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duskholland · 3 years

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The Box || Tom Holland

summary ↠ you feel a mysterious object in tom’s pocket... word count ↠ 4.2k. warnings ↠ mildly suggestive, but this is just some very easy domestic fluff :’) a/n ↠ this is a rewrite of a fic I wrote back in 2018! I sat down just to edit it, but I ended up adding 2.5k and changing most of it. lmao. it’s very cute though. very gentle. I was in a proper state after watching cherry, and working on this soothed my soul <3 hope you like it!

if you want to read the original version of this fic, you can find the link for it here <3

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You wake up to an empty bed and immediately get the suspicion that something is amiss. The sheets are pulled down, the duvet crumpled, and the mattress cool. As you draw your tired fingers over the space beside you, a soft pout finds your lips.

Tom’s away so often that he rarely skips out on the opportunity to cuddle you in the morning, and if he does, he’s always attentive in the way he pulls the duvet to your chin and tucks you in. He knows you hate to be cold, so he’d never usually jump out of bed so recklessly, leaving behind his uncovered side and your leg sticking out the duvet.

Perplexed, you yawn as you sit up. A quick glance at your phone confirms that it’s still early, and you find your confusion about your boyfriend’s disappearance quickly turning into concern. With a furrow to your brow, you slowly get out of bed, groaning softly as your tired limbs stretch and click. There’s an ache between your legs that makes you bite your lip, memories of the night before flittering through your mind like polaroids. You see flashes of a rose-tinted Tom, kissing up your thighs, panting into your shoulder, moaning sweet words of praise against your lips. He’d made you dinner, then laid you down, and you’d felt like the only person in the world as he’d cupped your cheeks and shown how much he loved you.

After pulling on a pair of leggings and a jumper, you find your curious feet taking you off in the direction of the living room. You hear Tom before you see him—the sounds of socks dragging over plush carpet filling the air. He’s pacing, half-naked, thick arms crossed over his bare chest as a few fingers stroke his chin. He’s in a thick pair of fuzzy purple socks, and rounding off the ensemble are some simple grey sweats.

When your boyfriend reaches the other side of the living room, he pivots and starts to walk back towards you, gaze vacant and fixed on the floor. There’s a tenseness to his jaw that you haven’t seen in a while, the valley between his brows pronounced and deep. Stress is obvious in every single part of his person, and it makes you so concerned that you decide to shatter his reverie.

With a gentle clear of your throat, you step forwards.

“Tom?” you say, voice soft. Your eyes widen as he startles, head snapping up, loose brown curls springing through the air. “Baby, are you okay?”

He blinks at you for a few moments, seeming to shake off the daydream as his lips pull into an instinctive smile. When he meets your eyes, the nerves on Tom’s face start to melt. He gives you a tight nod as he walks towards you, folding into your outstretched arms and immediately burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m fine,” he vibrates, voice dark and husky like it always is in the morning. “Are you?”

You cup the back of his head with your palm, dragging your fingers through his curls in a way that soothes him. He’s so warm, his arms strong as they wind around your waist and hold you in a tight hug. Your heart beats a little faster at his question. He’s always been so attentive, even in times like these where it’s clear that he’s significantly worse off than you.

“I’m okay,” you respond. You press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he releases a quiet sound of approval, snuggling closer. “You weren’t there when I woke up.” You pause for a few moments, hesitating. “Is something wrong? Is this about last night?”

You know that Tom loves you. He shows you every single day that he adores you. He leaves your special mug out by the kettle, brings home your favourite snacks from the shops, does your dreaded household tasks unprompted. He looks after you when you’re ill, has all the names of your extended family memorised, and always does his best to coax a smile onto your face. His love for you is as obvious as the stars that twinkle in the sky.

Yet, he left you alone, and he’s stressed, and even as you’re voicing your concerns, you can feel him tug himself free from your embrace. It’s hard not to focus on the loosening of his arms and think about his odd behaviour from the last few days. Tom’s been on his phone more, acting scatter-brained and nervous. You don’t doubt his love, but with his life as hectic as it is, you worry about him.

“Last night?” Tom says. He pulls back, warm hands falling to your waist as he peers at you, shaking his head. “Darling.” He frowns. “Last night was amazing.” His lips pull into a slight smirk as he squeezes your hips, eyes glinting a shade darker. “I had fun. Didn’t you?”

You press a light kiss to his cheek, shifting both of your hands to cup his face. His skin is so soft beneath your fingertips. “I had a nice time,” you agree, pushing back the memories before you can get too lost in them. “You’ve been stressed recently,” you observe, treading gently. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

Tom closes his eyes, inhaling a quick breath. “Yeah... I know. I… Yeah. I’m fine.”

You play with a few strands of his hair, trying not to frown too much. “Are you sure?”

He pries open an eye, the honeyed hues of brown bringing you a sense of comfort. “I’m a little stressed at the moment. I have to do something today, and I… I’ve been thinking about it a lot, love… A lot.” He breaks into a breathless chuckle, swallowing nervously. “It’ll be fine. I know it will, but I… I can’t stop thinking about it.” Tom’s gaze shadows a little, and he swallows. “You do… You do love me, don’t you?”

“You have to know how much of a silly question that is.”

Tom bites at his lip as he sheepishly averts his gaze. “Yeah…” He’s sly as he gently pushes forwards to kiss your cheek. “‘Know you really loved me last night,” he rasps into your ear.

You roll your eyes, but you’re glad to see there’s some colour coming back to his cheeks. “What are you doing that’s got you so nervous?”

“Oh… Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Tom looks a little perkier now as he glances at you. “Nothing,” he repeats. “Well, a secret,” he clarifies. “I can’t tell you yet.”

Immediately you pout. “But why?” you whine, pulling your hands away from his face. “You can’t say all that and then not tell me what you’re doing.”

“Yes, I can.” He grins as he steps back, only leaving you once he’s kissed your lips. He hesitates for a moment before adding, “I love you. So much, darling.”

“I know,” you respond, tilting your head to the side as you look at him curiously. “I love you too.”

“Good. Good…” Tom steps back, briefly glancing behind you to the living room wall. His eyes widen as he looks at the clock. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I need to go.”

Tom runs away before you have a chance to catch him, stumbling back into the bedroom as he mutters something about finding some clothes. You decide to leave him to it, a yawn reminding you of how early it still is. You wonder for a moment why he hadn’t mentioned he had an early call time last night, but he’s been so all over the place recently that it doesn’t surprise you.

As you wait for Tom to re-emerge, you walk over into the kitchen, flicking on the kettle. You can hear him whistling to himself through all the open doors, and the melody mixes with the sound of your teaspoon bumping against the ceramic of your mug. It’s your favourite one—Tom had brought it back from Paris for you.

You’ve just settled at the kitchen table when Tom bursts back into the room, properly clothed and considerably more at ease. His hair is a little wild, but he’s in a pair of jeans and a lilac hoodie, and he wears his smile with confidence.

“Did I tell you that you look gorgeous this morning, darling?” Tom murmurs. He springs across to you, grabbing his keys from the bowl on the counter as he goes. When he reaches you, he tightly cups your cheeks and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Because you are, y’know? The most beautiful woman in the world.”

You chuckle as you sit back in your chair, cheeks aching from your dopey smile. “Thank you,” you respond. “You’re looking very handsome yourself.”

Tom pulls on his jacket and then reaches down, stealing your mug of tea and taking a long sip before you have time to warn him about how hot it still is. You watch as he splutters, cheeks burning red as he releases a yelp of pain.

“Fucking hell!” he yells, cursing a little more as he puts the mug back down. Tom sticks out his tongue, tenderly reaching up to poke at the tip as he winces. “Ow,” he whines, the word garbled around his open mouth. “It hurts.”

He looks very sweet standing there, and for a moment, you wonder how it’s possible to love someone so much. Your affections smother your chest, and you almost choke up as you’re briefly overcome with a sensation of utter adoration. It’s so intense that it almost hurts, but it aches in the most wonderful way.

You stand quickly and press a soft kiss to the tip of Tom’s tongue. He smiles and retracts it, chasing after your lips until he’s able to kiss you.

“It’s Harrison’s birthday party tonight,” Tom says as he steps back, shoving his phone into his pocket. “I’ll be back from set at 9, then we can go. Is that still okay?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you reply. “Have a good day doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

He smirks elusively, then presses a final peck to your cheek before turning towards the porch. “Bye!” Tom pauses in the doorway to look back and send you a few air kisses, and you pucker your lips and send a couple back. The front door closes with a gentle click, and your smile lingers on.

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You think about Tom’s behaviour all day, flipping between confusion and adoration as easily as the wind changes its mind. When 5pm rolls around, you find your way back home, and you spend a few hours milling around before you get ready for the event.

With your dress on and your bag slung over your shoulder, you wait in the porch for Tom to pull up, scrolling through your phone with a crease between your brows. Time is ticking, and with every second your boyfriend fails to show, the nearer you get to being late for the party.

When there’s a bright burst of light and the crunching of gravel, you glance up to see Tom’s headlights douse the driveway to your house. You’re surprised when he clambers from the car instead of jauntily honking the horn as he’s taken such an irritating liking to doing. You watch him mess around with his jeans before hurrying along the front path, pushing open the front door a moment later and startling when he sees you waiting.

“Oh!” he exclaims wide-eyed. His hand drifts down to rest over the left pocket of his jeans. “You’re here?”

You pull a face. “Yes? Hello to you too.”

Tom grunts as he moves forward to kiss you hastily, jumping back when you try to pull at his waist and bring him nearer. As you’re left baffled by his behaviour again, he seems to swallow down a lump in his throat.

“Hi,” he corrects, smiling nervously. “I, uh… I’m going to go and change.”

You wince. “We don’t have time,” you point out, reaching out to gently tug on his sleeve. You turn around, reaching back to pluck one of Tom’s stylish jackets from a peg. You offer it to him with a smile. “Try this,” you suggest. “We really need to go, though, Tom. Haz won’t let us live it down if we’re late to another one of his parties.”

Tom hesitates. You watch as he digs his hand into his left pocket, clucking his tongue. “I… Yeah. Okay. You’re right.” His eyes flutter back to the main body of your house, but his reluctance fades when you nod and peck him on the cheek. He easily pulls off his hoodie before replacing it with the jacket, the red of the smart coat complementing his black t-shirt.

“C’mon,” you urge. “Do you want me to drive?”

He begrudgingly follows you out of the house, locking up behind you both before slipping into the passenger seat. As you navigate the roads, Tom keeps you company, nurturing a constant dialogue as he chats to you. He avoids all of your questions about his day and his mysterious engagement, redirecting everything you say into a comment about you and your activities. It’s cute how much he cares, but you get a distinct feeling that he’s trying to distract you.

Harrison’s birthday party is being held in a bar in central London, and you find him easily amongst the throes of people. Tom’s holding onto your hand, standing back, quieter, as you pass over your gift to his best friend with a smile on your face.

“Happy birthday, Haz!” you exclaim, beaming at the man. Harrison kisses your cheek as he grins, cheeks flushed from the booze and warm atmosphere. When Tom is noticeably quiet beside you, you squeeze his hand and glance back at him, raising a brow.

“Oh,” Tom mutters, blinking a few times. “Sorry,” he adds. “Happy birthday, Harrison.”

Harrison rolls his eyes. “‘S alright, mate. You already passed on your congratulations earlier. Thanks, though.”

Your friend is pulled away by his sister a few moments later, leaving you with a confused furrow to your brow. You turn around to look at Tom, tilting your head to the side.

“Wait, when did you see Harrison?” you ask. “Weren’t you at work today?”

Tom reels you in by the hands, knocking his lips up against yours and disrupting your words. “Doesn’t matter,” he soothes, rolling his fingers gently across the sides of your face. “Let’s just have a good party, yeah?”

You melt into him with ease. “Okay,” you agree. His lips are warm and seductive as he kisses you again, deeper, harder, stronger.

Something is in the air. As a pair, you make a few rounds of the party, but somehow, you always end up huddled in a back corner together. As the alcohol flows and your friends around you get less and less observant, it happens more often. It isn’t long until Tom’s tugging you down onto a secluded armchair in the corner of the artsy bar. Your lips find home in his, slotting together as they always do.

As you shift in his lap, part of you feels guilty for blowing off Harrison’s birthday, but another part—a darker, hungrier part—demands you stay exactly where you are. You’re awfully comfortable with Tom’s hands on your hips and your legs spread over his thighs, content with the shadowy lighting leaving you secluded from the rest of them.

“Oh god,” Tom moans, speaking against your lips as he kisses you between laboured breaths. “Fuckin’ perfect woman, eh?”

You suck on his lower lip, smirking as you feel him whine. He discreetly grinds up into you, and you bite back a whimper. “Tom,” you whisper. You move your mouth to his ear, stroking your fingers through his curls as you brush your lips over his tender skin. “We shouldn’t do this here. We can’t go home just yet.”

He groans, head dropping down to your collarbones. When you expect him to agree and help you up, Tom instead seems to decide that his time would be better spent marking up your neck. Your pulse roars through your ears as he takes time licking and sucking and biting your skin, stretching from the base of your neck all the way up, up, up, soft lips suckling below your ear. By the time he reaches your face, you’re squirming, heat pounding in your body as desire replaces any wish to stay at the party.

“We should just go home,” Tom pants, lips red and inflamed. Your fingers drag over them until he uses his tongue to lick over the pad of your thumb. “I can’t take being here.” His voice drops down to a low grumble as he shifts in the chair, “‘m so hard, sweetheart.”

Wanting to feel for yourself, you shuffle up his lap, eyebrows furrowing together when instead of feeling his hardness, your knee knocks against something firm lodged where his pocket is. Confusion replaces lust as you tilt your head to the side. “Wait, what’s that?” you muse, unable to believe that his arousal has manifested itself in his jean pocket. Intrigued, you poke the object, pressing harder as your brows furrow.

Tom’s eyes widen. “O-Oh, no, that’s something else.” His hands go down to your waist as he tries to gently push you off his lap. “Just ignore it.”

But your curiosity has been piqued, and before you can stop yourself, you’ve reached up and dug your fingers into his tight jean pocket. It’s dim and dark in your secluded corner, and you find yourself squinting as you bring the small object closer. Too focused on your task to hear Tom’s noises of panic, you pull it up into the air. As the first dredges of realisation wash over you, you’ve got it half-open, and it’s too late to stop yourself.

There is a glistening engagement ring embedded inside the silky black box, glinting magnificently.

Your jaw drops.

A few moments pass in silence, the air between you being filled by the songs coming from the bar. Your thumb wanders absently over the edge of the jewel as you peer at it, heart throbbing in the back of your throat. Guilt twists into you, mixing with your excitement and your shock, and you look up at Tom, tears pooling in your eyes.

He’s looking at you, nerves written all over his face. His teeth are bared, and his eyes are wide with shock, every inch of him seized up and tense. When Tom sees your tearful expression, he blinks a few times, clearing his throat as he tenderly reaches up to cup your face in a hand.

“Darling…” he starts, voice softer than before. He drums his index finger over your temple as he manages a tense smile. “What’s going on up here?”

You open and shut your mouth a few times before finally finding the words.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, voice thick. “I…” You take a breath, looking away. Your mind starts to spin, suddenly kicking back to life as you recover yourself. “Wait… Why have you got this in your pocket? Did… Oh. Did you get this today?”

Everything makes sense. His nerves all week, his pacing this morning. The fact he’d left suspiciously early and met up with Harrison without you. Tom’s conflict when you’d pushed him out the door instead of letting him enter your house and stash the little black box before leaving for the party.

“Yeah,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. His chest is rising and falling quickly, his jaw still tense. “What do you think? Do… Do you like it?”

You nod wordlessly before looking up at him, lower lip wobbling. “I ruined it,” you lament. You fall forward, groaning as you rest your forehead on Tom’s shoulder. He chuckles, dusting the top of your head with light kisses as he hums.

“You didn’t,” he assures you. “I’m just a twat and didn’t hide it properly.” He falls silent for a few moments, warm hands wandering your back. “Y/N, darling… You… You would want to get married though, yeah?” His voice is light and high-pitched and full of so much uncertainty it makes you bolt upright.

“Tom,” you say, voice soft. You balance the box between you and reach up to take his face in your hands, admiring his handsome features with your fingers. “I would love to marry you,” you whisper. You feel yourself well with emotions again, but you let them build. You don’t mind if he sees you vulnerable.

Tom releases a deep breath, his own face twitching as relief ripples across his eyes in the form of light tears. He leans closer and kisses you very gently, his mouth soft and tender as if he’s savouring it. When Tom pulls away, he keeps his forehead pressed to yours, the tip of his nose cool against yours.

“I love you so much,” he says slowly. “Every day, I wake up beside you, and I wonder what I did right to deserve being loved by someone as wonderful as you. I hate being away from you, and I think about you all the time.” Tom cracks a soft smile, his voice quivering. With trembling fingers, he reaches between you both and picks the box from between you both.

You gasp softly as he pulls back, squeezing your hip softly before holding the box out in front of you. The diamonds sparkle, blurred by your tears.

“Y/N… I didn’t plan to do this tonight, and I know this is sudden, and I know you deserve a proposal a thousand times more romantic than… than at Harrison’s fucking party, but I can’t wait another moment.” He swallows as he pulls the ring from the bed of silk. Tom’s gaze is unwavering as he looks back to you, speaking passionately. “There’s nothing else I want in life apart from you. I promise that I will love you for the rest of my life, darling, if only you’ll let me. So…” Tom’s lips pull into a small smile. “Would you do me the honour of marrying me?”

The world stops, and everything fades until it’s just you and Tom and the ring held between you. Without hesitation, you nod your head, two stray tears dripping down your face.

“Tom… You could ask me to marry you anywhere, and I’d say the same thing.” Your heart pounds in your ears. “Yes. I would love to be your wife.”

Tom releases a strangled sound of relief, and you both look down as he hurries to push the ring down your finger. It’s cool against your skin, but before looking at it, you find yourself leaning in to kiss him. Both of you are smiling, and you think he’s crying too. His hand shakes as he holds yours, and when you pull away to admire the ring, Tom loops both arms around your waist.

“It’s so pretty,” you muse. You roll your thumb across the glittering gem. You feel so warm inside your chest. “Did you pick this out yourself?”

Tom makes a noise of disagreement. He cuddles in closer, burying his face in your neck and leaving a few soft kisses to your skin.

“Haz helped, and so did mum. Thought she’d have better ideas than him.” Tom pauses, and you feel him smirk against your neck. “I was right.”

Your heart softens a little at the revelation. “Do you think he’ll be upset that we’ve upstaged him at his party?”

Tom peels back from your neck, pressing his lips to your jaw as he chuckles. “Let’s...maybe not mention it tonight.”

You run your hand through his hair, eyes catching on the way the diamond cascades with shards of light. “Okay,” you agree. You lean closer to kiss the tip of his nose. “Are you sure you’re not mad I ruined this?”

Tom shakes his head. “Absolutely not, love. If anything, this just makes it more special.” He shoots you a toothy grin. “Don’t know what I’ll do with all the stuff I bought to use in the proposal, though.”

You smirk softly. “Well, who says you can’t do two proposals?” you say, intending for it to be a tease, only to widen your eyes when Tom’s entire face lights up. “Wait— babe, I was kidding, you don’t need to do another—”

“Shhh.” Tom cuts you off with a kiss. “Pretend that this conversation never happened.”

“What, even the proposal—”

“No.” He’s grinning, eyes dancing with amusement. “You’re marrying me.”

Your lips twitch as you give him a slight nod. “Yeah. And you’re marrying me.” Tom kisses you again, and you fall back into his lap with ease. For a few moments, you make out with him, the temperature in your body rising until you remember what started off the conversation, an eternity ago. “Can we go home now, Tom?”

He’s a little slow to respond as he chases your lips, but the smile you share feels like dawn breaking for the first time.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I’ll take you home, fiancé.”

And you like the sound of that. You really like the sound of that.

“Okay, fiancé.”

Judging by the unstoppable grin that finds Tom’s face as he hears you speak, you have a feeling that he likes the sound of it too.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

:’))) im going to be rewriting/reworking a few of my older fics! if there are any in particular you’d like to see refreshed, lmk?

lmk what you thiiiiink !!! <3<3<3<3

masterlist + taglist through the link in my bio wahey :D

#have you guys ever burnt your tongue on tea? one of the worst experiences ever #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader fluff #boyfriend!tomfic #tom.sfw #fluff #i wrote the party scene whilst watching a stream last night and when i tell you it was A Mess . i fixed it tho #in a long term commitment mood 2day

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

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21 Asks: Fanfiction Q&A

Well I got tagged by @onereyofstarlight @gumnut-logic and @janetm74 for this, so here goes (answering on fic blog, because... fic!)

This is going to take a while, but it’s also going to be fun, so let’s get started :D

1. What fandoms have you written for?

Uhh... several. In alphabetical order because that makes my brain happy, we have:

Published: Bleach, Boku no Hero Academia (My Hero Academia), D.Gray-Man, Detective Conan, Flight Rising, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Märchen Awakens Romance (MÄR), Mortal Instruments, Naruto, One Piece, Team Fortress 2, Thunderbirds, Twilight.

