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emospritelet · 5 years

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Yes, I know it's been two years, I suck.

If anyone still remembers this fic, here's an update. I've written beyond this chapter, so I'm hoping it won't take too long to finish. Last time, Belle and Gold parted so she could go off to college and he could continue selling his body. We fast forward two years (I'd like to say that's the reason for the two year hiatus but that would be a lie. The truth is writer's block is a bitch and I'm easily distracted). Cover art by @evilsnowswan

[AO3 link]

Lying on her front on top of her bed, feet kicked up behind her, Belle turned the page of her book. She had been trying to lose herself in its words for the past hour, without much success: guilt gnawing at her over reading something frivolous that wasn’t on her list for class. It was early May, and finals were due to start the following week. She wasn’t too worried about them; she had put the study in, but she was tired after another semester of hard study and grabbing hours as a waitress whenever she could. She had managed to find a couple of part-time jobs in local diners, and had worked more hours than she had bargained for when she first arrived in Boston. College life had many wonderful positives, but the reality of her mounting student debt left her with an ever-present anxiety that was hard to shake. Hence the waitressing.

The sound of the apartment door opening made her look up, and she smiled as Ruby put her head around the bedroom door, dark ponytail swinging.

“Pizza tonight?” she asked, and Belle wrinkled her nose.

“Do you mind?” she asked. “I know we said we’d start eating more healthy stuff, but I’m exhausted.”

“Cheese, bread and prosciutto have to be three of the food groups,” said Ruby. “We can add in wine. That was fruit once, right?”

Belle giggled.

“Okay, I’m convinced. Call it in whenever you like.”

“I’ll do it now. Want to watch a movie later?”

“As long as it’s not something terrible, sure.”

“Come on, the terrible ones are fun!”

Ruby disappeared, and after a moment Belle heard her speaking on the phone, ordering the pizza. She soon returned, minus her jacket, hair free of its ponytail.

“So.” Ruby flopped onto the bed beside her and winked. “Tomorrow you’re officially in your twenties. Does Will have anything special planned?”

“I doubt it,” said Belle, turning the page of her book. “We broke up.”

Ruby blinked.

“What? Since when?”

“Since I decided to stop kidding myself. Namely last night.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Belle closed the book, tossing it aside and rolling onto her back.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “He’s a nice guy, and I know you like him.”

“Screw that,” said Ruby fiercely. “You’re my best friend! Of course I’ll support you over him! What did he do?”

“Nothing,” said Belle wearily. “It’s not him, it’s me.”

“Is that what you told him?” Ruby winced. “Ouch.”

“I know, I know…” Belle ran her hands over her face. “It’s a terrible cliché, but it was never gonna work out, I was kidding myself. To be honest, he hasn’t gotten over his ex. I told him to follow her to Europe. I think he might.”

“Wow.” Ruby shook her head. “So why did you say it was you, not him?”

“Because…” Belle screwed up her nose. “I never really tried, you know?”

“Not much point if he’s still pining after Anastasia.”

“Yeah,” said Belle gloomily. “Still, I think maybe we made each other feel better for awhile. He made me laugh, at least.”

“Well, that’s important,” said Ruby sagely.

“And I could talk to him,” added Belle. “Not about anything that mattered, not like I can with you, but at least he listened. More than most guys do.”

Ruby sniffed. “Tell me about it.”

“But,” Belle went on, “I should still never have dated him. I knew it was hopeless. All we did was go and see stupid movies and talk about crap. Like that was ever gonna help him get over her!”

“Probably better than my way of dealing with a bad break-up,” offered Ruby, and Belle grinned.

“Come on, drunken one-nighters are a rite of passage for all college students.”

“You must have missed that memo.”

“Yeah.” Belle pulled a face. “Not really my scene.”

Ruby sighed, settling back against the blankets and eyeing Belle thoughtfully.

“You’ve never really gotten over that first guy, have you?” she said frankly, and Belle shifted uncomfortably.

“I didn’t say that.”

Ruby threw up a hand in exasperation.

“Belle, you can’t keep thinking about him!” she protested. “The guy was a prostitute, it’s not like you know him! However great he was, however attentive he was, you paid him to be that way! It was all an act! You do know that, right?”

“Of course,” lied Belle. “I wasn’t even thinking about him, anyway.”

“I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I wasn’t!” she insisted. “At least - at least not much.”

“Great sex does not make a great relationship,” Ruby reminded her sternly. “Look at me! A whirlwind romance with what I thought was the person of my dreams, and three months later I’m single and miserable and wondering what the hell I did wrong!”

Belle reached out to grasp her hand and squeeze.

“You’ll meet someone new,” she said. “We - we both will. Eventually.”

“I know,” sighed Ruby. “Doesn’t stop it sucking while we wait, huh?”

“Means we concentrate in class more, though.”

“Well, that’s true. Every cloud, and all that.”

“You ready for finals?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Ruby pulled a face. “I think it’ll be okay. I haven’t screwed up in the lab in weeks. I have to ace these finals, there’s no way I want to have to take summer classes.”

“Yeah, I really need to work as much as I can, get some of this debt paid down.”

“Your dad never did come up with a surprise wad of cash, huh?” said Ruby, looking aggrieved on her behalf.

“I never expected him to, not really,” sighed Belle. “It’s cool. I’ll have paid it off by the time I’m like forty-five or something.”

They shared a grin, and Ruby pushed up on her elbows, fixing Belle with a firm stare.

“Okay,” she said resolutely. “Since we’re young, free and single, I say we celebrate your birthday together. That means a prosecco brunch with all the sugar you can eat, followed by mani-pedis and a trip to Wonderland to get the one thing every girl needs.”

“What’s that?” asked Belle suspiciously, and Ruby grinned.

“A decent vibrator.”

Gold ran a hand through his newly-cropped hair and rolled his shoulders, the interior of Wonderland a little warm for the three-piece suit he was wearing. He wasn’t sure why he had decided to don the thing for his final visit to Blue Star, but it had seemed appropriate. He had said his goodbyes to his colleagues, shaken hands and kissed cheeks, all wrapped in the armour of blue silk and fine black wool. Having agreed to accompany Jefferson to Wonderland for the purchase of some tools of the trade, he was looking forward to leaving the place empty-handed for a change. Then he could go back to his hotel room, take off the suit for the last time, and turn the final page on that chapter of his life. He couldn’t say he would be sorry to do it, however reluctant Miss Blue was to lose him as an escort.

“What do you think of these? Pretty, huh?”

Jefferson handed him a set of butt plugs in iridescent colours, and Gold raised an eyebrow.

“Does it really matter what colour they are, considering where they’re going?”

“Wow,” remarked Jefferson. “You really are off the clock, huh? Come on, give me your expert opinion while you can.”

“I’d be worried about the coating coming off,” said Gold. “Stick with the silicone ones.”

“You’re probably right.”

