down on his bed once the door was safely closed and bolted, placing the rose on his pillow and letting the tears spill out. The three fairies huddle around his door, listening to his muffled, shallow breaths. They thought he’d be so happy with the news.

Far away, in your own kingdom, you were just entering the castle, singing softly to yourself and spinning throughout the halls, your heart rosy with joy. You were hoping to slip quietly into your room and send one of the maids for a vase to put your new bouquet into. Then, you wanted to sleep immediately after a bath, to fast forward time in your own way and get to tomorrow quicker. You could hardly wait.

You were, however, stopped in the hallway by your father. He had a bemused expression on his face. He’d been watching your twirls of delight for a few moments now and, as endearing as it was, had business to attend to with you. “What has you in such a mood, my girl?”

“Oh, father! I had the most lovely day! Enchanting, really, so splendid I can hardly believe it was real!” You grabbed his hands excitedly, bouncing on your toes.

“What happened? Not talking to strangers, I hope?”

“I met someone, a most handsome someone, father, he was kind and funny and romantic, gave me this rose and a dozen other flowers to keep with me until I see him again tomorrow! You can meet him, too, of course, that’s a given!” You added the last part upon seeing the surprised knit of his brow. “I’ve met him before, once upon a dream, so he’s not a stranger, I’m sure you’ll like him as I do. You mustn't look so worried!” You patted his shoulder.

“It’s not that I’m worried my dear, it’s- well, I’m sorry, child, I should’ve told you sooner…” he trailed off, wiping the sweat off his brow. You take a step back, a feeling of dread creeping up your neck. You wanted to clap your hands over your ears to avoid hearing the next words to come out of his mouth. You almost did. “You’re betrothed. To the lost prince Peter. We’re to meet him and his father King Richard there tonight, at their castle, when the prince comes home. You’ll be married soon enough, and I already have a castle ready for the two of you. Nothing elaborate, forty bedrooms and a dining hall, room for the children, naturally-”

“That is absurd!” You cried, eyes alight. “Married? Children? To a stranger? This is- this is absurd, absurd and impossible and ludicrous and all other synonyms for the damn word! Prince Peter? He doesn’t even exist to me! I don’t even know what he looks like!”

“He was blessed by the fairies to be quite handsome, and kind, too, he’ll make a suitable match for you, Y/N-”

“Enough of this! I’m to meet the other boy tomorrow, not marry some random prince tonight! I don’t want it, I renounce my title, I reject the crown, I will not go with you anywhere tonight or tomorrow or any day after!” You stomped your foot, childish as it may be, and ran off in the other direction to the stairs, to the safety of your bedroom, as your father yelled after you that you would do as you were told. “You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming there!”

“I command you to come to your senses! No daughter of mine will marry a peasant boy!” And he would drag you kicking and screaming if he had to, mark his words. If he could get to you before you escaped, that is.

Spoiler: he doesn’t. That, however, comes later.

In the woods, the fairies and Peter walked cautiously down the path leading to the castle, the greatness of it looming overhead. Begrudgingly, Peter had gone with them. He would explain, he had decided, to his parents that it would be impossible for him to marry just anyone, and he would tell them about the girl he’d met, and implore them to meet her instead of marrying him off so soon. It had to work, or at least sway them in his favor.

Unnoticed, they reach the castle and head into an unoccupied room with a fire burning in the fireplace, ushering him inside and locking the door. Fauna pulled the drapes closed, shutting out the light from the sunset completely. He sat down, and Flora nestled a crown atop his curls, his final gift from them as a symbol of his regained royalty. Peter then let out a distinct sniffle and hastened to wipe his eyes. Everything in his life had been upheaved in a mere moment and it frightened him, made him anxious and frustrated, made him want to run, hide, never look back. He was eager to meet his parents—well, more curious than eager— but a royal life was too much of a shock, coupled with a predetermined marriage plan and he was about ready to collapse. Happy birthday to me, he thought glumly.

They all flutter around him as he made his misery apparent, awkward pats on the back were distributed, and they soon bowed out of the room to alone him a few minutes to himself. He held his head in his hands, breathing deeply to calm himself.

The fire goes out suddenly when he lifts his head. He’s in pitch-black darkness, save for a small sphere of green light winking at him from the other corner of the room. His eyes go glassy, unfocused, as he stares at it, entranced. There’s no looking away from the little ball of light, and Peter resolved that he needed to be closer to it, needed to touch it, so he got up from his seat and started toward it. It floated beyond the fireplace, where a wall suddenly opened up. He continued walking. He had to. His only thought was the mysterious ball of light, there was no other option but to follow it.

Outside, the fairies discuss their boy’s sadness, worried for him. “Do you think his plan to tell the king will work?”

“I do hope so,” Merryweather leaned against the door. “I don’t see why he must marry any old princess, anyway.”

“That’s not for us to decide, dear,” Fauna answered, though if it were she certainly would give him the choice of his happiness. It gave her, and all the fairies, the greatest satisfaction to see the boy’s happiness. He was such a sweet boy, he deserved endless happiness and smiles and love. They hadn’t meant to make him this unhappy. “We shall see what the king makes of it- what was that?” They halted their discussion, ears pressed against the wooden door, and all collectively gasped. There was a distinctive giggle ringing in the room. “Maleficent!” They chorused, barging into the room, cursing their decision to leave him alone. They watched him vanish behind the reappearing wall, unable to hear their cries for him. They try to push the wall back open, and when that didn’t work, they had one thing left to use: their magic. But even as they found the passageway, there were multiple ways going off the fireplace, and they couldn’t find the right way at once.

He continued slowly up a staircase, following the light. He followed it into another dark room in the tower, where it floats into a corner and transforms into a spinning wheel. He reached toward it, a hand outstretched. There’s the voice of the fairies far away behind him, telling him not to touch anything, and another soft voice, invisible, crooning in his ear when he holds back, “Touch the spindle, Peter.” A command if he ever heard one, and Peter was nothing if not eager to please.

The rays of the sun are a scarlet red as he pricked his finger sharply, like droplets of his blood had escaped and found their way into the sky.

The fairies entered the doorway a minute too late, horror in their gaping mouths and wide eyes as Maleficent cackled. “Fools, the lot of you, for thinking you could defeat me, me!” Another wicked laugh curls from her lips. “Here’s your precious prince!” She kicked Peter’s crumpled body lightly. When she disappears, she leaves nothing behind but that cruel laugh and her cruel curse.

Peter was face down on the floor, curled in on himself, the blood spooling from his finger making a tiny puddle on the wooden floor. The fairies gathered around his motionless body, crying, blaming themselves.

The entire kingdom has already filed into the castle to celebrate their beloved prince’s triumphant return to his royal roots. The sun had set, and he was supposed to be entering now, cheered for by all, embraced by his parents. The fanfare outside is indicative enough of the momentum of the celebration, but if that weren’t enough, fireworks were beginning to sound off.

Fauna began to wail, “Poor King Richard and Queen Mary, they’ll be devastated when they find out!”

“Heartbroken,” Merryweather agreed, blotting her eyes.

Resolutely, Flora said, “They’re not going to.” Her sisters looked to her curiously. “Everyone in the kingdom is here, at the castle, so we’ll put everyone to sleep until Peter awakens. No one gets hurt.” First, they conjured a bed to situate him on, and then, in his hands, place the single red rose you had left him. “Now, let’s get to work.”

They flew around the castle, putting everyone to sleep swiftly and efficiently. Flora settles down to put the spell on the other king, who is lying next to King Richard, already asleep. While drifting off to sleep, this king mumbled, thinking he is still speaking to King Richard, “I’m sorry, but my daughter has run off, seems she’s fallen in love with a peasant boy…” his eyes fluttered briefly shut but Flora shook him back awake, alarmed by his statement.

“Peasant boy? Who is he? Where did she meet him?”

“Just some peasant boy she’s met.”

“Yes, but where?” She pressed, shaking his shoulder again.

“She said once upon a dream,” he slumped over, finally asleep.

Flora’s eyes widened drastically as she scrambled up from the floor, calling for her sisters. Oh, this was glorious. Peter would have no reason to be sad once he awakened, for his betrothed was already the object of his affections. They just had to find her.

You hadn’t given your father a chance to drag you out of your castle kicking and screaming; you had already left. You had propped open a window when the maid had gone to draw your bath, found your footing on a sturdy vine, and cascaded to the castle grounds with only minor cuts, scrapes, and assaults to your dress. You would’ve worn more suitable clothing, but you had none, therefore you made do and accepted the dress’ fate.

You ran toward the stables just as the maid was discovering your absence, readied your horse with a gentle coaxing of a shiny apple, and escaped faster than your father could call the guards to find you. You felt like you were flying, freedom settling on your shoulders as you ride your way to the cottage in the glen. You had to see him and tell him of the atrocity your father was planning to force you into.

You dismounted from the horse as soon as you see it, the only cottage for miles. You tie the horse to the tree, giving her another apple and a pat on the head. You knocked on the flower-covered door, smiling to yourself.

“Come in!” Called a voice from within. You entered and immediately got the feeling that something was off. It was too dark in the cottage, unnaturally black, and you couldn’t even attempt to turn back and hurry away because you were seized at the arms by two strange yet strong creatures.

“Get off me!” You struggled against them to no avail. You were soon tied up, though you had spat on them and kicked them enough to wound their pride at least. “Do you know who I am? Release me this instant!”

A candle lights up your face, illuminating your angry eyes and snarl. A ferocious look for a princess, Maleficent noted. Deeply satisfied with her catch of the day, she said to you, “Look at this,” she runs a hand over her raven’s head, “I set my trap for a peasant girl and I catch a princess. How darling.” You sneered at her, craning away from her icy gaze. “Well, away with him, my pets, but do be gentle. I have such plans for our royal guest.”

The fairies arrived again a beat too late, finding their door propped wide open. When they enter the cottage, they find your red rose on the floor, strands of hair entwined from where it’d been yanked out.

“She’s taken the princess!” Merryweather picked the rose up from the floor.

“To the forbidden mountain,” Flora gritted her teeth. It was a horrid place, the stuff of nightmares and evil. Darkness bloomed there, ceaseless. “We must.”

“We can’t!” Fauna moaned. “It is forbidden for a reason!”

“We can and we must! For Peter and for Princess Y/N, so that they may know each other truly! And for the whole kingdom, so that they may know peace!”

Merryweather and Fauna can hardly argue with a sentiment such as that. They reluctantly journey forth with their sister to the forbidden mountain, a twisted castle shrouded in black and green smoke, its towers like jagged spikes.

Shrunk down to microscopic size, the fairies approach the castle. The guards do not detect their presence and they passed the gates unseen. They shimmied through a window to a room where Maleficent and her little pets are feasting and dancing around a fire. “What a pity Princess Y/N can’t be here to enjoy our celebration! Come, we must go to the dungeon and cheer her up,” she said to her pet raven, perched on her shoulder as always. She departed the feast, her raven and the fairies following her.

They held in their gasps when they saw you, chained to the wall with a cut across your cheek and your head down so you didn’t have to look Maleficent in the face.

Maleficent cooed to you, “Oh, come now, Princess, why so melancholy? A wondrous future lies ahead of you, the destined heroine of a charming fairy tale come true.” She made images dance before your eyes to depict a story. “Behold, King Richard’s castle, and in yonder topmost tower, dreaming of his true love, your betrothed, Prince Peter. Behold the gracious whim of fate, ‘tis the same peasant boy who won the heart of you, most beautiful Princess Y/N, only hours ago. He is indeed a sight to look upon. Beauty of the rarest kind, yes? In ageless sleep, you’ll find. The years roll by, but a hundred years to a steadfast heart as his are but a day. And now, the gates of the dungeon part, and the princess is free to go on her way. Off she rides on her noble steed…” Maleficent’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she continued on, smug and sly. “A valiant, radiant, beautiful figure. Regal.” The image of you she showed was that of a shaking old woman, hunched over and sad. “Off to wake her love with true love’s kiss,” she mocked the phrase with a high-pitched tone, “to prove that true love conquers all.” You growled at her, struggling against your chains, trying to rip them off the wall and get your hands around her throat. The cruelty of it all. To make you a prisoner here while your prince was alone and ageless, to release you once you were too feeble to give him any sort of life together or even entertain the thought. The most brutal punishment of all, to give you to him, at last a savior, except like that. And she loved every second of it, basking in her triumph and laughing back up to her feast. “A most gratifying day,” she had smiled as she locked the dungeon door.

After she is gone, the fairies appear, approaching you. “No time to explain,” Flora hushed you, opening your chains with her magic.

“Who are you?” You asked, rubbing at your bruised wrists and standing up on weak legs.

“Peter’s guardians, fairies, and we have heard so much about you, Princess Y/N,” Flora said. Merryweather produced the rose from her pocket and placed it back in your hair. “You must save him, you’re the only one who can!”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to save him, and to stop Maleficent,” you added, scraping dried blood off your cheek from where she had cut you. “Tell me what I must do, what I must face, and I will face it gladly.”

The set of your jaw and the determined stance of your shoulders ease the fairies’ worries. They’d thought that perhaps you’d be too scared to fight. Flora conjured two weapons with her magic, presenting them to you. “The road to true love may be buried still with more dangers, which you alone will have to face. Arm thyself with this enchanted shield of virtue and this mighty sword of truth, for these weapons of righteousness will triumph over evil.” You suit up, ruined dress and all. The fairy halted from opening the door. “Do you, ahem, know how to use these weapons, Princess?”

You unsheathed the sword, chin raised. “ I shall learn.”

The door swung upon, and you and your new companions flood out, the raven shrieking for its mistress. You and the fairies start up the stairs and Maleficent’s servants come streaming down toward you. You narrowed your eyes, raising the sword and beginning to fight. It was a heavy thing, nearly impossible to hold upright without the proper training, but you managed to fight back effectively before they jump right out the window. They began a counterattack of throwing rocks, which Flaura turned to bubbles, and shooting arrows, which Flora turned into flying daisies. If you had more time, you’d marvel at the wonders of her magic.

Merryweather freed your horse outside, waiting for you. You hopped on, riding off determinedly to the gate. You would not be deterred, even when hot oil came pouring toward you (which Flora turned to a rainbow). Merryweather followed the raven as it tried to wake a slumbering Maleficent, and she turned him into a stone raven outside the dark fairy’s door, but not before he succeeded in waking his mistress. Maleficent screamed, “No!” when she saw her beloved pet turned to stone, then again, a panicked “No!” when she noticed you making your daring escape. She raised a hand, and the drawbridge, too, started to raise.

“Watch out, Y/N!” Flora called, and you tightened the reins on your horse, ground your jaw, and launched over the gap just barely. “Hurry, hurry!” She called again. Your grip is so tight you can feel your fingernails against your palms. It feels like flying again, you’re going so fast through the dark forest you have no time to think or plan your next move. All that matters is going as fast as you can and getting away from Maleficent. To Peter. Your Peter. To know his name brought you strength.

Maleficent raised her arms, casting a spell. “A forest of thorns shall be her tomb, born through the skies on a fog of doom, now go with the curse and serve me well, round Richard’s castle cast my spell!” Bolts of lightning strike the darkening castle, causing a wild growth of thick and thorny bushes, seemingly impenetrable. Maleficent breathed loudly through her nose. She had foiled your daring rescue. “Finally, for the first time in sixteen years, I shall sleep well.”

Or so she thought. You hesitated only for a moment. Then, hauling the heavy sword back up, you fought your way through the thorns, because they reminded you of the rose in your hair, and the rose reminded you of Peter. This was for him. You continued cutting your way through until you were free on the other side.

Maleficent gaped. “No! It cannot be!” Enough was enough. She appeared in front of you suddenly, and you stepped back out of habit. “Now, you shall deal with me, dear princess, and all the powers of hell!”

A tad dramatic, you thought, or maybe not, you thought after she transformed herself into a monstrous dragon in front of you. Your breath caught in your throat, and not in the happy, love-filled way from before. No, this was much different. Still, you squared your shoulders, making a courageous step toward her despite there being absolutely no chance of your victory. She spewed fire, and your fight with her was short-lived. You raised your shield against her, but you knew that would only last so long. She was too much. She was blazing fire and snapping jaws. You retreated, backed up against a wall, shakingly holding the sword high. If you were to die, you would go down fighting, with that stupidly heavy sword in your first and a scowl on your face. That’s how you would want to be remembered. Cowering in fear did not exist to you. Composure was your strong suit.

“Up here!” Flora said from above you, and you climbed up to where she was, only to find yourself trapped on a cliff. Fire blazes all around you and one meticulously aimed ball of it destroys your shield into a pile of ash.

Maleficent’s laugh at your loss ignited a rage in you, and you raise the sword again, staring her in her strange eyes, as the fairies chant, “Now sword of truth fly swift and sure, that evil die and good endure!” It feels lighter in your hands somehow, and when you throw it in a spiraling arc at the dragon, you know your aim was true. It struck her right in the heart, and she goes down off the cliff in an eruption of flames. You peered over the side of the cliff, blowing a strand of hair out of your face, dusted with char. She was reduced to a pile of nothing, the sword sticking out of the ground.

The horse and the fairies came to your side, and you made your way to the castle. You let them lead you to Peter, nearly tripping over yourself to scramble up those stairs in an effort to get to him faster.

He lay there on the bed, serene-looking in his sleep. Even when you look away, you’re still looking. His face had been burned into your memory; that beautiful, sweet face. And here he was. Your Prince Peter. The boy from your dreams, the boy of your dreams. The rose clutched in his hand and tied in your hair, binding the two of you together. You know what is meant to happen next, yet you hesitate.

“What is wrong, Princess?” Flora asked, fluttering around you with her sisters. “Is it your attire? You are looking a little worse for wear, but we can fix that up.” They wave their wands and clear the ash from your face, fix your knotted hair, patch your dress good as new. “A new color dress for the occasion, I think, as well.” She makes it pink.

Merryweather wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Blue.” She turned your dress blue.

“Pink!” Flora commanded, making it pink again. Merryweather raised her wand again, but you wave your hands wildly about to capture their attention.