WIPs (Unpublished): Avatar: The Last Airbender, Dragon Orb, Flame of Recca, HunterXHunter, Inuyasha, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventures (Part 7/Steel Ball Run), Kuroko no Basuke (Kuroko’s Basketball), MI High, Yu-Gi-Oh (Duel Monsters, GX, 5Ds), Yuri On Ice

A couple of those are only because of crossovers... which we’ll get to later. Similarly, a bunch of the unpublished I have no plans to publish, but I’ve written them so they count in my head.

2. How many works do you have on AO3 &/or FFNet?

AO3: 150 FFN: 149 (the difference is due to a co-authored fic with @lenle-g on AO3, because FFN doesn’t support co-authorship)

(Tumblr has many more because so many of those fics are actually fic collections)

3. What are your top 3 fics by kudos on AO3 &/or favs on FFNet?

AO3 Kudos:

Tales From The Heart (1449)

The Combat School (524)

Succor (348)

FFN Favourites:

The Combat School (681)

Tales From The Heart (185)

Succor (136)

4. Which 3 fics have the least kudos & favs?

AO3 Kudos:

Wishes of the Dark (0)

4am Forever / Leave Out All The Rest (2)

FFN Favourites:

A Little Fall of Rain / He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother, Leave Out All The Rest / See You In The Sky / Stolen Shadows all have 0

5. Which Fic has the most comments and which has the least?

AO3 Comments:

Tales From The Heart (618)

37 have 0

FFN Reviews:

The Combat School (608)

After Sundown / Heroes Made of Gas / Splatter / Stolen Shadows (0)

6. Which complete fic do you wish had gotten more attention?

I mean, I always like attention :P That’s a hard question because my fandoms vary wildly in size, so for example, while Tales is one of my most popular fics, it’s still pretty tiny in comparison to the big One Piece fics out there, but ones like Grounded numerically barely rate while actually getting the attention of a much larger proportion of the fandom.

Honestly the fic that’s getting less of a response than I’d hoped is still incomplete... but I think I’ll go with Vulnerabilities. It’s an older fic, and a drabble collection rather than a cohesive story, but it never really got any traction.

7. Have you written any crossovers?

Ah yes, crossovers. I’ve got three published at the moment:

The Combat School (Harry Potter/D.Gray-Man)

Vampire vs. Shinobi (Naruto/Twilight)

Stolen Shadows (Flight Rising/Thunderbirds)

As far as WIPs go, I have (who knows when or if I’ll actually finish or post these):

Alliance (Naruto/Team Fortress 2)

Black Phoenix (Harry Potter/D.Gray-Man)

Legend of the Exorcists (D.Gray-Man/Yu-Gi-Oh/GX/5Ds)

Untitled (Avatar: The Last Airbender/Thunderbirds)

Untitled (Inuyasha/Lord of the Rings)

8. What is the craziest fic you’ve written?

What even counts as crazy?

Okay, I say that, but Vampire vs. Shinobi is a stupid, Twilight-bashing, parody crossover thing so. Probably that.

9. What’s the fic you’ve written with the saddest ending?

Ahaha. There are a few. All of these have MCD warnings (two are canonical), two of which are suicide, so watch out if you’re poking around:

Deception (canon)

I Promised

The Fish and the Mermaid

The Light That Shines Twice As Bright... (suicide)

Torture (suicide)

Unwanted

Whirlwind (canon)

10. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Tsari likes positive endings. I’m not actually sure what the happiest is, though. I often write... hopeful, rather than happy? The happiest I can think of... is a WIP that I have the ending planned for but that’s spoilers~

I’ll go with Riding the Dragon, I think. But honestly just take your pick out of the family fluff.

11. What is your smuttiest fic?

Tsari does not post smut. She has written some, she has not posted it and will keep it that way.

Out of the posted stuff... there is kissing in Briefings?

12. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I think when you hit 100+ fics, you’re lucky if you don’t. I’ve had a few here and there, but they’re ignorable

13. What is the nicest comment you’ve received?

Oh boy. I have had many nice comments, but I am going to highlight this one in particular because it’s the one that forever and always springs to mind when I get asked this:

Wow. That was pretty great. You writing managed to keep everyone in character, and still kept the story from falling flat. It's almost as if you stole a page from Cassie's story, and stuck it here. I really want to see more from you.

On: A Tradition of Pride

It’s nowhere near the longest I’ve got, and long comments make me super happy, but this one? Being told it fits in with the original book? Makes me beam like an idiot every time.

14. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

[insert eyeroll here]

I have had fics reposted, yes. Tales From The Heart and Whirlwind have both found themselves posted on sites I don’t use - I managed to get Tales taken down, but the site hosting Whirlwind isn’t paying me any attention.

15. How many fics do you have marked as incomplete?

Nine, which is both too many and not as many as I thought. Although if you ignore the collection fics - Tales From The Heart and Behind The Scenes, which are basically eternal wips - it’s seven.

16. Which of the WIPS will most likely be finished first?

Just A Bruise, because it’s already just about finished, @lenle-g and I just need to tie up the final chapter and editing the rest of it before it’s posted.

17. Which WIP are you looking forward to finishing?

Long Way From Home, because it’s going to be huge and finishing that will feel amazing. But it’s going to take a long time.

18. Is there a WIP that you’re considering abandoning?

Nope. I will, one day, finish all of them. Yes, even Uchiha Itachi.

19. Which complete fic would you consider rewriting?

Complete? None. However, the above mentioned Uchiha Itachi is being (very slowly) rewritten - and is actually on its second rewrite - because it pains me in its current state.

20. Which complete fic is your favourite?

Asking the hard questions I see. I have a soft spot for In Your Shadow, I admit, although I have several fics that I love (mostly my Military Bros stuff...). Also Tales, although that’s technically not “Complete”.

21. What’s your total published word count?

AO3: 956,962 (I aim to break 1 million by the end of the year... just watch me!)

FFN: 1,102,070 (FFN counts author’s notes, AO3 does not)

If someone is brand new to your writing, what work would you want them to start with to get to know you, your style, what you’re all about?

This is not a numbered question, I see, but it was on the post I copied these from, so I guess this is 21+1 questions!

I’ve answered this before, and honestly I think I’d stick with the same answer - Black Widow. It’s not my biggest fandom. It’s not my most recent work. But it does contain a lot of playing around canon without breaking it.

Although, if someone has the time, Tales From The Heart does great for showcasing the range of things I write. But that’s also 250+ chapters, so probably not a good one to start with.

And this is where I tag people, yes? Not entirely sure who’s been tagged already, but let’s go with @lenle-g @ak47stylegirl @thetwelvecaesars @gaviiadastra @willow-salix @scribeofred

#thunderbirds are go #and various other fandoms i am not tagging them all #ask me #tag game #fanfiction

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bigowlenergy · 4 years

Text

eyes

whoops late to dannymay. but time aint real rn anyway, so

EDIT: the How to Raise the Dead series can be read on ao3 and ffn now!

Jack is up at 5, as usual. He’s always been a farm boy; getting up with the sun is in his blood.

Most mornings start easy: a trip downstairs while everyone else is still asleep, only birds in the quiet air, making up some coffee, occupying his hands with his next sewing project while the sun rises, getting breakfast going by 6:30, helping the kids rush out the door for school, then settling into the lab for the day. Maddie won’t be up til 7 herself, a later riser than anyone else in the family, mostly from keeping up so late in the lab. Jazz often joins him around 6, as bright eyed and busy tailed as himself in the early mornings. Danny used to be up with him, though he’d yawn about it and Jack’s probably the reason for his coffee addiction, but since highschool started he’s joined Maddie in sleeping in late. Jack misses that quiet companionship, and it would probably be better if he was up to get his homework done early instead of whenever he did it later at night, like Jack used to do. But he’s been a bit off, not used to the new workload and responsibilities just yet. Jack won’t wake him. Let the boy sleep in a bit, he’s earned it.

So when he goes downstairs one morning in May, no one else is around. He doesn’t expect anyone to be. Not even himself; it’s only 4:30. But the neighbor’s cats are making a ruckus outside and while Jack’s not usually one to be woken by such noises, things happen. Might as well make the most of it and get this quilting finished up.

But when he goes into the kitchen, something stays his hand from the light. Good instinct for trouble is part of being raised a ghost hunter, of being raised on a farm so near the border and the forest with it’s wolves and poachers, so when the feeling hits, Jack stays still. Takes in the room.

Empty coffee pot, stove’s off, no mud or ectoplasm on the floor, door’s locked up tight, shield’s down this week due to lack of activity, green light spills out of the basement doorway. The too-dark, pre-dawn light is utterly unfamiliar with that green tinge to it. It bounces off the white tile like a liquid stain rather than refraction from the portal downstairs, which was shut and sealed the last Jack saw of it. Maddie didn’t need it open for anything that he can recall, and she certainly wouldn’t leave it unattended. Jack crosses to the fridge with quick but quiet steps and checks the work calendar. No portal maintenance for another week, nothing active in the lab till Tuesday.

No reason for it to be open now, staining the morning like that.

With an ectogun from the weapons drawer beside the cutlery in his fist, Jack approaches the lab. Creeps down the stair one at a time, the cement eating ice into his socks. The blaster goes around the handrail first, the Jack peeks out into the cavernous room.

The portal is half open, everything is green. A figure stands before the portal, in front of their newest invention, looking over a large piece of paper. The unnatural light sets them in silhouette, makes the scene into a flat paper display in a shadow box. The Fenton Purefyer. The schematics?

Maddie?

His wife was still in bed as expected the last he saw her, but maybe she snuck down while he was in the shower, struck by sudden inspiration. It’s happened, just very rarely. But Jack likes to think that he knows Maddie, knows the shape of her body thrown into stark relief by ectoplasm, and this isn’t her. He’s as sure of that as he was of something being wrong.

He usually overexcites himself to counter the energy drain and terror aura of ghosts, but today. This too dark morning, in his own house, something is wrong.

He takes the safety off the blaster, creeps down one more stair -

The figure moves. Jack freezes. Remembers holding a very different gun, watching into the forest with the same baited breath, the same terror-instinct of the supernatural keeping him still, guarding a house of sleeping family. He shakes off the flash of memory, focuses on the present.

The figure walks away from the Purefyer, sets an empty battery cell back into the charger along the wall. Removes a full one. Does something with it that Jack can’t get at from this angle. Goes back to the schematics. Turns away, towards the main lab. Still away from the stairs, but now Jack can see a bit more clearly.

It’s hard not to see. With the brightly glowing power cell in his mouth and eyes like stoplights, it’s hard not to see Danny’s face in the gloom. He steps further into the lab, holding the schematics at arms length, probably looking at them - but with eyes like that, Jack can’t tell. He’s in his NASA pajamas. No socks. No hazmat.

The end of the power cell ticks down a notch, goes dead like the ashes of a cigarette. Drained. Danny frowns around it, the expression overly distinct in the green, and sets the schematics down on the drafting table. Takes up a pencil from the bin and erases a few things, fills them in again with something else. A few changes to the calculations on the side of the page, a line or two in the schematic itself. The cell ticks down again.

He returns to the machine, not a sound coming from his feet on the floor even though the empty room echoes something fierce on a normal day. A bolted side panel pops off in his hands, and he sets in aside. Reaches in with bare hands and does something that makes the small screen on the front of the machine turn on. He frowns again, face turned dangerously toward the stairs, and does something else that makes a warning error pop up. A red fatality error. Danny sits back on his heels and sighs greatly, luminous eyes closing for a few seconds. The last notch empties out.

Whatever he’s doing is done: the panel goes back on, the power switch is flipped to turn off the screen, and he lopes back over to the portal side table to return the empty power cell to the charger.

Jack. Creeps back up the stairs. Puts the blaster on the counter and starts a pot of coffee.

Waits. Waits.

The pot crackles and splutters, out of water. Jack blinks at the sudden noise, realizes he’s been staring at the open lab door for at least ten minutes. The portal light is off. No Danny.

He picks the blaster back up and goes to the doorway. Dark. He flips on the light like nothing’s wrong with today, stares down the stair well, half expecting to be met with a sight he can’t deal with. The empty landing is somehow worse.

The lab is empty. Portal closed and sealed. Not a hair out of place. The schematics are preliminary for the mock up sitting in the middle of the lab; there were erase marks and rewrites aplenty. Jack can’t tell the difference.

The charging station is darker than it should be. The cells are refilling, but the highest one is only on the third notch out of five.

Jack returns to the kitchen. Fixes a cup of coffee. Waits for his family to wake up.

Can’t shake the sight of green eyes staring into the morning darkness out of his head, even when he’s looking into blue.

#danny phantom #eyes #jack fenton #dannymay2020 #i curse the dp fans with my presence now #:)c #fanfiction

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mulletcal · 4 years

Text

if walls could talk -- ceo!calum chapter 1

description: calum is the son of a very powerful ceo / owner of a PR firm - they had an agreement that calum could live his life as a young adult until his father retired. calum didn’t expect his father to retire so soon, nor did he expect to meet a woman who would spill out all of her deepest, darkest secrets all because of some turbulence.

warnings: light mention of sexual situations, other than that nothing much.

word count: 3.4k

a/n: this is something i’ve wanted to post for so long. i attempted a majority of a rewrite at one point, but here we are! please let me know what you guys think? also huge thank you to @softbabiestan and @calum-uncrowned for reading / suggesting edits along the way

------

“This just doesn’t feel like the right time to do this.”

Those words had been said to Charlotte more times than she could count, in both her personal and professional life. This time, it was the former, but that didn’t make the blow to her confidence any smaller.

Charlotte had been sent to New York in hopes that maybe she could convince this firm to sell to them. The PR firm that she worked for was the top in the country, but they didn’t get there based solely on the fact that they were an amazing company. Anytime another PR firm seemed like they were about to overtake them for the top spot, Everyday Joy Communications would make them an offer they’d be stupid to turn down.

“Please, Mr. James, if you’d just look at the graph that we’ve done up for you--” Charlotte started, but she was cut off by the man standing up abruptly.

“Your company has been trying for over a year now to buy us out, and each time we’ve said no. It’s very clear to us that your company’s morals don’t align with ours, I’m sorry you wasted your time in coming here today.” Straightening out his jacket, Mr. James moved around the table to shake Charlotte’s hand once more, clearly eager for her to leave.

She had gathered her things in silence, but as she turned to leave she heard Mr. James clear his throat. “Miss--” he began, inhaling deeply before continuing, “You may want to tie your jacket around yourself. It appears your skirt ripped.”

Nodding her head, she left the room without so much as a ‘thank you’, the embarrassment crashing over her in a wave.

As if this day couldn’t get any worse.

***

The CEO of Everyday Joy Communications has announced his retirement.

One would think that in the occurrence of a life-changing event, you’d at least get a call beforehand. But that wasn’t the case for Calum, the article reading as a slap in the face to him. Calum was supposed to be allowed some warning, something that would allow him to get his life in order before he was set to take over, but no. Here he was, receiving numerous texts, calls, tweets, and e-mails from those he knew asking what the next steps were, and if Calum was finally going to step forward and ‘actually contribute’.

When his father’s company first started gaining success, Calum had chosen to live in New York, rather than stay in Los Angeles. He enjoyed the bustle of a busy city, but LA was full of people who wanted what was in your pockets instead of what was in your head. Opinions didn’t matter unless they were linked to some financial gain, and it never sat right with him.

He was pulled from his thoughts by his phone ringing, his father’s contact info flashing across the screen. “What do you want, Dad?” The words were dripping with false affection, his father’s sigh evident on the other line.

“I wanted to tell you, Calum, I--”

“You seemed to be able to figure out how to pick up the phone now, how come you couldn’t before?”

The silence on the other end was deafening before his father offered another sigh, “You still have a week to catch up on things before you fully take over. And you know that I’m just a phone call away.”

“Yeah, and what time would be best to call you? In between tee-times, or before you go in for your deep tissue massage.” Calum had come to the conclusion to hang up before his father had a chance to answer. Buying a plane ticket and facing this head on would be better than working himself up in his loft.

As if sensing his distress, his dog Duke came padding into the kitchen, looking at him quizzically. It wasn’t often Calum had an angry tone to his voice, and it confused the small dog. Scooping him up into his arms, he sighed as he pressed a kiss to the side of the dog’s head. “How do you feel about moving to LA buddy?”

---

“Hello?”

“Ash, guess whose ugly mug you’re gonna see a lot more?” The overly excited tone in Calum’s voice was very much not him, and it gave away everything Ashton needed to know in that moment.

“Mm… Gonna take a shot in the dark here and say you?” Ashton spoke with a soft chuckle. Calum could hear the click of his phone, and he was assuming he was either turning his volume up or down - if he had to guess it would be down, because he knew that Calum was frustrated.

“M’sorry there’s no prizes involved, but you’re absolutely right! I don’t know if you’ve read, but my father is headed into an early retirement, which means-”

Before he could continue, Ashton finished his sentence for him, “- You gotta break out the big boy pants, I know. Is he expecting you to take over right away?”

Calum let out a sharp exhale from his nose, fingers dragging softly through Duke’s fur as he sat cross-legged on his couch, “I have a week to settle in before I take over fully. I don’t understand how he thinks a week is enough time to shadow him in the office before I just… Take over.”

“You did work there in the summers when we were in high school though, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t feel as though it’s quite the same. Plus, that was eight years ago now. The things have changed at the office - expanded departments, new protocols.” Calum sighed, leaning his head to rest against his couch. “It’s just a lot.”

“I know, but hopefully your staff will cut you some slack, plus you have the best coffee in the world less than a block away.” Ashton was right, that was a very small benefit - he was sure whenever was something was overwhelming he could sneak away to his friends cafe for a coffee.

The rest of the conversation was uneventful, Ashton trying to take his mind off of his impending flight later that evening. The conversation went on for longer than Calum had expected though, because his alarm went off to remind him to drop Duke off at the Doggy Daycare he would be staying at as he moved his life away.

“Shit dude, I gotta head out to go take Duke to his lil’ doggy hotel,” Calum joked, ignoring the tugging at his heart strings at the fact that he would have to leave his baby behind for now.

“Okay mate, I’ll see you soon, yeah? Bring Duke by as soon as he gets in from his week away from his dad.” Ashton teased, them finishing saying their goodbyes before hanging up the phone.

***

‘Now boarding flight 32C to Los Angeles, California…’

“Finally,” Charlotte murmured to herself, gathering her carry on and making her way towards her gate.

There had been a three hour delay, and at that point Charlotte was ready to be home, curled up in bed watching shitty rom-coms.

As she stepped onto the flight, the stewardess looked her up and down with a sympathetic smile. “Long day?” She asked, placing her hand on Charlottes’ forearm. Any other time, the gesture would annoy Charlotte, but she wasn’t one to take out her bad day on others.

“That obvious, huh?” Charlotte deadpanned, shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

“How about an upgrade to first class? No one checked in for that seat, and it’ll be our secret.”

If angels existed, this woman - Angie - would be one of them. With a small smile, and a squeeze of the hand on her forearm, Charlotte headed to the seat she had motioned to.

When she got to the seat, she saw a man on the outside of the aisle with his hat pulled low over his eyes. His strong jaw seemed tense, only relaxing as soon as Charlotte let out a soft ‘excuse me’.

Then, strong jaw man was talking, and Charlotte thought it had been to her. “Do you wanna get drinks, then?” The man had asked.

“Oh, yeah I’ll--”

That was the first time she saw the man’s eyes, deep brown and looking up at her in confusion before motioning to his Bluetooth ear piece.

What idiot still used those?

Charlotte’s head ducked in embarrassment until he eventually hung up. “I’m sorry about that, I thought you were talking to me…” Her words were meek, almost inaudible as she angled her body towards him.

“S’fine, you didn’t see the device.” The more he had spoken, the more Charlotte wanted to hear. His voice was enticing, the type you knew could command a room if the occasion called for it. She kept thinking of ways to potentially get the man to speak to her again, but she was at a total loss for words.

All was well when the plane actually took off, and Charlotte was content to enjoy the rest of the flight in moderate silence until a violent shake of the plane jolted her eyes open.

“Oh my God, what was that?” She asked, turning to look at the man beside her whose brows were furrowed in confusion.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain. We’re experiencing some slight turbulence. If you could please remain seated with your seatbelts on until the light turns off. Thank you.’

“See, it’s just some turbulence --” he started to say, his calm voice being cut off by her exhaling sharply next to him. “Do you really think he’d tell us if we were about to die, dude?” Charlotte snapped, trying to focus on anything but the fact that they were about to die.

“I think… I think he’s legally obligated to, no?” The man’s thick brows furrowed further, the tiniest quirk of a smile playing at his full lips.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at the man, this logical, beautiful man. Another particularly violent rock of the plane had her gripping on to the mans’ arm.

“I can’t die. I’m too young -- I haven’t accomplished anything with my life,” Charlotte breathed, squeezing her eyes shut. “I mean, I haven’t had kids, I’ve never even been in love. My boyfriend is a joke to human kind. I don’t even know if I have a G-spot…” She definitely regretted the words as they slipped out, her hand tensing even more.

“Excuse me?” There was an almost comical tone to the man’s voice as he cracked a small smile. As if he couldn’t get more perfect, his teeth had to be straight and white too?