“What about leather cuffs?” said Gold, pointing. “You said you needed some new ones.”

“Oh yeah, thanks for the reminder.”

Jefferson went off to browse, and Gold fidgeted, fingertips toying with his hair again. It was taking a little time to get used to. The short length made the silver in it more visible, and it was strange not to have it hanging around his face, but the haircut felt right, too. Another break with the past.

“Since you’re staying in Boston, why don’t you come to dinner tonight?” said Jefferson, as he looked through the selection of cuffs and straps. “Graham’s making tacos. They’re pretty good, if you add extra hot sauce. I can promise some decent tequila, too.”

“Sounds good.”

“Come over at seven, then. You can meet our new cat, she’s adorable.”

Gold smiled. He had thought about getting a cat himself, now that he would spending more time in Storybrooke. It would be nice to have some company in the evenings. Of a different sort than he was used to.

“I’ll be there.”

Jefferson soon found what he was looking for, and paid for his choices, dropping everything into one of the recognisable turquoise bags and winking at Alice, the assistant.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” he asked, as he and Gold headed for the exit.

“Why would I?”

“Well, you never know,” said Jefferson. “Long winter nights, up in Maine, all by yourself in that big old house... A guy could get lonely.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Gold, and raised an eyebrow. “What are you expecting me to get, a bloody sex doll?”

Jefferson snickered.

“No! I just meant you should be prepared, just in case someone special wanders into your life. You have great skills, or so it’s rumoured. Be a shame to let ‘em go stale.”

“I’ll have more than enough to keep me busy, I assure you.”

“You should start getting out a bit more,” said Jefferson. “You know what they say, all work and no play—”

“—means I can pay the bills and get to class on time,” finished Gold, and Jefferson rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh.

“Well, if nothing else, when you eventually decide to let someone in enough to have an actual relationship, the sex will be awesome!”

“Thank you for that ringing endorsement,” said Gold dryly. “I have a feeling it takes more than a bag of tricks to make a relationship work. You’re lucky you and Graham know all one another’s secrets.”

“You need someone you can be honest with from the start,” said Jefferson. “Given how we met, that was never an issue.”

“Well, that’s unlikely to happen in my case, hmm?”

He grasped the door handle, pulling it open, and two young women almost fell in from the street in a mass of dark hair and jumbled colours. He took a step back, opening his mouth to apologise, and whatever he had planned to say died on his lips as the first woman swept back her hair and looked up.

“Belle!” he breathed.

She stared at him, her eyes widening, a blush rising in her cheeks. Dear God, she was beautiful! Perfection. Small and slender and clad in a pale blue jacket and what looked like a yellow dress over wedge-heeled sandals, a blue beret pulled down over her chestnut curls. Her lips were full and red, parted in shock, and he remembered with painful clarity exactly how she tasted. In every way.

“Alistair,” she whispered.

He swallowed hard, taking a step back as he noticed Ruby Lucas behind her.

“I - Miss French!” he managed. “Miss Lucas. How - how lovely to see you. How are you both?”

“Fine,” said Ruby cheerfully. “We’re just having a girly shopping day for Belle’s birthday, hence the trip to this place.”

Two years today. It’s two years today since we—

“Right,” he said. “Uh - happy birthday, Miss French.”

Belle didn’t answer, and was blushing, teeth worrying her lower lip. She had dropped her gaze, fingers dancing along the brown leather strap of the purse over her shoulder. He pulled his eyes away.

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr Gold,” added Ruby. “With your - friend.”

“Yes, well, we were just - I was just—” he floundered.

“Regular shopping trip,” said Jefferson, holding up the bag. “We spend a fortune in this place, but it’s worth every cent.”

Ruby smirked, and turned back to Gold, gesturing up and down.

“That’s a new look for you,” she observed. “Like the suit. Love the hair.”

“Thank you,” said Gold numbly.

“You girls should check out the White Rabbit range,” said Jefferson helpfully. “Hits the spot others can’t quite reach, if you take my meaning. Alice will steer you right, just tell her I sent you.”

Belle closed her eyes with an expression suggesting she was enduring physical pain, and Gold desperately tried to steer the conversation onto a more appropriate topic.

“I - ah - I had forgotten you were both headed to Boston,” he said. “Are you enjoying college?”

“I - yes,” said Belle, still blushing. “Yes, thank you.”

“We have a place together, a couple of blocks away,” put in Ruby. “Studying hard, you’ll be pleased to know.”

“Good.” His power of speech appeared to have deserted him. “That’s - I’m very glad to hear it. Take care, both of you.”

He stepped to the right, and Belle stepped in front of him. There was an awkward moment that seemed to last an eternity, in which they sidestepped to try to get past one another, murmuring apologies as they each stepped in the same direction. Eventually he managed to escape with the help of Jefferson’s firm hand steering him by the shoulder. He left the store without seeing anything, and without looking back, dimly aware that Jefferson was following him. His heart was racing, and he took a couple of deep breaths before he was able to focus on anything. The sun was very bright, and he fumbled for his sunglasses, almost sighing with relief as he slipped them on and cut the glare.

“Friends of yours?” asked Jefferson, and Gold sighed.

“Two ex-students from my high school,” he said tersely. “I think we could have done without the vibrator recommendations, to be honest.”

“Oops,” said Jefferson, not sounding remotely contrite.

“Indeed.” Gold ran a hand over his face. “Of all the places to bump into those two…”

“Don’t worry, they didn’t hear us talking about anything they shouldn’t.”

“Right,” said Gold vaguely.

“You okay?” asked Jefferson. “Sometimes it’s weird when your two lives collide, you know?”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” said Gold quietly. “I’m fine, really.”

“Good.”

Jefferson leaned in, kissed his cheek and stepped back, the turquoise bag crackling against his leg.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he announced, waving a finger. “Seven o’clock! Don’t forget!”

“I’ll be there,” promised Gold, and Jefferson grinned and turned on his toes, sauntering off down the street with the bag swinging from his hand.

Gold watched him go with half an eye, his mind full of Belle. She lived nearby, with Ruby. How had he not seen her before? Admittedly he wasn’t in Boston much these days, and would be there even less now that he had given up escorting. He sent up heartfelt thanks that he had never seen her while working his second job. God, she was as beautiful as ever. Beautiful and just as hopelessly out of reach. He blinked hard, shaking his head.

“Penny for ‘em.”

Another familiar voice made him jump, and he turned with a smile.

“Neal,” he said warmly, reaching out to pull his son into a hug. Neal hugged him back, grinning, a small backpack looped over one shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” he asked. “Are you staying in Boston?”

“Only a couple of nights,” said Gold. “I was doing some shopping and finishing up a few business matters, that’s all.”

“Yeah? Who was that?”

“What?” Gold panicked for a moment before realising who Neal meant. “Oh that - that was Jefferson. He’s - a friend.”