“Can’t you just make it both?” You said, exasperated. Flora shrugged, doing as you asked. “Anyway, that’s not what I was going to say. Must I really, um, kiss him?” You stared down at the boy in front of you, placing a hand on his.

“Why? Is that a problem?” They cocked their heads in confusion.

“Well, it just feels a bit intrusive, he’s not awake to say it’s okay for me to kiss him, and I don’t want to make assumptions on his behalf but I know it’s the only way to wake him up so I’m not really sure what-” The fairies all stare at you blankly, so you halt the confused monologue.

Swallowing your nerves, you lean down and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. It was what felt right in the moment, and so you did it, and the world tilted on its axis. His brown eyes opened slowly, catch yours, and he beamed.

“It’s you,” he said as he sat up, cupping your cheek. “You’re…”

“A princess, it would seem, betrothed to a Prince Peter. You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you? I’ve been waiting to meet him, though I hear he gets himself into all sorts of trouble. I’ll have to deem him worthy of my time.” He crinkled his face up in that boyish, shy manner of his, just the most darling thing you’ve ever seen. “I’m very glad it’s you.”

“As am I,” he said sweetly, face leaning up toward yours.

“I was thinking I might kiss you now if that’s alright,” you played with the collar of his shirt apprehensively. He nodded a yes, a please kiss me, and so you did, and he tasted of fairytales.

Inside the throne room, as the people begin to awaken, your father is attempting to explain to Peter’s that his daughter has decided to marry a peasant boy, mumbling something along the lines of it being the fourteenth century and a perfectly acceptable thing, but King Richard is hardly listening. He stood up, eyes bright, as his child and the princess descend the stairs and come into the throne room together, hand in hand, a rose in the button of Peter’s shirt and a rose in your hair.

You kneeled together in front of the throne, and Peter embraced his mother and father tightly. Your own father stands there stuttering like a loon, and you send him a wink.

You and Peter danced together, alive with love and joy, the whole night spent in the company of one another’s arms. You resolved to never let him go, and he resolved to keep you in his heart for the rest of his life. Fauna dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, and, when asked what was wrong, said softly, “I just love happy endings.”

THE END.

#peter parker imagine #peter parker #peter parker x reader

387 notes · View notes

thedreamingscorpio · 3 years

Text

Undulations

Chapter 2

Well I think it goes without saying but in case I wasn’t clear earlier:

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Thank You, please lemme know your thoughts on my work!

Love Always!

Time had gone by in a whirlwind, with Goten finding some warm clothes for his company, making some tea and gathering the necessary tools and supplies. While the whole time the young woman had only exchanged common courtesies whenever Goten would bring her something, which they were done with in the first ten minutes of her arrival.

Despite the ruckus that he had created, the house was quiet, almost too quiet.

Case in a nut shell, the last twenty minutes saw the three occupants of the house to, in Goten’s case grow increasingly curious and observant, the woman’s gaze to get lost in the depths of infinity, and for well, Cepheus to become more irritable with each passing minute.

Goten had finally found his cauterizer. It was kept in his store room since he hadn’t had to use it in quite sometime now, it was the one he used previously, and since getting a new one he kept it at home in case of an emergency. He didn’t think that he’ll be requiring it today, given the bored and irritated expression that marked his patient’s face. But that was the thing, the dog although one of his most frequent patients, still managed to throw him for a loop with his seemingly impenetrable expression, the same ‘the hell do you care ’ expression adorned his face, be it an ingrown nail or a gaping wound.

It seemed as though if given the chance to converse akin to a human being, he’d list all the complaints in the world and manage to find a fault with even the most perfect of things.

Well in reality Goten himself never really believed in the concept that the word 'perfect' embodied, in his opinion nothing was completely flawless, it was just the mere coincidence, that if what one sought was what the other provided, the two pieces seemed to fit together, therefore creating the illusion of what people called 'perfect’. And of course, he was familiar with the universal use of 'perfect’ and came to the conclusion, that there are certain things people perceive as desirable universally, like symmetry for one, and that’s okay, but to then announce that the person or the object is utterly flawless was a bit absurd in his opinion.

But then again, was it his need to rationalize everything, or his general dislike for the word, he didn’t know, perhaps he’d heard it too many times in his lifetime as a constant reminder to know exactly what he wasn’t, eh no point dwelling over things that bring a sour taste to your mouth…

Though that still lead him to think, that if people’s version of 'perfection’ was so hard to come by, almost everyone did settle for something less, like 'good’ or even 'great’ at times. 'Cause unlike 'perfection' , Goten knew for a fact that those things existed and that they weren’t half bad, in fact, despite the irony of his thought-process, those 'good’ or 'great’ may even be somebody’s version of 'perfect’!

So, why the hell did Cepheus, have that rotten expression on his face, no matter what hour of the day it might be! He really failed to understand how an baby animal could prove to be much more difficult to deal with than an adult human being. Weren’t animals supposed to be nicer?

Every time he happened to meet him, it appeared as though he were mocking, challenging him to do something, anything to change the opinion his little underdeveloped mind had conjured up of him. Oh and how Goten hated it!

Moreover what really worried him was the state of the young woman currently sitting on his couch. Empty tea cup held in hands, as if it were a life-saver, determinedly staring straight ahead unblinking, it was a miracle how the wall didn’t have a hole burned through it. It was her reaction that had told Goten to be prepared for anything and everything, and he was glad to have found his cauterizer.

Now with all the necessary tasks out of the way, he went to the kitchen to fetch his cup of tea…only to realize it had gone cold.

“Ah shit!"

Now Goten wasn’t a person for whom cursing was a regular occurrence, also given the fact that he was in the presence of one of his patients, it was highly unprofessional of him. So, instinctively as soon as he realized he had cursed out loud, he immediately regretted it and his eyes darted towards the couch. But noticing that the house was still eerily quiet, and that his slip-up had gone unnoticed, his more pressing concern was to talk to the woman as soon as possible.

That’s how he found himself in the kitchen reheating his long forgotten chamomile tea, while silently mulling over how strange the whole incident was! The woman’s features weren’t lost on him, the way her green eyes looked at him, flipped his stomach.

She reminded him of someone, someone he could never forget, the girl from his early days with his reputation as a womanizer, the only girl he had been silly and pretend-serious with, the only girl he could be anyone with, yet she still wouldn’t forget his name, the girl who had made him realize that although fun, that wasn’t the life he wanted, the girl who had seen him transition from a technical adult to behaving like an actual adult, the girl who’s heart he had broken, by telling her it wasn’t her, it was him…Valese.

Valese had brown eyes, with a tinge of green, not quite hazel, no, but not quite brown either, her chestnut hair cinched at her waist, making her seem incredibly gorgeous, her pale skin contrasting against her dark features, her plum lips always chewing a strawberry flavored gum, and the way she spoke his name, blinking her large eyes at him, always managed to melt him.

So, then why did he leave her you ask?

Well, the answer was simple really, or complete bullshit depending on who you are, she was too easy. From the moment he’d met her she was googly-eyed, and was willing to put up with his every whim, without batting an eyelash. She acted as though star-struck, which although boosted his ego, did not make him feel good in the long run.

People, be it family, friends, passersby or even young kids seemed to adore them, and on one occasion Trunks told them that they were even compatible when it came to their level of intellect, Valese had just laughed it off, yeah she was like that, but Goten seemed to take it a bit more seriously. Of course, it was to be taken light-heartedly, but it did make him question, was he her king and they the world’s laughing stock?

He knew that she was a bit ditzy he did, but that never bothered him, she was beside him in almost all he did, gave him the confidence to pursue his career as a vet, and was beside him through all his embarrassing phases while he figured himself out. The best thing about her she was always smiling, rain, shine or thunder, she kept her smile on and the only time he had ever seen her cry was when he ended his relationship with her, he had never seen her look so...broken, but he supposed it was for the best given that he was subjecting himself to an insane amount of study, and to be honest, he was afraid.

Afraid, that he may take her shine away, as ridiculous as it may sound to anyone else, he knows he was right in his decision.

So, when the brunette had shown up at his doorstep in the wee hours of the morning, with the most troublesome patient he had ever come across, he was feeling a lot of feelings, but above all he was confused. Why was this happening? Was it all a coincidence? And if not, why so many years later?

Now that his tea was hot enough to be consumed, he made his way towards the living room where the as of now unknown woman and Cepheus, sat looking just like they were, about twenty minutes earlier

He grabbed himself a chair from the dining table, not wanting to get comfortable on the couch just yet, and knowing Cepheus, ready to entertain him at a moments notice.

The scraping of the chair’s legs against the floor wood seemed to snap her out of her reverie, and she gave him the same frightened look as earlier in the morning.

She quickly got off the couch, and started exclaiming animatedly.

"Dr. Son, my apologies, I know this isn’t by any means the right time to have disturbed you, hell I did not even give you a call, or notify you of my arrival, but the thing is that it was an emergency…”

Noticing how she was panting and red-faced again, he decided to cut her off..

“Please, call me Goten. I’m off-duty and these aren’t my working hours..”

At this, the woman gave him an abashed look and hung her head low.

Noticing this he quickly amended..

“…not that I mind in the least, after all I am a doctor and if I’m not available to my patients when they need me, what good am I?”

At this, the woman, lifted her head so fast he was afraid she had snapped something vital, and gave him a disbelieving look, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears .

He held a calm composure and gave her a reassuring smile. Noticing this her features softened and a small smile tugged at her lips.

“Please take a seat, calm yourself and talk to me so that I’m capable of helping you.”

Slightly nodding her head, apparently still shaken, she sat down waking Cepheus, who was seemingly comfortable nestled into her arms resulting in him growling slightly.

Taking a deep breath, she attempted to compose herself and looked up with twinkling eyes.

“Let me start by introducing myself, I’m Odette…”

#son goten #goten #dimension #chichi #goku #dbz #dragonball #robot #saiyan #love #unrequited feelings #HOM #submission #Undulations #oc x canon #oc #original character #Avni writes

1 note · View note

fandomtrashwriting · 4 years

Text

Second Chances [Part 1]

@cloudninetonine @prismaroyal

“Today, the famous Hero and widely proclaimed “Symbol of Peace”, All Might has recently announced to the public that he’s retiring from Pro Heroes. I, along with my colleagues, can say with a heavy heart, we're going to miss our number one hero! However, now that our symbol is gone, who will we rely on? What about the rise in criminal activity? It had risen by almost twenty percent after his official statement. What will be the response going to be from our Pro Heroes? I think-” The volume was lowered by Nezu before the animal turned to the staff seated within the room, finally approaching the subject that this meeting had been called for.

“As you may have noticed...since All Might retired, criminal activity has skyrocketed and people are more scared than ever before, so it’s our duty to help make sure the future is safe and that the people don’t lose hope in the heroes, I-” Nezu was cut off by a grimacing Present Mic, frustration clear on his face as he spoke.

“Are we really going to continue listening to them? The media blows everything up” He let out an angry huff while crossing his arms in annoyance.

Snipe leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his intertwined hands before stating in a calm manner “If anything, they’re dreadfully undershooting the amount, from what I’ve seen, I’d guess more like, forty to a sixty percent increase”.

Present Mic, jumped up, slamming his hand on the table with anger clear on his face “That’s Bullshit! How can they push for answers and expect us to do more when we’re already stretched thin enough as it is all over Japan? We can only do so much!”

Aizawa nodded as he pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion “It’s even affecting the students, especially my classroom, ever since the training at the USJ and the camp. Not to mention, ever since Kamino, everyone has been on edge and restless, sure we locked away Stain, but that didn’t seem to help ease anyone, if anything it motivated other villains to join the league”

A collective stressed sigh left the adults.

“Sounds like we’ll need more heroes to combat this sudden increase of villains, but with all of Japan's hero schools full, it doesn’t seem likely we’ll be able to get more assistance” Midnight continued, her tone was serious but if you paid attention you could feel the defeat in her voice.

“Well, I have a proposition for that, I’m suggesting that we add in a third hero class,” The silence following was only broken by a few coughs, everyone staring at him with wide eyes in surprise or squinting at him trying to make sense of this; Cementoss spoke up, “are we sure we want to put more students in this situation?”.

“It sounds like a good idea, and for the last few months our security has doubled, not to mention we’ll be adding those dorms?” Thirteen turned towards Nezu who nodded in confirmation.

Vlad scoffed “It’s still a bad idea. Do you think the media will be satisfied with us taking in more students? If anything it’ll bring us bad publicity and taunting” as he leaned forward in his chair with an angry growl in his voice.

“And if we do nothing? That’ll also bring taunting and bad publicity. But while yes, our security has doubled, it’s not perfect. Do we even have a teacher in mind for them?” Ectoplasm inquired.

“Not at the moment, I’m hoping to figure that out at least once the exams are over,” Nezu stated.

“What about these kids' equipment? They’re gonna have less time to figure that out than the other two hero classes” Power Loader finally spoke up, raising a brow under his costume.

“Do you think your students would be able to make the costumes?” Nezu asked.

Power Loader fell silent before nodding “The students should be fine,” He responded, waving his hand as if to brush off the concern. “I’ll introduce it as a new project, have the first and second years interact,”

Recovery Girl spoke up, hints of doubt swimming in her eyes “How will these students be decided? Will there be another exam? If so, who do you think will apply?”

“Another entrance exam at the end of the month, and most likely everyone who failed or who is now at the age to take this exam, maybe even a few people who are ahead of their peers,” Nezu said this before turning to look at All Might, who had been awfully quiet during the whole ordeal. “What’s your thoughts on this All Might?”

All Might glanced at Nezu and the others in silence, before grimacing a little “Are we really ready to take on another hero class? And are we sure we want to take this on?”

“Nezu wouldn’t have suggested it if he didn’t think we couldn’t handle it,” Lunch Rush stated calmly, seemingly not having no doubt in Nezu.

Silence reigned over, the heroes sharing a silent agreement. Nezu is the smartest out of everyone here, even if they all were fused into a single being, he would still outrank them in brainpower. So, after a few minutes Nezu continued “So I guess it’s decided then, we’ll introduce the new class, but we should put out the announcement as soon as possible” With that their meeting was concluded.

~Time Skip~

“Hello everyone and thank you all for coming, you’re probably wondering about the reason for this announcement. Well, let us get straight to the point! Due to our Symbol of Peace’s retirement, we’ve made an important decision for the future of the hero society that we’ve decided to give more aspiring students the opportunity to attend the hero course by introducing another class” Nezu said, the crowd news reporters flashing their mics and cameras towards him.

“Why now introduce a new class after All Might’s retirement?” Cried one reporter “Why couldn’t you have it introduced earlier?”

“All Might’s retirement has sparked a rise in criminal activity, this is an important matter, without the Symbol of Peace we need more people to assist in the hero society” Nezu answered, glancing over the people.

Another reporter spoke up, his tone holding nothing but a taunting presence “So are you saying this is All Might’s fault for retiring? Also, why introduce another class? Are you using children as a way to get rid of villains? To bring down the percentage? Drag them into a mess that has started since day one of this year’s classes at U.A? Seems like you're just sacrificing the lives of these kids for your oh-so noble cause!”

Nezu didn't bat an eye at the man's mockery before answering his question, his tone still polite as ever, although everyone in the room could feel a chill as his voice dropped. "We're not sacrificing children for a careless matter, our goal is to make sure the next generation of heroes are capable of protecting the innocents. Being a hero is not an easy job, sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the greater good, it's definitely harder than sitting around and asking questions without a care in the world" The reporter was left speechless by the principal's words.

A new voice spoke up “Um, what are the requirements to participate in this...” She paused for a moment “...new exam? And when is the exam date, if I may ask?” she mumbled.

“The requirements haven’t changed from the first one, on top of that anyone from any of the other courses can attempt to be put into the new hero class” Nezu responded.

She was quick with another inquiry “What happens to the spots those children leave behind in those courses?”

“Any participant that doesn't make the score for the new hero course can still attend another department if they wish to, allowing that we have the room” Nezu reassured her with a polite smile.

“How do you expect these new students to catch up with their peers?” Badgered an older looking man squinting at Nezu. “It’s been months since the official entrance exam, surely you have a plan?”

“We’ll be helping them study and train during the breaks in order to catch up” Nezu rebuked calmly, leaving the older man silent. “Are there any more questions?”

Finally being able to leave after hours of questions, only to be stopped again at the building's doors by the same woman from before, the only one from the crowd of reporters with an actual sense of politeness.

She flashed them a smile “Sorry for bothering you, just wanted to say thank you for answering our questions, I know some reporters can get a little…” She flushed from embarrassment, remembering earlier “...distasteful, and I also wanted to apologize for their earlier actions, so I’m very sorry”

Their silence at her grew for almost a minute, her shifting her weight from foot to foot “Did I make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry”

Her words made the three of them blink for a moment, before Nezu cleared his throat out of embarrassment.

"Please forgive us, it's just...this is the first time we've been face to face with someone as...polite as you, Miss…?"

She perked up and smiled brightly at the Principal “Oh! That’s alright, and my name is Sachiko Uchimaki. You three are Mr. Aizawa, Mr. Kan, and Mr. Nezu, right?”

“That is correct” Aizawa narrowed his eyes in suspicion, “Is there a reason that you are speaking with us?”

“Well- I-.. uh-”

Nezu was quick to interject, letting out a small laugh as he waved Uchimaki off “There’s no need to get defensive, Aizawa, she merely wanted to apologise, there’s no need to worry!”

“That, and....” Uchimaki leaned forward in a bow, her head lowered in respect “I would like to thank you, as part of the public, for what you’re doing. I know that’s hard for heroes at the moment with All Might retired and the number of villains rising, but I also know that you’re all trying your best to combat these new problems everyday! And for that, I thank you, heroes”

Their stunned silence caused her to lift her head little and watch them before straightening up “um….well, I guess, um….bye? And have a very lovely day” Before leaving with a happy hum to have talked to them, it was very nice.

In the meanwhile the school's announcement was being broadcasted all over Japan, many youngsters were hearing the news either on the TV, a computer or their Smartphones, many of them were excited at the new opportunity of being able to become heroes, though only a few of them would end up making it, some with more hope than other.

This...was their Second Chance.