“That’s not important--”

“It seems like something you feel is extremely important to you.” Who was this smug stranger beside her? And why did he find such joy in her discomfort? “My boyfriend -- He… Doesn’t know how to use his mouth. The way he uses his tongue, I told him I liked it. I told him that I’ve never experienced anything like it. Which is true, but it’s a dreadful experience…”

The conversation continued like that, and somehow Charlotte found comfort in telling this complete stranger her secrets. Especially about the meeting she completely messed up earlier in the day, how her skirt had ripped, and how much she hated her co-worker. It wasn’t until she overhead the stewardess speak did she realize that not only was the turbulence finished, but so was the flight itself.

“Why didn’t you tell me we had landed?” Charlotte asked, almost breathless from her constant monologue.

“It seemed like you had a few things you wanted to get off your chest. And let me tell you, I don’t think I know any of my friends as well as I know you, especially not even knowing your name, doll.”

Charlotte was about to tell him, but the man, this stupidly handsome mysterious man was up and out of his seat before she could even open her mouth.

“Darling, we’ll keep this between us. I don’t need to know your name. Thanks for sharing all your dirty little secrets,” He had said with a wink before leaving the plane completely.

What the fuck did she just do? ---

Monday morning wasn’t any easier for her, memories of the plane ride haunting her thoughts the entirety of Sunday. Charlotte wasn’t sure she’d be able to maintain her focus when meeting the new CEO if she could barely be attentive enough to brush her damn hair.

It was amusing to overhear the rumours that made their way around about the new CEO, and if Charlotte was having a better morning she likely would have joined in the fun. Sipping her coffee quietly, she glanced over at her friend as she began to speak.

“I heard once that he has a rolodex of prostitutes that he keeps for when he feels in the mood, doesn’t do relationships.” Charlotte rolled her eyes at Rachel’s words as they watched out of the large windows for the man’s arrival. “Holy shit he’s even hotter than people said he was…”

It wasn’t long before the rest of them ran to their desks, appearing as though they were doing work as the new CEO headed up the elevator. When the elevator doors opened, they seemed to take the air from Charlotte’s lungs with them.

It was him. She saw his profile first, and she could have recognized that jawline from a mile away, or the seemingly ever present pout on his full lips. It was the handsome stranger from the plane, the one who now definitely knew about all the shenanigans that went on around the office when they all thought the person above them wasn’t paying attention. The stranger she spilled all her deepest, darkest secrets to. Their Director of Operations, Beth, came out of her office, a bright smile on her lips as she embraced the man.

“Calum, the last time I saw you, you were just graduating high school --” she recalled fondly, the smile on the man -- Calum’s face was radiant as she pinched his cheeks. “Alright everyone, listen up. This is our new CEO, Calum Hood. As you know, he is David’s son, and he’ll be working from our offices to ensure everything is running smoothly. You haven’t let me down before, don’t start now.” The words were said with a sweet smile, but everyone knew you didn’t mess with Beth.

“Thank you, Beth --”

A whisper from behind her did not fall on deaf ears, “His fucking accent though…”

“Keep it in your pants, Rachel,” Charlotte whispered back, her attention going back to the warm brown eyes that had now landed on her.

“-- I may be my father’s son, but I most definitely am not him. This company, at the very least, should have some fun. So if any of you have a suggestion or two on how we can improve, I’ll be in my office all day getting myself sorted.” Calum’s eyes scanned the room, freezing when they landed on Charlotte. Giving her a simple nod, the man’s warm smile was replaced with a tense one before he turned to walk into his office.

***

After seeing her, there was no way for Calum to focus. He’d hate to admit it, but ever since that plane ride he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that girl. The confessions she made to him left him wondering so many things -- at least if she stopped in he could thank her for exposing so many secrets of the office.

Throughout the day, various people stopped in his office to introduce themselves; each woman coming across more desperate than the last. He supposed he shouldn’t think that when these women were working for him. He’d be stupid, though, to pretend like he didn’t notice each lingering glance they’d give, or each lean forward to try and show off their clevage.

A soft knock on his door towards the end of the day was the one who held his attention the most -- because it was her. He still didn’t know her name, but seeing her today, he felt a strange pang in his chest that made him want to know it. Calum knew he should have let her tell him on the plane, then maybe in another world if they hadn’t serendipitously worked together he’d be able to find her.

“Mr.Hood?” Her voice was softer than he remembered, but maybe Calum was just thinking of it in the form of terror she had expressed to him the other night.

“Call me Calum, please. And your name?” Calum asked with a quirked eyebrow, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Charlotte,” she stated with a small smile as well, stepping into his office further. Her outfit was more indicative of her personality than her travel clothes had been -- her blonde hair pulled into space buns with wisps of hair falling into her face, the front of her pastel pink button up tucked into a pair of bright blue floral pants. Pastel pink and blue were not exactly a colour combination Calum would have gone with personally, but it suited her.

Calum realized then that he was checking her out, and by no means in a subtle way. “Uh, sit, please,” he gestured to the chair across his desk, wanting to make her more comfortable.

“I wasn’t sure I even really needed to come in here today, given the circumstances of the other night. But Rachel told me it’d be weird if I didn’t come to introduce myself to our new boss…” Charlotte had begun to ramble, and Calum couldn’t bite back the smile that pulled at his lips, the genuine kind that always made his eyes crinkle at the corners. Something about the smile made Charlotte’s breath catch in her throat, her body almost visibly stilling.

“It probably would have been weird to your co-workers, but if you’re uncomfortable here working directly with me, I can arrange it so you’re transferred to a different office,” Calum’s response was more an HR response than anything, wanting to make her more comfortable. But also maybe, just maybe, Calum was itching to reach up and brush the blonde hairs from her face. Transfer so that she wasn’t directly under him in the business sense, but could be directly beneath him in other ways.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the woman speaking up once more.

“No, no. It’s not that--” Charlotte started, pulling her lip between her teeth. “I just don’t want it to be weird for you. I did after all tell you a lot about myself.”

“Speaking of a lot -- How’s your boyfriend?” The question was out before Calum could stop himself, the topic itself completely catching Charlotte off guard as she stilled for the second time in a span of 5 minutes.

“He’s uh, good. He works here also, in the IT department. I don’t know if I told you that part.” A blush spread across the woman’s cheeks, and Calum found the whole interaction endearing.

“You didn’t happen to mention that, no.”

“Yeah, you’ll probably meet him as you work your way through meeting the rest of your staff--” Her sentence was topped off with a shaky laugh, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.

Calum wondered very briefly if she was nervous around him because of the things he knew about her, or because she happened to be as attracted to him as he was to her. It was inflating his own ego, of course, to think the latter. Who said having high hopes were a bad thing though? “Anyways,” Charlotte said, standing up abruptly, “I should go. Getting towards the end of the day, and I promised my roommate we could binge season 2 of Sex Education.”

The irony of that statement was not lost on Calum, what with her exposing rather intimate details about her sex life to him only a couple days prior… And now she was going to go and watch a show called Sex Education?

“Hold on,” The words sounded choked as they came from Calum’s mouth, likely conveying how desperate he felt to keep the conversation going. “What’s uh -- What’s his name? Your boyfriend, that is. I’d like to be aware of the relationships going on in the office.”

Charlotte grinned then, a mischievous glint in her eyes that had Calum sweating, “While we don’t have time to unpack all the relationship drama going on here, my boyfriend’s name is Gavin… Goodnight Calum, I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, she was gone, as if their whole interaction had been a dream. and Calum was so fucked.

tag list: @cals-wildflower @talkfastromance4 @softbabiestan @roseycal @calum-uncrowned @boyfriend-cal @wildflowerirwin @irwindoll @gosh-im-short @atlcalm @thesubtweeter @heavenisapeach @ridingcthood @loveroflrh @wokeupinjapanisabop @talkfastdrummer

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5 seconds of summer fan fiction

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chaoticevilbean · 3 years

Text

Lord of the Rings Rewrite

Based off the movies, extended edition, and Pippin has magic

Merry hits me through the tent, and I quickly duck under the material.

"Quickly!" Merry boosts me into the cart and I quickly sort through the fireworks. I hold up a medium green rocket, but Merry quickly shuts the idea down.

"No, no! The big one, big one!" he exclaims, looking this way, and that so we won't get caught. My head aches slightly as I hold up a big red rocket, shaped like a dragon's head. I'm about to put it down, when I see Merry's face. He wants this one, so I push aside the ache and jump out of the cart and into the tent. Merry and I set the rocket up, but I'm distracted as my ache returns at double the pain. I try to ignore it and light the fuse.

"Done," I say, pushing the rocket up. It falls onto Merry's chest.

"You're supposed to stick it in the ground!" Merry tells me, panicking as he pushes it back towards me.

"It is in the ground!" I respond, his panic infecting me. My head hurts worse, and I try to figure out the problem. I push it back.

"Outside!" Merry practically yells, pushing it back once again. The pain dulls. Oh. That was the problem. This is bad.

"It was your idea," I remind him. He does all the thinking for me.

Suddenly the firework goes off, pushing us away and blackening our faces. It takes some of the tent with it as it flies high above the party, forming a great big dragon of sparks. Everyone looks on in awe, but my head is telling me there's something wrong. I understand as the dragon turns back towards everyone, flies low to the ground and almost hits everyone before flying off once again and bursting into beautiful fireworks.

"That was good," Merry tells me. I agree, but I wanna say that we should leave now.

"Let's get another one," my voice says without my consent. I internally groan at my automatic idiocracy. I turn to run off, knowing that Merry will listen to my stupidity, when someone grabs my ear. I hear Merry exclaim as well, so at least we were both caught.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck," a familiar voice says, "and Peregrin Took. I might have known." Me and Merry look to see Gandalf. Fear threatens to choke me, but I try to hide it. Hopefully they'll pass it off for the punishment that's sure to come.

The punishment does come, in the form of washing all the dishes from the party. Which, considering the entire Shire came, is a lot of plates and silverware and cups and bowls.

Late into the night, the crowd begins to call out for Bilbo to give a speech. He complies, standing on a barrel to be seen by all.

"My dear Bagginses and Boffins," the mentioned cheer loudly, "Tooks and Brandybucks," Merry and I join in with our families, "Grubbs, Tubbs, Hornblowers," cheers from each as they're mentioned, "Bulgers, Bracegirdles, and Proudfoots." I hear someone call out "PROUDFEET!" followed by laughing from those around him.

"Today is my One Hundred and Eleventh birthday!"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" choruses the crowd. Bilbo continues.

"Alas, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits. (cheers?) I don't know half of you half as well as I should like and I like less than half of you, half as well as you deserve." I think about this. So he doesn't know half of us as much as he'd like, and he likes less than half of us, and only half as much as we deserve. I see Gandalf smirk, and find a small mimicry move its way up my face. But I stop when I realize that no other Hobbits besides me understood. I'm supposed to be an idiot, so I adopt the same confused look as Merry.

"I, er, I have things to do." As the old Hobbit speaks, he reaches into one of his pockets. I notice a faint feeling of darkness as he takes something out of his pocket and holds it behind his back. The object glints the moment before it's hidden. "I've put this off for far too long. I regret to announce this is the End. I'm going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell. Goodbye." Bilbo smiles fondly at Frodo, while everyone looks curiously on. Then, quite suddenly, every Hobbit gasps. Every Hobbit but me. Bilbo seems awfully pleased with something he did and hops off the barrel and heads past everything towards his house. I see Gandalf take his pipe out of his mouth and scowl. I look at Merry, but he's just as stunned as all the others.

"What happened, Merry?" I ask. My friend looks at me, eyes wide.

"I don't know, Pippin. I don't know," he mutters. I furrow my brow as I try to think of what happened. Obviously, I was the only one not affected, and judging by what was going on, no one saw Bilbo head home. I watch the chaos and notice Gandalf heading after Bilbo, walking briskly, but somehow as unnoticed as the Hobbit himself.

"Come on!" Merry calls, and I turn to find him running off.

"Wait up," I call back, rushing after my friend.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

We found ourselves in the Green Dragon not that many days after Bilbo left. Apparently, he headed to live with the Elves. After many mugs of ale, Merry and I found ourselves on a table, singing and dancing away.

"Hey ho, to the bottle I go!

To heal my heart and drown my woe.

Rain may fall and wind may blow,

But there still be

many miles to go!

Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain,

and the stream that falls from hill to plain.

Better than rain or rippling brook-"

"Is a mug of beer inside this Took!"

I take over on the last line of the song, raising my half-pint in salute before taking a drink. Everyone around me cheers. It feels good to know that people think I'm good at something, even if it's not that great of a talent.

We walk out later that night, saying goodbye to Rosie on the way. We chuckle at the thought of what Sam would look like if he saw that. She's no more than a friend to us, but Sam's got the biggest fancy for her than anyone else I've seen.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I can hear singing, like something from another world. I turn and see wood elves passing by. Some are riding on the finest steeds I've ever seen, while most walk, carrying lanterns and wearing pure, glowing robes. I hear talking amidst the singing, and look in the direction it comes from. Just as I see two small forms gazing at the procession, I fall into darkness.

"Smoke rises from the Mountain of Doom. The hour grows late and Gandalf the Grey rides to Isengard seeking my Council. For that is why you have come, is it not? My old friend." A wizard with long grey-white hair and beard and an all-white robe walks down the steps of a huge black tower. Gandalf walks over as he speaks and bows.

"Saruman," Gandalf says. So that is the wizard's name, though what a name it is. I feel the fear within me tremble. Unlike with Gandalf, this fear is real, instinctual, not from years of experience but from something primal, something dark.

I feel a shift, and then Saruman and Gandalf are walking near the tower.

"So the Ring of Power has been found," Saruman states. I shiver at the feeling that comes when he says this. But then I think. Ring of Power? I've heard stories, but nothing concrete.

"All these long years it was in The Shire under my very nose," Gandalf tells his fellow. I want to scream at Gandalf to not tell him, that this wizard is nothing good, but I know that it will be no use.

"And yet you did not have the wits to see it. Your love of the Halflings leaf has clearly slowed your mind." I frown. Many of my best ideas come from Old Toby.

"But we still have time. Time enough to counter Sauron if we act quickly," Gandalf hurriedly says. Sauron. The name sends more shivers down my spine.

"Time! What time do you think we have?" Saruman exclaims, a hint of anger in his voice. Another shift comes, and suddenly I'm inside the tower. I can feel the evil in it, thrumming, but not like the feeling in your chest when you hum. The sound of a war drum, or the noise right before some big monster roars and devours you whole.

"Sauron has regained much of his former strength." I turn and see Saruman and Gandalf still speaking.

"He cannot yet take physical form but his spirit has lost none of its potency. Concealed within his fortress, the Lord of Mordor sees all. His gaze pierces cloud, shadow, earth and flesh. You know of what I speak Gandalf. A great eye, lidless, wreathed in flame." My head begins to ache. The evil in here is so powerful, and the words, and Saruman, and the very tower echo with darkness.

"The Eye of Sauron." Gandalf seems to not feel the darkness surrounding him. Could he be a part of it? NO! I can feel his energy, bright and filled with goodness. I move closer until I'm standing right beside him, using his light as an anchor in this pitch black place. My fear becomes my safety.

"He is gathering all evil to him. Very soon he will have summoned an army great enough to launch an assault upon Middle Earth," Saruman continues, not sounding concerned about the Dark Lord of Mordor trying to kill everything in Middle Earth.

"You know this? How?" Gandalf questions.

"I have seen it," the dark wizard dressed in white answers. The two walk into a different room and I follow. A pedestal stands in the middle of the room, a black cloth covering what sits upon it. I feel pulled towards it, but my will to stay near Gandalf is greater.

"A palantir is a dangerous tool, Saruman."

"Why? Why should we fear to use it?" Saruman pulls the cloth off, revealing a globe, a sphere of black, cloudy glass.

"They are not all accounted for. The lost seeing stones. We do not know who else may be watching." Gandalf moves forward, covering the palantir back up. As he does, I sense a darkness flash through the stone. He must feel it as well, for the Grey Wizard pauses, his face one of realization.

"The hour is later than you think. Sauron's forces are already moving. The Nine have left Minas Morgul." Saruman sits back on his throne.

"The Nine!"

"They crossed the River Isen on Midsummer's Eve disguised as riders in black."

"They've reached The Shire?" The Shire? My head pounds now. I know, I know! That's home! That's where Merry, and Frodo, and Rosie, and Sam, and Mother and Father, and my sisters, and everyone!

"They will find the Ring and kill the one who carries it."

"Frodo." FRODO‽ SERIOUSLY, GANDALF‽ Of all the Hobbits in Hobbiton, it had to be one of my best friends! And then Gandalf the... the Fool goes and says his name! Every thought rushes in one way and out another as I stare between Gandalf and his traitorous kin.

"You did not seriously think that a hobbit could contend with the will of Sauron? There are none who can. Against the power of Mordor there can be no victory. We must join with him Gandalf. We must join with Sauron. It would be wise my friend." I make a slight grunt at the friend part. You'd have to be a fool or evil to be friends with someone this dark. And Gandalf isn't evil.

"Tell me. Friend... When did Saruman the Wise abandon reason for madness?" I internally cheer at the insult, but all possible celebration is wiped from me as Saruman throws the firework-making wizard across the room. As the two begin to fight, throwing each other everywhere, my vision fades.

"GANDALF!" I shout as it all goes black.

#lotr #pippin #merry #frodo #sam #gandalf #bilbo #peregrin took #meriadoc brandybuck #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #saruman

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stargleam-star · 3 years

Text

Warriors Rewrite Pt 9: Power of the Stars

Quick notes: this part is a mashup of The Power of Three and Omen of the Stars since both on their own get boring with 6 books each. The Four main cats represent the wise monkeys: Hear No Evil (Dove), Speak No Evil (Holly), See No Evil (Jay), and Do No Evil (Lion). Also, this part is the last true installment to my series of rewrite posts. Maybe I will make another if I read A Vison of Shadows, buut I intend for the end of this arc to be the end of the series (as I'd thought it'd be when the canon books originally came out). I might also post about ideas for Super Editions in my rewrite, but that's about it for this series. I hope you've all enjoyed my ideas, and will like these ones as well!

The first half of the arc follows The Three. They are the children of Tawnypelt and Squirrelflight. Or so they think

In reality, The Three are not siblings, but cousins. Squirrelflight is the biological mother of Hollykit, who's sired by her mate Crowfeather. Crowfeather is also Tawnypelt's mate; the three are in a secret poly relationship. Hollykit is mostly black, but has small ginger spots on her face that look like berries, and a fluffy red tail which is oddly similar to Redtail's despite not having any biological relation to him, also her eyes are green.

Jaykit is actually the love child of Emberpath and Primrosetail. He is a blue-gray tabby with fur a very similar shade to Bluestar's. He has blue eyes like in canon with dilated pupils since he is blind.

Lionkit is the son of Leafpool and Rowanclaw, conceived while they were away from the clans. Lionkit is a large broad golden tom with amber eyes; his resemblance is very close to his namesake Lionheart

Squirrelflight, Primrosetail, and Leafpool's kittings all pretty much happened around the same time. Squirrelflight and Leafpool had hid in the forest together to give birth, while Primrosetail ended up having her kit on the Gathering Island-where she and Emberpath would meet in secret. Sensing that his sisters have given birth, Emberpath brings his little family to them so they could all be together. While staying in the hollow tree, during a nap, Leafpool receives the "kin of your kin" prophecy. When she wakes, she tells her siblings. She insists the kits be raised together so that the prophecy can be better fulfilled, and so their secret relationships wouldn't be revealed. They all agree to allow Squirrelflight to raise Lionkit and Jaykit, since no cat will question their origins due to the clan believing she was impregnated by an unconnected, unknown donor.

When The Three are apprenticed, things go a bit different than they do in canon. Lionpaw becomes the medicine cat apprentice, and Jaypaw trains as a warrior under Brightheart. Although, Starclan still tries to convince Jaypaw to be a medicine cat instead.