“Oh. Okay, cool.” Neal looked him over. “You look great! What’s with the suit?”

“Oh.” Gold looked down at himself. “Yes. Well. I - uh - thought I’d try a different look. I’m not sure it’s really me.”

“That’s a hell of a different look,” observed Neal. “And you cut your hair!”

“I - yes.” Gold ran his fingers through the short strands. “Don’t you like it?”

“It looks great,” said Neal. “Although I kinda miss the - floof.”

“Floof?” said Gold flatly. “Whatever that is, I’m almost certain I never had any.”

“Have it your way,” said Neal, with a grin. He put a hand on Gold’s shoulder. “You look good, but I gotta say you look tired. Emma always says you work too hard.”

“Well…” Gold shrugged awkwardly. “Not been getting much sleep.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still working yourself into the ground for us,” warned Neal. “You don’t need to, I’m serious! I’m making good money now. No killing yourself with school and tutoring, okay?”

Gold smiled.

“You can tell Emma that I’m no longer working two jobs,” he said. “Which means I’ll have a little more time on my hands to spend with you.”

“Good. In that case, why don’t you come over tonight?” he asked. “Emma was gonna do steak, but I’m sure we could use ‘em to rustle up something for the three of us.”

“Oh, I - I can’t, I already have an appointment,” said Gold hastily.

Neal glanced down the street.

“Okay,” he said lightly. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow would be great,” said Gold, with a smile. “I’ll bring a bottle of something. What time?”

“Come over whenever you like, Emma’s in all day. I should get back around six.” Neal glanced at his watch. “Look, I’d better go, I only came out to grab some lunch. Couldn’t face the cafeteria mac and cheese. See you tomorrow?”

“See you then.”

Gold hugged him again before Neal hurried off down the street, and he glanced after him with a tiny smile on his face. It was going to be good to be able to spend more time with his family. It would all have been worth it to give them that good start in life, the start he had never had. Time to make the most of it, and put the past behind him.

As the time approached seven, he knocked firmly on the door of the apartment Jefferson and Graham shared. They had moved in together six months earlier, and he had been over a few times for dinner when he had been in town, but not since they had adopted a cat. Jefferson answered the door with his usual enthusiasm, taking the bottle of wine Gold held out and exclaiming over it before ushering him inside. The walls had been painted a warm coffee colour, the couch dark brown leather with a paisley throw and cushions in cream, brown and olive green. There was a savoury smell of garlic and spices coming from the kitchen, and Gold sniffed appreciatively.

“Graham’s in the kitchen,” said Jefferson. “He thinks ten minutes until dinner, so what do you say I open the wine?”

“Sounds good.” Gold looked around. “The place looks great.”

“Thanks. We nearly got into a pillow fight over the colour scheme.”

"Spare me the details," said Gold, with a grin. “So, where’s your cat?”

“Oh! Let me get her!”

Jefferson put down the bottle and hurried off, returning with a long-haired white cat with black and ginger patches on her head and back. He held her up high, as though presenting her for inspection by the cat gods.

“I invite you to humbly prostrate yourself at the feet of Her Royal Highness, Princess Petunia Puffball!” he announced. “Puff for short.”

Puff looked decidedly unimpressed at being picked up, and glowered at Gold as though it was his fault, so he elected not to pet her just yet. Jefferson kissed her head, which she endured with a look of disdain, and then put her down on the couch. Gold held out a hand, and she sniffed at his fingers cautiously before butting her head against them and beginning to purr. He scratched her ears, making her fluffy tail rise up and curl over.

“I knew she’d like you!” declared Jefferson, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on through to the kitchen. You want some of this wine?”

“Please.”

“Just give me a second.”

Gold gave Puff a final pet, and followed Jefferson through to the kitchen, where Graham was chopping tomatoes with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He smiled, setting down his knife to give Gold a quick hug.

“Have a seat,” he said. “Dinner won’t be long, I’m just making the salad.”

Gold took a chair, glancing around the kitchen. The walls were painted a warm terracotta colour, turquoise shelves housing recipe books, brightly-coloured pottery and assorted houseplants.

“You’ve redecorated in here too,” he observed. “It’s nice.”

“We thought we’d try for something warm and cosy,” said Jefferson. “It’ll be nice when this place is two feet deep in snow.”

“Yes, it reminds me that I really need to repaint the porch at home.”

Jefferson set a glass of wine in front of him, and Gold nodded his thanks, taking a sip.

“So,” said Graham, returning to his chopping. “No more Blue Star. How does it feel?”

“Not sure it’s sunk in yet,” he admitted. “I’ll have to find something to keep myself busy with in the evenings.”

“Any thoughts?”

“Nothing specific.” Gold took another drink. “The house could use some work; I’ve been neglecting it for the past few years. So there’s that.”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” suggested Graham, and Gold pulled a face.

“Unless Storybrooke has new residents I’m unaware of, doubtful.”

“There’s always online dating.”

“No thanks,” said Gold, pulling a face. “I imagine that ‘I just stopped working as a prostitute’ is something of a conversation killer with the average woman.”

“How you chose to earn a living is no one’s business,” Jefferson reminded him.

“I know,” sighed Gold. “But it’s something fairly momentous and I wouldn’t feel right keeping it to myself.”

“No one’s saying you have to give your life story on a first date.”

“I know,” he said again. “But I could probably do with some time to myself, anyway.”

“Well, you know you’re always welcome here,” said Graham. “If you ever need to get away from small town life, just call.”

“Thanks,” said Gold. “But I think I’m actually looking forward to getting back into small town life, if only because the neighbours will stop speculating about where it is I go in the evenings. Plus it’ll be good to get a full eight hours of sleep every night, for a change.”

“Well, we support you,” announced Jefferson, raising his glass. “And someday we’ll drive up to that small town of yours and you can take us out and show us the sights!”

“That should take all of ten minutes,” said Gold wryly. “Nothing ever changes in Storybrooke.”

“To boredom, nosy neighbours and a regular sleep schedule!”

They clinked glasses, Gold grinning as he did it.

Belle locked the apartment door, grasping her case in one hand as she shoved the keys into her purse. Finals were over, and she could feel the stress of late-night studying starting to leave her body, her muscles aching a little, heavy and tired. She was pleased to be done with study, and to be heading home for the summer, but there was an underlying nervousness there, a low-level twinge in her gut that she was trying to ignore. It had nothing to do with the stress of exams, of that she was well aware.

She followed Ruby downstairs to where the car was parked in the May sunshine, throwing her case into the trunk and sliding into the passenger seat. Ruby grinned widely, large sunglasses hiding most of her face.

“Next stop, Storybrooke!” she sang, and pulled away into the steady stream of cars heading north.

They were quiet as they drove out of the city, Ruby concentrating on the road ahead, and singing snatches of a song on the radio. Before too long, they reached I-95, and Ruby settled back in her seat, fingers tapping on the wheel as she picked up the pace. She glanced across at Belle.