#BNHA Fanfiction #My Hero Academia #Joint Effort #OC's Everywhere #Second Chances #Part 1

12 notes · View notes

maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

Text

Without Question (Epilogue)

Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Content: fluffy conclusion and maybe...mayyyyybe a future fic idea

Warnings: …none? Um...except for that one lady in there.

Word Count: Hot water does not quench my thirst no matter how good it might be for my body...which in itself is such a disaster of a thing.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

The life of a parasite is not that complex of an affair. It is born to live inside a host, gather its nutrients from the said host- more than often at the host's expense- live till it can breed more or find a better host. Its entire life is based on the expense of another creature; its survival in the flesh of someone who can contain it. Therefore, it is no wonder she does not like it when someone calls her a parasite. For she is not one. Her kind lives in codependency, finding a host it is compatible with and helping it flourish in return for nourishment.

Her species was known to have always gone for the living, looking for hosts they could control, be the dominant party of the two sitting in the conference room inside the mind of the body they inhabited, the foreboding controllers that they were. However, inhabiting a dead host- or someone near to it- was never talked about for carcasses were beneath them and their Titan-like ego.

But she isn't like them. She wants to be different. To finally have the freedom she has craved for her entire existence; she wants to live it. And so, she has decided to throw all the laws of the dead empire outside the window and try her theory of inhabiting a body nearly at its deathbed.

The woman- strolled into the emergency room with fatal blows to her body in some accident- is covered in blood and bruises when the doctors try to rush into the process of saving her, measuring her heart rate, blood pressure and respiration rate. It is pure chaos for her to watch it all from the ceiling. Humans. Such soft creatures. She can sense that woman's vitals weakening with every passing moment, something the machines tell the medical professionals by a few seconds' delay. No amount of effort is going to repair that internal bleeding and shock accelerating that human's chances of death slithering right by the corner. And just at that second, she knows that flesh is no longer the resident to the soul it has been harbouring since the beginning of its time, she jumps discreetly into the body when the doctors are focusing at the screen that shows the patient is flatlining. One shock to through the defibrillator is enough for her to let the chemicals be catalysed to become one with neurons; her presence gradually gelling with the body to become one with it. And before any other human in the room can debate on it being a medical miracle, a sign of higher power or simply the inadequacy of the machines, she opens her eyes in her new form, seeing the world through an independent pair of windows for the first time.

Free.

"You know, when we both silently agreed on staying together, I wasn't really expecting you to spoil my life like this."

Steve's chuckle reverberates through the kitchen and dining hall. His honey-laced laugh reaches you in the living room to make you smile as you gather the whiteboard, a few markers, the portable speaker, and a couple of other knick-knacks for the small gathering you are about to have.

"If making breakfast every day is spoiling you then I am not even halfway to showing you how much more I can spoil your life, doll," he announces over the sound of something sizzling over the stove.

You bite your lips to stop the overflow of these gushing emotions all inside you. "Oh, let's not forget giving Stace the freedom to do whatever she wants, okay?" You state, getting up and moving towards the hall, "And you making that entire front yard-"

"That's our back yard."

Our back yard.

...Fuck. Why is he like this?

"Making our entire back yard into this freaking perfect garden with all those fancy fairy lights and a freaking gazebo!"

"You liked it," he stresses. You peak in from the entrance of the kitchen, watching him carefully place the omelettes in two plates along with the toasts- yours extra crispy with thinly spread butter on them- before pouring orange juice in two glasses.

"That doesn't matter," you retort, watching him being caught off guard, your heart instantly melting when his eyes light up on seeing you stand there. "I'm not gonna maintain that luxurious green patch when the time comes."

He stands facing you, his hands on his hips and oh heavens! that customised blue apron with chibi Captain America blessing its front gives you all the right feels in your stomach. "No problem," he affirms, picking the plates and moving them to the tiny breakfast table by the French window before coming back for the juice, "I'll take care of it. I'm pretty sure all of these are positive spoil-"

"Oh I'm not done yet," you interject, sauntering towards a slightly confused and faintly excited Steve, "you have me utterly spoiled-" you move your hands around his waist, earning an arched brow from him- "with all-" your hands go beyond his back, moving lower till they land over his butt cheeks- "of that-" and give them a tight squeeze, forcing a delightful hum out of Steve as you push him closer to you- "sex!"

"Hmm," Steve growls, planting his one hand on your waist under your t-shirt, while the other goes up to tease your lower lip with his thumb. "If you don't like being spoiled," he whispers, bringing his lips closer to you but never close enough for you to get a taste of him, "we can always stop."

"Or," you begin to propose through a moan by letting your hands run along the hem of his track pants, creating a wave of disturbance wherever your fingers touch him before stopping at the trail of hair going down, "we could make it a healthy habit so it doesn't seem like I'm being spoiled."

Your fingers run down that soft golden trail, stirring something inside the Captain, his light eyes feeling a dark edge of mischief being added to them. His finger traces a path down from your lips to your neck, going further down your chest. "Everyone'll arrive in an hour," Steve sighs, giving a light shrug.

"Oh," you turn to look at the clock and realise he's not wrong, letting go of the waistband of his track pants, "then we should-"

Your sentence ends up a light shriek from Steve lifting you by your ass, making your reflexes wrap your legs around him. "That means," he grunts, balancing you effortlessly in those buff arms while his lust-filled eyes have yours locked in place, his voice a shade huskier as he starts moving to the bedroom, "I have a lot of time to make you question all that I do for you. And to you. And more."

Oooh yes!

"How do I use this thing?"

Wasn't working with a human vessel not enough? Did they really have to invent these cheap electronic devices?

She looks down at the device that seems to keep buzzing with different messages for some reason as she tries to find her way through the street.

Getting out of the hospital had been easy (and so was getting a fresh set of clothes). Give the docs and nurses another pile of flesh and bones to worry about and they run like scared animals to help their flock. Now, she is out exploring, trying to work with this new suit, find out the perks and non-perks, questioning her idea of travelling solo when having another conscience to talk to and gnaw at would have been easier. Now it's just her with her voice speaking from some uncharted void walking down into a farmer's market, already having discovered how much of gross unwanted attention this sex of the human species is given on the street.

There is a huge variety of delectables lines up that the humans seemingly prefer. Different shapes, colours and sizes. Some smell sweet, some sour, and some smell like they would sting your tongue before leaving a sweetness behind. Strange edibles. She watches another human- a man as far as the scent of the hormones off him goes- politely asking for some fresh oranges while telling the man behind the counter the ones he is trying to pack do not smell fresh. The sweet nectar of curiosity seems to send a reaction to her brain, making her step towards the box of citrus fruits displayed for the customers. Quickly picking half a dozen from down the different boxes, she brings them forward to the man who is nearly losing his patience. "These are fresh."

The man turns to see her. And she gets a good look at him for the first time. Hypnotising blue eyes look at her in a flurry of confusion and gratuitous delight, the beard hiding pink lips and flushed cheeks.

After a short considerable second, he takes the oranges from her. "Thank you," he mentions without blinking, taking a little time to turn back to make the payment. And in that turn is a microscopic moment, he watches, from the corner of his eye, a stranger try to touch her ass for barely a second.

She, of course, feels it too well. The man turns to get hold of that pervert and kick some respect into him only to find her punching the daylights out of him.

And he just stands there, full body in pause, mind in awe of the woman who has knocked that excuse of a man out in one blow, looking at her once again- this time from his heart. She looks back at him too; though with visible shades of uncertainty before looking down at the guy.

"Was I not supposed to do that?" She asks the man who by now has his mouth agape, still looking at her.

He blinks. "Huh?" Looks down at the man and raises his brows and chuckles. "What? No. I mean yes. You are absolutely supposed to do that."

"Oh-" she nods, and he watches her beam and be proud of herself, "okay."

"Um," he tries to catch her attention. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

She looks down at the hand she used, feeling nothing more than minute tickles. "Yeah, I think I'm good." She turns her gaze back to him with a smile.

He melts inside.

"Do you know where is this place?" She asks him, taking out a card she found in her- the dead woman's- pocket.

"This," he hums, reading the card, "was a few blocks down the road the last I saw it."

"Oh," she scrunches her nose and feels a tired groan come out of her, "how far?"

"I can drop you there if you want," he blurts out, "I'm going that way myself."

She looks at him again. Watching him run his hands through his long lush hair, wondering if she'd seen him somewhere before shaking that thought off, knowing full well that she would remember a pretty face like this. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Great," he chirps. "Oh, I'm James," he addresses, drawing forward his hand, "my friends call me Bucky."

"Bucky," she tastes the name on her tongue and feels all the black mush inside her do a little dance for some unknown reason.

"And you are?"

She licks her lips and feels them stretch involuntary, drawing her own hand forward to meet his, saying her name to bring herself- her true self- into existence, letting the air carry her name for whatever future it is to bring for her.

42 notes · View notes

mdelpin · 4 years

Text

A Gratsu Valentine - Chapter 2 (Final)

AO3 | Tumblr: Ch 1

A few of you requested this, I hope you enjoy it. Happy Valentine’s Day!

The bear proved to be a problem. It was too big to be checked in the restaurant’s coat closet, which was already overflowing with outerwear. It was probably a good thing too, as Natsu had immediately gone into a long rant at the suggestion, claiming he had carried that bear all the way across town, and there was no way in hell they were putting it in some smoky closet. So the waiter had been kind enough to find an extra chair and attach it to their small table where it now sat smiling at everyone who walked by like some kind of deranged Valentine’s Day ambassador. Its arms were still laden with Gray’s favorite chocolates and the biggest bouquet of roses Gray had ever seen.

He took a deep breath, trying not to let the extra attention they were receiving from strangers bother him. He reminded himself he had bigger things to worry about, and besides, it was kind of cute in a teenage girl kind of way. He just hoped Natsu didn’t insist on having them sleep with it at night.

Natsu might have gone all out with his present, but this was one time where Gray knew he had him beat.

He grinned in anticipation, wondering how Natsu would react to his surprise proposal. There was no way he could be expecting it. They hadn’t been together for very long, but even so, Gray had never been so sure of anything in his life. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with this man, bickering and laughing together and loving each other.

Gray was already looking forward to the wild night they were sure to have to celebrate their engagement. He wished he hadn’t run so late at the jeweler’s though, Natsu seemed kinda drunk, which hadn’t really been part of the plan, but at least he hadn’t gotten loud drunk.

Their waiter seemed to have forgotten about them after he had brought the chair over and filled their water glasses. Gray was hungry, and he could see from how Natsu was starting to get fidgety that he was hungry as well.

“Why were you late anyway?” Natsu asked suddenly, looking at him with curiosity.

“I had to go pick up your present,” Gray answered smoothly, realizing too late that it had been the wrong answer as Natsu’s eyes burned with unbridled curiosity.

“What did you get me?” Natsu’s eyes lit up with anticipation, and he made gimme gestures with his hands.

“It’s a surprise,” Gray winked, “Besides, I’m not quite sure it’s been long enough since you broke up with the bear.”

Natsu laughed, “Alright, you’ve got me there.” He looked around the restaurant, which was suffering from a severe lack of waitstaff. “When are they going to get here? I’m starving.”

As if to prove his point, Natsu’s stomach began to rumble loudly, and Gray knew this was a bad sign. “Here, why don’t you have some of my chocolates, they’re delicious!”

He removed the ribbon that Natsu had tied to the bear’s arm to keep the box in place, opening it without paying much attention, quickly recognizing the packaging of his favorite chocolates and handing a few to his boyfriend.

“Mhmm, these are really good,” Natsu moaned wantonly as he shoved them into his mouth, causing even more people to stare their way.

Gray felt that moan in parts of his body that shouldn’t really be awake in public places, especially not when he could feel Natsu’s foot playing with his leg.

“What are you doing?” Gray hissed, already feeling self-conscious by all the people that staring at them as they walked past.

“Trying to show you that you’re the one I love,” Natsu’s face was flushed, reminding Gray of other times he’d seen that expression, which was seriously not helping his rapidly rising problem. Especially as Natsu’s foot continued its ascent. He could feel his cheeks heating up from Natsu’s attention.

“Wow, these are to die for,” a female voice commented next to him, making him jump. Somehow, the woman that Natsu had befriended at the bar had grabbed a chair and sat at their table without either of them noticing. She grinned at them knowingly.

“Cana!” Natsu greeted her with a happy smile.

“Do you mind?” Gray snapped, embarrassed to be caught in such a compromising position, even though Natsu’s foot had immediately retreated at her intrusion.

“Not at all!” Cana replied cheerfully, as she took a sip from her tumbler and stared at them unabashedly.

“Don’t you have a date of your own to be getting back to?” Gray asked gruffly, wanting her to leave so he could get on with his plan.

“Yep, got him right here,” Cana winked cheekily, lifting her tumbler and taking another sip.

“So this is Mr. Perfect, huh?” she asked Natsu, ignoring Gray’s obvious displeasure and peering at him with mischief filled eyes, “He doesn’t look like much Natsu, maybe you were better off with the bear.”

“Hey! I’m right here!” Gray protested as Natsu snorted at her comment.

“Nah, he’s amazing,” Natsu purred and damn him that noise was sexy too!

Gray found himself forgetting all about Cana as Natsu gazed at him in the way Gray loved, with sparkling eyes and that smile that promised exciting adventures. He found himself responding to it, grabbing Natsu’s hands in his and staring into his eyes until he felt intoxicated.

He couldn’t believe it, in just a few short minutes he was going to ask Natsu to marry him. It was so unlike him, this impulsiveness, but that’s what Natsu did to him. Made him want to try new things and step outside of his comfort zone. It had been hard at first, but he’d soon realized even when he didn’t like the results having Natsu by his side made it worthwhile.

He was startled out of his daze by the clicking sound of a phone camera promptly followed by Cana squealing, “Oh my God, you two are so frigging cute!”

Gray’s face was burning, and he couldn’t tell how much of it was embarrassment at being caught in such a vulnerable moment and how much was just fury at her continued presence. He wanted her to leave before she managed to ruin everything, but he could tell by the way she’d made herself comfortable that she had no plans to do so.

Rather than make yet another scene, he decided to go ask for help from the restaurant’s staff. He excused himself and headed for the reception desk, which was being manned by a blonde woman.

“Can I help you, sir?” the greeter asked him, taking in his agitated state.

“A woman has sat at our table and refuses to leave,” he explained as calmly as he could, “I was hoping someone could help me with that.”

“Oh, right away, Sir!” she responded, immediately gesturing to a waiter and explaining the situation.

“Which is your table?” the waiter asked.

“Uhm, the one with the pink-haired gentleman and the enormous stuffed animal. You can’t miss it.”

The waiter walked away with an air of purpose while the greeter apologized, “I am so sorry this happened, we will send a complimentary bottle of champagne to your table. Is there anything we can do to make your evening more enjoyable?”

Gray had been about to say that was all he wanted when he was struck by a thought. Natsu loved grand gestures, and he hadn’t really given much thought as to how he was going to present the ring. Maybe…

Gray took the velvet box out of his pocket and showed it to her, “Actually, our waiter hasn’t been by for our order yet, do you think you could help me with something?”

The greeter squealed in excitement, “Oh my God, oh my God! Leave it to me, I’ve always wanted to do this!”

She handed him a menu and had him pick out their order, and after he pointed out which one was Natsu’s meal, she assured him, “I’ll put this right in for you!” right before literally skipping into the kitchen.

The woman’s excitement proved contagious, and soon he felt all his irritation melt away as he thought of Natsu’s face when he found the ring. He walked back to their table to see the waiter escorting Cana back to the bar. She waved at him as she passed him, utterly unfazed by her escort.

He sat back down, searching Natsu’s face for any sign of annoyance but finding none, only amusement.

“If you wanted me all to yourself, all you had to do was say so,” Natsu chuckled, knowing Gray well enough to realize how aggravated he must have been at Cana’s intrusion.

“Whatever,” Gray grumbled, “I went ahead and ordered for us,” he announced, smiling as Natsu cheered in response.

“Thank God, you have no idea how close I was to eating all your chocolates,” Natsu admitted, and it was his turn to startle as a loud pop erupted next to him, and he was handed a champagne flute filled with the bubbly drink.

“You’re really going all out today, aren’t you? Fancy restaurant, champagne,” he eyed him suspiciously, “Are you up to something?”

“Not at all, you make me happy, and I just wanted to treat you a little,” Gray replied, smirking internally at what was still to come.

Natsu’s eyes moistened at his words, his hand extending out until he could caress Gray’s cheek with this thumb. “I - you, you make me happy too. I’ve never had anyone care about me the way you do.”

Gray lifted his champagne flute and challenged, “Wanna try something?”

Natsu nodded, watching with interest as Gray gestured for him to lift his flute, leaning forward as he understood what Gray wanted. They drank from their flutes, arms entwined, and eyes never leaving the other, laughing when they managed it without incident.

“You are such a dork,” Natsu teased, “but I love you so much.”

He beckoned Gray to lean forward again, meeting him halfway and kissing him sweetly, quite unlike their usual heated kisses. Gray followed his example, enjoying the simple gesture.

Gray was about to tell Natsu he loved him too when their food arrived. Everything looked amazing, and he immediately dug in. After taking a few bites, it suddenly dawned on him that he had no idea where they were going to hide the ring, and he had a moment of apprehension, but he shrugged it off, thinking that this place must do stuff like that all the time.

Noticing Natsu had yet to eat anything, engaged as he was in a glaring match with the cutlery, he decided to put him out of his misery, “It doesn’t matter, just pick one and eat.”

Relieved, Natsu began to wolf down his food, and conversation ceased until they were finished.

“This was really good, Gray!” Natsu commented, but Gray barely heard him.

As the time for dessert neared, he was feeling more and more nervous. He poured the remainder of the champagne bottle into their flutes and tried to slow down his racing heart.

“Huh? Oh, that’s great, just wait until you try the dessert!”

He could see the waiter coming towards them as well as the greeter standing behind him, offering him a massive grin along with a thumbs up, her signal that everything was in place.

“Are you okay?” Natsu was looking at him with concern, and he couldn’t understand why.

“Huh?”

“You’re sweating, do you feel ill or something? We can go home if that’s the case, this was more than enough.”