The toms' powers stay the same, and Hollypaw gets a power too. These powers, however, come with down sides. Jaypaw can walk in other's dreams, memories, and converse with Starclan/the Dark forest, but can never have his own normal dreams. Lionpaw is unable to be harmed in battle, but gets tired easily when attacked. And Hollypaw has the power of truth; cats can't lie to her and are more likely to divulge secrets to her. However a cat can tell her something that's actually a lie if they believe its the truth

In this rewrite, Hollypaw is the one who discovers the tunnels. Here she starts meeting up with Breezepaw, who also discovered the tunnels through Windclan territory. No, they don't have any romantic feelings for each other like their counterparts Lion/Heather do in canon, because that would be extremely gross

Breezepaw is still Crowfeather and Nightcloud's son, but things go a bit differently between them. Nightcloud is a lesbian and mates with Sorreltail. The couple really wanted to have kits, so Crowfeather volunteers to sire a litter for them, with Squirrelflight and Tawnypelt's blessing. Nightcloud lets it slip that Crowfeather is his biological father, and Breezepaw, despite having two loving mothers, feels like he should have a bond with Crowfeather too. But Crowfeather doesn't feel a connection to Breezepaw. Breezepaw's sense of entitlement is what fuels his rage and hatred for the older tom, and causes him to become a secondary villain in this series

As warriors, The Three are named Jaystrike, Lionflower (after Goldenflower and because he's a sweetheart in this rewrite), and Hollysong

Despite the strength of his powers, Lionflower uses his abilities for good. He charges into battles head on to heal the injured, even if enemy warriors try to attack him. Since he can't get hurt, he can be right on the frontlines

Jaystrike trains in the Dark Forest with Tigerstar and Mothwing as an apprentice. He wants to make up for his blindness, and so he trusts the dead leader to teach to him be stronger. He also trains there to spite Starclan, since they tried to tell him he couldn't be a warrior, he had to be a medicine cat. But one day, Jaypaw somehow manages to pull his mamma Tawnypelt into his dream with him. She sees what her son is up to and warns him of her kin's evil. She scares him pretty good; this ends up being the last time Jaypaw visits the Place Of No Stars. But because of Tigerstar's teachings, the blind warrior receives the name Jaystrike for being fierce in battle

Hawkfrost in this arc, like in the last one, is Ashfur's equivalent. He traps The Three in a fire in an attempt to kill them to hurt Squirrelflight. This is where Squirrelflight's forced to admit The Three are not her kits. When they all escape, however, she gathers them, Emberpath, and Leafpool together so the triplets can fully explain what their situation was.

Within the next day or so Hawkfrost approaches The Three, threatening to reveal the secrets of their parentage at the upcoming gathering. Jaystrike jumps into the tom's memories to see that he'd been spying on the Fire Triplets' meeting.

The next day Hawkfrost is found dead. After some investigation by Hollysong, it turns out Lionflower is the murderer. Upon his siblings' discovery of this heinous crime, he runs away into the tunnels. His adopted littermates assume he is dead, and wonder who the third cat in the prophecy will be now

The last three books of the arc follow Dovepaw and Ivypaw. They are Cloudtail and Brightheart's kits, birthed by Cloudtail this time, and sired by a random kittypet. Dovepaw is a fluffy, mostly white dilute calico with folded ears and hazel eyes. Ivypaw is a mostly white and gray dilute tabby calico with a gray tail and blue eyes; surprisingly she shares a bit of resemblance to Whitestorm.

Dovepaw is chosen to be the new medicine cat apprentice. It's obvious early on that she is the new third cat in the prophecy as well, made clear by Starclan, and discovered by Jaystrike after walking in her dreams. Dovepaw's powers are the same as in canon; she can hear and see things that are far away. The downside is she has trouble with memory. As a full medicine cat her name becomes Dovelight

Dovepaw is nervous about being a prophesied cat and tries to confide in her sister about this, telling her all the secrets shared by Hollysong and Jaystrike.

Ivypaw is jealous of her sister being part of The Three though, and turns to the Dark Forest to grow strong and to feel important. She divulges the secrets entrusted to her by Dovepaw to Mothwing. Soon though, Jaystrike finds out about this-via walking in the molly's dreams-and holds an intervention with the help of Tawnypelt. Ivypaw, now a warrior called Ivyshade, works as a double agent

In the second half of the second to last book, Lionflower returns from the tunnels just as The Three receive news of there being a fourth cat destined to hold the power of the stars in their paws. Reunited, the four cats along with Ivyshade devise a plan on how to fight against the Dark Forest

Also, the Dark Forest has a powerful living ally. Sol is conspiring with the Place Of No Stars, and figures out a way to summon the evil spirits to fight the living world. It can only happen on the night of the lunar eclipse, when Starclan has no power. After trying to convince the clans to stop believing in their ancestors, Sol sees this as the only way to get them to give up their faith

Before the battle, at the beginning of the last book, Jaystrike, Hollysong, Lionflower, and Dovelight go missing. Squirrelflight, Leafpool, Emberpath, Cloudtail, and Brightheart are incredibly worried about them as the time for the Great Battle draws nearer. But Ivyshade knows the truth and assures her kin that this is all a part of The Four's plan.

When the battle takes place, Skyclan arrives to help aid in the fight, rather than Starclan jumping in. They are led to the lake territories by The Four. The group found the distant clan by using their combined powers, and by recalling the stories told to them by Firestar. Emberstar leads the charge, joining her brother to fight Tigerstar and Sol. With the fifth clan joining them, the living clans are able to face off against the Dark Forest and win.

Emberstar and Firestar lose their last lives together at the end of the Great Battle. Skyclan decides to stay by the lake when all is said and done. The Four keep their powers, and decide to put them to better use by taking over for their parents as mediators in the other clans. Dovelight is the exception; she joins Skyclan to be both their medicine cat and mediator, and Ivyshade takes over for Squirrelflight as Thunderclan's mediator

#warrior cats #wcs #warriors rewrite #warriors: the power of three #warriors: omen of the stars #warriors: power of the stars #viti's rewrite

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izzy-b-hands · 4 years

Text

Dancer Chapter One

This is set in a Post-Golden Circle AU wherein nobody in Kingsman died (aka we still have Merlin, Roxy and JB, but we also got to meet the Statesman folks through...we’ll save that for when I eventually do my rewrite of Golden Circle lol.)

For now, the point is everyone is alive, and Eggsy has a very important mission he must undertake.

In booty shorts.

For the greater good (and because why couldn’t Rocketman and Kingsman share wardrobes you know. Why not. There is not reason why not is the answer.)

Warning, we get NSFW in this. A lot. Just. Be ready for that. Violence because spies, sex because of lots of things (emotions and other things, you’ll see when you read.) If that ain’t your cup of tea, maybe skip this one.

And yes, I did title it after the Queen song.

Shout out and my thanks to @bearkare for helping me figure out how to chop this up into chapters properly; I owe you one big time!!!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“These are...necessary?” Eggsy asked, and snapped the waistband of the golden shiny booty shorts.

“Absolutely,” Harry replied, and handed over another stack of similarly shiny clothing. “These should get you through the rest of the mission without needing any laundry done.”

“Are they all...”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Harry smiled. “Besides, these missions can be...fun. I quite enjoyed one I did, in the seventies, in a club where you could-”

“Oh, you could tell me about that later,” Eggsy interrupted, shoving the stack of multicolored booty shorts into his bag. “A reward for finishing the mission.”

“It was a swingers club, is what it was.”

“Aaah, you said it anyway,” Eggsy sighed. “And the tops are all-”

“Mesh,” Harry finished. “But there are also sweatshirts, in case you get cold.”

“Booty shorts and mesh shirts in December, how could I possibly get cold,” Eggsy murmured. “Sweatpants?”

“One pair that I could find, so be careful,” Harry answered, and handed over a pair of Juicy Couture sweats that read ‘Bitch’ in sparkling fake jewels on the back.

“...you found these?”

“I did.”

“So who previously used these here at Kingsman? Just...wondering. Or was that you, at the club? I presume you still go, since you’re keen to talk about it-”

Harry cut him off with the toss of a pair of heels.

“Male strippers don’t have to wear these, I thought?”

“Some do, some don’t,” Harry shrugged. “Most anyone can wear most anything. Give them a try. We’ve got platforms as well, if you’d prefer.”

“I would, I think. Might break an ankle either way,” Eggsy sighed, and handed back the heels in exchange for a pair of golden, shimmering, chunky platforms. “Shoes for after work?”

An extra pair of Adidas were the last thing he tossed into his bag for the mission, before taking a final look at himself in the mirror.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Why not? You look fantastic, and the club we need you to infiltrate doesn’t even require you to strip every night. Hell, intel has revealed that some of the men that work there don’t even strip, they just work the floor and go about sitting in laps and whatnot. You could stick to that, whatever, so long as you find it.”

Harry’s confident words echoed as he stepped out and headed down the street to the waiting Kingsman cab. ‘It’ was a chemical formula, that the biochemical weapons dealing club owner was threatening to use to create what he called ‘the ultimate weapon.’ Whether that was really true they’d find out after, when they could see the formula and what it actually contained.

But that all came down to him.

The club was a four hour flight away, in Ibiza. Even on the Kingsman private plane, he was restless, plucking at the elastic edges of the shorts, pacing in the platforms to try and practice balancing in them.

“Where’s all this coming from?” Merlin asked from the pilot’s seat. “All I can hear is those damned shoes; on a regular plane, you know I’d have to make you sit down, right?”

“It’s nothing,” Eggsy muttered, even though it was indeed something. Tilde was less than pleased he’d been called in for a mission, and unhappier still that involved him working in a strip club. Never mind that they’d spent weeks arguing over how he could continue to complete his princely duties while staying out of the limelight and skipping public events. She wanted him to be able to show his face and be at her side, but couldn’t understand what it would mean.

Giving up Kingsman. Giving up the thing that had helped him become the man she loved.

Or that she might still love. Maybe. He wasn’t so sure anymore.

But he’d asked Roxy to stay with Tilde, so he could provide them both with mission updates (edited as needed to protect Tilde from the club owner and anyone he might send out should their communiques somehow be discovered) and he hoped she would see that as a sign of his love and care.

“I don’t believe that,” Merlin sighed. “But we’re nearly there. Have you got everything?”

‘Everything’ consisted of not just his bag of clothing, but one bag of regular make-up, eco-friendly glitter, pasties that he did not understand the point of his having, and another bag full of...’make-up.’

Eyeliner that could be used to essentially draw a fuse on a surface and lit on fire, perfume that was in a super-pressurized nozzle and contained a flesh eating toxin that acted as soon as it hit skin, eye shadows that if brushed on a finger and then dipped in a drink could knock out a bull elephant in a minute (what it would do to a human...well. Better not to think about that, and to use it only if absolutely necessary.)

That, plus the regular Kingsman kit, of course, carefully hidden in among all three bags, very carefully in the case of the pistols and ammunition.

All of it banged against his legs as he did his best to look...however he figured he was meant to look. Confident, and not like he was worried about whether or not this was a mission he could pull off, and not like he was worried he might come home to Tilde too upset to be consoled or worse.

“You!” the man that called out to him from the club’s doorway was a fierce-looking person, literally. A tiger with open mouth was tattooed on the front his neck, down onto his chest, with blood dripping from the fangs. “You’re fucking late! You know, in my day, when they sent a new boy, they sent him on time! No fucking respect for the show anymore, none at all.”

“I’m sorry, my flight ran late,” Eggsy tried. “But if you let me set my things down, I can get started right away, get out on the floor, serve some drinks, you know.”

The man scoffed, and pulled him into the doorway, nearly knocking him off his platforms. “Serve some drinks, pah. You’re tonight’s main entertainment. How else is the boss supposed to know if you’re worth the investment money? After all, your agency doesn’t get paid until we see how you work.”

He led Eggsy by the arm down a dark hall, and shoved open a door which led to a small green room. “And you should know...not many of you work out.”

“Then I’d be headed home, I suppose,” Eggsy replied as he stepped into the room, taking in the cracking paint on the walls, the cushions with stuffing coming out of them on the couch, and the filthy mirror on the make-up table.

The man laughed. “Home? Is that what they told you? I thought they weren’t going to lie anymore...ah well. Not my monkey, not my circus, as they say. Sure. You would be sent home, let’s say that. Just hurry the fuck up, get into something good, and when I knock, you take a left, then another left, and come out on stage. We’ll be waiting.”

Eggsy dropped his bags carefully by the couch, and as soon as the door was closed rifled through the clothing one to find the earpiece hidden in it.

“Merlin!”

“Eggsy! Safe and sound then, good to know. Now, I’ll be laying low around town, got myself a little set-up so I can assist you if needed and-”

“You can assist me by telling me why the fuck none of you warned me they’d want me to strip the first night. I literally just got here, and they want me on stage, now!” Eggsy spat.

“Okay, alright. Keep calm,” Merlin soothed. “This isn’t like you anyway; are you sure you’re alright?”

Eggsy sighed, and contemplated spilling his heart to Merlin now. But he couldn’t, not really. For his own sake, and for the sake of the mission.

“Just...I’m sorry. They made it fairly clear they kill any performer who doesn’t make the cut, so I’m a bit tense, is all.”

“...sure,” Merlin replied, and Eggsy could hear the disbelief in his voice. “We can talk later, perhaps? Just in case there would be anything else you aren’t telling me. Not that there is! But...if there were.”

“I’d like that,” Eggsy said softly. “So, any suggestions on...”

“The stripping? Oh Jesus, no. Could you imagine, me? Be like watching an Ent strip,” Merlin chuckled. “You’ve got this, you’ve done your research, I know you asked us not to watch you practice, but I do know you spent a good few hours in the studio space we rented for you. Just do what you’ve researched, put your heart into it, and you’ll be fine for the night, at least. From there...we’ll figure it out, alright?”

“Okay,” Eggsy muttered, and hid the earpiece back in its spot. From the bag he pulled a purple glittery mesh tank top, and a black thong that, as far as he could tell, was held together purely with wishes and will for as little material it was made of. Over that went a pair of black velvet booty shorts, and the top-

“Oh good, I caught you before you were all done,” a younger blonde man, his make-up bright gold and glittery with eyeliner winged sharp, in a black feathered mesh robe strode in. “Your agency said they weren’t sending your whole wardrobe, so here-”

He yanked open an apparently half-broken closet door at the side of the room that Eggsy hadn’t even noticed, to reveal a sea of bright colors and patterns on all variety of clothes. “What you have on looks fine, but he’ll want you to take off more layers than that. I’d say, this, this, and ooh! I bet you look handsome in a suit, so this as well.”

The man tossed a black T-shirt, a pair of loose tear-away joggers, and a suit jacket and pants towards Eggsy.

Eggsy stared. “Thanks. Do you-”

“Oh!” the young man laughed. “Not anymore. No, I oversee. Like a manager, but better, because I don’t have to fuck the boss anymore to keep my pole and my space in the club. Well, at least I said I was done with doing that now.”

Eggsy realized he must have made a face, because the man laughed again.

“Oh darling, bless you. How else do you think you keep your spot? Any other club would make you pay to rent the pole, the stage, right? Well, here at El Tigre, we don’t make you do that. You get paid to be here, to do your work. But, in order to stay...”

The man shrugged. “Life is dirty, and difficult. It could be just as bad anywhere else, so make a garden out of the mulch you’ve got, I say. I’m Evan, by the way.”

“You aren’t from here, I take it?”

Evan smiled. “No. I don’t think anyone who dances here is actually from Ibiza. No, the ladies and gentlemen who come in like their...imports, if you will. Even if that means us white-bread boys raised up on fish and chips, you know? And the boss has his tastes as well, and that’s the final say on it, really.”

Eggsy nodded. “Thank you. For the clothes, and the information. I didn’t realize they’d want me to dance right away, I mean I just got off the plane and made my way over here, and-”

Evan interrupted him with a hug. “It’s intimidating, I know. And ignore Tony, he’s an ass, but he only hurts people if ordered to. He’s loyal like that.”

“That man with the tiger on his neck?” Eggsy tried and failed to bite back a giggle. “His name is...Tony.”

Evan giggled right back. “He hates it, but yeah. We all call him Tony the tiger behind his back. Long as you don’t let him hear you say it, you’re safe. Now, you finish up. Oh, and match your shadow color to the color of your thong. Boss really goes for that.”

Evan was gone with a clack of his heels and a swish of his robe, and Eggsy wished he’d have stayed. Not even to gain more intel (though it was all good and needed), but just to not be alone in the moment.

But he managed it, and after choosing a new pair of platforms (shiny black vinyl with purple laces) he made it to the stage.

The club was empty, except for Evan, sitting on one side of the stage. Tony was on the other.

And at the end of the stage, dead center, was the man he needed to get close to, close enough to find and steal the chemical formula that might destroy thousands, millions, if sold to the wrong hands. The club owner, the “boss” as everyone apparently called him, Boniface Gagneux.

He wasn’t the stereotypical ‘club owner’ at least not in the way movies would show, to Eggsy’s memory. He was sharp-looking both in handsomeness and in the way a canine poked out just a bit from his top lip as he smiled at Eggsy, as though he’d bite if he got too close. His dark hair had just a touch of grey in it at the sides, and the dark suit he wore was beautifully tailored, sprinkled with sewn in tiny rhinestones on the shoulders, so he actually sparkled under the club lighting.

“Mr. Wyn Morris, we meet at last. I haven’t heard much about you, but-” Gagneux’s eyes traced him from top to bottom. “You look even better than your picture. Hopefully you dance as pretty as you look.”

Eggsy bit back a comment. That wasn’t what his character, Wyn, would say, not at all. Wyn was happy to be here, and happy to please, even if Gagneux’s glances made him feel sick to his stomach.

He simply nodded, and the music started.

The song he didn’t know, but it was something that seemed it would have fit only in setting like this, something about ‘being wanted at seventeen.’ The beat wasn’t too fast, nor too slow, but it took him a minute to find it nonetheless, to roll his hips the way he’d seen in every video lesson he could find online.

Even with practice, he still felt horribly out of it, and was sure he had to look ridiculous, as he tried to vamp it up, stripping off the suit jacket and tossing it to Evan, who blessedly gave him a smile.

Gagneux’s face was an imperceptible mask now, watching him with piercing blue eyes. Was he impressed, did he hate it, was he busy worrying if he’d accidentally left the stove on? There was no way to tell.

The suit pants were rip off just like the leggings beneath them, and those he tossed to Tony, who glared at him so sharply he almost looked for a stab wound.

Instead, he kept on, and bemoaned that they’d chosen such a long song. Actually spacing out when to rip everything else off was difficult with music he hadn’t used before (and Tilde, upset as she was, had refused to be a practice audience to help him get it right, though he’d begged her to do it, and had thought he might find it all funny.)

It felt too soon to shed the T-shirt as he strode on-beat further down the stage, but he did it anyway before dropping to his knees and rocking backwards on his haunches, hips gyrating the entire time. It fucking hurt, and he realized he should have used his time on the plane to stretch, not to worry.

He leaned forward, then crawled a bit further down, locking eyes with Gagneux. Still no change in expression though, not even when he ripped off the joggers and tossed them to a happily laughing Evan, who caught them and hugged them close. Evan was the hype man he desperately needed, and he made a mental note to thank him later for the help as he dropped again to his knees at the end of the stage.

Gagneux reached a hand forward, and plucked at the string of the thong, then raised an eyebrow at him.

There had been no mention of that, full frontal. But everything about the damn mission had been a surprise so far, why should this be any different?

He tossed his mesh tank top to Tony, then with a bit of effort, snapped the string of the thong, and handed it to Gagneux, who had leaned forward so close he could have pulled Eggsy off the stage.

He half thought that might be what would happen, but instead Gagneux just held the destroyed thong tight, and raised a hand to stop the music.

“Not bad. Go back, down the hall, and take a right.”

Eggsy nodded, and slowly stood. “I’ll be a just a moment, to grab some clothes.”

“No.” Gagneux said softly. “Come as you are.”

The DJ started up another song once he was off stage, and he could hear Evan chattering to Tony. He wished he could have another moment with him, to ask what to expect now. He had an idea, but hearing it from someone who’d actually been in the moment would have been better.

Instead, he did as he was told: down the hall, and to the right, into an office. It was elegant, all in black, a black marble desk and black velvet couch. The chair he when to sit on had a towel emblazoned with his fake name, also black, sitting on it. A blessing, he certainly wasn’t about to sit his bare ass on a chair that likely was meant for use by whoever came into Gagneux’s office day-to-day.

The song that was playing outside filtered in just before Gagneux walked in, then shut the door. The aggressive beat was just audible through it, but Eggsy had a sinking feeling not much else would be audible to anyone listening in on the office from the outside.

“Look at you,” Gagneux smirked, and ran a hand along Eggsy’s jawline. “Those thighs alone will earn you fans, but with the face? Forget it. You’ll have men and women coming in here begging for you.”

He sat behind the desk, and chuckled. “That means you’re in, if you weren’t sure.”

Eggsy laughed lightly. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. We set up a schedule now then, or?”

Gagneux smiled. “We’ll get to that. First, I need to know you won’t be swayed by any of those offers.”

“From patrons? No, of course not.”

“Good. Because, as Evan may have already mentioned, when you’re working for me, you’re mine. Is that understood? Dancing, and the club, and me-those are your three priorities,” Gagneux said, holding up a finger with each word.

“And myself?” Eggsy asked before he could stop himself.

But Gagneux just shook his head. “I look after you. Mutual caring: you look after the club and your work and our patrons, and I look after you.”

Eggsy could swear Gagneux had the DJ doing this on purpose, changing up the music to manipulate the moment, as a slower, but still bopping and more romantic song came on.

“Come here,” Gagneux stood and walked to the front of the desk, in front of Eggsy. “Stand up.”

He obeyed, and waited to shiver as Gagneux would presumably do something horrible, or god only knew what else and-

The kiss was soft. And sweet, and not at all what he was expecting. He didn’t mean to kiss back either, but it took him by such surprise, and it was just something else.

Gagneux pressed his forehead to Eggsy’s, a hand gently holding his chin. “I’m excited to work with you. Tomorrow, starting 22:00, we’ll have you just work the floor, to get used to the place when it’s full. I close completely the days I’m getting new talent in, so what you saw out there is far from the norm. Just lap dances and drinks on the floor. We’ll let you get your sea legs before putting you back onstage, though I don’t think that will take you long. Evan will walk you to your apartment; nobody leaves the club alone is one of my rules.”