“Want to hit The Rabbit Hole tonight?” she asked. “Could be fun to see who’s still around. I bet it’s just as crappy as when we left, but there might be some new blood in there.”

“I should probably spend some time with Dad,” said Belle. “I’m guessing Granny will be expecting you to spend at least the first couple of nights at home.”

Ruby grumbled, but nodded reluctantly.

“Your dad gonna give you some work?” she asked, and Belle wrinkled her nose.

“What he can,” she said. “He said the shop wasn’t too busy right now, though. You think I could get some diner shifts?”

“Already cleared it with Granny,” said Ruby, glancing in her mirror before overtaking the car ahead. “We probably won’t be working the same shifts, but at least it’s something.”

“Every little helps,” agreed Belle. “Assuming we didn’t flunk the finals, of course.”

Ruby sputtered in derision.

“Come on girl, we worked our pert little asses off for those exams,” she declared. “Think positive! No class until September! We have three months to have some fun and earn some cash before we head back there. And I intend to make the most of it!”

“Okay.” Belle grinned as she sat back. “I’m in. Positive outlook, here I come.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Storybrooke seemed smaller.

It was the first time that she had really noticed since leaving, and Belle wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not. It showed that she had grown as a person; it would be ludicrous to expect two years of college not to have had some effect on her, after all. She didn’t want to lose sight of her home, though. She didn’t want to think she could never come back.

Ruby had dropped her at her dad’s place, along with her bags, and she had spent half an hour or so putting away her things in the battered old wardrobe in her room. The house was silent; her father would not be home until around six, which was around an hour away. She decided to make a start on dinner, and hunted through the fridge to find something to throw together. Moe French was never the best at eating vegetables, but she found mushrooms, onions and garlic, and so she decided on pasta.

She was reading a book, leaning against the kitchen counter and keeping one eye on the bubbling sauce, when the sound of the front door made her glance up. Moe beamed when she saw her through the open kitchen door, and she set down the book and ran to hug him.

“I thought you were coming tomorrow!” he complained, almost squeezing the breath from her.

“I told you it was today,” she chided. “More than once!”

“My brain’s turned to shit,” he grumbled. “How’d the exams go?”

“Ruby tells me we smashed it, so I’m following her lead,” said Belle, in a dry tone. “They were fine, I think. How are you?”

“Oh, okay love, okay. Shop’s - well, we’re getting by. The Nolans had another kid, so that meant a lot of orders. And Ashley Boyd got married, so that was a good week. Getting by, getting by.”

“Doesn’t sound as though you have much need of an extra pair of hands,” she observed, and he shook his head.

“A couple of hours a day, to make deliveries and help out with the flower orders, that’s it,” he said. “Sorry, love.”

“It’s cool, Granny gave me some hours at the diner.” Belle turned to the sauce, snatching up a spoon and stirring it. “You hungry?”

“I could eat a dead bear, I’m bloody starving.”

“Go wash up then, I’ll cook the pasta.”

They ate in comfortable silence, Moe praising the creamy mushroom sauce, and Belle watched in some amusement as he cleared his plate and looked hopefully around for more.

“That’s it,” she said, taking his plate and stacking it atop her own. “You want anything else?”

“Better not.” He patted his belly. “That was great, love.”

“What do you want to do tonight?” she asked, and he looked uneasy.

“Uh - you know I said I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow?”

“Don’t tell me,” said Belle. “Poker night.”

“I can cancel,” said Moe hastily, but she shook her head.

“Don’t bother. You go and have a good time. I can keep myself amused for one night.”

“You sure?”

Belle smiled.

“Absolutely.”

Gold finished cleaning up the kitchen, a glass of wine on the table behind him as he wiped down the counters. He rinsed the dishcloth, humming along to the music coming from the lounge. A soft, Baroque piece, soothing strings and harpsichord. Wiping his hands on the dish towel, he turned back for his wine, taking a sip as he wandered through to the lounge. It was strange not to have to plan for two or three nights out, and he was already enjoying the extra sleep. Though losing the extra money was less welcome. Worth it, he decided. Worth it to start getting your bloody self-respect back.

The first few days back in Storybrooke had left him feeling a little out of sorts, restless and jittery due to the extra time on his hands, pacing the kitchen over and over with a glass of wine in one hand as he tried to burn off excess energy. After the first weekend where he had felt as though he was going quietly mad, he had embarked on a thorough clean of the house, taking the opportunity to go through old paperwork and burn it, cleaning out the attic, and scrubbing the kitchen until it shone. He had planned to work on the garden next, although that needed little attention, as Anton came to tend it once a week. Perhaps a couple of days out at the cabin instead, reading and relaxing. At least he still had class to prepare for, so he wasn’t entirely without purpose, but he would need a serious distraction to get through the long summer break.

A hurried knock at the door made him frown, and for a moment he stood still, eerie fingertips caressing the nape of his neck and sending shivers down his spine. Goosebumps rippled over his skin, spreading down from his shoulders, and he told himself to get a bloody grip, surprised at his own nervousness. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and he wasn’t sure why an unexpected knock would make him anxious. Perhaps one of the neighbours needed help with something. Setting down his glass, he went to the door, the vague side outline of a diminutive figure visible through the rippled glass panels. Gold licked his lips, his breath held tight, a ball of iron in his chest. His heart was thudding, his pulse throbbing in his ears, and he reached out with a shaking hand, skin tingling as his fingers closed around the cool brass handle.

The evening sun was setting, the sky a pale lilac fading into peach tones at the horizon, thin knotted ropes of grey cloud outlined in coral. Belle stood on his porch, bouncing on her toes, chest heaving a little as though she had been running, dark curls glinting with reddish highlights from the sunset. Her pale skin was tinged apricot, warm and inviting, and she inhaled sharply, raising her chin.

“Hey,” she said abruptly.

He could feel emotion stir deep within him, a rising tide threatening to engulf him and sweep him away. Her eyes were shining, fixed on his, soft lips open and moist, and it was as though they had parted only yesterday. He smiled.

“Hey.”

#fic: neverland #escort!gold verse #rumbelle fic #my fic

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peebleswrites · 4 years

Text

Forbidden Fruit, a Code Geass AU

Suzaku remembered waking up, on the beach, the shores of an island of all places. He remembered experiencing disorientation concerning his surroundings and his arrival. How did he get here? And why? Why couldn’t he recall anything prior to being stranded?

“I won’t get any answers here…” Survival instincts from training had kicked in. First things first, he needed to locate a source of drinkable water.

He remembered this more vividly than anything else.

A figure. It appeared to be that of a woman. The back was facing him. At first, he grew alarmed, wary that this person, whoever she may be, might pose a threat to his wellbeing. And then she turned. And that head of red hair that stuck out like a sore thumb on any given day, grabbed his attention, practically slapping him in the face for not recognizing her sooner.