“NO! You have to eat your dessert!” Gray shouted, “Uhm, I mean, I’m fine, it must be the champagne,” he chuckled nervously even as he downed the rest of it, looking for courage wherever he could find it.

“Okay,” Natsu shrugged, although he still looked concerned, “if you’re sure.”

“Yep, oh, here it is now!” Gray said, much too loudly, once again attracting Natsu’s attention.

“You’re up to something,” Natsu stated matter-of-factly.

“Maybe I am,” Gray shrugged, not giving the matter any importance but also giving Natsu a cryptic smile.

“Is it my present?” Natsu all but bounced in his chair, hopped up on booze and anticipation, and Gray couldn’t help but chuckle. His boyfriend was such a child when it came to gifts.

The waiter set Natsu’s dessert in front of him, and Gray could make out the vague outline of the ring hiding in the custard of the salted caramel creme brulee he had ordered Natsu. He worried that Natsu would catch on too soon, but he needn’t have worried. His boyfriend was too fascinated by the cooking blowtorch the waiter used to caramelize his dessert to notice anything else.

Gray couldn’t even look at his ice cream, his stomach was tying itself up into knots. It was stupid really, he was pretty sure Natsu was going to say yes, but it was still a huge step.

“Did you see that, Gray?!” Natsu’s whole face had lit up at the spectacle, “He used a blowtorch to cook my dessert!”

“I thought you might like that,” Gray snorted, “There’s another dessert where they set the whole thing on fire right in front of you, I forget what it’s called, crepes something or other. I’ll take you to get that another time.”

“Man, and here I thought roasting marshmallows was cool,” Natsu replied, his voice filled with awe.

“Well, it still is!” Gray pointed out, “But it’s good to try other things too!”

Gray wondered whether he should go down on one knee, or if that was something you only did when you proposed to a woman. Not sure and not wanting to insult Natsu, he decided to remain sitting, opting to grab one of Natsu’s hands and peer into his eyes instead.

“I want to explore all sorts of new things with you, and I want you to keep showing me things that you like.” Gray’s nerves were starting to settle now that he had begun, even managing an earnest smile before resuming.

“Before I met you, I was so closed off and set in my ways. Everything had to be just so, but being with you, I’ve learned how much I was missing out on, and I don’t ever want to go back to that.

“I want to wake up next to you every morning, and have every day be an adventure, you know?” Gray was skirting ever closer to his question, and he could see Natsu was trying to figure out what he was going on about, his eyes boring into him even as he scooped his spoon into his dessert and lifted it to his mouth.

“Natsu, I don’t know if I have ever been in love before, but I am now, and I can’t imagine sharing the rest of my life with anyone else but you. Will you marry me?”

Natsu gulped down the spoonful of dessert that was in his mouth, trying to swallow quickly so he could answer, and that’s when things got decidedly weird. His face turned incredibly red, and he started coughing.

“Are you okay?” Gray asked, worriedly looking around for help when Natsu wasn’t able to answer.

Oh my God! Gray panicked as he realized he couldn’t see the outline of the ring in the dessert anymore.

“Help, he’s choking!” Gray yelled, standing up and hurrying over to the other side of the table. People surrounded them, but no one stepped in to help, “Please, I don’t know what to do,” he begged tearfully.

“Get out of the way,” Gray heard before feeling a hard shove. He recognized the voice immediately. It was Cana.

She stood behind Natsu, bending him at the waist and slapping him between his shoulder blades as he continued to cough. Then she pulled him up and performed what Gray recognized as the Heimlich maneuver, repeating this over and over while Gray ended up kneeling on one knee, after all, grabbing one of Natsu’s hands in his and looking up at him with concern. He was freaking out, about two seconds from calling an ambulance when the ring came flying out of Natsu’s mouth, hitting Gray square on the nose before falling to the ground next to him.

“Natsu, Natsu!” Gray called out urgently, “Say something.”

“A ring? Were you trying to fucking kill him, Gray?” Cana yelled at him, looking Natsu over with concern.

“How was I supposed to know he would swallow it?” Gray protested, “I didn’t even know where they were gonna put it.”

“Are you stupid? It was in his food, what else was he supposed to do?”

“Guys, I’m fine,” Natsu finally spoke, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper as he tried to defuse their bickering. He looked incredibly tired.

Once Natsu had begun to speak the crowd that had surrounded them dispersed, returning to their own celebrations.

Gray grabbed Natsu in his arms, hugging him tightly, “I was so scared, don’t ever do anything like that again!”

Natsu tried to laugh but only managed to cough, “Yeah, I don’t want to do that again anytime soon. The answer is yes, by the way.”

“Huh?” Gray stared at him blankly, still too wired to understand the meaning behind Natsu’s words.

Natsu peered at the ground, bending to pick up the ring that had been lodged in his throat and showing it to Gray, who immediately felt like an even bigger idiot than he already did. He grabbed it from Natsu and tried to clean it with his dinner napkin, his hand trembling as he did so.

“Ugh, just give it here,” Cana grumbled, “I’ll go clean it up.” She grabbed it and took it with her to the bathroom

“Gray, I’m fine,” Natsu assured him, grabbing his trembling hands and kissing the knuckles.

“I just wanted to have a special night to show you how much I love you, and I almost killed you.”

“Well, I mean, it’s memorable, right?” Natsu teased, continuing to hold his hands and squeezing them gently.

“I guess.”

Cana finally returned from the bathroom with the ring and handed it to Gray. “Do it right this time!” she glared as she tapped her foot.

Gray didn’t have the heart to send her away, not after she had saved Natsu, so he went ahead and got down on one knee. “Natsu Dragneel, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Natsu responded almost before Gray could finish getting the words out, pulling him up and into a kiss.

He admired his ring, smiling happily at Gray. Then he did something unexpected once again, he began to laugh. “I guess I should confess something.”

“What?”

“We sort of had the same idea, so I guess now it’s time for you to find your ring.”

“What?!” Gray sputtered as Natsu dissolved into giggles.

“I’ll give you a hint, it’s somewhere in the bear.”

A/N: Moral of the story - Don’t hide objects in food, it is seriously dangerous...

@ao3feed-gratsu

#fairy tail #gratsu #ftlgbtales #valentine fic #valentine's day #humor #update #fanfiction

11 notes · View notes

thedyingmoon · 5 years

Text

💜 This I Promise 💜

***

LVII. Again ( Part 1 )

***

"Mom? Mom?" a voice of a little girl whispered to her ear. "Are you still sleeping? Mom?"

(F/N) slightly opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of a beautiful dark - haired child with steel - blue - colored eyes. The child in question was shaking her a bit, wanting so much to wake her up.

"What - ?" (F/N) closed her eyes once more, wanting to rid them of the remnants of sleep, and when she opened them once more, the beautiful child was gone, to be replaced by a blue - eyed, blonde one.

"Mom? Are you awake now?"

"Ivanna? What are you doing here?" (F/N) said, groggily trying to sit up on an unfamiliarly comfortable bed. Her eyes that were still adjusting to the light of the morning splashing through the open, pastel - curtained window scanned the room, slightly memorizing the foreign surroundings. And when she looked at the child once more, the reality of her miserable life sunk right back into her system.

This was Delilah's guest room. She rushed here the other night, unable to go anywhere else, and sought the wisdom of the one person who would never try to deceive her. It was here where she poured out all of her misery and trouble. Right into the bosom of the woman she never thought would help her in this kind of shitty situation.

(F/N)'s hand instinctively went to her forehead, unable to fully believe her current state.

"Mom?"

Her eyes snapped back to the child who kept calling her mom. The child seemed frightened of her appearance that she drew back to the corner like some zookeeper who was scared of his own caged animal.

"Ivanna?" (F/N) began, but the child drew back further into the corner of the room. Having realized that yesterday's fiasco might've made the child frightened, (F/N) made her voice softer. "Sweetie, what are you doing here?"

But, the child didn't answer. Instead, she ran to the door and went out of the room like a bat in frantic flight.

(F/N) was dumbfounded of what just happened. But, something even more had caught her attention. If Ivanna's here, then,...

"Don't tell me - !"

Rosemarie was helping Delilah prepare for their breakfast in the kitchen when they suddenly heard some heavy footsteps coming down from the upper floor. The women looked at each other and immediately put down the plates to see the person.

(F/N) ran so fast that she almost bumped into Rosemarie on the way to the living room.

"(F/N)! You're awake." Rosemarie squeaked, holding unto (F/N)'s shoulders.

"What are you doing here?!" (F/N) couldn't help but panic. She was so confused as to Ivanna's presence in the house, but to see Rosemarie here, as well? "Wait - ERWIN IS NOT HERE, IS HE?!"

"He's not here, (F/N)." Delilah announced in her authoritative voice. "You can relax now."

(F/N) looked at the lady and almost giggled at her appearance. She was still wearing her nightgown over a dark pink robe and covering her feet was a pair of fluffy, pastel pink, bunny slippers. Her long blonde hair was still in rollers and she's not wearing makeup. All in all, she didn't look like THE Delilah Smith who used to teach her etiquette.

(F/N) dropped her shoulders and arms and calmed down, believing Delilah's word that Erwin Smith, the Commander who deceived her, was not present.

"Ms. Smith, I finished trimming the bushes - WHOA!" Jonas, who just came in from the garden, began, when he noticed (F/N). He held out his shears in defense towards her. "You're not going kill us, are you?"

"Can anybody, please, calm down?!" Delilah screamed at the top of her lungs at her annoying house guests.

***

"Can anybody, please, tell me how you found out my address to begin with?" Delilah calmly and carefully asked at the head of the dining table.

"Military Police records." Rosemarie, Jonas, and (F/N) answered almost simultaneously, making all of them look at each other.

Delilah, who was no longer wearing her pink nighttime ensemble, sighed helplessly. "Isn't it against the law to look at someone's record without proper permission from the rightful point person?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Smith, but I have,... nowhere else to go." Rosemarie uttered, ashamed to look Delilah in the eye and just focused her gaze on her breakfast.

"And you, Mr. Jonas?" Delilah said, then took a sip of her breakfast tea.

"I, I mean, Ivanna and I, felt that, well,..." Jonas stuttered, looking at (F/N). "Well, we just didn't want to be in the middle of something important there in the house."

"And that is?"

Jonas didn't answer. Instead, he just gobbled a spoonful of his cream cereal.

"Alright." Delilah brought her teacup down and addressed all of them. "Since all of you decided to stay here, you are not to do anything rash that could disgrace anyone here in this household. Am I clear?"

"Yes, madam."

"Good. Carlstead's children,... That's why I despise Military Policemen,..." uttered Delilah.

"May I ask why you despise our parents so much?" Rosemarie asked quite bluntly. (F/N) knew that she should be ignoring their conversation, knowing really well that they were not relatives and that she had nothing to do with Nile and Marie's family. But, her attention was all but diverted to the woman who was being asked that conspicuous question.

Delilah realized that all three of Marie's children, and (F/N) as well, were looking at her, all eager for her answer. She sighed and looked at (F/N). The girl noticed this and sat up straight, wanting so much to hear her story.

"I never actually despised them. I, should I say, developed some kind of enmity between us, including my own stupid brother."

"Please, tell us." Rosemarie begged.

Delilah sighed once more and put two sugar cubes on her tea. "It all began on their rookie Soldier days, that stupid brother of mine and Carlstead's husband. Erwin was a very dedicated recruit of the Scouting Legion. He chose to enroll in the Scouts despite being the top of his batch. Dawk, on the other hand, enrolled in the Military Police, being second to him. Erwin believed in salvation of humanity by unraveling the truth of the world, or so he says. Hence, the reason for him joining the Scouts. Dawk chose the safety of the inner Walls, being a man of pure practicality.

"But, despite their differences in philosophy, their friendship didn't waver in the least. They still went out into drinking parties every other night. They would always go to this very popular bar in Wall Rose. That's where they met Carlstead. She was a barmaid in that busy establishment."

Rosemarie and Jonas looked at each other. (F/N)'s attention was fully diverted. She was entranced. She wanted to know more.

"What happened?" (F/N) carefully asked, earning curious glances from both Rosemarie and Jonas.

"Just like what you must be thinking right now, yes; Erwin and Dawk both fell in love with her."

Rosemarie was shocked, her mouth hanging open. Jonas remained calm, and Ivanna went on staring at Delilah with huge blue eyes full of innocent wonder.

However, (F/N) felt differently. If Erwin loved Marie, then he,...

"For years the two men courted this woman, wanting to win her affection. Erwin's efforts paid off. Carlstead said yes to him. They were in a relationship for a few years. But, exposure in the Legion seemed to change something in Erwin. Over time, I noticed some changes in him. His eyes became devoid of that spark he once had in his youth. Every time he goes back from Expeditions, his eyes would get darker and darker that I knew he no longer was the person he used to be. That must be the effect of seeing so many die in the hands of the Titans."

Delilah paused for a while to put another sugar cube in her tea. Then, she continued.

"He and Carlstead began fighting, and a year later, they broke up. And as expected of Dawk, he nabbed her right in front of my brother's nose. That's when their friendship started to have cracks. They no longer go out in drinking parties. Carlstead quit her job due to depression, and Dawk blamed Erwin for it. They were no longer the same."

Rosemarie fought the urge to cry. Jonas, on the other hand, went on eating his breakfast like nothing was happening. Ivanna went on listening, and (F/N), well,...

"I asked my brother why he let Carlstead go if he loved her so much. He only said that their relationship would never blossom. I asked why. He said,..."

Delilah inhaled and breathed heavily, then put another sugar cube in her tea.

"He said, 'Truth shall be unveiled. For the sake of Humanity.' It's bewildering, I know."

Truth shall be unveiled,...

Why does it resonate within (F/N)'s senses?

"At first, I thought my brother must be going insane, so I urged him to quit the Legion so he could get a whiff of fresh air without the scent of death. This, he didn't agree to, by the way. So, I took the next step. I decided to talk to Carlstead. But, by the time I got here, she was already engaged to be married to Dawk. It was,... too fast,..."

Rosemarie looked like she was holding her breath. Jonas couldn't take any more and decided to just stare at Delilah. The older woman sighed again and put another sugar cube on her tea.

"So, I went directly to Dawk, who was just promoted as the Commander of the MP. I asked why he didn't help straighten his relationship with his friend. He said that Erwin deserved to be left alone because he chose the Titans over Carlstead. He said to me straight in the face that he would give her the best life he could to the best of his abilities. He said he would never abandon her."

I will never abandon you, this I promise,...

(F/N) felt really nauseous. Somehow, she was starting to see the bigger picture behind Erwin's motivations as a Commander of the Legion.

"He,..." Delilah stopped talking for a while to suppress the tears that started falling out of her blue eyes. "He practically threw me out of his office. Then, I,... I went to Erwin to break the news to him. He still didn't do anything to get Marie back. He just became this very alcoholic person who did nothing but mope and groan all day. Of course, like any other normal person, he helped himself get over his liquour addiction and devoted his whole life into serving humanity as a newly promoted Commander of the Legion when Shadis voluntarily stepped down. That took years, may I add. His battle with liquour addiction, I mean."

"What's a licker?" Ivanna asked innocently.

"Shut up, Ivanna." Jonas uttered.

"Jonas!" Rosemarie rebuked.

"You know what they said about time healing all wounds. But, it seems that it didn't apply to those three. Yes, they're comfortably talking to each other now, but it was devoid of the warmth that they once shared as close friends. Children, that's when I started drifting away from them. I hated seeing them like that. Empty."

Rosemarie sighed, wiping away the tear that escaped her eye.

Delilah sighed and put another sugar cube in her tea. "Let's have a fair share of favors here. Now, it's your turn to tell me why you ran away. Rosemarie?"

"Oh! I - " Rosemarie began, suddenly being ashamed of her presence there. "I just wanted to show my parents that I could take care of myself now. I will show them that I could be the best journalist here in Wall Sina without their help."

"And how would you do that?" asked Delilah, stirring her tea.

"I - ah,..."

"You don't know. Well,..." Delilah said, then put yet another sugar cube in her tea. "Don't tell me you have the same agenda, Jonas?"

"No, I don't want to be a journalist."

"What, then?"

"I want to be in,..." Jonas gulped, then he looked at (F/N) with pleading eyes. The girl noticed this and smiled a bit. Jonas saw her smile and faced Delilah once more. "I want to be in the Scouting Legion."

Delilah dissolved another sugar cube in her tea and took a sip. The awfully sweet taste of her drink and Jonas' announcement made her spit her tea in utter shock.

"For the love of the holy Walls!" Delilah coughed. "There are far too many idiots in the Legion already! Not to mention my own stupid brother as the head honcho. Why do you want to become a Scout?!"

"They're not stupid!" Jonas stood and took as much courage as he can by looking at (F/N). He stood up and faced Delilah. "I want to know what's outside those Walls. And for that to happen, I must train to be able to beat the Titans."

"You know that's taboo you're talking about there. Desire for wanting so much to go outside the safety of the Walls is always punished by swift death. I'm sure you're aware of that." Delilah looked at Jonas in the eye. "Either that or you'll live long enough to be like my brother."

"I won't be like your brother." Jonas said, then looked at (F/N) once more. "Because he's a deceiver. I'm guilty of that, as well by agreeing to everything that happened. But, I swear to you, I will never be like him. I want to be like - "

Levi Ackerman.

(F/N) knew deep in her heart that Jonas want to say that name, but instead, he closed his mouth shut and sat.

"Children. I know you have aspirations and dreams of your own, but if you would listen to this unsolicited advice; they're still your parents. They may be lacking in some aspects of being parents, but you must put in mind that they wanted the best for you. They don't want you chasing after the latest ondits or naked giants. They want you to live a safe and happy life here where no one would hurt you. Please, do understand that - "

But, before Delilah could even finish, (F/N) stood up, making all eyes turn towards her.

At first, she didn't know what to say, but the moment she took a glimpse of Jonas, she was determined.

"I could help you, Jonas." (F/N) said. "Er - " she almost choked on Erwin's name, so she decided to address by title instead. "The Commander doesn't have to be involved. After all, he chose to live here as a noble. Hange Zoe is there, she could definitely help you to become a great Scout, I knew it. And I'll vouch for you, I promise."