He let go of Eggsy’s chin and moved away from him. “Have a good night, Wyn.”

Eggsy swallowed hard, and nodded. “You as well, Mr. Gagneux.”

“Boniface. No need for such formalities here,” Gagneux...or rather, Boniface, said, leaning back against the desk.

Eggsy nodded again, and picked up the towel before trotting back to the green room, his head spinning, and his heart beating entirely too fast for comfort.

#text post #LeeH writes #Kingsman fic

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rosecorcoranwrites · 5 years

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Editing Advice Part 1: Continuity

Although I said I wouldn't be giving writing advice on this blog, I never said anything about editing advice. Plenty of people give (unhelpful, short-sighted, or far too niche) writing advice, but few focus on the crucial final part of the writing process, and yet, editing is what gives a lot of writers the most trouble. I personally love editing far more than the initial writing stage and so am here to offer my advice in not one, not two, not even three, but four—yes four!—blog posts!

First, let's look at continuity, in three categories: Time, Place, and People. Technically, you ought to keep continuity in mind throughout the writing process, but it's still easy to forget one or two things. Thus, when you finally decide "I'm going to edit this WIP!", you need to double check that everything is consistent, not just from a plot standpoint, but from a spacial, chronological, and personal standpoint as well.

Time

This includes character ages (especially in flashbacks and exposition), the beginning and endings of school years, the seasons and their weather patterns, moon phases (especially when writing about werewolves), times of day, how long it takes for events to happen (a wound to heal, DNA to come back from the lab, traveling from point A to point B), historical matters (phraseology, having characters use things that hadn't been invented yet, people in the middle ages eating potatoes, etc.) and so on.

One time, I was reading a WIP where their main character's (or MC's) sister, who was twelve, was being discussed. The MC said that her sister had been dating someone at the same time the MC was first learning to use her magic powers. Fine, except that later it was stated that she first learned to use those powers five years ago. Which would make the sister seven at the time. Ain't no seven-year-old datin' nobody. The author of the WIP had just forgotten that all the characters ages would change, not just the main character's.

In my own writing, I had to be very careful in Outcast Shadows, because two groups of characters were in two locations doing two things: Group A was traveling across a continent, while Group B were hanging out in a single building in a single city. But they had to meet up at the end of the book, under specific circumstances, so I had to make sure that both storylines took the same amount of time. In the first draft, Group A took far longer than Group B, which was disastrous! I had to go back and, first, measure exactly how long it would take Group A to do all their traveling and find things for Group B to do that made sense for the story to fill up that specific amount of time.

As careful as I was in Outcast Shadows, though, I completely forgot that Misha left a certain location a day earlier than everyone else in Recast Light—and this was after four rewrites. I had to account for what he was doing for an entire day, which meant rewriting several scenes. It ended up working out in the end, but is a cautionary tale I won't soon forget.

Place

This includes anything spacial, such as the layouts of rooms, buildings, cities, and continents; the blocking of character movements; light sources; the configuration of the the solar system; and so on.

For example, if your character was flat on his back a few sentences ago, but now he's standing, were we ever told that he got up? Did your characters, while touring the lower rooms of a castle, ever climb something in order to get to that second story room where they end up (mine didn't, in the first draft of Miscast Spells!). If your scene takes place in a dark and dingy torch-lit tavern, how can your characters notice tiny details, or are you picturing the scene as brightly lit as it would be with electric lighting?

Obviously, some of this can be fudged a bit—I don't think anyone but me cares about how scenes are lit—but some of it can't. And readers will notice. There was the famous case of Larry Niven's Ringworld, in which a character is teleporting east in order to extend his birthday, but of course the earth rotates east, meaning he would actually be moving later into the day, or even into the next, rather than earlier. So many readers noticed that Niven actually corrected it in later editions. Then there is Stephanie Meyer's Breaking Dawn, in which the Cullens have a house on an island off the west coast of Rio de Janeiro which, you know, doesn't have a west coast. These authors had professional editors who didn't catch these mistakes, so you can't rely on other people to notice continuity errors for you. Do your own research and know the layout of your own setting, especially if it's the setting we all live in.

People

This category includes what your characters have, what they know, and who they are.

For what they have, consider clothing and accessories, weapons, and useful items. If they don't have an umbrella, but it's raining in your scene, do they just stand there in the rain? Do they like it? Aren't they cold? If your character has some huge rucksack full of gear, they should always have that rucksack full of gear unless we can assume they left it in a safe place; if they're traveling from one end of the continent to the other, mention how heavy that rucksack is from time to time, and consider where it is during a fight or action scene (Are they still carrying it? Do they drop it? Do they pick it back up when they flee?).

Another thing that characters can have is injuries, which, unless magically healed, have lasting effects. If your character got punched in the face yesterday, they should have a bruise show up in a day or two, and last for about a week (she writes, realizing that she has had a character bruise far too fast in her own published book!). If your character has lost a lot of blood, or broken a bone, or received a concussion, all of that needs to be taken into account in the coming chapters. Again, this can usually be solved by a quick mention that such and such still hurt, but injuries will also impact how much traveling and fighting your character can do, so keep that in mind, too.

Be mindful, also, of what people in your story know, including POV and non-POV characters. A pet peeve of mine is when authors in multi-viewpoint narratives slip up and have the viewpoint character be privy to what other characters are thinking when there is no reason for them to know that. Then there is the opposite problem, typically in first person present tense stories, where, in order to have exposition, the MC will randomly be thinking about information that everyone in the setting already knows. It would be like reading a novel set in our world and having the first person narrator think "243 years ago, America declared independence from Britain, which it had formerly been a colony of. This was followed by what is known as the Revolutionary War, where the Patriots, on the American side, fought the Red Coats, the British soldiers". No one thinks that way, because they personally already know it; who are they explaining it to, themselves? Find a more natural way for this information across to the audience. Maybe the character is arguing about it with an friend or is helping a younger sibling with their homework. For this sort of thing, dialogue is definitely your friend, but still, double check to make sure this seems natural.

Finally, think about who your characters are, as opposed to who you wanted them to be. Characters change and grow over the course of writing, and what you might have considered in-character when you were outlining the novel might be out-of-character now. Consider your character's emotional reactions, moral choices, word choice, and so on. Never let an intended message be a reason to railroad a character into some preconceived destiny. Take the time to look at your character, not as a writer, but as a reader.

This last bit of advice holds true for all parts of editing. Think about how you would view your story as a reader. While beta readers and editors are helpful, you can't put everything on them (especially considering that there are published stories with continuity errors). Think about what a reader might nitpick, and what they might not care about. I suggest caring about it anyway, because it's your story, and it should be the best you can make it. Polishing your story into its bright and shiny best self is what editing is all about, and we've only just begun!

#editing #editing advice #edting tips #writelr #writeblr #writing advice #writing tips #continuity errors #continuity editing #continuity #errors #editing process #writing process #writing #writing resource #editing resource #writing blog #editing for continuity #editing errors

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shadowluverworks · 5 years

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Remissionem - Chapter 1

Finally getting to post this! If you guys would rather read it on archive, fanfiction, deviantart, or inkbunny, you can find it under the username: Shadowluver1242

Special thanks to @galoots for reading through and editing this! Read the story below.

The Wound A Word Opens

Scrooge McDuck: the richest duck in the world. He has more money than one could ever dream of, and he made it square. On top of being a businessman, the duck’s a world-renowned explorer. Solving mysteries and rewriting history is his pastime, and his family shares in the love of adventure...that is, all but one. Donald Duck is not as graceful as his uncle, not as smart as his twin, and much more prone to getting hurt than having fun. After losing Della to the call of the great unknown, his view of the “family business” soured even more. However, his three nephews, Della’s kids, have shown the same passion their mother and great uncle shared. After many deliberations with himself, he finally conceded in allowing the triplets to accompany the entrepreneur in his travels.

There were, of course, strict rules to follow. Donald doesn’t just give the responsibility of his nephews’ lives to anyone. Even with his inhibitions, he relinquished his family to Scrooge McDuck. Heaven help the old miser if something were to happen to those three. Donald had already lost one family member too many, and he’s determined not to lose another.

The sailor had made a personal vow of no more adventuring. Those days were long gone for him. He had never felt as much of a rush and received such enjoyment out of it as his kin did, which is why he’s currently relaxing on the hammock of his house boat. His family has another journey planned for today, but rather than worry about them returning safely, as he usually does, he attempts to keep his mind at bay with a nap. But fate never seems to be on Donald’s side, and at a loud shout of his name, he’s awakened by the thwack of his face meeting the boat’s wooden floor.

With a groan, he rubs his head as his eyes open sleepily. In front of his beak are spat-clad feet, and he doesn’t need to guess twice to know who’s interrupted his beauty sleep, “Scrooge?” He sits up with a scowl. He should ask why the old duck is on his boat, but then again, his boat is in Scrooge’s pool. Feeling rather agitated at the rude awakening, his mood is more combative than normal, “What do you want?!”

The Scottish duck pushes away the slight pain in his chest at the absence of ‘Uncle’ before his name. That’s been increasing in regularity ever since the events of the Sunchaser. Maybe his nephew had only been referring to him as that in front of his great nephews all this time? After his reputation had been dirtied in their eyes, Donald has been more frequently dropping the ‘Uncle’ and simply calling him ‘Scrooge’. He despises that.

But that’s not what he’s here for. Ever since the Shadow War and nearly losing his family for good, he’s been trying to rekindle the relationship long lost between him and his nephew. It’s been a rocky road at best, and the two of them have been known to lose their tempers at a drop of a hat. So today he chooses to keep the smile on his beak as he addresses the duck kneeling before him, “Came teh invite ye. Teh kids ‘n ah thought it might be fun teh have a sort of...” he waves a hand around, trying to come up with the words, “...family adventure.”

He can feel his fight or flight instinct kicking in. Scrooge is skilled at many things in life, talking to his own kin, however, was a skill he did not possess. Part of him wants to run and pretend he never asked while the other is still hopeful his nephew will accept his offer. Though the rather confused look that comes over Donald’s face as he stands up does nothing to soothe the old duck.

The sailor crosses his arms in front of his chest, “You know I don’t adventure anymore.” He looks his uncle up and down. The old man is good at hiding his feelings, but Donald has known him for years.

Scrooge was obviously nervous, “A-Ah knoo, but, well it’s just been a long time since ye’ve gone ‘n...ah jus-”

Donald holds up a hand to stop him, “I don’t adventure anymore because someone always gets hurt.”

His uncle blinks as he turns away to walk out onto the deck of his houseboat. He’s not surprised when he’s followed, “Thas’ nae troo! We’ve bin on several trips now ‘n everyone always comes back in one piece!”

Donald leans over the railing and looks over his shoulder at the other, “In one piece, yes, but I have to take care of the bumps and bruises!”

Dark turquoise eyes flick away at that. Sure, there are small injuries here and there, but no one had lost a limb or worse! You can’t live if you’re afraid to get hurt! In the past, Donald had been the one to sustain most of the injuries, and perhaps that is where the insecurities are coming from now. But the boys are skilled where their uncle is not. They take after their mother and himself. But then even Della had...

Scrooge frowns at the duck across him, “Thas’ part a teh fun! A bruise ‘r a scar lef’ behind tae remind ye of teh adventure when ye got it! Ye’ve got tae make memories while ye can, lad! Besides, those wee boys are much more capable than yer givin’ them credit fer.”

Donald’s eyes narrow and he straightens, glaring at the other, “I know they’re capable, why do you think I let them go with you?!” He can’t protect them from everything, they would never live!

His uncle’s brows furrow, bringing a hand to his chest, “Donald, ah knoo ye worry fer them, but ye can-” Scrooge cuts himself off, his eyes lower to the boat floor. He can’t finish that sentence because it’s not true.

But his nephew knew what he was about to say, and it only seems to stoke the sailor’s internal furnace, “I can what? Trust you?! I think you’ve made it very apparent that I can’t!” Scrooge’s eyes lift to glare at his kin. His instinct is to defend himself, but he keeps his beak shut for once, jaw clenching.

Donald continues in his fit, “The only reason I let the boys go adventuring with you is so they can get it out of their systems. So that maybe they’ll grow bored of it while they’re still young and can move on with their lives before something terrible happens! I know they’re already better at it than I was because they still actually want to go. They’re only ten years old, but I trust them and their decisions in this! Do you know how sad it is that I trust children more than I trust the adult in charge of them?!”

For a long time, Scrooge knew how Donald felt deep down, but hearing it so blatantly out of the young lad he raised, that all faith in him was lost, it stings. Like many times before, Scrooge abandons any hurt feelings in exchange for anger. His teeth grit as he takes a step forward, “At least when teh boys are with me, a successful businessman, they might learn a thing er two on how tae supply fer themselves once day instead a livin’ on a boat in their uncle’s swimmin’ pool and moochin’ off his hard-earned wages!” He wanted to take that back as soon as he said it. He knows more than anyone that even if Donald was lazy in nature, the duck had tried everything to hold on to a job to support his family. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, he would take any job if it meant providing a safe environment for the boys to grow up in.

Scrooge’s outburst was out of line, but he can’t take it back. Especially not with the hurt expression that quickly flashes across his nephew’s face. Though it’s instantly hid behind anger once again, as their family is known to do. Donald’s fists shake at his side, but he doesn’t blow his top. Instead his voice lowers to a mock calm, “Really? Alright. Why don’t I just see how much they’re learning, then?” With that, he gives his uncle a shoulder shove out of his way and marches off the boat, shouting, “I’ll get Launchpad to move the boat back to the marina after!” over his shoulder. The old coot wanted a family trip? He’ll get a family trip.

As the sailor enters the mansion to most likely cut through and get to the front yard where Launchpad and the children were waiting, the rich avian allows his face to fall in shame. This is not the way to repair the bond with his kin and he knows it. He hadn’t meant a word he said; Scrooge didn’t want Donald to leave, quite the opposite actually. He scolds himself for letting his anger once again take control of his tongue. This adventure is no longer sounding as fun as it did a few minutes ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Donald mostly ignores what exactly the treasure they’re after is. Most likely something gold and cursed if he knows his uncle. It had been several hours since their argument this morning and they both had time to cool down, but neither made a move to apologize. They mostly avoided one another.

The Duck’s and McDuck’s are good at arguing, not so much at having heart to hearts; a trait that Donald has attempted to break in his nephews. From a young age he made sure to talk out any disagreements with the boys, whether between they and him, or among the triplets themselves. Kids can hold onto grudges, but Huey, Dewey, and Louie had always been inspiring at resolving their fights before it ruined any relationships.

Scrooge had not been raised that way. He had, in a sense, raised himself since the age of 13, and, knowing nothing about being a parent, had raised Donald and Della from a young age as well. Della had always been better at talking about her feelings, but it wasn’t the same for Donald, at least not with his uncle. He’s learned a lot raising her sons, but the way the relationship was severed between his uncle and he is something not easily mended.

Donald sighs, his glance once again settles on the old duck. They had pushed their anger away for the children, not wanting to bring any negative feelings to the adventure. Webby and the triplets crowd around Scrooge’s seat next to Launchpad in the cockpit of the Sunchaser. He’s explaining the history of the location and what they’ll be looking for, but the sailor isn’t listening. His mind is years away in the distant past when he and his twin had the same wide and excited eyes the ducklings now have. Where had the time gone?

When they arrive several hours later at the ancient Mayan Ruins in Central America, the crew managing to escape a water landing by a feather’s length, his uncle takes the lead through the deep jungle while he brings up the rear himself, leaving Launchpad and the plane behind. They have yet to truly enter the temple ahead, but small native structures could be seen rising and falling through the thicket. The trees above them grow together so close in their canopy, only small rivers of light can be seen cascading through the leaves and lighting the world around them.

The dirt path they’ve taken eventually turns to a stone one. So battered is the path, that the stepping-stones are often broken or missing in places. Small green flora has managed to take root, and they rise up a few inches out of the small cracks of earth the pathway gives way to.

The group hikes for a few miles before the trail leads them to a small mountain, or rather large hill depending on how you look at it, gradually rising them higher out of the undergrowth. Huey occupies himself with identifying different plants, animals, and insects they pass along the way, while also keeping a sharp eye out for any poisonous ones. Webby next to him is jabbering about the native culture and history of the ruins around them.

Louie trails behind, just in front of Donald. He wipes the sweat off his brow as his bangs cling to his face; he should have packed a t-shirt. The humidity is suffocating, as if you can take a handful of the air itself, and the heat draining. You can practically feel yourself becoming dehydrated. He doesn’t know how the others can manage so well.

Dewey stays closely behind his great uncle, wanting more than anything to swing through the trees on vines and cut his way through the vegetation. Scrooge had strictly advised against such acts however, insisting he would lead the way on this expedition, and that everyone was to stay behind him. The kids have noticed his behavior is a bit off today, but don’t bring it up.

The old duck grits his teeth. Curse the arthritis in his hips. The pain in his legs had started this morning after his and Donald’s argument, and had seemed to only get worse the farther he traveled. He’d hoped moving would bring some relief, however it only increases the closer they get to the temple. It was almost as if his experienced body is giving him a warning. But that’s ridiculous; surely, it’s just one of the many days when his age is making itself known to him. Nevertheless, he’s being extra cautious today just to be safe, especially with his nephew keeping a close eye on him.

He’s sure he’s slowing the group down with his sluggish pace. He hates the fact his cane is proving to be more and more necessary. Most days he has no symptoms whatsoever, and finds little use for it, but then there are days like today when he doesn’t know if he can remain upright without the extra support. Scrooge shakes his head to focus on the task at hand; he can’t let himself be distracted, that’s when someone can get hurt, and that’s not going to happen today.

The group has reached a rather open area, making him take pause. To their right, more jungle reaching up and over their heads as the hill continues upward. To their left, an unnaturally clear view from the trees that shows how high they’ve already climbed. A gravel-like hillside drops abruptly to jungle nearly a hundred feet below. Off in the distance you can barely make out the bright light of the sun reflecting off the metal wings of the Sunchaser in a small clearing near the lake. More jungle filled mountains continue for as far as the eye can see.

Ahead of them, the path leads to a stone door with a rather threatening face carved into it, a trademark symbol of the natives that used to inhabit this land. The door is attached to the beginnings of the temple; however, hundreds of years have made the living forest become one with it, and most of the structure is covered under vegetation. It looks as if it was built into the mountain itself. The entrance lays about a hundred yards yet ahead of them. The senior duck’s eyes narrow; something isn’t right. Everything is too perfectly cleared away.

Donald hasn’t been watching exactly where he’s walking. The sounds of the forest have distracted and brought him back to adventures of old he’d shared with his family. Looking to his right, his attention is further distracted by a blue morpho fluttering about before silently landing on a native flower blooming on one of the many trees. He hasn’t noticed his uncle and the kids pause at the clearing, that is until he collides with his elder.

The old duck is pushed a few feet ahead and nearly collapses with a wince when the stone he steps on suddenly lowers underneath his weight. The switch seems to have activated a centuries’ old booby trap, as massive boulders are swiftly released up in the hillside to their right and swing on their ropes tied to the tree tops above them. Four stones in total, each twice the height of Scrooge, sweep along the path in front of them, swinging back and forth and threatening to push them over the edge.

The experienced avian sends a glare behind him, hands on his knees as the sudden movement sent a wave of pain through his body. A pink flush blooms across the younger duck’s face as he gives a grin and a shrug accompanied by a small giggle in embarrassment.

Louie rolls his eyes, “Great! Now what?”

His older brother garbed in blue smiles at him, “Aw, come on! It’s not so bad! We’ve had worse death traps than this!” As if to prove his point, he runs ahead of the group towards the first swinging rock. Pausing to watch its movements, he waits until it just passes in front of him before running quickly to the next safe spot between the first and second boulders. He turns around to his family with a triumphant grin, “See? Not so hard!”

The other three children and their elder move to follow him, leaving his uncle behind. Donald takes a few steps forward to where Scrooge stood but a moment before, watching his family wait for the rock to swing ahead of them. He holds his breath to keep himself from yelling out as his anxieties surface.

Now that he was focused enough to observe the awkward landscape before him, the layout makes sense as the death trap revealed itself. The boulders are supposed to crush any potential robbers and send them flying through the sudden break in the tree line down to their demises on the jungle floor, or at least that’s the idea. Donald can only picture tiny duck bodies soaring through that very air and meeting an unfortunate ending, but his family runs past the stone, and quickly joins Dewey on the other side. He releases the air in relief. This is why he doesn’t go on these trips, they are far too stressful for him now with the children along.

As he attempts to calm his racing heart before his family goes to the next stone, a distinct snapping makes him whip his head up to the jungle hillside next him. It sounds as if young saplings are breaking. The sound catches his uncle’s attention as well, making him pause as the kids continue onward. Scrooge’s fingers grip tightly to the cane he leans on, the pain has come to an all-time high; something is definitely wrong. Donald’s eyes widen as his body is rapidly dwarfed in comparison to the fifth massive boulder hurdling down the hillside towards him. The overgrown jungle must have temporarily kept the stone at bay before crumbling under the weight.