“Kallen? Kallen Stadtfeld?”

He remembered her active response. She wasted no time in both covering that which she could and charging at him with a concealed weapon of some kind.

“A Black Knight’s uniform? Don’t tell me you’re one of–!”

Yes, that dark jacket. The design. She couldn’t be one of them, could she? Not Kallen Stadt—

“Kouzuki is my name! I’m Japanese!”

He remembered meeting her for the first time. That spit fire Guren pilot, Kouzuki Kallen. If asked to describe his feelings as he straddled her naked body, working to subdue her wildly moving form, he’d have to say he was somewhere between utterly confused and bewildered. So much that he paid little mind to the very obvious fact that she lacked proper clothing for the better part of their encounter.

Well…no…that’s a lie. He is still a boy, after all. However, he’s a soldier too. And a knight of third princess! He couldn’t dishonor his master and himself by gawking at a woman in such a vulnerable state! Though, even he had to admit…Kallen was just not the kind of beauty you could ignore easily.

“So, you have no idea how you got here either.”

He remembered the awkward part of forcing her clothes on because her being naked and his ‘captive’ just did not sit right with him for previously mentioned reasons. He easily compared her behavior to that of a drenched cat. Wild. Violent. Merciless. The list just goes on.

“You’re a lot different than you are at school.” The most obvious observation he’d made all day. Not just her behavior. Her expressions. Her voice. Her entire demeanor. It was like a switch had been flipped on her. Could this girl before him really be Kallen?

“Yeah, and you’re the same as ever…” In all honesty, despite her involvement with the Black Knights, he had to admit this Kallen was much more…pleasant to be around. Or perhaps pleasant wasn’t the correct term. All in all, he enjoyed her presence much more in this setting than at school. He truly believed she was quite the boring individual.

Oh, how wrong he was.

“The name Genbu Kururugi, the last samurai, weeps!” Her feisty, reckless tirade triggered the ole recipe of bitterness and resentment that permanently swelled within his lump of a heart. Forever would he be compared to his radical of a father. It was something he’d learned to live with over the years. But now…the secret had come out.

“My father didn’t commit suicide. I killed him. With this hand.” Gone was the boy who trembled at the feet of a foe who somehow knew too much. Gone was the feeble teenager who preached and preached on justice all the while harboring the very sin that was a direct catalyst in the equation that led to the very much anticipated downfall of his people. For that moment, for that split second, Suzaku stopped caring.

He was a killer. Day after day he tried to convince himself that maybe, just maybe, if he worked hard enough, he could one day be free of this sin but no. Area 11 and its inhabitants were a perpetual reminder.

He remembered Kallen’s face. He was expecting mortification. Lelouch, his best friend, gazed upon him in shock. He anticipated much worse from her and yet…her eyes were sad? Maybe he was seeing things. Maybe the crackling fire between them played tricks on his eyes. For her expression lasted but an instance.

“Zero…what he’s doing is wrong…”

“Oh, and you’re suddenly Mr. Right? Who is it that gets decide what’s right and wrong? Who gets to stand in judgement? Certainly not you! You’re nothing but a—!” The words were on her lips, teetering on the tip of her tongue.

“Go on and say it! I know what I am, Kallen! A disgrace to the Kururugi name! A murder! A hypocrite! I’ve heard it all before! But those labels don’t change how I feel about the state of this land! What being Japanese means to me! What it’s meant since our independence was stripped away!”

“So now you’ve got pride? Hah! Your pride means nothing if you’re fighting on the wrong side! The very fact that you oppose someone who’s done more for Japan in the last month than you’ve done in your entire life shows me that your so-called pride is nothing but a farce! It’s not real! How dare you call yourself Japanese!”

Every word she spat at him was like lava. It made him hot, hotter than he’d ever felt. Steamed, even. The kind of hot that compels men to act violently. The kind of provoking hot that urged him to hit something. He felt so driven all of the sudden by aggression and frustration, he was ready to…to…!

He remembered her eyes, wide with fury and shock the moment he lunged forward, tackling her into the cold cold sand below them. He remembered suffering from a well-aimed knee to the abdomen, courtesy of the Guren pilot who flung more ignited slurs his way. He couldn’t explain why he attacked her like this. Well…he could but he didn’t care to. This action would bring him shame every time he thought of it.

He thought of her eyes, a blue starkly contrasting the fiery pits of vengeance currently scorching his being. He thought of her breath, labored huffs of air hitting his flushed face at uneven intervals. He thought of her hair in splayed spikes of crimson laying construed about her face. He thought of her lips, dry as they were, his eyes never strayed too far from the full pink pair, parted and giving him the allusion of something soft.

And suddenly all thoughts stopped at that point.

“S….Suzak–…!” Too little too late. Had she called his name even a second sooner, he would’ve stopped himself. But she didn’t. And he was now comparing the softness of her lips to something plump, sweet, warm. Kissing her was like biting into a ripe peach on a hot summer afternoon. An odd comparison but it seemed to fit as far as he was concerned.

“……”

He remembered moving away from her, back to the fire, back to real life, back to the sad sap of Kururugi he’d learned to accept.

And he remembered biting into that peach one more time before night became morning. Later on, he would wonder how in the world Kallen managed to get her hands free from those bindings.

It would be weeks, perhaps even an entire month had passed in between their next encounter. Needless to say, it wasn’t a very pleasant meeting. The events prior, discovering Kallen’s ties with the Black Knights, being stranded with her, and most notably that kiss, were still fairly fresh within the Lancelot pilot’s mind.

Or rather, his ever-feisty hothead of a rival was in his head and he couldn’t seem to get rid of her. No matter how much he cared for his princess, the light of his life, that spark within Kallen…it dulled her shine.

A bit.

He saw her at school upon his return at long last. He wasn’t surprised to see her tense up whenever he was around. He knew her secret. And he was willing to bet he was the only one at Ashford who did. Unbeknownst to her, he’d never breathe a word about it.

“Just what in the hell kind of game are you trying to pull here, huh?” She’d cornered him, unceremoniously shoved him in a vacant classroom while obviously, and painfully, poking his side with that blasted knife wallet. Really, where does one obtain such a cute yet deadly accessory?

“I don’t know what you mean, Kallen.” Part of him didn’t. Part of him was waiting for her to question him.

Part of him was dying for it. A chance to share the same space, breathe the same air. A chance to look into those constantly blazing, fluid pools of raging cerulean. A chance to memorize those lips, to experience the nostalgia of his first encounter with the forbidden fruit.

“Don’t fuck with me, Suzaku!”

“You kiss Zero with that mouth–ow! It was a joke, sheesh!” Yeah, he supposed he earned himself that small stab from her blade.

“What’s your angle? Are you planning to blackmail me? It won’t work! I don’t care about exposing myself!”