Jonas' face lit up in excitement.

"You'll meet others. Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Sasha,..." she went on, but the mention of their names brought tears to her eyes. "They'll help you, and they'll be your friends."

She faced Rosemarie and smiled at her. "Now, I know you don't want to be in the Legion. But, you could work there as a librarian, or a secretary. If memory serves me right, they're still looking for a person to fill in the missing post. You could take that, and from there,..."

"What are you blabbering about, young lady?" Delilah asked her with raised eyebrows.

"And from there?" Rosemarie, who was now eager to know more from (F/N).

"And from there, you could acquire the necessary skills to be a proper journalist. There is a small newspaper publication in Trost. Yes, it's small, but we all start small, don't we? It's called Berg, I think,..."

"Ah, yes! Berg has a small branch in Trost. I remember now!" Rosemarie clapped her hands in excitement, already wanting to put the plan into action.

"It will take me three years to learn everything to be a soldier. That's too long." Jonas told (F/N).

"The Section Commander will turn that into just one year, believe me. And the rest is up to practical application - "

"Practical application! Ms. Carlstead, you're putting the children into danger!" Delilah said and also stood up.

"I'm not a Carlstead!" (F/N) answered Delilah with a tone that is an octave higher. Realizing that she still owes the woman for everything from last night up to this point, she reverted back to her old, obedient self. "I know now how it feels to be told to do something you don't like. Wearing dresses, learning the waltz, curtsying,... I honestly thought that I was made to obey like a slave. I don't want to be an Honorary Noble in the first place. I,..."

The occupants of the room all looked at her with different reactions on their faces.

"The reason I joined the Legion is to return the favor to the person who saved me. And now, looking back, it has turned me into this; a person who had a lot of bruises, wounds, and a faulty memory. Even a shattered reputation and dignity. Everything I did back then was for a person who I know would never look at me the way I looked at him in the past."

Rosemarie began crying and Jonas almost felt like bursting, himself. For right in front of their very own eyes, the (F/N) that they used to know was beginning to spread her wings and reveal her true self.

"Now, I have decided to live for my own. And I know that it's not too late." she looked at both Rosemarie and Jonas and smiled at them. "I know I acted irrational yesterday, and I sincerely apologize for that. If - " (F/N) gulped and wiped away her tears with her arm. "If we could start all over again, my name is (F/N) (L/N). I graduated from the 105th Southern Trainee Corps and I belong to Section Commander Hange Zoe's Squad. It's so nice to meet you, Jonas, Rosemarie, and Ivanna."

"Mom?" Ivanna asked her.

"Nice to meet you, too, (F/N)." Rosemarie smiled, stood up, and went to hug (F/N). "I'm so sorry for not telling you everything. I'm so, so, sorry!"

"Don't be. I know you were just given the order to remain silent about it." (F/N) told her, hugging the younger girl tightly. "And learn to stop saying multiple sorries. Look what it did to me. Just one sorry is enough."

"I'm sorry, then." Jonas also stood up and went towards the girls to hug them. "There! That's just one sorry."

"You guys. Thank you so much for treating me kindly!"

"Oh, you children,..." Delilah muttered, wiping away the tear that came out of her eye, affected by the warmth of the scene that just unfolded in front of her eyes.

"I'll try to convince your parents. I'll do my best! Just say it whenever you're ready. I'm fully prepared to catch everything they'll throw at me."

"No, (F/N)! You just said that you'll live for your own from now on!"

"And can you, please, not mention to the Section Commander that I once fancy the Commander?"

"Not in a million years, Jonas!"

"Children! The breakfast." Delilah announced, hiding her smile from her napkin, and making the children sit all at once with those stupidly happy looks in their faces.

"Wait, why is Ivanna calling me mom anyway?"

"No idea." Rosemarie told her.

"That must be the effect of being away from mother for a long time." Jonas answered.

"Why? Where did she go?"

"To grandma Carlstead's house, you idiot! They went looking for you there."

"Grandma Carlstead's?! They know I would never go there! I hate her knitted blankets and snooty neighbors."

"By the way, (F/N), I know you're from the Legion and all, but wouldn't it be nice to submit a resignation form to the MP office for formalities sake instead of going AWOL? You've been absent for two days now,..."

The occupants of the room were baffled when (F/N) suddenly stood up once again from her seat, but not because of excitement. A look of horror was evident in her eyes and she was staring into space.

"Child?" Delilah asked. "What's wrong?"

"Captain Ackerman."

"Who?"

"Captain Kenny Ackerman." (F/N) said once more.

"Oh, that pervert,..." Rosemarie said, taking a sip of her tea.

"What about him?" Jonas asked her.

"He's an Ackerman."

"Yes, dear, that's an obvious fact." Delilah said, pouring herself a new cup of tea.

"He's a target!"

"What?"

"Ms. Delilah, he's an Ackerman!" (F/N) repeated. "He's - he's a target! They'll kill him!"

"What in the Hades are you talking about?!" Jonas said.

"The cult who purges the Ackermans. They'll come for him!"

"Who?"

"I must warn him! He's a person who never lied to me. He never deceived me! And he'll die if I didn't warn him. I must go!"

"(F/N), wait!"

But, even before they could catch up to her, she's gone.

Meanwhile, a woman who was observing Delilah's guests not far from the house put down her binoculars.

"The girl has regained her memories." she said to her companion. "I'll inform the Captain at once. You begin with the plan."

"Yes, Carven." her male assistant muttered. "At once."

The assistant took out a gun and grinned.

***

~ @levi4mikasa , @chocolate-mmilk , @yepps , @nerdyphantomlady , @shewolfofficial , @unhappysap , @super-peace-fangirl , @fangurl-ontgeside , and @emilyackerman78 . 💜

***

💜💜💜

***

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levi ackerman #captain levi #this i promise #levi x reader #levi x you #chapter 57 #again #part 1

4 notes · View notes

jo-the-schmo · 5 years

Text

Red, Dead, Reflections Ch.2

Chapter 1

A/N: Finally! Chapter 2! Remember how I kept saying I was trying to get to a certain part and that’s why it was taking so long? Well, I decided to keep that until the next chapter because it was taking so long and I was already pushing a hefty word count as is. Also, the writing in this chapter isn’t as good as chapter 1 and I’m sorry about that. I’ll do my best to make chapter 3 more enjoyable. I tried really hard with this one but it just didn’t stick. It happens to all of us. I hope you still like it, though!

Word count: 9,150 (I’m so sorry)

Warnings: Blood, animal death, explicit language, mentions of racism (not expanded, I’m white, I don’t want to be disrespectful)

Summary: At the age of 23, you and your pseudo-family perform a heist gone wrong, leading you into a dangerous position. Discover your own history, the story of those around you, and gain new relationships along the way in this (eventual) choose your own adventure.

Tags!: @zoilalove213 @eccentricc-catt

A/N pt.2: THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO LIKED CHAPTER 1! Special thanks to those who wanted to be tagged and those who gave me nice reviews, I love you guys so much! I’m also super sorry that this chapter is mostly character introductions and being on the mountain. I promise you’ll get off this mountain soon! I refuse to have y’all still up there at any point during chapter 4. Hopefully that’ll make up for this gross writing. If the read more function still isn’t working, I’m gonna break Tumblr in half.

Edit: Holy shit I’m a moron, I forgot to add the title omg I’m a fucking moron

Keep Your Eyes On The Prize

Warmth enraptured your being, wrapping around you. Your eyes fluttered open, the first thing you saw was a fire a few feet away from you. That and the pile of blankets on top of you would explain the all-consuming heat. Where am I now? You heard a light patter coming towards you. You threw the blankets off to ready yourself, worried it could be someone trying to get the upper hand on you. You were surprised to see a small figure with dark hair, who had frozen himself in place. It was a little boy. You raised your hand to surrender.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You took a deep breath, you lowered your arms when he resumed his approach.

“Don’t worry, I’m not scared.” He hopped up to sit next to you. It just occurred to you that you had been laying on a cot. “Uncle Arthur says you’re a friend, so I wanted to watch out for you.” So that wasn’t a dream.

“Oh, well that’s very nice of you. What’s your name, buddy?” You took on a softer tone, it made you sound more feminine, but you weren’t worried about that.

“Jack Marston. My momma’s been helping to take care of you. Her and Uncle Hosea. They said your name was James?”

“Yes, sir.” You smiled. You thought it better to be safe and keep up the act.

“Uncle Dutch wants to say hi to you now that you’re awake. I can take you to him.” He jumped up, he seemed to be excited that someone new was around You conceded and pried yourself from the cot. Your chest ached. I’ll have to loosen this band again soon, no more sleeping in this thing. Your wig felt askew, so you quickly moved it back in place before the two of exited the room. You left the cabin with Jack, he led you to another one close by. You passed by a woman with long brunette hair who sent you a curious glance. Jack grabbed your hand and pulled you through the door, there was a parade of men all around.

“Ah, it seems our young gentle-friend has awoken from his slumber.” Dutch announced, everyone looked in your direction. No matter how tough you were, a group of this many people would intimidate you. You recognized Arthur and Micah on opposite sides of the room. Jack tugged on your arm again, prompting you to take a few cautious steps into the herd of questioning eyes.

“Is one of you Hosea by chance?” You asked, already slightly out of breath. You still felt exhausted, and your head was killing you. An older man with a stripped scarf stepped forward, a warm smile on his face.

“That would be me, young man.” You weakly gripped his shoulder, partly for a support and partly to show appreciation.

“Jack told me you were one of the people to take care of me, thank you.” His smile widened.

“Oh, it was no trouble, young man.” He looked over at Dutch. “You were right, Dutch. Boy’s got good manners.”

“I told ya you’d like him!” He bellowed humorously. “Young Jack, could you please help Mr. West over here by me?” Jack nodded, ushering you over to the man in the dense black coat. Dutch wrapped an arm around your shoulder to keep you steady, but it was also so that he could present you to the crowd of men in front of you. “Now, gentlemen. This here is James West. He’s a fellow from California who’ lost his way. But make no mistakes, Mr. Morgan and I have both seen the carnage this boy can cause with just his bare hands. We believe that he was captured by those nasty O’Driscolls and took quite the beating because of it. Unfortunately for both us and poor James here, it seems that the injuries he sustained have given him some memory loss.” Memory loss? “He couldn’t even believe what year it was. But he is coherent enough to remember his name and state of residence.” He looked over at you. “Now young man, we know this could be difficult, but you could you try and tell us the last thing you recall.”

These people were insane, or at least you thought they were. You wouldn’t know until you got off this mountain and found some other people, which was clearly not happening any time soon. For now, this was your situation. You were stuck on some mountain in the middle of who-knows-where with bunch of people who thought the year was 1899 and that you were some man who experienced enough blunt-force head trauma to get some mild amnesia. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds you, so you made an executive decision. Play along until you can get to safety.

“I was…with my friends.” These people were willing to kill, so there was no way crime bothered them any. “We were robbing a bank, it went wrong.” You recalled the image of Eli, Austin, and Miguel running away from the scene. “I got hit…and that’s all I remember.” The only parts you were excluding were the fact that you were shot multiple times and that it was 2019.

“Robbing a bank, huh?” You peaked his interest. “So, you’re an outlaw then, Mr. West.”

“You could call me that, I suppose.”

“Can you shoot?” Micah chimed.

“Oh, I can more than shoot, pal.” This guy rubbed you the wrong way, and you could see a sort of look of approval from Arthur after you said that.

“Wonderful! That means you may repay us for our kindness. I don’t have all the details worked out yet, but I’ll call for you when the time comes. For now, I’d like for you to get situated among our presence. Go on now, introduce yourself to everyone.” Dutch gave a firm pat on the back, your chest tightened. Gasping for air, you checked around the room. There was a room with a door nearby, you stumbled inside, hearing the suspicious whispers of the men behind you hushed by the closing of the door.

You pressed your back against the wood to keep it shut, stripping out of your jacket and shirt. Your ribs ached while you fumbled around. Eventually, you were able to unwind the band almost fully, the long appendages hanging loosely around your form with your left arm holding the rest of it in place. Your whole chest felt like it was on fire.

“This is what you get for leaving it on, idiot.” You whispered to yourself. You weren’t sure what you were going to do. There were a bunch of people out there waiting for you to come out and you were trapping yourself inside with your secret. “I just need a minute…shit, that hurts.”

You saw your reflection in the window across from you. Well, sort of. It was more like a clouded outline. But you could see the shift in color where the band had been wrapped. Your skin was raw. You could also see two bruises that blended into each other on your forehead, and a dark one on the bridge of your nose. That guy really got you. You pushed yourself off the door, already wincing from the anticipation of needing to bind your chest again. You readjusted and began to wrap. Not so tight this time. You would just be walking around today, there shouldn’t be an issue of it staying in place. You finally managed to get it mostly back together and went to pick up your shirt when you heard the door knob turning. You scrambled to the ground, throwing your jacket over your back. You were surprised to only see Hosea walk in and shut the door behind him. The look in his eyes was knowing and curious. You stood to your feet, arms invisible from underneath the jacket. He looked at your shirt on the ground.

“It seems my suspicions were correct. You aren’t being entirely honest with us, James.” His tone wasn’t worrying, but you thought you’d better explain yourself, fast.

“I’m so sorry, it wasn’t my intention to-“

“Don’t worry about it, son.” He interrupted, leaving you confused. You turned around, using your hand to clasp the jacket closed, hiding yourself from view.

“What?”

“I’ve met many folks in my life, young man. I won’t ask what your situation is, I don’t believe that’s my place yet. But I won’t speak a word of this, just a secret between us.” You breathed a sigh of relief, at least you knew now that one of these men was decent.

“Thank you, Hosea. I really appreciate this, you have no idea.”

“I think I can get some of the picture.” He smiled. “You’re an outlaw, sonny. An outlaw is whoever they want to be.” He turned back towards the door. “Now I’m supposed to be in here checking on you, making sure you aren’t up to anything.”

“That’s fair.” You chuckled.

“So, I have to stay in here with you until you’re ready, but I’ll give you your privacy, don’t worry.” You were thankful that one of these people may be able to keep you on everyone’s good side.

“That’s very kind of you, I can’t thank you enough for this.” You made sure to hurry up and get your shirt and jacket back on. You fixed two of the pins for your wig while you were at it. You were glad Hosea seemed smart enough, you wouldn’t take his kindness for granted, no matter how crazy these people seemed. But you had to be more careful. This wasn’t a time for everyone to be finding out you were not only lying, but the vast list of other things wrong with your situation. The further you could separate yourself from what you had gotten up to the better. These men were killers, but they weren’t you.

“Are you ready, James?” Hosea asked.

“Yes, is everyone still out there?”

“I believe only Dutch and Arthur stayed behind. Arthur and I are supposed to introduce you to everyone.” You nodded, he opened to door and you followed him out to where Dutch and Arthur were talking.

“Ah, thank goodness! What came over you, friend?” Dutch questioned.

“I believe we pushed him too far with the questions, Dutch. He lost his head for a moment.” Hosea excused.

“Yes, I’m sorry for that rude exit. Not sure what happened entirely.” You tried to reassure.

“I see, perhaps we should let the boy rest a bit longer.”

“Thank you, sir, but there’s no need. I don’t wanna be a bother, the least I could do is help around, be of some use.” Now was the time to suck up. You had to repay your debt to him and gain his trust. He liked your answer. He was clearly the leader of the group, and from the few interactions you’d had, you could tell they were tight knit. If you wanted to get off this mountain and not end up like those men at the cabin, you’d have to play into their hand.

“That’s a good man right there, I think we struck luck with this one!” He gestured between Arthur and Hosea. “Could you two show him around, we want him to get acquainted with everyone in camp before we get any further.” They agreed and led you back outside.

“Okay, Hosea, where should we start first?” Arthur asked, fixing his gloves.

“Well, I have some business to discuss with Miss Grimshaw, so I would prefer we find her first.”

“Will Jack’s mom be there? He said she was looking out for me too and I’d like to thank her personally for that.”

“She may be, but we are sure to run into her soon, so don’t fret.” Hosea said. Your group walked trudged through the snow to get to a wooden cabin. You saw mostly women inside, including the brunette who looked at you earlier and Mrs. Adler.

“Fine weather we’re having, ladies.” Arthur joked.

“Yeah, real funny.” A blonde woman rolled her eyes.

“It was. Anyhow, this here is James West. I know y’all have been real curious about him.” You followed their lead and walked over to the group of women. An older woman came forward with her hands on her hips.

“This here is Miss Grimshaw, James. You best respect her, Dutch may want to think we’re his people but we’re really hers.” Hosea’s eyes wrinkled at his own humor.

“Of course, thank you for showing me kindness, Miss Grimshaw.” You made sure to sound serious. You weren’t planning on disrespecting anyone, let alone someone who seemed so important. She cracked a grin and pinched your cheeks. You almost squeaked in surprise, but you managed to hold it in.

“Boy’s got a prettier face than you, Arthur! How old are ya?” She teased.

“23, Miss, that is if my memory serves.”

“Ah, we got ourselves a young one! He’ll be able to do some mighty fine work once he’s back in order. You be sure to repay our kindness, ya got that, young man?”

“With pleasure, Miss. I always repay my debts.” That was certainly true in most cases.

“You also best be careful-“ She grabbed the edge of your jacket and yanked you closer. She lowered her voice in your ear. “Don’t try anything with my girls, ya hear? If I find out you’ve been disrespectful to any of them, my face will be the last thing you see.” She let go to gauge your reaction.

“Of course, Miss Grimshaw. I would never dream of overstepping my bounds. You have my word.” You bowed your head at her as a sign of honest intentions. Her smile returned.

“Fantastic!” She hooked her arm around yours and lead you closer to the women. “I’ll introduce you then.” She pointed to the blonde with the whole body eyeroll. “The smart mouth is Karen Jones.”

“Howdy.” She waved. Next to her was a red head.

“That one’s Molly O’Shea.” Miss Grimshaw looked at the woman with warm, dark skin in a yellow skirt. “That’s Tilly Jackson, don’t let her sweet talk ya.”