Time seems to slow down, and yet it all happens too quick for anyone to process. Instead of feeling the rough surface of the boulder making contact with his face, Donald feels two distinct hands push his limp body a good five feet away. The duck grunts as he bounces and slides across the rough surface before quickly turning his head back. He stares unblinkingly as a nauseating thud enters his ears, a body flying lifelessly through the air to his left and down to the hillside. Rocks slide along with the figure as it rolls along the rock face before falling down the drop-off into the trees, snapping branches and vines under its weight. Birds flee the scene up into the sky and other wildlife run to hide from the sudden noise before the form finally lands on the ground out of all their view.

Then all is quiet. The branches shake back and forth, before stilling once again. The forgotten fifth stone swings unaffected, as if it didn’t happen. Donald makes eye contact with his family ahead who stare in equal horror back at him. It feels like hours pass as they process what had just happened, all staring back at each other as the once life filled jungle is dead silent. Finally, it seems to hit them all at once, as they stare in the direction the body flew before crying out in shock, “SCROOGE!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Donald never remembers running so fast. After the kids made it safely past the swinging boulders, the five of them run down the hillside as quick as their legs can carry them. Huey’s shaking voice tries to determine if someone can survive such an ordeal. Louie’s sobbing, repeatedly screaming, “He’s dead, he’s dead!” Dewey remains silent as the scene replays in his head over and over, tears stinging at his eyes.

Webby is the only one who seems to keep it together as she makes the group stop on the path to catch their breath; they’re all hyperventilating. She grabs Louie by the shoulders and gives him a good shake, “Louie! He’s not dead! We’re gonna find him and we’re gonna get him home!” The boy sniffs in response but says no more.

Donald can see the girl trembling. He’s the adult, he’s supposed to be calming the children down and making a plan to help their uncle! But at the moment, he feels like he might vomit. The sound of Scrooge’s body crumpling under the weight of the boulder still stuck in his head. He no longer feels like an adult, he’s a scared child. He simply exists alongside the kids.

Webby forces Huey to stop his dead-end rambling and focus with a smack across the face. The red garbed boy seems a bit hurt by the action, but he pushes his feelings away for the time being, and determination enters his eyes. Together they track the trajectory to locate where their uncle’s body could have landed. Finally pinpointing the most probable location, the group runs once again. Leaving the path, they venture into the deep thicket. Dewey leads the group, moving branches and leaves nearly as big as him out of the way for his followers. He’s not sure what else he can do, he’s not as smart as his older brother and Webby. But he can at least clear a path for them. It’s a while before anyone says anything, the only sounds to be heard are the twigs breaking under their webbed feet, and the still quiet sniffs of the youngest triplet.

They spot something up ahead. Donald feels himself run faster, ahead of his fellow ducklings. There’s a small clearing where broken branches lay scattered across the ground. One limb, still attached but hanging, swings back and forth melodically. The sun shines through a small break in the trees from its missing appendages down to the forest floor. All Donald can see is red.

A broken and crumpled body lays entangled with vines and branches. The family pauses in shock, taking in the scene before them. Their uncle’s body is motionless, his clothes in shreds. His top hat and spectacles landed relatively close together a few yards away in the tall undergrowth; his cane a few yards on the other side of him, hooked on a low branch. His feathers, once as white as freshly fallen snow, now a dirtied mix between brown and red. So much red. Donald’s heart sinks.

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xaz-fr · 5 years

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I will add links when I get access to a computer because mobile Tumblr hates letting you easily edit text lols. On this hell site? Very likely. But everything is in the #zs tag on my blog at the least until then.

Set in a fantasy world of the semi socialist society Fey Alliance with magic, dick head dragon riders, benevolent necromancers, and even bigger dick head gods of mischief. The Zealous Servant is the story about a guy named Spayar who, has to keep his crown prince of a bff from being murdered by his entire family by murdering them first. But Spayar just wants to take a nap and find a cute boy to kiss and not have to worry about his corpse potentially being dragged through the street after a war. Better win that shit then.

I will only ping this particular list once and if you want to be pinged like or reblog this post. In the wake of Tumblr going tits up its even more important to reblog works that you like. So please consider doing so.

@girllikewisdom @enjoythewolfs @asnakewithwingsisadragon @fyreeprince @ispyatobert @frxemriss @madamecoyote @leprechaunsean @xangelstearsx @golden-lionsnake @deadpool-scar-bro @starry-ampelope @kami-mint

DiSol is a good boy who really doesn't deserve the shit I eventually do to him lol. Also gods I love Tassa so much she's great and I'm glad she's got a bigger role in the rewrite :D

Spayar knew something was in his room as soon as he opened the door. It wasn't a feeling that something bad was going to happen, just that something was out of place. There were no candles or lamps lit and the shutters were drawn closed against the nearly constant autumn rain in Assarus so it was difficult to see but he was a mage and a warrior and knew when things were off. Something felt off now and the part of Spayar that wasn't that brave at all wanted to just step back and head back downstairs and get his dad to deal with it like he had when he was nine and made him check under the bed for mud rats- a mythical rat creature with golden eyes and slimy brown fur that crawled into your mouth at night to suffocate you. He couldn't though because he was nineteen and a grown ass man and fully capable. He hated being an adult.

He stepped into his room and kept his power close. Nothing happened. He looked around, squinting into the shadows but still saw nothing. He waited a moment before he was satisfied he was just being paranoid. He went over to one of the lamps on his dresser and turned it back up to illuminate the room when he felt something behind him.

Spayar didn't have time to react, "You're home!" a high pitched voice cried, nearly right in Spayar's ear and he flinched as he was tackled, first by one body, then by a second, and finally a third and he couldn't remain standing and they all fell to the floor in a heap.

"Ahg!" Spayar yelled and found his siblings crawling all over him and realized what had happened. They'd been waiting for him up here when they probably saw him in the shed checking in on his horse and then saying hello to their mother. "Get off!" he howled and his three siblings laughed and did no such thing, clinging to his neck and waist. "Mom!" he yelled.

"What?" she called from downstairs.

"Help!"

His siblings giggled as he struggled to sit up and he heard his mother coming up the stairs. A moment later she arrived in the doorway and laughed at what she saw, Calli, Anora and Duren all piled up on top of Spayar in the most uncomfortable position. "What are you three doing?" she asked them, a smile on her face, and put her hands on her hips.

"Spayar's home mama," Anora said cheerfully, she had her arms around Spayar's neck, head under his chin.

"Yes I can see that," Relora said with a smile, amused by her eldest son's predicament. "I think he'd like to be able to stand up though."

"I would, yes," Spayar gasped because Duren was laying on his stomach and for only eight Duren already had their father's thick frame and body and was heavy. His little siblings giggled but when Relora told them to get up they did. Duren and Calli helped to drag Spayar to his feet. He took stock of himself and made sure he wasn't hurt.

"You three let your brother have a moment, he just came back from the west," Relora said.

"Are you staying longer than last time Spayar?" Calli asked. Gods she looked even more grown up than when Spayar had seen her a few weeks ago. It might have been the clothes, which were fashionable and the way she wore her hair. Spayar could already foresee his father growling at all the suitors his little sister would have soon, especially with a brother like Spayar. At least if he stayed as important as he was. He may very well be dead in the next year.

"Something wrong sweetie?" his mom asked him. Thinking about the coup made his chest tight, made him stare death in the face. If Von was killed there was no way the Asuras would let him live. He was too close to Von, too loyal. He'd never bend on another Le'Acard. He was d'alaer. It would be Von, or no one.

"Yeah, sorry I was just thinking about something," he smiled a little. "And I will be staying until his royal highness comes back from his trip at the least.”

"Do you know how long that is?" she asked.

"No but hopefully longer," he shook his head, "though the rains will keep everyone inside for a while,” they always did at the start of fall when the Meltong Basin started its wet season which was its autumn, it petered off after Lugalsta in the beginning of Lun usually. "He's coming from the coast though so I should have plenty of time to slack off," he grinned.

"Yes," Duren looked up at Spayar in delight, "will you teach me how to ride Spayar?" he asked.

"Ride a horse?" Duren nodded eagerly. Spayar cocked his head at his brother. Common folk in Assarus didn't normally have horses, his family hadn't had one until Von had given Spayar his mare a few years ago. His father had built the shed next to the house for her when Spayar was home. "Why?"

"Because I want to," Duren said.

"Uh," he looked at his mother.

"He's been bothering your father about it," his mother said.

"He said if you said yes he'd give me time out of the forge to practice," Duren said seriously.

"If I have time," Spayar said and that seemed good enough for Duren. He announced he was going to tell their dad and wiggled through the door their mother was still standing in.

"C'mon you two, let your brother take a bath," Relora said and shepherded her daughters out of the bedroom, closing the door after them to give him some privacy.

Spayar sighed once he was gone and could finally put his things away. He turned on another one of the lamps as he pulled out his dirty laundry for cleaning and put his weapons and bag away. He didn't travel with much and was used to packing up and leaving quickly. He rolled his eyes at the thought of Von summoning him when they were younger to go hunting or to visit some friend of his outside of Assarus for a few days. He was taking off his leather jacket when he felt the wrongness again and stopped as he undid the first buckle near his throat and looked around his room again. Someone was still in here with him, not just his little sisters and brother.

"Who's there?" he asked, there was no answer, "I know you're there; show yourself I don't have time for games." He honestly wasn't expecting anyone, but giving voice to his paranoia made him feel better. So when a piece of shadow broke off from one of the high corners of his ceiling and fell to the floor with a soft thud Spayar froze and went cold.

Spayar swallowed at what rose from the little puddle of darkness; a lonth. Lords of shadows they were all wizards or mages and lethal with any weapon including their hands. The Adoshade were one of the most southern houses in the Alliance before you hit the Kas’sca and incredibly small but powerful. This one in front of him wore his Shroud tight to his body, making his skin black and shiny like a bug's carapace, only his face and hair revealed. He was older than Spayar by only perhaps three years with nearly ruddy skin with black eyes and hair and looked like a Black Foot though removed some generations from the original people who lived within the lands of the LoHanJo'in province.

"Are you Spayar Hillsman junior?" the lonth asked, despite being from the coast like Peonia and the Garden which had similar accents that were quick, rolling and beautiful the Shade had a starkly different one that made them sound sort of slow. The Black Foot language was very meandering and since the Shade had come from the Black Foot their accent mimicked that.

"I am, who are you?” Spayar said.

"My name is DiSol Adoshade," they bowed a little to him, "Second son of LouSai, Shadow Lord." That made Spayar uneasy.

"What can I do for you DiSol?" Spayar asked keeping as calm as possible. Von said that the Adoshade had been quiet lately and killed anyone who came into their province, or at least any spies never returned. But it was the Adoshade, the Adoshade did not allow survivors to those they considered traitors.

"You are the d'alaer of Vondugard Le'Acard are you not?" he asked.

"I am."

"A worthy thing to give your life for then," and Spayar grabbed his power in case DiSol attacked him. DiSol didn't move towards him and Spayar realized that if DiSol had wanted to kill him he could have done it already or if he wanted to know Spayar wouldn't be able to stop him, lonths never let a target live.

"What do you want?"

“We need help and the Shadow Lord is dying,” he said.

"Excuse me?" dropping his power in pure shock. The Shadow Lord was dying?

"Virilia," the Asuras, "has sent my father threats if he does not cooperate. I'm sure you've heard we have closed the borders of our province to outsiders," Spayar nodded, "my father is very sick and has put my older brother in charge of defending DisAdo and keeping the house safe." Spayar knew DiSol's older brother, CoLan, nearly everyone in the Alliance knew him, they called him the Dawn Demon and he was a monster, the strongest lonth there had ever been. Ruthless and cunning without a good thing about him he was said to have no conscious and did his duty for the pleasure of the kill. "My brother is not a good leader," DiSol said and his Shroud retreated back from his body like seeping water revealing his gray mottled clothing, his Shroud becoming a cape behind him.

"I don't see why you need me."

"My brother has been killing Virilia's spies when they come and see what is going on in LoHanJo'in as well as anyone else who crosses from the Relua province into ours. I managed to convince him to let normal people to pass through unscathed but he doesn't like it. As I said, Virilia is sending my father threats, my brother sees them instead because he is acting Shadow Lord. He has gone into the Boggarts to find Black Foot to raise an army." Spayar paled, another house who wanted to raise an army. Black Foot used a type of magic that robbed people of their free will, they were puppet masters and if you had a band of Black Foot shamen in your army you could make the enemy dance for you. At least those were the stories. He hadn’t heard of an actual puppeteer in decades. "Virilia said that if we do not bend by the spring she will send an Arm to wipe us out and remind us that the Le'Acard rule the south, not the Adoshade and we will be an example to all the other houses."

"CoLan is gone now?" DiSol nodded, "Who is running DisAdo now?"

"With my brother gone, I am. My father sent me here to beg," he'd never heard of a lonth begging before. "My father says that a Le'Acard who managed to find themselves a d'alaer were good, better than most. The other princes or princesses couldn't help us, they wouldn't be able to move quickly enough. But His Highness Vondugard-" he seemed lost for words for a moment. "CoLan will be gone until spring, until then I am running DisAdo.”

"Vondugard has till then to move," Spayar said softly.

DiSol nodded, "When my brother returns he will set his army at the border of LoHanJo'in and wait for Virilia to move against him. If he does we will lose. We may win the battle but we will be crippled. Our harvests have been horrible this year, our resources will be tight on our people as it is, let alone needing to feed and supply my brother’s army. A small army of lonths can hold back one branch of the Alliance army but the Alliance is a bottomless well of people. Virilia will just find more people, send the other Arms. We will be crushed."

"I understand," Spayar said, nodding, thinking quickly. This was a lot to take in. He wasn't aware the situation with the Adoshade was quite so dire. And the bad harvests weren’t just effecting the central Alliance. Even somewhere as far away as LoHanJo’in was suffering, like a malevolent hand of a god was pressed across the land. He needed to find out what other provinces would also suffer a food shortage this year once the harvest was brought in. One thing at a time though. He needed to focus on DiSol and making sure he could handle what was needed there. "Can you promise Vondugard lonths when it is time?"

"I will give you as many as you want. The Shade need a new Asuras. We will not exist past the spring if Virilia remains where she is."

"Why didn't you just go to Vondugard himself with this?"

“Spies follow him everywhere. I am good, but I'm not invisible. And we know you have his ear. We know you will speak for him." Spayar came up short on that. He did? Since when? "Do we have his Highness' help?"

"Yes," Spayar said, "You do.” If they were going to die in the Conflict might as well try to come out on top first. “We will move as soon as we can. Try to stall your brother, the Asuras' furies are short lived she may not send an army to you. But if what you're telling me comes to pass you're saying we have till the end of winter to prepare," DiSol nodded. "What about your father?"

"He's sick."

"With what?"

"We don't know, and we don't know if he'll get better soon. It may be a long illness," DiSol frowned. "He sees the error of putting my brother in command, but he's too sick for his orders to remove CoLan to be taken seriously. My brother just says our father is sick and doesn't know what he's saying."

"He's really a demon," Spayar said.

DiSol smiled a little, fractured, smile, "It's why they call him the Dawn Demon," he said.

"Return to DisAdo and tell your father Vondugard will help you. I also want to send a healer with you to look at your father."

"We have some of the best-

"It wasn't a request," Spayar said, "I know if my father was sick I'd want all the help I could get."

DiSol looked up at Spayar with grateful eyes, he bowed a little, "Thank you Hillsman," he said.

"Also tell your father that when he's better he must ensure that your brother can never take the Seat of Shadows," Spayar said. "I don't care how but the Dawn Demon is too volatile to be Shadow Lord."

"I agree," DiSol said.

"That is the price for the prince's help, that his eldest son can never become Shadow Lord."

"A price he will be willing to pay," DiSol said.

"Give me a day to find my healer friend, she will go with you back to DisAdo and see to your father."

"You're too kind. I will give you to the ninth morning bell tomorrow," DiSol said and Spayar nodded. "Thank you Hillsman," he said again.

"Make sure the Shade are ready to move in the spring."

"We will be, I promise," and his Shroud once again wrapped around his body, turning him into a black insect and then it covered his face, only his black eyes visible. He bowed to Spayar and then went to the window and eased the shutters open. DiSol climbed onto the sill and instead of dropping like Spayar expected DiSol stood up and climbed onto the roof, a black tendril of his Shroud snaking down and closing the shutters, locking them behind him. Spayar shuttered.

He stood there a few moments, looking at the shutters before everything seemed accelerated. He needed to get another letter out to Galinsum to Sinso that whatever progress he'd made on those grenados needed to happen faster. There was an accelerated time table. He jotted it down, folded it and shoved it into an envelope to take to the post office. This needed wyrm postage. It needed to get to Galinsum now.

And he had to go see Mali, convince her to leave with DiSol and make the Shadow Lord well. And this was on top of all the other things he needed to get done in the time between Von returning from the gut, hopefully with good news about X’vazior at the least and hopefully others as well. What he needed was for Tassa to be home. He needed her.

He sealed the envelope with his personal mark and then spelled it so that if anyone but the intended recipient opened it it would burst into flames. He added an extra weave under that one so that if someone touched the top weave to investigate it that weave would trigger anyway. He rebuckled his leather jacket and grabbing the letter went back downstairs.

"Spayar where are you going?" his mother called as he grabbed his hat from the rack by the door

"Post office, then to see a friend, be right back," Spayar said, tucking the letter inside his jacket's breast pocket.

“Will you be back for dinner?”

“Yes,” Spayar said, looking at her through the window in the wall between the kitchen and the dining room. He could smell the wonderful food she was preparing.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, standing a bit more in view, the ceremonial scars on her forehead nearly touching from her furrowed brown.

He looked at her and frowned. He'd just cut his own life nearly in half with his agreement to help the Adohade. Before he'd had a year till the coup. With his declaration to help the Adohade he'd shortened it to just a few months. "No," he said and then turned and walked out the side door. Outside it was raining and Spayar put his wide, waterproof, hat on and walked off into the storm.

—

The rain during the fall was nearly constant in the Meltong Basin, and of course that was exactly where the winter capital was located, at the center of the Alliance. Spayar was watching the rain outside and people rush around under the awnings lining the sidewalks, or hunched over on horses or buggies. In the house it was warm and dry.

Mali was in the kitchen with his mother and he could hear the two of them talking, but wasn’t paying attention to their words. The sun had risen two bells ago but the sunlight was wane, wet, and gray. He was waiting for the ninth morning bell when DiSol would show himself and he and Mali would return to the LoHanJo'in province and DisAdo

He looked over when someone sat next to him, it was Calli. His perfect, proper, sixteen year old sister with more sense in her head than just about anyone Spayar knew. She was wearing a morning gown that came to her knees and had little yellow horses embroidered on it. She looked like she'd just woken up but yet was alert and keen. "Good morning," he said.

"Morning," she yawned a little, putting her hand over her mouth. "You're up early. Usually when his highness is away you sleep in."

"Busy," Spayar said, leaning against the arm of the chair. "Can't sleep now," literally. He'd tossed and turned all night and had dreams of a red eyed necromancer standing over his grave reading from the Red Book to summon a necrell that would take his soul to the Shadowed Lands. He hadn't been able to sleep after that nightmare.

"Busy with what?"

"It doesn't matter to you," he waved her inquiry away.

"Why, cause I'm a girl?" she asked.

He looked at her and laughed in her face, "Calli, I would never be so stupid as to keep a matter away from someone for as trivial a thing as gender. It doesn't matter to you because it literally has no bearing on your life if you know, and is better if you didn't know anyway."

"Why?"

"Because your brother is doing a very bad thing," he said softly looking away.

"Which is?"

He gave her a look, "If you're lucky you won't ever know," he said and looked back out the window. He could see the big bell tower from here, through the rain, its face illuminated from the inside, and knew it was close to the ninth bell.

"Spayar," Calli asked after a few minutes. He 'hmm'd at her. "Will you introduce me to some nobles?"

"Why would you want to do that?" though he didn't look at her.

"Because I want an interesting, wealthy, husband," and Spayar looked at her so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

"What?" he squeaked.

"I said-

"I know what you said," he waved her words away impatiently. "Calli, you're sixteen, and a commoner. You aren't obligated to marry," he reminded her.

"I know, but I will marry someone, someday."

"And you're sure you'll have a husband?" he challenged.

Calli came up short, she hadn't thought of that. Her brother would never have a wife like Duren probably would. He would never have children either. She thought about the implications of her sexuality for a moment, mulled them over and then said, "Yes, I will have a husband. I like boys, you're a good role model for liking boys," she smiled at him and he smacked her knee playfully, making her giggle. "And I want a good one. A courageous, handsome, wealthy, noble, husband," she said.

"Heh, well I can tell you bidi, those types of men are few and far between. Also why would you want a noble?"

"Because I never want to worry if something happens to us," Calli said. "Mama is always worried about you and I'm old enough to realize that if something happened to you..." she bit her lips, "dooim might not get as much business." He knew what she was saying. If he died in a coup, fighting against someone who beat Von, he'd be a traitor, and his family would be cast in that shadow. No one would want what his father made.