“Wait, that’s not what I’m after all! Please, don’t do that!” Time to come clean. And fast. That blade didn’t seem to be going anywhere. “While we’re at school…I’m Suzaku, your friend. I won’t do anything to jeopardize your being here, Kallen. If anything, I’d like to persuade you to change sides.”

“Oh, how noble of you.” He was expecting that sarcastic jab.

“But…when we meet on the battlefield, I’ll be your enemy. And I will make it my duty to defeat you and Zero.” Blazing cerulean met the steely pigmentation of raw sage. And Kallen looked taken aback by his bold declaration. Taken aback and mildly provoked. That smirk covering her lips told him everything he needed to know about her stance on his words.

“You say that as if you really can stop us. I’ll beat that knightmare of yours, just wait!” She was seconds, mere seconds, away from removing the knife when calloused digits closed around the thinness of her wrist. Several quick maneuvers later and the Guren pilot met the cold hard surface of a beaker cabinet, face first.

“You’re underestimating me. I am a trained soldier. You’ve just gotten lucky overtime...”

“This ‘luck’ nearly defeated your precious Viceroy and gives you hell every time our units clash! You’re the one underestimating me!” How dare he impose his strength upon her. Oh, how she yearned to level the playing field. And level his head while she was at it.

Frustrated with her defiance, the male effortlessly whipped her form around, forcing her back into the cabinet while keeping a steady grip on her arm.

“You don’t have to do this Kallen! You come from a good family. Your father’s a noble! With your background, you could easily work from within and–!”

“Save the self-righteous work with the system speech for someone with nothing to fight for! You really think a halfbreed like me will be well received?! Oh, your father’s a noble~. Screw him and screw y–!”

He couldn’t resist. How could he? The tension between them was too great. Her eyes, they’d captivated him from the moment she yanked him from the hall. Even her scent, tantalizingly potent, reeled him in. And the bait that compelled him?

Her raw anger.

It was different than what he was used out of women. Most girls were nice, sweet, kind, soft, gentle. But Kallen…she was a fire. A ticking time bomb. A raging storm and he was slowly coming to terms with being blissfully caught up in her torrents.

Which is why when she finally snapped and slapped him, he did nothing more than cup his stinging cheek. He didn’t follow after her when she stormed off. In fact, he all but avoided Kallen for a pretty good portion of the day and the rest of the semester.

She scared him, for lack of a better word. And not because she was tough or one of his more formidable foes on the battlefield. It was off the battlefield that her presence shrouded him in veils of fear. He’d awaken at night, in cold sweats though the dream was definitely the opposite temperature. He’d randomly find himself thinking fondly of Euphemia only for the image to shift to that of Kallen.

Worst of all, he’d recall and crave that first taste.

This fruit, his sweet downfall.

Euphemia was dead. Area Eleven had succumbed to the terror that would soon become known as nothing other than the Black Rebellion. Suzaku was traumatized, deeply wounded, and wracked with terror. His heart, normally swelling bitterly now had a new accessory weighing it down.

Revenge.

“Zero!”

“No, it’s Lelouch!” Why…why did she have to be here? Why did she have to come at this exact moment? Why…did she follow him? Follow Zero. Follow Lelouch…she would pay dearly for choosing the wrong side. He gave her a way out. Time and time again. If this is the path she walked, so be it.

“Suzaku, no!”

“Don’t get in my way, Kallen!” He’d merely intended to shy her away from coming any closer. But when his gun fired…when he heard her cries of pain…it was like seeing Euphie’s demise from eyes of the monster before him.

No, how could he…

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way…Lelouch. He was supposed to shoot Lelouch, not Kallen.

After that, he was on autopilot. Blur. Everything he remembered was a blur.

Detaining Lelouch. A blur.

Treating Kallen’s gunshot wound. A blur.

Contacting the Avalon to meet him at the island. A blur.

And he’ll never forget her last words.

“S-Suzaku…I will…n-never…forgive you…”

Her last words as Kouzuki Kallen.

A/N: This was a bit longer than originally intended but it’s just one of those things where you write and you write and you keep writing until the message you want to get across is conveyed. When I tell you I’ve had this on my brain for YEARS. I mean, it’s been a loooong time but I finally buckled down and pumped this out sometime in 2018. Tell me what you think. Shall I continue or leave it as is? Thanks!

#code geass #suzaku kururugi #kallen kouzuki #kallen stadtfeld #Suzaku x Kallen #suzallen #fanfiction

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wavesofthewest · 5 years

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Chapter 9: Coliseum’s Chaos

>Fate: New dragon x2, 40-50 coli battles x2, death streak, writing x3, breed a nest x2

Poison sighed as she stepped into the arena for what felt like the hundredth time. The number of dragons who were willing to be reincarnated was unbelievable, and she was no closer to getting out than she was when she first came to the coliseum.

Her opponent this time was a hatchling. A young gaoler, who had probably been trapped since they’re kind had faded away from Sornieth.

The fae watched the hatchling. If he’d come as far as she had - which, granted, wasn’t very far in the grand scheme of things, but definitely farther than the average dragon would be able to get - then there was something up his sleeve.

Neither of them moved for a while. Poison studied the gaoler, watching for weaknesses and anything she could use to come closer to the living world again, while the hatchling was probably doing the same. Eventually, he lifted his head and called out to the judge.

“Hey, this one’s living. She shouldn’t be down here at this level.”

Poison glanced up at the row of seats towering above them where the three judges sat. They were all of different breeds, but she didn’t know any of them - they were probably as old as gaolers and died out.

Nothing happened for a while. Both Poison and the gaoler sat in the arena, waiting for something to happen since apparently the fact that she wasn’t dead yet made her eligible to a higher position in the queue. The fae glanced up at the Tribe and her companions, who were watching them with a concerned expression.

After what felt like hours, the doors behind her opened. Poison turned around, surprised, and saw the group she’d been fighting for, alongside a female nocturne. One of the judges flew down and nodded towards her.

“Is this the group you were the champion for?” he asked, gesturing to the dragons.

“Well, yes, but not the nocturne. I have no idea where she came from,” the fae replied. “Although if the others like her, she’s welcome to tag along.”

“Absolutely not,” Abstract said. “She’s been a menace-”

“You’re only saying that because you accidentally released too much magic when attacking me,” the nocturne cut. She turned to Poison and smiled, though the fae wasn’t sure if it was the friendly type of smile. “You must be Poison. I’m Nera, former princess to the Saa clan. Pleasure to meet you.”

Poison grimaced and turned away intending to see how the judge would respond, but he wasn’t there any more. In his place was the gaoler hatchling, who was looking at Blue. The guardian scooped him onto her back and giggled, prompting Poison to roll her eyes. Some members of the Tribe were way too soft.

It didn’t take long for them to be ushered out of the arena and led to another pit. The fights were more extreme than they were in the other one, and Poison assumed that they had been given a higher place in the rankings.