“Hello.” Tilly said with energy in very voice. It suddenly dawned on you that these people were surprisingly less racist than to be expected out of anyone who thinks it’s 1899. You felt lucky for that one. It would tear you up to discover that anyone was being treated badly. These guys may have lost their minds, but intolerance wasn’t something that you tolerated. Especially after everything in your life.

“That’s Mary-Beth.” She pointed out the brunette from outside, she smiled sweetly up at you.

“Nice to meet you.” She went back to writing after hitting you with that same glance from earlier. The last woman looked up from what she was doing, she was wearing a black hood over her head. “Abigail Marston, she’s my hardest worker.” You recognized the name.

“Are you Jack’s, mother?” You asked.

“Yes, I am.” You carefully stepped over and kneeled down to the level she was sitting at.

“He told me you were one of the people to take care of me while I was out, I wanted to thank you personally for your generosity.” You bowed your head and stood up. “Thank you, Mrs. Marston.”

“Well ain’t you just the definition of a gentleman.” Arthur was clearly trying to tease you, boys were usually like that.

“Don’t get anywhere in life without being kind to those who are kind to you.”

“Fair enough.” You were glad he agreed. You turned your attention back to the women.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my name is James West, by the way. I know Arthur already said that, but I try my best to be polite.” Try is the operative word here. Karen whispered to Mary-Beth and Tilly.

“Arthur, take James over to meet the boys and make a good second-impression. I have to speak to Miss Grimshaw for a moment on matters of housing. I’ll meet you over there.” Hosea said as he pulled Miss Grimshaw aside. Arthur lazily waved you over and you made sure not to delay this. You looked back at the group as you walked.

“Thank you for your time, it was nice to meet all of you.” Arthur let you walk out first. The wind hit you like a truck. Arthur held your shoulder to keep you in place and make sure you wouldn’t blow away.

“Ya alright there, partner?” You steadied yourself, he released his grip.

“Yeah, I’m good. Not used to this kind of cold. Thanks for the help.”

“Everyone went back to their cabin after your episode.” The two of you marched toward the cabin you had woken up in. There was muffled yet loud conversation happening inside. The second the door opened, everyone got quiet. “Hello again, gentlemen.” The room sounded with a few ‘hey Arthur’s before going back down again, everyone was locking eyes on you. It wasn’t a good idea to hide behind Arthur and let him do the talking, they’d prefer you explain yourself.

“Hello everyone.” You stepped around the bulky blue coat, throwing yourself into the spotlight. “My head was unwell back there, I apologize for that. My name is James West, I’d like to help you in anyway I can. I’d hate to mooch off of your hospitality.” They seemed to approve of your answers so far.

“Well don’t be shy, ya idiots, introduce yourself, shake the boy’s hand or somethin’.” Arthur really did have no filter, huh? The first person to approach you was a man wearing a giant black hat and an equally frightening mustache. He took your hand in an eager handshake, which surprised you to say the least.

“Reverend Swanson, Orville Swanson.” Ah, a holy man, a bit ironic for the situation, isn’t it? You coughed and got your voice back into place.

“Good to meet ya, Reverend.” You pushed past him and put yourself in the center of 3 men who were sitting near each other. The youngest one stood up first. He looked to be around your age but definitely younger, which made you kinda mad that everyone was acting like you were so young. That told you they were trying to prove a point.

“Lenny Summers, nice meeting ya.” You gave him a firm handshake. You felt surprisingly comfortable with him, since he was about your age, time to lighten the mood.

“Summers? Don’t’cha mean Winters?” You pointed at the window that was mostly boarded up but showed some of the snow outside through the cracks. He held in some kind of sound, only a little creak escaping. You considered that to be a win in Y/N’s a Comedy Master, Volume VI. The other two squinted there eyes, but you could tell they were hiding their amusement. Lenny sat down, the man with very interesting facial hair stood up. It didn’t look bad on him, you were just confused as to what you’d classify it as for a second. If anything, the hat was what threw you off the most. It suddenly dawned on you that a lot of these guys would look better without their hats. You paused that thought for a moment.

“Javier Escuella. Pleasure.” He smirked.

“It’s good to meet you, Javier.” His handshake was not as hesitant as Lenny’s was by comparison, but it was fairly quick. The last man in the semi-circle stood. And he was a giant. You had seen him earlier but for some reason his height and just overall existence didn’t hit you until that moment. He had the longest hair of anyone in the room. Maybe you’d be able to get out of wearing the wig over time. With some lying, obviously. You held your hand out to him first.

“James, it’s nice to meet you.” His handshake was unexpectedly gentle.

“Charles, Charles Smith.” His voice was also softer than you’d have predicted. You supposed he didn’t need to compensate for presence so there wasn’t a point in being loud. You could tell right off the bat that he was a quiet type, but you were used to that from Miguel, so it didn’t matter much. You turned away to face the 3 other men on the other side of the room. You already knew the blonde one.

“Micah, right?” You asked. You didn’t particularly want to get near him, but you conceded and held your hand out. He squeezed your hand just a little too hard, you did the same in return, and a little too much energy was put into it. He was still mad about your first encounter with him in the cabin. “Good to finally get a proper introduction.”

“Yeah, right.” You made the mental note that he was for sure an asshole and to watch out for him. A different man grabbed your attention, he didn’t seem pleased.

“My name is Simon Pearson, I’m the cook around here, and with you and that new woman hanging about, you better be helping enough to get your share.” You remember Arthur mentioning him. You shook his hand with both of yours to signify peacemaking.

“Of course, sir. I’ll do more than my share. I’m always willing to help.” You were aware that a lot of the things you were saying were repetitive, but that was usually how mass introductions went. A man with a very full beard was the last one at the moment. “Hello, I’m James West.”

“Bill.” He answered simply. Okay, not in the talking mood right now. Got it. You heard Arthur’s voice again.

“John’s out of commission at the moment, we won’t be worried about that dumbass.” You heard a familiar patter on the floor coming in your direction.

“James!” Jack rammed into your leg before you got a chance to react. He almost knocked you off balance.

“Woah, hey there, buddy.” You knelt down in front of him to get on his level. “What have you been up to? On patrol?” He seemed to be the only kid here, that’s gotta be stressful on him.

“Yeah! Been waiting outside Papa’s room since you’re awake now.” He informed.

“Wow, strong and vigilant? You’re a real power house there, little man.” You balled your hands into fists and lightly bopped him on the chest, one with each hand. “Pow, pow!” You exaggerated onomatopoeically. You could tell this was more interaction than he was used to. You were more than happy to brighten his mood.

“Uncle Dutch says you’re a good fighter.”

“Uncle Dutch would be right, gotta hit ’em with that one-two!” You hit him two more times, a wide smile on his face. He mimicked the way you blocked your face with your hands. His small fist gingerly punched your forearm. “Come on! You can do better than that, buddy!” You stood up, bouncing and shifting your weight between your feet. He tried to do the same, but it came out more as an awkward skip-in-place. “See? You’re a natural, little dude! A little practice and you could pin all of us.” He hit your knee a couple times, making little ‘psh’ sounds when he did.

“Will you teach me?” He was elated, you weren’t sure how long you’d be with them, but it seemed like you’d be up here for a while. Might as well, it also might win you bonus points with the others. But in all honesty, you weren’t thinking about that much.

“Sure thing, buddy.” He was really happy for that answer. “But…” He paused. You swooped down and picked him up, resting him on your shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Lesson number one, never let your opponent take you off guard, or something unexpected might happen.” You were suddenly very aware that you weren’t alone in the room. You got so distracted by Jack that you forgot that you were in a room full of people. Jack squirmed around, laughing with the kind of energy you’d expect from a kid without child interaction and stuck on a recluse mountain with a bunch of sad-sack adults.

“Uncle Arthur! Javier!” He took a breath between fits of giggles. “You’re upside down!”

“Alright, little dude.” You made sure to be gentle as you set him back down to his feet. “I’ll teach some more later, okay?” You looked over, everyone was staring at you with varying looks about them Confusions, amusement, conjecture. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, how could any of you say no to this face?” You ruffled Jack’s hair. “That’s an objectively sweet face that you can’t say no to.”

“I don’t know ‘bout sweet, but he’s rambunctious that’s for sure.” Arthur commented with the knowing nods of several men as their response. You crossed your arms as Jack ran off to do something else.

“How long have you all been stuck up here?”

“A few days,” Charles started, “A few bad days at that.”

“We’re running low on supplies, food most importantly.” Pearson added. “I haven’t been able to do my job properly since we got up here, ever since Blackwater.” Blackwater? You wanted to ask, but the look on everyone’s faces told you you’d be overstepping your bounds. You decided to go a different direction.

“I know we’re in the middle of winter, but there’s gotta be animals, yeah?”

“Everyone I’ve sent out as come up empty-handed.”

“No, James is right. There’s game on this mountain, we just aren’t finding it.” Charles gestured to his wrapped hand. “And this certainly isn’t making me feel better about it. I’m going hunting.” He stood and walked over to a corner where some things were sitting.

“Yer hand’s burnt, you won’t be able to shoot.” Arthur’s accent slurred. Charles was about to say something, but you cut him off.

“Yeah, and? His hands don’t need to work for tracking. Just send someone else up there with him who can kill.”

“That’s a great idea! You and Arthur can go with him!” Pearson sassed, “That man’s been irritable with nothing to do.” Arthur grumbled in response.

“I’d be more than happy to help,” You really wanted to get back in your element. All this social work was more Austin and Gina’s speed. “but I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be.”

“You ever been hunting?” Charles went and handed a bow to Arthur.

“Something like that.”

“That’s better than nothing in my opinion. Come on, you can borrow one of the others’ horses.” Someone walked in.

“You can take mine. Silver Dollar should be pretty tame for you.” It was Hosea.

“Meet us there my ass, old man.” The blue-clad cowboy mocked.

“Apologies, got a bit held up with preparations. Charles, Arthur, bring back something good and make sure the kid gets the hang of things.” Hhhhhh, Hosea you’re really nice, but please don’t call me kid. Now wasn’t the time for corrections, you could do that later. They agreed and motioned for you to follow them outside.

The window was starting to slow down, which was more than welcome in your opinion. The snow crunched lightly, the way it does when multiple people have already walked on it. You missed California’s ridiculous heat. Despite the air being cold though, it was much easier to breathe than that smog. Your eyes burned from the sun reflecting off the plush snow. This is fucking blinding, how can any of you see ever? The three of you approached what was, basically to you, a herd of horses. They mounted their horses on silence, you approached a grey one.

“I’m going to assume this is Silver Dollar?” Arthur nodded to confirm your suspicions. You pulled yourself up and adjusted. Alright, just a group of guys going huntin’, just a couple of dudes, some good’ol’boys…how do I make this thing go? You looked up to try and learn through observation. Okay, I’ll just…give him a little- you lightly tapped your heel against the side of the horse, he came to a trot, following behind Charles. Don’t show any fear, they can sense it. Just be chill and respect the animal, and he’ll do the same for you. You at least would hope that for the time being.

Charles and Arthur picked up the pace, so you followed suit, not nearly as fast, but you were at least keeping up. There was a gaping silence that didn’t bother you. It finally gave you a chance to take in your surroundings. To say that the scenery was breathtaking would be an understatement. You weren’t sure if you had seen anything more beautiful in your entire life. Why had you never gone this far out? It seemed like a good a place as any to hide away, other than the blizzards. Charles broke that silence all too soon.

“What did you mean earlier? About hunting.” He clarified. You recalled your answer from earlier.

“Yeah, I was wonderin’ ‘bout that.” Arthur added. You tried to think of a way to phrase this without giving too much away.

“It wasn’t so much hunting as it was scavenging at that point. Can’t hunt something that’s already dead. Tracks and all.”

“Scavengin’?”

“Times were…desperate.” You decided to leave it at that for the time being.

“Have you ever tracked a deer?” Charles asked.

“Not a deer, but if you point some out to me, I should be able to find it pretty easily.”

“Good, we’ll need 2. You and Arthur get one each.” It wasn’t long before you passed through a stream and then came upon a clearing where Charles told you two to slow down. You followed in his example when he dismounted. “We’ll need to continue on foot from here.” He pointed at a trail of imprints in the ground. “Think you can find that?”

“Yeah, no problem.” You followed along it, just walking for a few steps to make an assessment. “She definitely isn’t far. The snow is deep, and the tracks are undisturbed.” You had never been out looking for food in the snow, but it seemed easier than dry ass California. You stopped to look ahead, listened closely. You could hear another part of the stream you passed earlier. Animals get thirsty too. “Alright, get down low, don’t wanna make too much noise.” Arthur seemed reluctant, but Charles was pleased with your competence. It was odd to slink around in broad daylight, but there was no helping it. You saw one in the distance.

“Arthur, ready yourself.” Charles took the lead now, inching the group a few feet closer. It was a buck. But there did seem to be a few others scattered about. If y’all were quick, this should only take a few more minutes.

“This is probably a good time to remind you both that I’ve never used a bow for hunting or anything like that, so maybe Arthur should handle this one.” You whispered.

“Don’t worry, they’ll scatter once Arthur shoots. We’ll have to track them a bit further. Shouldn’t take long, though.” You were crouched down in between the two of them, Arthur was lining up his shot. “Aim for the neck.” It was only a moment later that you a quick, air splitting sound. The buck fell to the ground. The rest of the deer, having heard him collapse, scattered themselves about just as Charles said they would. “Okay, go ahead and haul that one. James and I will keep going to save us a few minutes.”

“You got it.” He sighed, standing upright and walking over to the now dead animal after handing you the bow with a few arrows in its quiver. Now separated, you and Charles continued to skulk about. Most of them ran upstream, so that was your best guess on where to go. Luckily, Charles was still leading, and you were satisfied to see he took the same direction you were taking. A doe was in the distance, you could already see her heavy breathing from running when Charles had you stop.

“Okay, draw your bow.” You slid the arrow weakly into place. “Don’t over extend the string, but don’t be too free with it either.” You tried to do what he said, Your dominant hand held the arrow in place, the other gripped the wooden curve. You drew back. “A little more.”

“Like this?” You corrected yourself.

“Yes, but don’t fire yet.” His hand reached forward, grasping at the base of the bow just under where yours was located. You let him guide your aim to the side. He stopped moving but kept his position.

“Now?”

“Take a deep breath.” Inhale. “Release when you breathe out.” Exhale.

You let loose. The arrow flew through and made the doe squeal and fall to her side. The rest of the group fled. Leaving the body behind. You mentally high-fived yourself. Hell yeah!

“You did a good job. Come on, it’s time to collect.” Both of you stood, roaming towards the carcass.

“Thank you for your patience.” You replied with a smirk. You’d like to say the sight of something dead was what made you feel sick, but it was the blood. You chose to believe it was the way the color popped against the pure snow. The way it looked like cherry cough syrup or Kool-Aid left a terribly familiar taste at the back of your throat. But you decided not to show hesitation. Weakness will show more of you than any words people can claw from you. The words rang in your head. You pulled the arrow out of its windpipe.

“I’ll carry it back to horses.”

“But your hand-“

“I don’t need one hand to use the other’s arm.” His tone was more relaxed than it had been before, less formal. He hefted the body and carried it over his shoulder. “Come, Arthur’s bringing over the horses.” And he was. Arthur was a little over five yards away. You were surprised by how little time you all spent doing this. With both deer slumped on the back of Charles and Arthur’s horses, you started the ride back to camp. I’m kinda getting the hang of this. It’s kinda like driving a living motorcycle, but it can go slow without cruising.

It seems you spoke too soon, as a sudden howl in the distance caused Silver Dollar to buck you off. Your back hit the ground, Arthur hopped down. He held the reins of his horse to make sure they wouldn’t run off. You hurried to your feet.

“Arthur-“

“I know, I’ll handle it.”

“I’ll lead the horses a little a ways while you deal with them.” Charles took Arthur’s reins and then turned to look at you. “James, you-“ The barking was getting louder, grey spikes of fur were sprinting towards your group. You knew there was no way you could get back on and start moving in time.

“Go on ahead, I’ll be fine!” Besides, this was your field of expertise in one way. Hunting wasn’t your strong-suit, but defense sure as hell was. You darted off to the side, swinging your jacket off, raising the shoulders as far as your arms could reach while running. You let out a loud scream as one approached you, not out of fear, but to make it fear you. It still charged toward you with less ferocity. You managed to kick it in the side and ran, side-stepping your way to Arthur. A shot rang out, one of the three wolves fell over, dead. The other flanked and clamped its maw on Arthur’s arm. His gun fell to the ground. You rolled to grab it.

You pulled the hammer back and fired at the beast the second Arthur was able to force himself free. Pull back, turn. You used your opposite hand to grab your wrist and steady your arm. One last shot pounded just as the wolf you had kicked was about to pounce. Arthur clutched onto his right arm, bloody holes blotting through. You picked up your jacket and shook the snow off before sliding it back on.

“You’re a good shot, boy. I know who’s getting a gun as soon as we get off this damn mountain.” He laughed, ignoring the pain that should be in his arm.

“I make it a habit of having one, so yeah.” You flipped the revolver in your hand, handle facing Arthur. He took it and tipped his hat to you.

“Thank’ya, Mr. West.”

“It’s no trouble. You probably could’ve handled them, you aren’t the damsel type.” Charles trotted back over with Silver Dollar and whatever horse Arthur was riding trailing behind him.

“You two handled that quickly.”

“You mean James handled that quickly. All I went and did was get my arm bit.”

“One outta three ain’t bad.” You retorted.

“Y’know I knew someone who died from getting bit.”

“You’re not gonna die from a little wolf bite, Arthur.” Charles sighed.

“But you don’t know that!” Arthur was surprisingly funny for someone who looks so sad. Then again, it shouldn’t be that shocking to you. Charles snorted but did not give further response. You and Arthur got back on the saddles and began the journey to their camp.

“You’ll be fine as long as that thing didn’t have rabies. Just keep it clean and dry for the time being.”

“They call me Rabid Morgan.” Arthur stared into the distance.

“They say you can see his red eyes from a mile away.” Charles joined.

“Rabid Man Morgan, the shredder of limbs, no matter whomst they belong.” You let a chuckle slip.