"Nothing is going to happen to me," Spayar promised. "And you don't want a noble husband. Nobles are awful. Trust me, I know plenty."

"But what about you?"

"What about me?"

She blinked and knew she needed to proceed carefully. She licked her lips before saying, "Aren't you in love with a noble?"

"What? No,” he scoffed

"So you're not in love with the prince?" and Spayar's face went slack and he flushed brilliantly, the color probably showing a bit on his dark skin. She smiled a little, "You have no room to talk about wanting a noble husband," she said.

He scowled at her, "It is a completely different situation. Vondugard is my best friend and my prince, of course I love him."

"You know what I mean."

"You're completely delusional," he waved her off. "And you don't want a stupid, prideful, noble for a husband. You're sixteen, and too young and good for most of them."

"I won't know unless I meet them though will I?" she asked.

"No," he said sternly.

"At least let me come to her highness' Talalsalla's naming day party this year," she begged. “Please,” she put both hands over her heart in a begging fashion. “I promise I’ll be good.”

He huffed through his nose and puffed his cheeks out a bit. She gave him her best doe eyes. "Fine," he grunted and rolled his eyes a bit.

She got out of the chair and hugged him tightly, "Thank you. Thank you,” and then kissed him on both cheeks and between the eyes.

"Yeah yeah," and the clock started to ring. Nine bells. "Now I need to go do stuff," he pushed her off gently and stood. "Mali," he called and went to the kitchen. His mother and Mali were in there standing at the kitchen table. Relora was packing Mali a bag of food while Mali tried to say she didn't need it but Relora just shushed her and packed it anyway. Spayar's eyes went to the window as the shutter eased itself open and a dark, man shaped, mass slipped into the kitchen. If Spayar hadn't been looking at the window he'd have missed it and it would be as if DiSol had just appeared.

"Having fun?" Spayar asked them.

"Your mother is too kind," Mali said, slightly beside herself.

"Nonsense. We're having a bad harvest this year and I doubt you'll be able to get as good of food as this elsewhere,” Relora said kindly. “And Dirinnan food is made to put meat on those bones,” and she patted Mali’s belly with all the gentle love a mother could muster.

“Relora-

“I insist,” Relora said firmly.

Mali sighed a bit theatrically. “Fine. Is he here?" Mali asked turning to Spayar. Spayar had told her why she was going to LoHanJo'in and why it was important she make LouSai well as soon as possible. She'd been very against it at first but like always he convinced her. It wasn't good having a soft heart around Spayar, he'd abuse if for all he could and despite her hard exterior Mali had a very soft heart.

"I am," and Mali and Relora both turned when DiSol spoke, standing behind them. Thankfully he wasn't wearing his Shroud over him, so he looked rather normal. "This is the healer you spoke of?" he asked Spayar, looking at Mali.

"Yes, this is Mali Thralluk," he said, "Mali, this is DiSol Adoshade."

"Never met a lonth before," she looked him up and down, "I expected them to be taller." DiSol frowned at her but didn't take the bait. Mali turned back to Relora, "Thank you so much Relora, you're too good to me."

"Of course dear. Any friend of Spayar's is always welcome at our home and table."

“We should leave, before the rain gets worse,” DiSol said emotionlessly.

”Right, c’mon,” he nodded to Mali and DiSol and they followed him out of the kitchen. Despite just being out in the rain DiSol wasn't wet so he didn't have to worry about the lonth tracking water into the house. They left the house and stood under the second story overhang that looked out onto the side yard. While he'd been gone his mother had picked some of the produce and that made him nervous. Usually she only picked the produce when there was a fear of it wilting or being washed away by the rains. She'd picked it early. "Mali is aware of the situation," he told DiSol, who nodded, "while she's there she'll be acting as Vondugard's voice."

"Does she have the same authority as you?" DiSol asked.

Mali and Spayar looked at one another. Neither of them kidded themselves in who was higher, who held more weight and authority, "No," he said. "But if she promises something for Vondugard it's likely to be carried out," he gave Mali a look to make sure she knew not to fuck it up. He trusted her though, After Tassa and Von Mali was one of his oldest friends, even if they hadn’t started on perhaps the most honest of terms. “She knows what to do, do you?"

"When we return to LoHanJo'in I'll keep my brother occupied and away from DisAdo for as long as I can."

"I'll send the summons for aid through Mali. You march on her say," DiSol looked at her and then nodded slowly. "Good," Spayar wracked his brain, what else could he do? Not much. He'd done everything he could really. "Safe journey," he kissed Mali on her cheeks and between her eyes, "Make the Shadow Lord well," he ordered.

"He'll be skipping through fields of flowers in no time," she promised him with a smile.

"I'll hold you to that.”

"Let's go," DiSol said seriously, "I've already been away from LoHanJo'in long enough. I need to get back."

"Goodbye Spayar," Mali said.

"Keep her safe," Spayar said sternly as he saw the two to the high walled fence, rain splattering across Spayar’s head. Mali's horse was in the shed with his own mare and she went to get it.

"You have my word," DiSol said, "no harm will come to her."

"I can take care of myself," Mali said, “I did my time, remember?” she gave him a look.

"Just let me worry a little," Spayar half pleaded.

She grinned, "We'll see you in spring," and DiSol drew his Shroud over his body and face as Mali put on her wide hat, mounted her horse and entered the rain again trotting out to the road, her horse seemed miserable. She waved and then turned the corner onto the road and was out of sight. A half moment later Spayar saw a black shadow streak after her. Spayar frowned after them. There was nothing he could do now. He'd done all he could. He closed the door and went back inside.

—

It was drizzling miserably while Spayar walked down the road bundled against the wet, his wide hat casting rain over his shoulder in a sick dribble. It never got cold in Assarus but it did get chilly and fall had come with a vengeance, dumping feet of rain in short order with the promise of more. It was expected in Assarus even this early in the fall. Asurala had started now and they had five weeks of miserable rain until it petered out in Neyjarra and finally stopped in Lun save for the normal rain storm until spring started and the Meltong flooded from the snow out west in the Spine melting.

He was in the middle of Uptown close to the mouth of the lake that the city surrounded. Tassa’s apartment was around here. Her father had bought it for her. Part to give her independence and part to get her to stop having sex all over his house. Spayar liked Kenna, he was nice, if having the personality of a mouse. He had always struggled to keep Tassa in line. Spayar didn't know where Tassa got it.

He was grateful to get out of the drizzle as he stepped into the foyer of a nice building. It was warm and dry inside with a guard desk who's main duty was to protect the mail slots along the front of the desk, keep any large packages, and call the actual guards should there be any need. Spayar shook himself just a bit on the mat inside the door to get the worst of the water off before stepping into the shiny wooden floors.

“Hello, can I help you?” the desk guard asked.

“Is Tassa Peony home?” he asked.

“I didn't see her leave this morning and the night guard didn't give any indication she hadn't been in all night.”

“Great,” Spayar said and signed his name on the guestbook. “I’m a friend,” he added.

“The young miss has lots of those,” the guard eyed him.

“No like actually,” Spayar chuckled and left the desk without saying much else.

Tassa had a ground floor apartment with a front porch onto the courtyard the building surrounded. As he got near he passed through the gentle cobwebs of a magical weave Tassa had coccooned the entrance of her home in. She might have been the daughter of a noble but that didn't mean the guards wouldn't have a good reason to arrest her. A bored mind and quick hands tended to get that sort of negative attention that would warrant such a weave. Spayar just coated his fingers in magic and gently pushed aside the ornately constructed threads that looked a lot like a larger and more complex version of the one on the back of his bedroom door. He just didn't need them touching him. Had he not been looking through magic he wouldn't have even seen it much less felt it.

He knocked inside the pocket free of magic right against the door. He made sure to knock loudly. Tassa came to the door after a solid minute of him knocking wearing a shift that was barely hanging off one shoulder her hair more disrupted than simple bed head would do. “Spayar?” she squinted at him. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

He looked at the clock on the post in the center of the courtyard, “It’s chems, Tassa,” he said.

“What? Chems?” she grumbled a little, “I stayed up too late.”

“Yes. May I come in, we need to talk.”

“Sure. I'll make something,” she yawned and waved him in.

Tassa’s apartment was as though a storm had ripped through it. It was one bedroom and bath and a living room and things lay in disarray all over. Papers and dishes were arranged hazardously on flat surfaces, brushes and makeup products lay scattered across tables and the floor. The couch looked more like a bed and a large pipe was leaned up against the wall. Spayar didn't mention any of it and just joined Tassa in her tiny kitchen where she was carelessly etching a weave in the air with magic coated fingers. The heat ring started glowing almost instantly. She put a pot from above on it and fingers still coated in magic connected two pieces of a larger weave together that caused the sink faucet to open and water to pour directly from it into the pot. It would disintegrate over time to stop the pot from overflowing.

She slouched onto the table across from Spayar, pulling a slender leg up to rest on the seat of the chair, casually brushing her hair with her fingers with mixed success. “Have fun last night?” he asked her, smiling.

“You’re lucky you're so pretty,” she groaned and rubbed her face. “Me and the girls went out last night down to the Den, got into some trouble.”

“Nothing serious?”

“Not even,” she sighed, “just welcoming me home.” As she said that a man left her bedroom, looked at the two of them and hustled out. Another bustled out quickly after him.

“Fun huh?”

“Would have been more fun with you around,” she said and rubbed the top of his hand.

“You know I don't like white guys,” he said with a grin.

“Well, most white guys,” she said.

“I assure you I don't know what that means.”

She pulled her hand back, “So what's up?” she asked and looked at the last person to stumble out of her bedroom. This was a lady in much better condition than the two men. “You the last one, love?” Tassa called.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I think so,” she grinned at Tassa. Spayar vaugely recognized her meaning it was a friend of Tassa’s who didn't run in their circle. “You’re buying next time,” she waved as she left.

“She seems nice.”

“Uhhhhg, she's so hot I hate herrrr,” Tassa groaned and leaned on one arm.

Spayar laughed. “Yeah I can relate,” he said with a grin. Tassa got up and took the boiling water off the heat rim, deactivating the weave with a crook of her finger and poured the water into two mugs. She scooped an herbal mixture into two tea balls and put them into the cups. From a cupboard she produced beet sugar cubes, stained slightly pink for effect, some strawberries and two day old bread that was partially eaten to go with the butter on the table.

“Chems,” she announced grandeously as she set the tea and food down between them.

“How gracious. Your father wouldn't even recognize you,” he said, not adding any sugar to his tea while Tassa added about six.

“Hardy har har,” she stirred her tea with a weave of magic that turned it into a mini maelstrom. “What are you doing here and not a more appropriate hour of the day?”

Spayar popped a strawberry into his mouth. “I heard the thief lord died.”

“Uhg, not this now,” she moved her hair in annoyance.

“You didn't mention it when I saw you.”

“I forgot and by the time I remembered I figured you'd know already,” she said and sipped her tea.

“What’s this Cross guy like?”

“Western fence who got a taste for the business way I heard it. Came from a city around Galinsum I think. Showed up in Assarus few months ago, killed Jackertty with their own knife. He doesn't like people.”

“You mean he doesn't like you.”

“He’s skittish around girls. Meet him and you'll see why- no. Spayar stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, leaning on the table a bit, giving her his best innocent eyes.

“You don't want to meet Cross. He’s not like Jackertty.”

“I know.”

“He’s way more cut throat.”

“We’d get along then.”

“Spayar I am serious!”

“Me too. I can't have some unknown entity in my city. I use his hands as my eyes. Pays to visit the boss.”

“Spayar I don't-

He leaned across the table and put his hand on hers, “Tassura,” he said gently like the bastard he was. “I need your help.”

Spayar-

“Please, Tassura?” he kept his voice low and sweet. Only he and her father were allowed to call her Tassura, her real name. It was a soft and intimate familiarity that wasn't allowed by most Aldashi outside of family or their lovers. It was a weakness Tassa didn't let anyone have over her other than those few she loved. Spayar was a real wretch for using it now and he knew it.

“I— guess I could,” she said softly.

“Thank you,” he squeezed her wrist gently and let her go. “How was your trip back with Vondugard?” The prince wasn't back I'm the city yet. He'd taken a long route around and detoured down Maker’s End to the land around and past Gorum, see if any help could be drummed up there.

“He needed you,” she said.

“He sent me ahead-

“I meant in the past two years. You could have waited to serve time.”

“Again, also something I couldn't control,” Spayar said.

“He’s soft, Spayar. I worry.” Not about Von, Tassa was worried about Spayar. “X’vazior almost said no.”

“But did he?”

“No. I lied for him.”

Spayar sighed and rubbed his face, “He’s too nice is what you're telling me?”

“He cares too much to be an effective emperor,” she used the Aldashi word for it but Spayar knew it. Kenna called Verilia emperor when he was pissed at her, or when he spoke ill of the princes and princesses. Wasn't fully bilingual in any one Alliance tongue but Spayar knew enough in a lot of them to get by.

“He’s too nice,” Spayar groaned, still rubbing his face. “He’s always too nice.”

“If you don't want to get killed when Teldin finally attacks he needs to toughen up.”

“I know,” he put his hands down and sipped his tea. Tassa had two strawberries, the red juice staining her olive lips. “You’ll set something up with Cross for me?”

She sipped her tea. “ What do I get? You're a deal maker.”

“What do you want? And don't say sex you know I like girls even less than white boys.”

“Oh, I gave that up years ago,” she lied. Spayar knew she hated it was a lie too. “How about you owe me one?”

“An unspecified favor? Tassa you were hanging around the Peony too much,” he smirked.

“Is that a yes?”

“So long as it isn't sex, sure.”

“It isn't,” she rolled her eyes.

“Then yes. A favor. Just keep it of similar magnitude?”

“I will. Are you going to stay for the rest of chems?” she worried the point of a strawberry with her index finger distastedly.

“I guess. You made me tea and everything. It doesn't have anything in it does it?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed and popped the entire strawberry into her mouth. “You enjoy I'm going to get some real clothes on,” and she got up. Spayar privately rolled his eyes. Her shift was barely long enough to cover her buttocks in the back. He sipped his tea and buttered some bread.

Tassa ended up throwing a final, third, man out of her house while he got dressed. They cast a furtive look at Spayar as they scuttled away and he just smiled and waved. They grimaced and bolted, fearing him being her actual boyfriend. He just enjoyed the rest of the chems until Tassa came back out, brushing her hair with a wide toothed brush to get it under some control. “Want some help feeding the afternoon birds? You know they like me,” she leaned against his shoulder luxuriously.

“I’d be remiss to say no,” he said. She grabbed another strawberry and went to put on some shoes. Spayar crammed the last bit of buttered bread into his mouth and shot the rest of his tea before following her. “It’s still raining, bring an umbrella.”

“Who do you take me for Spayar?” she asked and selected one of her six umbrellas in the stand by the door. This one was wide and deeply curved, rain cloud gray on the outside with a red lace trim and an array of red hibiscus on the inside. It matched her wine bodice and scaldingly red leather breeches that clung to her legs and hips in a way that was meant to be distracting.

“Of course, I forgot to whom I spoke,” he teased and opened the door. “After you, my lady,” he swept his arm out teasingly.

“Oh thank you, my Lord. How gracious,” she said with an extra girlishly giggle and stepped out of her front door. The rain had intensified while he'd been inside. He put his hat on before stepping out and locking the door. Tassa waved a hand at the door, locking a weave across the front like a cage to prevent entry.

“Shall we, my lady?” he asked, offering her his arm.

“Oh my Lord,” she batted her lashes at him making him chuckle as she took his offered arm and they left the building complex through the front. Tassa opened her umbrella, sheilding them from unwelcoming eyes as they headed for one of the places Spayar went to to hear the news from his birds.

#Writeblr #writblr #Original fiction #Fantasy #original fantasy #Zs #Zealous servant

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kal-el-fornia · 5 years

Text

A Home at the End of Japan, Chapter 1: Lavender & Moonlight

Currently editing/rewriting (just a bit) for the purpose of cross posting. I want to thank those who have read this story so far, and those who will perhaps some day read it. This story is the one I have kept coming back to throughout the years, and the one that serves as a reflection of my soul.

This is a character study of Yamato and Taichi plucked out from the setting they exist in, and thrown into a place where time sort of drifts like a dream. This is an exploration of family and love. For me, this was an experiment in writing a story about two soulmates in a world where soulmates don't exist.

Quote of the day:

I shrugged again, and smiled. "This is my life," I said. "It doesn't seem like the wrong one."

-Bobby Morrow, A Home at the End of the World

FFN

Ao3

He flicked the butt of his cigarette down the balcony of the Yagami's apartment, and Yamato stared after it, watching as the dying flame vanished into the night. It was a sight that didn't last very long, as the cigarette's fire disappeared in the darkness of 2:00AM. Yamato searched the front pocket of his jacket for a pack of cigarettes that he had bought just three hours earlier, and he cursed, knowing that he only had two left.

The moment fit perfectly with the rest of his life.

"You shouldn't smoke so much, you know?" came a familiar voice from the darkness behind him.

Without saying a word, Yamato continued to stare out into that dark Odaiba sky, listening as the glass door behind him was shut. In his usual way he gave no response, or any indication that he had heard Taichi at all, and he just kept leaning on the balcony ledge, waiting until his old friend was by his side once again. Like so many other times in their lives, they were together on yet another dark and mystical night.

"Can't sleep?" Yamato asked, pulling out his two remaining cigarettes, one for himself and one for the young man now beside him.

As he lit his own cigarette, Yamato once again tasted the sweet nostalgia of his boyhood. Feeling content once again, he made a mental note to remind himself to buy more than one pack tomorrow. Yamato enjoyed his cigarette for a second or two, before he turned to Taichi and waited for a moment. He didn't bother trying to hide his smile as Taichi leaned forward so that he could light his own cigarette using the flame from Yamato's. It was a closeness that both of them had always been fond of.

"It's hard to sleep when my little sister is getting fucked down the hall," Taichi responded as he pulled away and frowned, partly from the thought of his sister and partly from the way that the smoke tasted in his mouth.

Yamato took a drag of his cigarette. "She snuck into mine and Takeru's room again?"

"Yeah," Taichi breathed out, as he tried unsuccessfully to blow rings of smoke, for no particular reason whatsoever.

"Then I guess that means that I have to bunk with you tonight?" Yamato laughed, taking another drag of his cigarette, "Takeru's greedy, he won't be done with your sister anytime soon."

It was a good enough excuse as any, Yamato being just as greedy when it came to Taichi and himself doing the same sort of things. He smirked, knowing the eventuality of what would happen later that night.

"How do my parents not know that they're having sex? They're not exactly discreet about it," Taichi grumbled, more than just a bit annoyed about the whole situation.

For some reason, even though Yamato knew that he should have been sympathizing with Taichi, he couldn't help but laugh again. It had been a long three years since he and Takeru had moved in with the Yagamis, a long three years since Hiroaki was murdered, and yet sometimes it felt as if the only time that had ever passed were these quiet moments together. They had spent so much time throughout their lives watching the familiar city before them, and there were times where both of them could forget what first brought them here. The Takaishis had vanished along their mother, the Ishidas refused to take them in after Hiroaki's death, but Yuuko and Susumu were there to offer them a home that neither Takeru or himself had any sort of claim to.

"Yuuko isn't as naive as you think she is," Yamato replied after a moment, eyes still remaining on the sky, "and if you didn't know, she's had talks with the two of them about being safe. Susumu has no clue because he doesn't want to have a clue. It' s best we keep it that way."

The flames from their cigarettes were starting to die down.

"They're too young for sex," Taichi muttered, still not being completely okay with the way his baby sister was living her life.

"We were too young for sex," Yamato countered, as his fingers twiddled his cigarette.

"We couldn't get pregnant."

"They're sixteen, and sixteen isn't as young as we think it is, Taichi."

Sighing, Taichi looked out into the night sky that Yamato had been so content to stare at in silence before he joined him. He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination or not, but for some odd reason that Taichi couldn't exactly place, the moon seemed rather bright to him, despite it not being full that night. Perhaps it was that past-midnight Japan air that had always been mystical to him, or perhaps it was Yamato whom Taichi had always felt had an odd sense of magic about him, but the moon was extra beautiful to him that night. It was almost as if the moon wanted him to stay there forever, something that Taichi wished he could give, especially if that meant that Yamato stayed there as well.

"I leave tomorrow," Taichi said quietly as he stared up at the moonlight, hoping that Yamato would follow him.

"Do you have to?" Yamato responded, the smell of cigarettes staining his clothes in the same way that the smell of lavender so often stained his memories.

Taichi took a puff of the cigarette Yamato had given him. It was a sour thought, knowing that it would be Yamato's last gift to him for a while at the least. "You know that I can't stay here. You know that you can't stay either."

Yamato ran a hand through his blond hair, noting that his other hand held a cigarette that was running dangerously close to reaching the end of it's life. "I can't leave Takeru."

"He has Hikari," Taichi offered, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that Takeru would never feel alone again, "and Daisuke always seems to find his way around here too."

"He needs me," Yamato answered after a long moment, remembering the day that his mother had abandoned their family.