“This is the champion battle. If you win, you will be resurrected - and if you lose, you will be given another chance,” a voice said behind them. Poison turned to see the judge from earlier.

“You, fae, as their champion, will fight in this battle with two others that I will choose. Every fight in this coliseum is meant to be a fair one, and thus we make our final battles three against three.”

“That’s good and all, but who’s going to be fighting?” Ashes remarked from the back. The judge cocked his head at the sound of his voice and sighed.

“Since you ask, you may join your champion in the ring. And you, nocturne, as well, since you are not alive you must earn your freedom.”

The three dragons nodded and stepped down the stairs that would take them to the pit.

The fight was long, to say the least. The nocturne was useless at fighting, and Ashes, while he tried, was not great either, leaving Poison to fend off two fully experienced warriors and a mage.

She went for the mage first, as they were capable of reversing damage dealt to their comrades, and had Ashes distract the warriors. The nocturne just flew around, doing her own thing, taking a swipe at someone if they came too close.

After she managed to fell the mage, Poison went for the warriors. Ashes helped by distracting them every now and again, letting the fae get a swipe in while her opponent was unguarded. Her defensive strategy dragged out the battle more than she liked, but in the end, she was satisfied when all three of her opponents were knocked unconscious.

The floor opened from under then and they were tossed into a white void, and the fae could feel her body heating with a pain beyond what she’d experienced before. She bit her tongue to avoid crying out, and, for some strange reason, she hoped that the others were alright.

~ : ~

Ashes woke up next to his sister - his dead sister - and his parents. The void that had surrounded them when they’d won had knocked him out, but it seemed that the rest of the Tribe were fine. In front of him, Abstract was rubbing his eyes, the nocturne lying next to him.

The guardian walked up to the two and poked them both so they would realise where they were - back in the scholar’s hut, in the living world.

He stopped in the middle of a prod to Abstract’s side when a glint of blue caught his eye. Ashes carefully stepped over both dragons and removes the cloth covering the object.

Two healthy eggs. The guardian knew how they were created - strong bursts of magic from two dragons could create a synergy that would result in eggs, but he hadn’t thought that anyone would have done it in the coliseum. Maybe they were the scholar’s.

Ashes reached out to take one of the eggs in his claws - he’d never touched one before, and he was curious as to how they felt, but a barrier between him and the eggs prevented him from doing so.

“Don’t bother,” he heard the nocturne say behind him. “You’re too close family.”

“I don’t even know you,” Ashes replied, turning to face the nocturne.

“Not me, the father. Abstract. It happened when we clashed,” she explained, sighing.

“Neither Sage nor Blue are related to Ab, though,” the guardian retaliated. “It’s impossible.”

Nera shrugged. “Your father, though? It could be on your father’s side, not just the mother’s.”

“I don’t have a father,” he shouted, regretting it immediately after. He didn’t want to wake anyone else up.

“Ashes, everyone has a father. It’s just a matter of knowing who it is. The synergy can only be created by a male and a female,” the nocturne replied. “Really, what have they been teaching you?”

“But the only ones who were around were Blue, Sage a-” Ashes stopped himself mid-sentence. “Wait…does that mean…”

The guardian looked at Abstract, who was still half-asleep on the floor and felt a bubble of rage begin to build inside him. They lied to me. They all lied to me - and to Heaven! She died not knowing the truth… I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them!

He shook his head and stepped outside, where Poison sat, watching the horizon. She looked up when the guardian sat down beside her and followed her gaze.

“Poison…teach me to fight.”

So! I am officially back. Jetlag is still a pain and school starts on Wednesday, but otherwise I think I should be back to daily posting! Implementing so much stuff was tough for this chapter…

In any case, because of the fact that Poison will, in fact, be training Ashes to fight, a friend of mine suggested flipping a coin whenever I get a battle drop - if heads, its a private training sessin for the two (and they’re immune to death for that reason), if tails, it’s as normal. I’m not entirely sure what I think of it, I think a 50/50 chance is too likely, but I’ll think it over until tomorrow.

And oh my goodness if the read more doesn’t work I will die.

#fr #flight rising #lore #tribe of clear waters #day ive-lost-count #wow its been over a week #sorry everyone #pinkerlocke #journey

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crimsxnflxwerz · 5 years

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Like the Dawn - Chapter 5

chapter 5 - waste years with you notes - this chapter is barely edited. also you wont believe it, but i’ve had this mostly written since july !!!! sorry about that LOL Archive Link

Ryan woke for work at 5:30 am after a blissfully dreamless sleep. It hadn't been very long, but it was more replenishing than when he was having nightmares about drowning and fever dreams about the Gods.

He left for work, preparing himself for another busy day. He was new to the company where he worked and didn't know many people there. For the most part, he didn't do much of anything, as it was a starter job. He ran around, got people coffee, filed paperwork, the likes. There were a few people there who he enjoyed, though. A designer named Steven, a chef and video editor named Andrew, and a photographer named Adam. Out of those three Andrew was his favorite. Funny, full of stories, great cook. Adam was cool, too. Soft spoken, but when he did say something it was worth listening to. Steven was the most argumentative of the group, but intriguing. He could talk or debate with the man for quite a while on the right subject. Steven also always offered to help him look his best. Ryan was always tempted to take him up on that.

After his daily work duties were done he found himself some nice corner to work on editing his film into a nice video for his channel. He wrote out in a journal what he was planning to say in his voice over later as he edited. In this segment he would point out some interesting species of plants. And in this part he would talk about a childhood memory of a different forest.

Editing videos like this really put him in a different mindset. He was born and raised in the city, but he had family that lived in the wilderness. As soon as he was ten he was being carted off into the uncharted lands of Oregon every summer to spend some quality time with his grandparents. He remembers those times with the clarity of muddy water. When his dysphoria was at its peak he could run off into the thicket of trees behind his grandparents house and disappear for hours, his only company the dew damp trees and the skittish rabbits.

In those woods he met many creatures and critters. His favorite, by far, were the fauns. There were plenty of deer all over the country, but in the deep woods, where all you can see are giant, looming trees and long, untamed grass, they were almost like an entirely new animal. They were gentle, making soft, curious noises whenever he came around. They would bow their heads to sniff around his feet and push their snouts into his palm like dogs begging for a treat.

Nature had always been a huge part of his personality. He cared for stray cats, nursed injured birds back to health, helped foxes get free from hunting traps. He cared for animals like snakes and rats as much as he cared for more enjoyable animals. He respected nature, and it respected him in return.

He didn't know why it was like that, but it was as normal as anything else. At the best of times it was a cool party trick. At the worst it was a minor inconvenience.

As he looked through more content, he eventually came to the footage of him running into Shane. He went to delete it, because that was the obvious thing to do, but something made him pause. He had kept his camera running when he'd run face first into the man, and he happened to catch a full shot of his face. It was blurry, but it was there. And there was something strange about it. He played the video back and saw it again. For a moment, not even a full second, Shane's eyes were gold.