“Dutch and Hosea are gonna think you’re dying if they hear all this talk.” His long hair shook in motion with his head.

“All the more reason to keep talkin’ if ya ask me.”

“Well, I’m calling you that from now on. I’m never going to explain what it means.” You warned.

“Perfect.” You had barely noticed how close to the camp you’d gotten. Good conversation makes for easy travel, you supposed. Pearson was the first to greet you at his station.

“Sounds like a bunch of gossiping milkmaids are invading the camp.”

“Never heard of laughter, Mr. Pearson?” You teased. You were aware you were acting a bit too comfortable, but this would give you a good idea of where to draw the line.

“Not that I recall. You bring anything useful for me?” You slid off the side and took initiative of hoisting the doe onto your shoulders. It was heavier than you expected, but you were able to get it into the open area Pearson directed you towards. Albeit, you didn’t do it as gracefully as Charles had or how Arthur was doing it now, but you did it, nonetheless.

“Ever skinned a de-“ Charles was interrupted,

“WEST YOU SACK OF SHIT!” by the obnoxious wailing of a blonde idiot. Micah was stomping his way through the snow, eyes burning into you. You squinted in distrust of the situation. By the time he was two feet from you, you’d expected him to slow down.

“What do you want Mi-“ But he didn’t. He shoved you back, making you hit a cleared part of Pearson’s desk. He pulled you forward by the collar of your jacket and the center of your shirt.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are gettin’ special privileges around here, but ya best watch yerself and how you carry. I got my eye on you.” He was trying to assert his fragile dominance over you.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, dickhead. But if you don’t get your filthy paws off of me in the next two seconds, I’m gonna make sure we have matching bruises.” You wrinkled your nose.

“Micah, put the poor boy down right now!” You heard Dutch’s voice coming closer but didn’t break eye contact with Micah. He threw you further onto the table before turning away from you.

“You seriously trust this runt, Dutch? Look at him. Maggot’s got lies smeared all over his face.”

“And you’ve got brown smeared all over your nose, back up.” You practically vaulted off the table, using your forearm and pressure to Micah’s chest to force him back.

“The god damn kid get’s his own space but not any of the others who been here longer? Here I am having to-“

“Don’t call me kid, ever again. Unless you want a broken neck.” Nothing got to you more than that, especially when someone was using it the way he was. Your stare was enough to pierce skin. Arthur grabbed Micah’s shoulder.

“And I’d thank you kindly to not even try and finish that sentence. We already heard you whine earlier. The way I see it, yer at least two against one right now, and that ain’t even including everyone here that would beat you the first chance they got. I don’t care how tough you think you are, those aren’t good odds. So, I suggest you shut that trap of a mouth you have.” His voice was low, there seemed to be some history behind that response, but you couldn’t think about that too much right now. Micah shook away his touch, pushing past Dutch and Charles, he mumbled something to himself as he stormed off. You could feel the pressure of your jaw clenching and your nails digging into your palm.

You paced about, narrowly avoiding the deer corpses around you. Remember to breathe, Y/N. You can’t pass out again. Control yourself. You’re alright. No point in getting mad over the stupid, you’ll scream all day. You wanted to destroy something. You couldn’t stand people like him, it ripped at your gut like a beast starving for your insides. You took a few deep breaths before pacifying yourself enough to address the men around you.

“Forgive me, gentlemen. That situation was a bit too tense for me to bear.” You tried to resist the urge to pull at your hair, considering it wasn’t your hair.

“You reacted better than most people would, nothing to apologize for.” Arthur was steadfast in watching Micah leave. Dutch stepped forward and held you still with both hands just under the joint of your shoulder. He had to bend down a bit to get at eye level with you.

“He can be rough around the edges, but you’ll get used to him. I can see that fire in your eyes, boy. There ain’t nothing wrong with it, but I’d like you to hold that fire close for a few hours more.” He sounded like Austin, which was simultaneously comforting and nerve-wracking. He traded glances with the two men you had rode back with but staying in the same position. “While you boys were gone, I had some of the others ride out to scour the area, and we’ve struck gold.” He stood up straight, still holding onto you. “The O’Driscolls have a camp a little a ways from here. Mrs. Adler informed me of some of the talk that was happening in her house, and apparently there was word of a train.”

“A train?” You questioned.

“That’s right, young man. We need money.” Doesn’t everybody? “I only send my best men for these jobs, but I wanna see how good you really are, Mr. West.”

“Oh, he’s good. Even Arthur was impressed.” Charles elbowed Arthur’s arm.

“That true, son?”

“I saw him kill two wolves today. Only used a bullet for each. Hit ‘em both right here-“ He tapped the middle of his forehead with index finger. “-so, yeah, I’d wager he’s pretty good.” A grin stretched across Dutch’s face.

“Fantastic, let’s hope your as good at shootin’ O’Driscolls as you are at shootin’ wild animals.” He gave you an affirming pat on the bicep. “Ah hell, who am I kiddin’? They’re the same thing.” He turned to walk out, calling back to all of you before being out of earshot. “Ill see you gentlemen in the morning, we leave at 10 o’clock!” The excitement was clear in his speech.

This place was weird. These people were fucking weird. The more you stayed here, the more convincing these people seemed. What the hell was their deal? They acted like normal people, not like cultists or anything. How did they think it was 1899? It would make sense if they’d been on the mountain for years, but they just got here not too long ago. It gave you a headache just thinking about it. You needed to ask more questions without seeming eager to leave.

“Sorry about Micah, he’s like that with almost everyone.” Charles’s voice broke your thoughts.

“I’m fine. He’s lucky Dutch stepped in. I don’t let anyone push me around.” Anymore.

“You’re on edge. There’s not much to do up here but work. You can help Arthur skin the pelts. Might help distract you.” He suggested, pulling what looked like a hunting knife from his belt. You took it reluctantly, knowing you’d need something to do to keep yourself from losing it. You got down on one knee, waiting to follow Arthur’s lead. Time to talk.

“How far are we from Blackwater?” You pretended to know what that place was.

“Not far enough if you ask me.” Pearson complained. “Then again, we left a lot down there.”

“Like food?” Arthur muttered.

“A comedian as always, Mr. Morgan.” Pearson was not amused.

“What happened to you guys over there?” They were hushed by that question for a second.

“I don’t think any of us are entirely sure.” Charles contemplated for a moment. “But now we’re wanted. Every last one of us. We won’t be able to go back for some time.” His eyes met yours, halting the slide of the blade. “I hope that doesn’t interfere with you staying with us for the time being.” You were sad that you weren’t bothered by this, not in the slightest. People being hunted didn’t even phase you.

“I’d be a hypocrite if I let it.” You sighed, you let your guard slip. “I’ve been on the run since I was 19. This doesn’t change anything.” You immediately caught your mistake. Shit. No, it’s fine. They still don’t know who I am. I’m fine. But something suddenly struck you. How could these people be on the run from the law if they thought it was the 19th century?

“What got you?” Arthur asked. It floored you mentally, no one had ever asked you that question. Mostly because you never told anyone who didn’t already know. It wasn’t something you exactly go around flaunting. Him and Charles could see the alarm in your expression.

“Just…” How do you say it? “I made some bad choices.” You don’t. You hurried to finish the carving, wanting to get out of the conversation as fast as possible. You could tell they wanted to press but, lucky for you, decided against it. You rolled the fur up and hooked the cadaver onto a bare wall next to Arthur’s. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You kept your head down as you walked away.

This wasn’t the time to be thinking about that. You had to think of a way to get back to the others. Where would you go once you got off the mountain? What would even happen when the others got off? There was no way they could avoid cities. You could hardly believe their entire reality hadn’t broken already. Blackwater had to be a town or something. And they were running from the law. The more you heard and thought, the more it didn’t add up. You got lost in that pensive side of yourself.

Something hit your chest, well, someone. You saw the book fall before the girl. It was the brunette you met earlier, you thought Mary-Beth was her name. She was quiet when she fell initially, but as she leaned forward on her elbows, she let out a grunt of pain. You snapped out of your trance and quickly bent closer to her, holding out your hand.

“I’m so sorry, miss.” She took your hand, the back of hers facing up to the sky. You pulled her up halfway and used your other hand to press the space between her shoulder blades. You did this to avoid pulling her too hard as helped her back to her feet. Once she was balanced, you let go and snatched her book from the snow. Fortunately, it fell cover side down. “I should have been looking where I was going. Are you alright?”

“I’m alright, thank you, Mr. West.” She took the book as you presented it to her. “I should’ve been paying attention too.” Her eyes squinted, inspecting you closely, like she was trying to figure something out.

“Well, I’m still sorry.” Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. You took a step back and turned away.

“Wait!” She grabbed your wrist. “Hosea wanted us to let you know Miss Grimshaw set up a space for you.” You looked back at her.

“A space?”

“Yes! He told us about how common it is for people in your condition to episodes, especially in their sleep. So, he had us make something for privacy.” Seems a few of your questions were answered.

“Is that what Micah was upset about earlier?”

“Yes, I’m sorry about him. He doesn’t know when to keep himself in check most of the time.” She pulled you toward the cabin you had been placed in. When you walked in, Bill and Javier were the only ones in the main room. You attention immediately went to what looked like a make shift tent at the right end of the room. It looked like what would happen if you split a tent in half and let it rest against a wall. Or like something a few kids would make, not in terms of quality but rather conceptually. It was very well done by blanket fort standards.

“Wow, Mary-Beth, that looks really nice.” You did appreciate the effort genuinely. You reminded yourself to thank Hosea for saving you some trouble. “How many of you worked on this?”

“It was mostly Tilly, Karen, and I. I wasn’t sure if you were much or a writer, but I left an extra pencil and a few sheets of paper to keep yourself entertained.”

“Thank you so much, this is very nice of all of you to do for me.” You smiled at her. “Be sure to let me know if there’s anything you need, I’d feel bad if I didn’t repay you all in some way.” Your request tickled her fancy.

“You sound kinda like Arthur.”

“That a good thing?”

“Yes, I’d reckon so.” Her expression was tender and thoughtful. “I’ll let the girls know you appreciate our hard work. Hosea said you should rest to not create any more discomfort.” She pivoted back towards the door. “Oh! And be sure to eat something in the morning. No telling when the last time you ate was…Actually, I’ll see if I can drop any off to you when it’s ready.”

“You don’t need to do that, you all have done-“

“Nonsense! I’m surprised you were well enough to go out in the condition Dutch said you were in. ‘Sides, y’all are going out again tomorrow, right?”

“Well, yes, but-“

“But nothing! You go and rest right now, young man!” You couldn’t tell if she was older than you, but she sure didn’t look it. Regardless, you conceded.

“Yes, ma’am.” She left you to your own devices, Javier and Bill were focusing on their own activities. You took it upon yourself to crawl into the makeshift tent. It was wide enough for the cot you woke up on. The blanket making the fake wall and roof was high enough for you to sit on the cot but not much else. It was a good thing that’s all you’d need.

You sat down in the middle, letting the blanket curtain to hide you from everyone else. Taking off your coat and lifting up your shirt, you felt joy well up in your chest, joy mixed with a stiff pain. Even with it barely being able to stay up, it was still painful to keep the fabric wrapped around you. You could feel your skin rejoice as you removed it. Once the manila colored cloth was all unbound and sitting on your lap, you let your shirt fall back down. You decided to hide it under the cot for the time being. You were surprised to find a canteen and the items Mary-Beth had mentioned earlier. Thankfully, the contents of the canteen was water, which you happily swigged. You laid back on the cot. This was the first time you’d gotten conscious alone time.

Okay, time to figure this out. I was shot 6 times. I should be dead. But somehow, I ended up on a mountain in winter. I was trapped in a barn and rescued by these guys who think it’s 1899. What’s weird is that Mrs. Adler didn’t object to that, even though she was introduced to everyone the same night I was. None of this is adding up…

You massaged your temples.

If I’m gonna start thinking crazy, I might as well go all out right now. I’m either dead or I traveled back in time. And either way, I can’t do anything about it. Death is inescapable and time isn’t tangible, it isn’t even real. I’ll have to take this one goal at a time… Damnit!

You wanted to cry. Not because you felt sorry for yourself, but for them. Miguel, Eli, what would they do without you? You knew Austin would be fine, and Gina would have the others for support. But Eli and Miguel relied on you to a certain extent. You were their glue. That’s one of the reasons you never left, even though you should have. You should have left a long time ago. There was no way to tell them you were okay, or at least as okay as you could be.

No! There’s no way that’s the answer. I can’t believe it…not yet. You didn’t allow yourself the indulgence of shedding tears. You had to be strong until you could get back to them. You just had to figure out what was happening. But there was no way you’d be learning anything new from these people. You couldn’t get out of this place without their help. You were a lot of things, but you weren’t a defeatist. Going out without a plan in this kind of temperature was a death sentence if you weren’t already dead. You didn’t want to be stupid and take that kind of risk.

If I play along, I might have a chance.

And that’s all I need.

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #arthur morgan #charles smith #javier escuella #lenny summers #sadie adler #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #tilly jackson #mary-beth gaskill #abigail marston #john marston #karen jones #bill williamson #micah bell #micah's a bitch

16 notes · View notes

justanotherwannabeclassic · 6 years

Text

In Another World

While visiting Storybrooke, Alice struggles with seeing the life her father could have lived and wonders if he would have been happier without her.

Notes: So I've succumbed to the world of Knightrook and I REGRET NOTHING. So here's Knightrook with a dash of Captain Swan. In terms of timeline, I'm going to say that for Captain Swan, 3-4 years have passed since the left Henry, Regina, and Wish!Hook. Obviously, this is set post-curse. [AO3] Alice pressed her face against window, watching as the world around her sped by. Maine was full of trees, and it reminded her a bit of where she came from, only this time she would have the ability to explore this place more. She’d done quite a bit exploring over the past few weeks. Not too long after the curse had broken and the villains defeated, she and Papa had decided to take a trip around the States to see all of the sights. They’d plotted over maps and researched the different places they’d like to visit, and – oh – how wonderful it had been.

The Grand Canyon had been her favorite. It was so large and vast, and it appeared to be somewhere someone could go easily find himself or herself lost. And the scenery was so different! The colors were all reds and oranges and brown, and the flora was nothing like she’d seen before. She and Papa had gone hiking, and she’d reveled in how she could stretch her legs and climb to high places and end back up on the ground again. They’d taken so many picture, she and Papa, his arm draped around her shoulder with twin smiles on their faces.

It was fantastic.

And now she and Papa were on their way to Maine to visit Papa’s other self, the one in Henry’s book. No, the one who inspired the character in Henry’s book. It was so strange to imagine two versions of her father, but it wasn’t the maddest thing she’d seen by far. Regardless, she was eager to meet the man that shared Papa’s face and much of his history.

Alice was curious at how different Storybrooke would be from the other places she had visited. She’d learned from Regina and Henry that it was small. Not like a village, but nowhere near as large as Seattle or the other cities she and Papa had stopped at along the way. (New York City had been amazing with its bright lights and towering skyscrapers.) At the very least, she doubted that the town would be as odd as Wonderland.

“Ah, there it is,” her father commented.

Alice looked ahead to see a “Welcome to Storybrooke” sign come into view. She was practically vibrating in her seat now. Henry had given her a list of all the things they should do in town. Alice wanted to eat at Granny’s and see the harbor, and maybe explore the library. Papa had brought her many books growing up, and this world had many books more. She wondered if Storybrooke had different books that Seattle.

Alice wondered many things.

She wondered about other-Papa’s family. She’d read about Emma Swan in Henry’s book, and Papa had told her how the woman had saved his life with her magic. But people in real life were different that people in the stories. She should know. Alice, herself, was nothing like her counterpart in the other book, aside from her name and similar looks. Because of this, she was quite eager to meet the mysterious Emma Swan…and her daughter.

The daughter definitely piqued Alice’s interests. In a way, it was like she had a much, much younger sibling out there. She’d always wanted a little brother or sister, someone to keep her company during her lonely years trapped in the tower. And now she had one! Sort of. They shared similar to DNA, and the daughter belonged to the alternate version of her father, but still. It was a start.

What would be a better start was if she knew the girl’s name. Papa said his other self hadn’t mentioned it on the phone, and Henry hadn’t responded to her text asking. He, Ella, and Lucy had visited Storybrooke weeks ago. Alice had seen pictures on their Instagram accounts, happy and smiling and surrounded by a crowd of people. She’d seen Papa’s other self in one of those pictures, a small dark-haired girl in his arms.

“Do you think they’ll like me?” Alice asked aloud for the first time. It was something she’d been thinking on for quite awhile. “The other you and his family, that is.”

Papa glanced over to her, his expression bewildered. “Why wouldn’t they? You are, without a doubt, one of the most likable people I have ever met. And I’ve met many over the centuries.”

“I know that,” she replied, though it was a partial lie. The truth of the matter was that she was worried. Even though she belonged to different Killian Jones than the one she was going to visit, what if her presence made Emma uncomfortable? Alice knew how step mothers could be, not that Emma Swan was truly a step mother. But she’d seen how Ella had been treated, and she couldn’t help but think of all the possibilities. “But what if they don’t?”

“Then this realm is far more absurd than either you or I ever thought,” Papa replied.

Then the GPS chirped, letting them know they were almost to their destination. They had been directed down a series of streets, taking them to a residential part of town. The lawns were most immaculate and far more sizable than anything she’d ever seen in Hyper Heights. Thankfully, she did not see any toadstools. That simply wouldn’t do.

Papa eventually pulled the car to stop in front of large home. There was a sign on the mailbox that read “Swan-Jones” in curled letters. Alice studied the home. It was tall, not as tall as her tower, but there were many levels. Like the other homes, the lawn was pristine, and bushes lined the front walk.

She let out a low whistle.

“Nice place.”

“Aye,” her father agreed. He quirked his head to the side, “Shall we?”

“It’s be a pity if we didn’t go, considering we went all this way,” Alice answer, and go they went.

The air in Storybrooke was fresher than in Hyperion Heights. She appreciated that. Everything felt cleaner here, and far more peaceful. She wondered if one could see the stars at night. The light of the city obscured them back in Seattle, and if there was one thing she missed about the Enchanted Forest, it was seeing the stars. She’d seen plenty while traveling across the country with Papa, beautiful white lights speckling the sky. Papa had taught her all the constellations years ago. Did this other Killian Jones intend to do the same with his daughter?