Taichi put out his cigarette, and released the last bit of smoke that his lungs were willing to filter that night. Although he hated smoking, there was always something about it that was romantic. Taichi smiled for a moment at the stars that almost seemed to dance in the darkness, before he glanced back over at Yamato. There had always been a melancholy about him, but the magic was forever there. The moon was beautiful that night, but it would never be as mystical as Yamato was.

"I need you," Taichi said as he rested a hand on Yamato's, not being able to stay in Odaiba, but at the same time not being able to see a future without him by his side.

He knew what Taichi wanted to say, he knew what Taichi couldn't say in this short and vulnerable moment in their lives, and Yamato felt the exact same way. All he had to do was say the words.

Instead, Yamato said nothing as he continued to stare out into the night.

He remained silent until Taichi finally pulled away and went back into the apartment, leaving Yamato alone with his thoughts. The night was cold and lonely, but even so there was still a dreary magic about it. His memories here were tinged with sadness, but they were also tinged with love.

He remembered the familiar smell of lavender, and wondered to himself just what else in his future would someday seem nostalgic? His cigarette was almost dead and Yamato tossed it off the balcony, letting the night of Japan consume it's flame with darkness.

The moment fit perfectly with the rest of his life.

This is the first step in a longer road. I'll see you sooner rather than later.

#digimon adventure tri #taichiXyamato #yamato ishida #taichi yagami #fanfiction #alternate universe #yamachi #taito #fanfic #ishida yamato #yagami taichi #digimon adventure #digimon #yamato x taichi #taichi x yamato

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ifeveristoday · 5 years

Text

Buffy Summers’s Diary (VI)

TRANSCRIPT FOR EPISODE 06, THE ANDREW AND VI PODCAST

Andrew: Before we start this episode, I just want to shout out to our sponsor, ZZZZTop mattresses. Hey Vi, did you know ZZZZTop mattress has a lifetime warranty?

VI: I did. I had the best sleep of my life on my ZZZZTop mattress. I think everyone should experience ZZZZTop’s 100 day trial period. Just use ANDYVI at the checkout online.

Andrew: That’s right, and if you don’t have the best sleep of your life on the ZZZZTop mattress, you can just return it with no questions asked.

[muffled noise]

Andrew: How can they make any money with this model? What if I spill tomato soup on my mattress and it looks like a murder scene, I’m just going to nonchalantly have them pick it up and go, ‘oh I don’t know how that happened?’

Vi: Andrew, we’re recording. Also, why are you eating soup in bed?

[cupped microphone noise]

Andrew: You’re not the boss of me.

Andrew: That’s ZZZZTop mattress, with four z’s because of all the great sleep you’ll be getting!

Vi: So we have a very special guest with us today. I’m very excited, she was like, my idol when I was growing up.

Andrew: Yes, today on our show we have [drum roll effect], former Olympic gold medalist Buffy Summers! Buffy is someone I’ve known for a very long time, so I’m really happy she could make it on our podcast today.

Buffy: Thanks for inviting me, Andrew. And it’s nice to meet you, Vi.

Vi: Oh my god. It’s really an honor. I mean, I had a poster of you on my wall. And my sister and I saved up our birthday money to see your skating exhibitions. That was so not cool what happened with Riley, by the way.

Buffy: Uh thank you for coming out to see me skate. Well, it was a long time ago, and it worked out in the end.

Andrew: Let’s not bring up the ugly past. We all love a comeback story, and to fit in with our theme of new beginnings, what have you been up to, Buffy?

Buffy: I’m working as a blogger for Young Magazine.

Vi: Oh, I’ve heard of that. Isn’t that Kendra Young’s magazine?

Buffy: Yes, it’s her namesake magazine, and she’s the CEO.

Vi: What’s it like working with a legend?

Buffy: Surprisingly easy - but I know what you mean. Kendra’s been an inspiration for me, both as a fellow skater and as a human being.

Andrew: Weren’t you guys competitors at one point?

Buffy: Only for two competitions. She placed first in one and I placed first in the other. Then she retired.

Andrew: Well, it’s always good to go out on top.

Buffy: Yeah.

Andrew was nice enough to edit out the five minutes of me disassociating after that, and told me it was a good interview. I think I disappointed his partner though - I could tell. You know the look when someone doesn’t live up to your expectations.

I’ve been on the wrong end of that look far too often this month. Kendra didn’t like the column I turned in about self-care so I had to rewrite it, and then I got into a stupid fight with Cordelia at the staff meeting.

She cornered me afterwards and told me that I got lucky because Kendra offered me the job, while she busted her ass in journalism school.

What could I say to that?

She was right.

I missed Dawn’s recital by accident - the date completely slipped my mind and she left me a voicemail - she didn’t scream at me, but I almost wished she did.

I haven’t been the best older sister to Dawn - by the time she came along, I had started my skating lessons and mom’s attention was split unevenly between us. Dad ended up looking after Dawn while Mom drove me to practice. I pretty much ignored Dawn until she was old enough to speak in complete sentences and even then all we did was argue.

Now that she has her dance career and is the successful one in the family, she treats me like I’m the embarrassing younger sister. She’s always checking on me to make sure I’m eating - stopping by with groceries because she ‘was in the neighborhood.’ Dawn lives 45 minutes away in Dad’s condo.

It’s supposed to be my job to take care of her and I tell her so. She just rolls her eyes and says she doesn’t mind.

I don’t know what possessed me to agree to go on a date on Valentine’s day. It’s unnecessary pressure for a first date. It’s just that William and I kept on missing each other - either I had to work overtime or he was traveling for research or it was raining and I was in no mood to go outside - we might as well have been living in the missed connections section on Craigslist. Finally he just appeared in my cubicle and told me that we were going out for dinner and drinks and that he would pick me up.

Maybe it was because I haven’t been on a real date in so long, that I let the whole macho schtick pass.

He looked really good too - classic leather duster, black shirt and dark jeans. He looked like he stepped out of a noir film. All he was missing was a cigarette dangling out of his mouth and a fedora.

He bowed when he saw me. ‘Your carriage awaits, my lady.’

Okay, there might have been a little bit of fluttering.

William drives a vintage Cadillac, because of course he does.

I wore red because it’s legally mandated to do so on Valentine’s day.

Dinner was fine. It was excellent actually. William had gotten reservations at one of the best restaurants in LA - one that had a months long waiting list. ‘Must be nice to be famous,’ I said.

He shrugged, and then smirked. ‘It has its perks.’ We were tucked away in a corner, and the candle light made shadows flicker against his face. He looked unearthly, his head bowed over the menu. He sighed and then looked up at me. ‘Buffy, I can’t take it anymore.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t bloody see in this lighting.’ He fumbled in his pockets and slid out a pair of reading glasses. He put them on and then raised an eyebrow at me.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

He scowled, then his mouth relaxed into a smile. ‘You look lovely in this light.’

‘Only this light?’

‘In every light.’

It was my turn to study the menu. ‘So what should we get for appetizers?’

He chuckled.

It was what happened after the dinner that the date went completely downhill. It wasn’t completely William’s fault.

It was just a massive circus of embarrassment with a side of testosterone poisoning.

Anya called me as I was waiting for William to pull up with his car. ‘You have to come over to the store right now,’ she said. ‘Your special order has arrived.’

‘I didn’t special order anything.’

‘I did, for you. Because you’ve been looking so lonely lately and Willow told me you spend your weekends drinking tea and reading trashy novels.’

‘Anya - I am not lonely, I am actually on a date. And I haven’t been reading trashy novels. I’ve been watching Lifetime movies.’

‘So the television version of trashy novels. Got it. Bring your date to the Magic Box. It’ll benefit you both.’

‘I do not need another vibrator,’ I said. Loudly.

William’s eyebrows practically elevated to his hairline. ‘All right there, pet?’

‘Oooh, he’s got an accent. Bring him over,’ Anya ordered. ‘Buffy, this was very expensive and time consuming to order and is now taking up space in my storage room.’

‘I didn’t ask you to.’

‘Well I did and since it has your name on it, I can’t exactly just sell it on the floor as is.’

‘Oh my god, Anya, what is it?’

‘Come over and see.’ Then she hung up.

Would it really be murder if I had justifiable cause?

William couldn’t stop snickering on the drive over. ‘Is it made of glass? Leather? Bigger than a bread box?’

“Just shut up.’

The bell over the Magic Box’s door jangled a little too loudly as I burst in. ‘I’m here, you demon.’

Anya was not alone. There was a couple next to her, the man’s tall form vaguely familiar as I stomped toward her. ‘Just give me the sex toy or whatever it is so I can get back to my date.’

‘Buffy?’

The man turned to look at me, and if I could have melted into the floor, I would have. As it was, my cheeks felt like they were on fire.

‘Ang-Liam,’ I stammered.

‘You’re on a date?’ Angel said just as his date put her hand on his arm. ‘Who’s this?’

It was not my brightest moment. ‘Uh no one. We’ve never met - An, we need to talk. About boundaries.’

I glared at her meaningfully. She pursed her lips. ‘I was trying to be helpful. It’s not my fault you want to be a spinster.’

‘Anya!’

‘Buffy, this is Fred. Fred, is this Buffy. We grew up together,’ Angel interrupted. He smiled and I tried not to notice how it made his eyes crinkle at the edges.

Fred stuck out her hand and then I noticed how pretty she was. Her eyes were doll-like and thickly lashed. She looked like Bambi.

‘Hello, Buffy,’ she said cheerfully. There was sweet drawl to her voice and I felt even more embarrassed about yelling at Anya.

‘Hi -- Fred?’

‘Short for Winifred, but only strangers call me that,’ she said. ‘So you and Angel go way back?’

‘Yeah, we do, but I haven’t really seen him in the last few years,’ I said, trying to get Anya’s attention. ‘I’m sorry, I need to borrow Anya for a minute. I didn’t mean to interrupt your date.’

‘Oh lord, we’re not on a date,’ Fred laughed. ‘I’m helping Liam with party favors for a bachelor party. Because this one,’ she jerked her thumb at him, ‘is utterly clueless about what to get.’

‘Buffy, do you have change for the meter? Because I’m out and this has to be one of the last relics that still require actual coins --’

William came through the door, patting his pockets. Angel stiffened.

‘Spike,’ he said in a tone I’ve never heard him use.

William’s eyes narrowed. ‘Angel,’ he spat.

Angel went straight for his throat. Fred shrieked, and I wasn’t thinking too clearly either, the shock temporarily freezing me to the floor. Anya, however had no problems. She grabbed a broom and started swinging at them. ‘There will be no fighting in my store. Don’t think I won’t call the police. Also if you break it, you buy it!’

Fighting on tv always looks cooler than it really is - Angel and William’s fight devolved very quickly into William pulling Angel’s hair and Angel clumsily smacking him on the chin.

It ended with them collapsing onto the floor, with Angel putting William in a headlock.

Fred and I rushed over to break it up - Fred pulled William’s ear and I pinched Angel on his neck. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

‘Are you dating this asshole?’ Angel sniped.

‘He started it,’ William said. He shoved Angel off of him. ‘Fuck, you still weigh a ton.’

‘We were on a date,’ I pointed out. ‘Then you attacked him, and I’m guessing you two know each other.’

‘He’s an uptight arse,’ William said, his accent losing its customary smoothness. Angel snorted. ‘And he’s a piece of shit liar.’

‘And you two are both allegedly grown men who fight -’

‘Like sad mimes,’ Anya chimed in. ‘Very amusing.’

‘Liam, are you all right?’ Fred asked. ‘Do we need to call the police?’

‘That’s a good idea, I should press charges for assault,’ William said belligerently.

Angel stood up and brushed off his jacket. ‘Try it and I’ll end you. Don’t think I won’t this time.’

‘I’d like to see you try -’

‘William, shut up.’ I pushed my way through them. ‘I’ve decided I don’t care. Whatever your issues are, they’re yours. I am going home.’

‘I’ll drive you home, love.’

Angel bristled - I could practically see his hair getting spikier with anger.

‘You know what, that’s okay -- I’m going to call a ride. I think I’ve had enough of Valentine’s day and this whole..’ I motioned at them, ‘whatever drama you two have.’

‘I could drop you off,’ Angel quickly said. ‘After Fred,’ he added.

‘Yeah, no. I’m good. Anya - I’ll get that thing later. Or you can burn it. You have my express permission to destroy it.’

I ran out of the Magic Box before she could respond.

No one followed me, which was a relief.

Angel called me on the ride home and I dismissed it. A text popped up a few minutes later.

Buffy, William Pratt is bad news. I worry about you. Call me when you get home.

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#Buffy Summers's Diary #buffy fic #buffy summers #the dreaded all human au #it's feeling a bit jerry springer here but with 100% less chair throwing #my fic #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #angel #spike #anya jenkins #fred burkle #you can imagine it's raining men in the background if you like #but I don't really write fight scenes #not physical fights anyway #I'm trying to have a balance between Buffy's recovery issues and screwball comedy

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larksinging · 7 years

Text

maria cd case packet: mix notes

MISSING LINK

notes about my song choices under the cut

first off: i like my mixes to have a sort of progression. often that’s a character arc progression, but in this mix i tried to move from most mainstream/relaxed to more dire and surreal sounding songs. a few more really experimental things could have helped this, but oh well

i. i love you - woodkid

“Whatever I feel for you / You only seem to care about you / Is there any chance you could see me too? / Cause I love you / Is there anything I could do / Just to get some attention from you?”

i picked this song as n expression of how desperate maria wants and needs james’ love and affection, and james’ overall lukewarm response to that. i can’t really say why i put this first, but i feel the melancholy desperation feel of the song sets a nice opening tone for the mix

ii. the wrong year - the decemberists

“Could be that he's into you / Could be that the obverse is true / And he wants you but you won't do / And it won't leave you alone [...] The spirit's willin' / Flesh is getting bored / Speakers blaring out some long forgotten chord / Some misbegotten, long forgotten chord”

this one i picked because i feel it really hits the maria is inherently stuck in the wrong time and the wrong place, and how things were never really meant to work out for her and how frustrating that is. there’s more hints at the frustration of james’ lack of interest. also continuing the lovelorn sympathetic kind of song to establish in the beginning maria as a sympathetic, human character.

also: i first considered “make you better” by the decemberists for its mood, but this had more fitting lyrics

iii. black sun - death cab for cutie

“There is an answer in a question/ And there is hope within despair / And there is beauty in a failure / And there are depths beyond compare [...] How could something so fair / Be so cruel”

aaand here’s where i wanted to start throwing in the lowkey omnious mood of silent hill. after all, maria is technically designed as some sort of temptress (regardless of her own agency). anyway, here’s the “maria is pretty and all, but... what’s going on here” song. things are bad in the town of silent hill

iv. ampersand - amanda palmer

“Has any girl in history said / Sure, you seem so nice, let's get it on / Still, I always shock them when I answer / Hi, my name's Amanda [...] But you've got the headstone all ready / All carved up and pretty / Your sick satisfaction / Those his and hers matching / The daisies all push up'n / Pairs to the horizons [...] And I'm not gonna live my life on one side of an ampersand / And even if I went with you I'm not the girl you think I am [...] I'm not the one that's crazy”

okay there’s a lot going on here. first off, the sort of bizarre tone of things like the first set of lyrics above that i feel really show silent hill/born from a wish. the second section (daisies) is directed at james and his own issues and ideas which ultimately are projected onto and burden maria. so the last part is the pushback (”i’m not the girl you think i am” “i’m not the one who’s crazy”), and the anger at james for valuing maria only as far as she’s mary. anyway a disjointed chaotic song for a disjointed chaotic situation

i also considered “olly olly oxenfree” or even “trout heart replica” but the relationship troubles at the heart of this song won me over

v. atrophy - the antlers

“I’ve been repeating your speeches but the audience just doesn't follow / Because I'm leaving out words, punctuation and it sounds pretty hollow / I’ve been living in bed because now you tell me to sleep / In your dreams I'm a criminal, horrible, sleeping around / While you're awake, I'm impossible, constantly letting you down.”

how could i make a sh2 mix without including a song off of hospice? i mean REALLY. to be fair most of the songs are more of a james and mary vibe than maria, but i feel this can work. mary still lingers over it, but that kind of works for how mary lingers over maria. so that’s what this is - the shadow of mary over maria, and how james can never really be satisfied with her because of it

vi. bernadette (post romanian storm) - IAMX

“Winding down your emotions / Family and friends / Becoming ghosts to dream of and pass on / Time will erase every face every name / We are alone /No-one to blame”

here’s where the mix starts to take a turn for the darker. i’d say this is maria as temptation, her existence as a means to try and guilt james. i felt it was important to include that because her existence as a temptress stereotype makes maria’s whole story all the much sadder. also, i chose this version because i felt the more subdued version made it feel more intimate and unsettling

vii. oleander - mother mother

“I make a mess and you'll be there to help me undress / I'll be unclean, I'll be obscene, you'll be the rest / And if you leave me, rest assured it would kill me”

i feel this is a bit of a retread of the theme brought up in “i love you”, but far more desperate and toxic. this helps continue the downward spiral of the mix overall. i think it also helps re-contextualize james and maria’s relationship as something deeply unhealthy, and maria’s desperate need for attention as destroying her.

i also considered “love it dissipates” for this, but went with oleander for the toxic desperation it embodies. also, a poisonous flower seems appropriate.

viii. closer - the tiny

“I met him when the sun was down / The bar was closed, we both have had no sleep / My face beneath the streetlamp, it reveals what it is / Lonely people seek / Closer, closer”

this one speaks more to the loneliness of silent hill, and the loneliness of maria’s existence. also the theme of “closer” - maria’s desperate need to be close to james. this is also the first of the doppelganger songs. two songs i felt fit happened to have the same name, and i decided to use both because the whole thing about doubles and whatnot.

ix. closer - paulina andreeva

“Let me feel no fear and anxiety / I’m not alone [...] Even if you are my insanity / We’re not alone / We’re not alone / Closer /Closer / Closer / Closer to you”

okay. first off. do you know how hard it was to find a video of this? i didn’t want to use the video i found it off of but this video was literally the only other one of this edit of the song i could find. also i had to write these lyrics myself. fucking obscure russian songs

anyway. the second doppleganger song, and the continuation of the closer theme. this one the tone really speaks more than the lyrics. this captures not only the anxious dread of silent hill (”we’re not alone” could be seen as meaning the monsters), but also the way in which staying with james allows maria to not be alone. this is when the downward spiral kicks up a notch

x. reflektor - arcade fire

“Alone in the darkness / a darkness of white / We fell in love / alone on a stage / in the reflective age [...] We're so connected / but are we even friends? [...] I thought I found a way to enter / it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector) / I thought I found the connector / it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector) [...] Just a reflection of a reflection / of a reflection of a reflection of a reflection (ah!) / but I see you on the other side / We all got things to hide [...] Thought you were praying to the resurrector / turns out it was just a reflector”

honestly, i could have quoted the whole song. i think if you had to pick one song to sum up all of sh2, it’s be this song. it captures the confusing, illusionary nature of silent hill, the mary/maria reflection, the feeling of lost love and false love, james’ desire to leave/find something/bring something back that is ultimately nothing but a reflection of himself. maria, after all, is just a reflctor.

xi. missing link - revoluation girl utena OST

“An unconnected me / Yet a connected power / Oh illusions, / Why am I / Here right now? / I never wanted to be born / And yet I was / My heart is just like / An object to be used / To be born and die / To be born and vanish / To repeat this / How absurd! [...] Look, now the vanished me is living”

when the song the mix title is from is at the very bottom of one of my mixes, you know it’s a big deal. and it’s an RGU song. so [cracks knuckles] here we go. (i am using the translation from here. most other translations i’ve seen have been pretty similar, give or take a little.) the end of the downward spiral.

this song, i feel, is the ultimate expression of the despair of maria’s existence. to be born from a wish is a terrible fate. maria was only ever meant to be something to fulfill james’ wish and embody his guilt, and that’s what she’s stuck doing despite having her own existence and agency. a tragic fate.

...but this song has a context, and that too works for maria. she is a bit of a rose bride figure, after all! she exists to embody the male gaze and is an idealized form of male sexual desires. her purpose is not her own, but tied to james. she is repeatedly brutalized for the sake of the male figure and exists only to bear his suffering and cause more. i’m not sure how much more rose bride-y you can get without getting impaled by a few hundred swords, but maria’s been imapled like 4 times so she’s getting there

xii. love psalm - silent hill 2 OST

[instrumental]

i wanted to end with something a little less, uh, existentially horrifying. it was only appropriate to use love psalm, which plays on the credits of born from a wish. more than anything, this is maria’s song, and it felt like ending it with someone that was uniquely hers would be nice. i consdered using the version of this from book of memories with lyrics, since some of them fit. check it:

“To be forced to feel the hearts break / How much of this torture can I take? [...] If you could rewrite our life any way that you please / Would you tear out the pages of our memories? / Would you take back the pain and all the hurt we create? / Or could you be satisfied with the love that you've made with me?”

...but i felt the original instrumental version, the one actually from born from a wish, was more appropriate an ending. so there you go.

extra: in addition to the substitutions from bands used i considered listed above, i also considered “careful you” by tv on the radio. i felt the sound of the song didn’t quite gel with the rest of the mix.

#long post cw #ask to tag #silent hill #i should make a tag for maria

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