Well, there was only one way to find out, so when they reached the front door she knocked.

It was few moments more for a woman to answer the door. Alice recognized her immediately. It was Emma Swan. She had gotten a haircut since the last picture of Henry’s she had seen. Her blonde hair was now shoulder-length, but she was still just as beautiful. Emma’s smile turned wide when she saw them. “You guys are here! Come in!” She opened the door wide, and Alice craned her head to see the inside of the house. It was spacious, with framed pictures on the wall and books stacked in shelves. She noticed stairs winding up to another floor. Yes, the house was certainly larger than her room in her tower or even the apartment she and Papa now shared in Hyperion Heights.

“Your home is lovely, Emma,” Papa said as they entered the Swan-Jones home. Alice stayed silent, instead choosing to walk over to the collage of frames on the wall. There were wedding photos, pictures of Henry in his teens, and plenty of a who she assumed was Emma’s daughter. Alice studied Papa’s other self in each of these photos and cemented his smile to memory. He looked quite happy in each of these photos surrounded by his family and friends. Alice didn’t remember Papa having many friends while she was growing up. He’d remained isolated, though unlike her, it was by choice.

“Where’s everyone else?” Alice asked suddenly, realizing that neither her Papa’s other self nor his daughter were her. She could hear voices upstairs, but she wasn’t sure it was them. The voices very well could have belonged to someone else.

“They’re upstairs. Alice just woke up from her nap, and Killian is wrangling her. They’ll be down any minute. Alice is very excited to meet you both.”

Alice startled at Emma’s words. “Alice? She has my name?” “Yeah, it seems like their devilishly handsome good looks aren’t the same thing the two Killian Jones have in common. They like the same baby names, too,” Emma replied with a laugh. Alice glanced over to Papa, who was scratching behind his ear. Alice supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that her father’s other version had named his daughter Alice. Papa had named her after his mother, and it only made sense that the other man’s mother was Alice, as well. Still, Alice couldn’t deny the knot that was beginning to form in her stomach. Before she could fully contemplate her feelings on the matter, she was distracted by a whoop from the stairs. A man who looked exactly like Papa was walking down the stairs carrying a small child who looked nothing like her. This other Alice’s dark hair was was braided into pigtails, and atop her hair sat a plastic-looking bejeweled crown.

“Hear ye, hear ye, Princess Alice is now awake and ready to greet her most esteemed guests,” the other Killian Jones announced. The girl in his arms waved excitedly with one hand while the other clutched a stuffed animal, and Alice was taken back to when Papa would play pretend with her. She never pretended to be a princess, though, as Papa had explained that royalty was never to be trusted. Alice could be a lady, of course, or sometimes a pirate queen -- but never a princess in a frilly gown and crown.

“I keep forgetting I’m royalty, and she somehow has it imprinted to memory,” Alice heard Emma murmur to Papa eliciting a chuckle. Oh right. Emma was a princess. She wondered if that made Papa's other self a prince. Was he happy as a prince? “I think you have your parents to thank for that, my love,” the other version of Papa replied to Emma. He angled his face toward his daughter, “Milady, how about we greet our new visitors.” The little girl waved excitedly, her words coming out in a jumble. “HiImAlice.”

“I’m Alice, too” Alice said, and the little girl. She felt awkward standing there is in the foyer with Papa and this alternate version of his family. Unwilling to let it show, she said, “It’s nice to meet you.” The other Alice thrust out the stuffed animal in her arms. Upon closer inspection, it seemed to be alligator. “This is Crocy. He’s my friend.” This caused Papa to laugh loudly, a joke that clearly Alice didn’t understand. His other self looked mildly amused at the exchange, and Alice wondered what information she was missing. She hated feeling out of the loop. It made her feel a little too crazy.

“It was a gift from her grandfather. He thought it’d be funny,” Papa’s other self explained, though not truly. The man then smiled wide at Papa. “It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you found one another.”

“Would you like to sit down? There’s no need to keep standing?” Papa’s other self asked, and he led them into the living den. He sat the small Alice down, and she walked over to a box of toys, upending the entire thing into the floor. Papa gratefully sat down, but Alice took that as an invitation to inspect the home. As Papa and his other self caught up in the background -- Alice heard him sharing the story of how they cured his poisoned heart -- she admired the array of photos and knick-knacks scattered about. It was clear this version of Papa liked to keep things orderly. There was hardly any dust, and every item seemed to have its place. She wondered how long it took for them to clean this house. Her room in the tower didn’t take long to clean. She recalled singing songs with Papa as they cleaned. Did his other self do the same with his Alice?

“She’s doing surprisingly well with the two of us,” Alice heard Papa comment. They were talking about the other Alice.

“We, ah, sort of explained that you were my twin. She has twin boys in her preschool, so it helped her understand,” the other Killian explained. Alice felt a stab of jealousy at that. She hadn’t been able to have friends as a small child. She wondered if this Alice knew how lucky she was. She lived in a large house that she could leave. She had friends. She had a mother.

“Smart, and the names didn’t give her pause?”

“Well, she knows has two Uncle Liams, I don’t think an ‘Uncle Killian’ was too much for her honestly,” Emma added. Alice knew of her two Uncles. Papa had told her their sad stories, but she was surprised a three-year-old knew. Papa was, as well.

“She knows about them both?”

“Uncle Liam brings me presents,” the younger Alice piped up. “He’s gon’ bring me a huge kraken.”

Papa appeared confused a the small girl’s exclamation. Alice wondered how a kraken would even fit into the house. “So he’s safe then?”

“We reunited a awhile back. He’s on a vessel titled the Nautilus now, and visits every now and then,” the other Killian Jones explained. Alice could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “Alice has taken a liking to him.”

“He’s forgiven me -- I mean, you?”

“Aye, after some time, at least.”

“That’s...that’s fantastic.” The awe was evident in Papa’s voice, but there was something else there too. Regret? Jealousy? Alice couldn’t quite place it, but she didn’t like what was lurking there beneath the surface. “So he’s okay? Truly?”

“Do you have any pets?” Alice asked, pulling the conversation from brothers and not-so-lost brothers. One of her earliest memories was Papa bringing home a small, white kitten for her to befriend. Alice had named her Dinah. She’d loved that cat. “I like cats. And rabbits.”

The small Alice perked up with that, and with an exaggerated frown announced, “No. No kitten for me.” “Maybe if you show you can be responsible, Santa will bring you one,” Emma said in a sing-song voice. Santa didn’t exist for her, or anyone in the Enchanted Forest for that matter. Alice knows that if she thought the man was real, she would have tried to meet him to befriend someone else.

“I’m ‘sponible, Mummy.” As if to prove her point, she closed her eyes tightly. Suddenly, the toys that she had earlier scattered about vanished from the floor, reappearing in the box she upended. “See?”

“You’ve got magic?” Alice asked, kneeling down to face the girl. Small Alice nodded excitedly.

“We’re not sure if it’s an inherited thing, or the ‘product of True Love’ thing,” Alice heard Emma explain. The other woman’s words shook her. Product of True Love. Inherited magic. Her heart began to pound in her chest. “Likely the True Love thing, I’d imagine,” she said.

As if sensing her discomfort, Papa changed the subject. “So, what’s there to do around this town? Henry mentioned Granny’s and her ‘must have’ onion rings.”

“Daddy takes me sailin’ on his ship. It’s big,” the other Alice said. She raised her hands above her head to indicate the height.

“Reminds me of the Jolly,” Papa said, smiling fondly. As much as he tried not to show it, Alice knew he missed his ship. Alice, herself, wish she could have seen it.

“It is the Jolly,” Papa’s other self said. Alice’s eyes widened. He had the ship too?

“Really? You have her?” Papa was astounded. “I haven’t seen her in ages.” “Would you like to? I can poof us there,” Emma suggested.

“I would love...Alice, would you like to see the Jolly Roger?” The longing in his voice was evident, and Alice tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. He gave it up to be with her.

“Sure,” she replied, though she felt as if she was lying through her teeth. Emma looked over at her strangely, and Alice tried not to shrink from her gaze. “Are we going? How does this poofing work, exactly?” Emma explained that they all needed to hold hands, and Papa took her hand into his. Alice squeezed it tightly, hoping that he would never let her go, and in that moment she was afraid. Not of the magic, no. She’d been around magic plenty, but of everything else. Of Storybrooke. Of Papa’s other self with his beautiful life of all the things Papa could ever want. And then a puff of smoke engulfed them, and Alice felt the familiar tugging sensation of being transported somewhere new and different. In no time at all, the slightly floral scent of the Swan-Jones home was replaced by the salty air of the harbor, and they were standing on the deck of a ship. Papa gasped beside her, and he released her hand. He turned to look at her, “I told you she was marvel, didn’t I, love?”

“Yeah, you did.” Papa had regaled her with tales of sailing on this ship, but he’d told he’d given it up long ago to be with her. Alice used to dream of sailing on the ship with Papa, sailing far, far away from her tower to lands unknown. But they never had the chance. She had been trapped, and even if he wasn’t, he no longer had the ship. But the Killian Jones of this world could still sail. He’d never lost it for good, it seemed. He could take his Alice sailing. It made a pretty picture in her head, a vision of Papa sailing the world with a little girl in his True Love -- something her Papa never had the opportunity to have. Because of her. The Killian Jones of this world had never been shackled to a life on the land, because he’d never had her. He’d fathered a different Alice of his own, the product of True Love , as in he’d fallen in love. He got married. He had his beloved ship, and even met his other brother Liam and rekindled their broken relationship. In short, in a world where she never existed, Papa’s life was infinitely better. “Alice, what’s wrong?”

It took her father’s question to make her realize that she’d been crying. She brushed away the tears, and walked away from him. “Nothing.”

“Sweetheart, you’re crying.”

She looked around to see Papa’s other self watching her with concern, his daughter in his arms. Emma held onto his hook, appearing equally worried. What a brilliant and beautiful family they made, perfect in every way. How much better his world was without her. Alice ran.

A small voice in her head told her she was being silly, but she pushed forward, ignoring Papa’s shout of her name. She wished desperately for a looking glass or for a portal to gobble her up and send her to Wonderland, Agrabah, or even her tower -- anywhere but where could see the evidence of just how happy Papa would be without her.

How stupid she’d been to believe this was something she’d actually wanted to see. Unsure of where to go, Alice all but collapsed onto a bench. It reminded her of one of her favorite spots in Hyperion Heights. She wished she could magic away there, to go back and hide, and to forget this day ever happened. Perhaps a curse could once again sweep her away. At least then she’d forget how she’d ruined Papa’s life.

She heard Papa’s familiar footfalls, but refused to turn around to acknowledge him. Instead she sat resolutely looking forward into the harbor, watching the seagulls fly around. When she had been trapped in her tower, she envied the way they could just fly away. Currently, she envied them still.

Papa sat down next to her. Alice could feel his concerned gaze, but she continued to not say anything more. “ You get your stubbornness from me, I’m afraid,” he’d told her ages ago.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here.” Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t this. “I should have thought about what seeing their family could have done to you.”

Alice sniffed in an attempt to will away her tears. Finally turning to him, she asked, “Are you jealous?” “Jealous?” He studied her intently, and for once she couldn’t read his expression. “Are you?”

“I’ve been jealous of many different people for many different things,” she replied. She’d been jealous of him for his ability to leave. Jealous of Hatter for his hats. Jealous of Lucy for two loving parents. Jealous of Drizella of her relationship with Gothel, no matter how twisted. Jealous of Alice Swan-Jones for seemingly having it all. But that wasn’t the crux of the matter, was it? “But what about you? He has your ship. A wife. Even has his own Alice with her own magic.” “Aye, but she’s not you.” He was speaking in the tone he used to use when she’d cry about how she could never leave her room, the one that said he understood. This time, however, she wasn’t sure that he did. “Alice, there’s nothing in this world that--”

“Can you really say that? I’ve seen the pictures, seen how happy he is. Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t want his life?”

“Not without you,” Papa told her. “Never without you.” Alice bit back a sob, no longer sure if her father was just placating her or telling her the truth. She was terrified it was the latter. “He has his own Alice.”

“Who I’m sure is a lovely girl, but she’s much too young to play a good game of chess,” Papa replied, “and you know how I love a good game of chess.” He was trying to make her laugh, but she was still in foul enough of a mood that it wasn’t working. Besides, eventually the other girl would be grown, and she could play chess. Alice had spied a chess set in one of the rooms in their home. “Alice, talk to me. Would you like the leave? We can set sail as soon as you like.”

And what did she like? She could hardly decide it. She wished to leave and put this behind them, but she didn’t want to run away and hide. She’d done so much of that. More than anything, she just wanted to cry, so she told Papa, “I would like to be alone.”

“Alice…”

“Please, Papa,” she pleaded, and she knew he would acquiesce to her request. He always did. She was right. He sighed heavily and leaned over to kiss her on the head. “I love you, darling, and nothing could ever change that.” And then he was gone, walking away from her just as she asked. Alice felt a sort of emptiness, but she knew she couldn’t face him. Not now, anyway. Not after she knowing all the pain she had caused him over the years.

“He’s right, you know.” Alice looked over her shoulder to see Emma standing behind her. She wasn’t sure how much the other woman had heard, but she wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. “I would like to be alone, thank you.”

Emma shook her head. “Want to know something about me? I have a superpower. I can tell when people are lying.” She walked over to where Alice was sitting, and took the spot where Papa had once been. “And you, Alice Jones, are lying.” Alice didn’t confirm Emma’s assessment. If what she was saying were true, and Alice had no reason to not believe the other woman, then she would see through whatever she said next. Instead Alice swung her legs, and did her best to distract herself. “I’ve been alone most my life. I think I’m pretty good at it by now.”

“I never spent my life trapped in a tower, so I can’t totally relate, but I do know what is it like to be alone,” Emma told her. Alice scoffed in disbelief, thinking back to the many lonely days and nights wishing for a friend, and the terror she felt when Papa left to search for supplies or more food. “Though they had good reasons, my parents gave me up. The put me in a wardrobe, and I ended up on the side of the street not too far from here.”

“They just left you as a baby?” Alice felt a pang in her chest at the thought of the woman who gave birth to her.

“No one wanted me. I had a family raise me for three years before they gave up. The mother was pregnant, and she didn’t want a kid that wasn’t hers by blood, I guess.” Emma twirled the rings on her fingers as she spoke. Alice wondered if it was a tic of hers.

“So what happened next? Did someone else take you in?”

Emma laughed, but it was a bitter thing. “No. Not long term at least. I was in and out of the system until I ran away. Eventually I met a guy, thought it was true love only for him to frame me for his crimes. I ended up in jail and pregnant.”

“That’s awful,” Alice said, because she didn’t know what else to say. Her heart hurt for Emma and the story she was weaving. Papa had always tried to make her feel wanted and cared for growing up. Emma, unfortunately, didn’t have that. Alice couldn’t imagine how much worse she would have felt if she didn’t have Papa at all.

“Yeah, my life was pretty much a certain kind of hell,” Emma agreed matter-of-factly, shocking Alice with her frankness. She then turned to better face Alice. “I’m telling you this because thanks to a wish, I saw what my life would have been if it had been perfect and I had been raised by my parents and never had to live that life. I grew up in a castle like a proper princess. I still had my son, and I was safe...and I hated it.”

“You did? Why?” “Because that life wasn’t mine. I wasn’t me. Henry wasn’t my Henry. My parents weren’t themselves. It was life, a beautiful, amazing life free of pain, and if I had been the one to live only it, I might not have wanted it to change. But I knew what I was missing, so I desperately wanted to be home where I belonged.” Emma tentatively reached out to take Alice’s hand, and Alice did not pull away. “ You may think your dad’s life is better here, but he doesn’t. Not even a little bit.”

Alice once again felt the sting of tears, and she brushed the sleeve of her shirt against her eyes. She wasn’t embarrassed to have Emma Swan see her cry, not like she would have been with other strangers. Instead she felt a kindred pull the woman her Papa might have loved. “You think so?”

“I know so. Superpower, remember?” Emma’s words made Alice smile a tiny bit. “And even if I didn’t have my superpower, I would still know. Call it a parent thing.”

“Not all parents,” she replied darkly. After all, not all parents cared for their children.

Emma’s face softened. “No, not all parents. But I know Killian Jones, and when he devotes his heart to someone, he devotes it one hundred percent, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

“He’s a good father,” Alice said. There were times she thought that no other girl could have a father quite like hers. She still did.

“It shows. His kid seems pretty great,” Emma nudged her. Alice thought she wasn’t acting great, nor did Emma know her well, but the other woman continued, “When Henry visited, he told us quite a bit about you. He said you traveled to many, many places all by yourself, which takes guts.”

“Did he mention Wonderland?” she asked, hoping her sarcastic tone hid her blush. “Everyone only mentions Wonderland.”

“It might have come up. But, hey, it’s someplace I’ve never been, so that’s pretty cool.”

“It was quite the curious place,” Alice replied. She’d yet to visit anywhere like it, which honestly was probably a good thing. “I’m sorry I went a little mad earlier. It wasn’t the best impression of me.”

Emma shrugged. “There’s no need to apologize. If I were you, I would have freaked out a bit too. Your reaction was perfectly normal.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Alice replied. “I’m not always good with other people.”

“It’s okay, not everyone is,” Emma assured her. Alice was beginning to understand why Papa’s other self loved her so much. “So, how about we ditch the ship and take a pit stop to Granny’s? It’s a Storybrooke staple.”

Alice nodded and smiled. “Do you think Granny can make marmalade sandwiches?”

Emma leaned closer and with a conspiratorial smile said, “We’re giving her two versions of Killian Jones. She’ll make whatever we want.” Emma stood, and reached out her hand. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” But Alice didn’t take Emma’s hand. Instead she raced to find Papa and pull him into a hug, to tell him she loved him, and that she loved her life with him.

#knightrook ff #knightrook fic #ouat season 7 #wish hook #alice jones

157 notes · View notes