He remembered that moment very clearly. The heat of Shane's body and the crunch of the leaves and the rush of air being knocked from his lungs. The sun was out, but from where Shane was standing, he had been cast in shadow. Ryan knew that in certain types of brown eyes, the sunlight could make them look gold, but that wasn't what was happening. Through the whole shot, the area was dark. How could his eyes be gold?

Unless his dreams were real. And he was the reincarnation of Persephone. And Shane was Hades, come from the Underworld in search of his queen.

Except that, that… was crazy. Gods weren't real. The gold must've been a lens flare or something. Although, he couldn't shake the feeling that something more was going on here. He cut the footage from his video, but saved it in a separate folder anyways.

Maybe the sleep deprivation was finally getting to him. Maybe he needed a drink. He wondered if any of his old college buddies wanted to go out tonight.

Or-- he could meet Shane at the Seashell.

It was Friday, he would be there, right? This could be his chance to meet him for real, have a friendly conversation with him, and maybe even figure this all out. But maybe, there wasn't anything to figure out. What if he just had an overactive imagination lately? Maybe he shouldn't have stopped seeing that therapist.

Either way, he was going to go to the Seashell. He would talk to Shane, have a good time, and get his number. He jotted down some final notes for his video and tucked his journal away before his manager came over and scolded him again.

You can do this, Ryan, he thought. It's just some fun. He’s just a guy.

After Shane had gotten the gang all set up in a hotel room with human identities, he couldn't go back to sleep. He was too jittery to try, so he cooked up some oatmeal and brewed a pot of coffee and brought out a notepad.

He jotted down some things for his staff to do for the day and brought out his sage burning bowl from the cupboard. Sara had gotten it for him when she noticed that he tended to get stressed out easily. He didn't really use it often, except to send notes to the underworld. He brought out a set of matches and struck one against the box. It lit up and he used it to burn the note, whispering the names of his servants as he did so. Maybe it was lazy, but it was faster than going back down. It helped him stay above the memories in his home.

After the paper was completely ash, Shane tossed the remains in the trash and put the bowl in the sink. Then he lit two candles and grabbed the cinnamon for his oatmeal. Once he was finally settled, he looked out the window to see that the sun was just starting to break the dark horizon. It was dawn. Dawn, something he never got to see in the underworld. Down below the horizon was a constant white to black gradient. Ominous and cold over the dark waters of Styx.

Overworld sunrises were completely different. When the sun is still settled behind the trees, you can see the sky start to lighten. From navy blue, to purple, to pink. Breaking the treeline brings more intense colors. Orange, red, and gold. It was gorgeous. He wondered how many humans truly appreciated how wonderful their world was. Although, it wasn't as if he were pure of that misfortune.

Shane sighed, turning his oatmeal in the bowl, suddenly feeling a bit too forlorn. His appetite vanished. He shook his head. He couldn't think like that now. Couldn't fall back into pointless misery.

He needed to come up with a plan before the other God's come back around. That group would be the death of him, he knew it. He didn't have any leads right now, though. However, something that Eugene said stuck to him. A thorn in his side, digging under his skin.

‘Or prince’.

Shane hadn't even considered that at all. Because of this oversight, he could have overlooked Persephone a thousand times over. In fact, as his mind started to wander back, he could recall some men in past generations that seemed to call to him- but at the time he'd ignored them. As ignorant as that sounded, he was simply too blinded by grief to think straight.

With this new information, Shane filed through all the possible men who could be Persephone. He wondered if any physical characteristics would carry over? Like her dark hair, or the dusting of freckles over her nose, or the petal-soft curve of her lips.

He didn't care too much about her body, but it would help him find her if she looked the same- or similar.

He racked his brain for some list of men he's met since coming to the overworld this time. It was dramatically shorter than the list of women, but maybe there was something to that. Maybe there was someone who would stand out from the rest…

Then it clicked.

Ryan .

Shane was on the edge of panic. He had missed a huge component of searching just because he was too stupid to think about it at all. The worst part was being reminded of this essential element via a God he didn’t like or want to associate with. He couldn’t deny, however, that if Eugene had never come up and suggested that, he would still be searching endlessly for women alone. To say he felt embarrassed was an understatement. He was supposed to be part of the big three. He was supposed to be… perceptive at the least.

But now he found himself right where he wanted to be the least. Last night he’d found the gang a hotel to stay at since it was too late to properly purchase any apartment. It was one of the cheaper chains, but still nice because of the area. He had just wanted to get them out his hair for the moment. They probably already knew he was there. He took a sharp breath in and walked into the hotel.

As he entered the lobby, he was distracted by the savory food smell. Oh yes, this hotel served breakfast until 11am. Although the Gods didn't need to eat to survive for the first few weeks in their human form, they greatly enjoyed doing so. Humans have always made food preparation into an art somehow. Using delicate balances of spices and techniques, they could create whatever craving they desired.

Shane was interested as well, but he knew that Eugene was behind the decision to stay at the hotel that had a bar and free breakfast. Eugene was the party God, after all. Enjoying indulgences and bodily pleasures since the dawn of mankind. The thought made Shane blush, but he shook it off as he rounded the corner into the hotels cafe.

He spotted them instantly. Although, it wasn't hard considering Eugene was the only one holding what was very obviously some vodka in a paper bag, Keith was arranging his food into some kind of art piece, Ned was talking avidly about his wife, and Zach was trying not to look like he'd desperately like to leave.

Shane approached cautiously, but his casual display was quickly shattered when he was spotted. Zach immediately stood and walked over, beaming.

“Hades!” he said, and Shane shot him a look.

“No,” he frowned, looking to see if any other patrons were listening. They all seemed pretty dead tired. “Call me Shane.”

Zach apologized, “oh, right, sorry!”

Shane shrugged it off and they went to sit with the rest of the group. The rest of the God's paused in what they were doing to look up at Shane. He sat down and everything was quiet for a painful second. He swallowed nervously.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “I've done a lot of thinking and,” he paused. The group looked like they were on the edge of their seats. “I think I know a lead for who Persephone is.”

The God's all had various positive reactions to the news. Eugene had a smirk on his face, leaning forward.

“What changed?” He asked. “You've been going in circles for millennia.”

Shane grit his teeth. He hated admitting that someone helped him. He hated even more to admit someone he kind of hated helped him. Well, he guessed he didn't hate Eugene. The guy was just kind of unpleasant sometimes.

“It was your comment yesterday.” He murmured. “You said ' or prince ’ and… I didn't even consider that until you said something.”

Eugene grinned. “Wow, pretty closed minded for a God to never think about that.”

Ned scoffed. “I think he was just too heartbroken to think straight.”

“Or to think anyway other than straight.” Keith joked. Shane looked unamused at the banter.

“Well who do you think it is?” Zach butt in. “Do you know his name?”

Shane nodded, wringing his hands, feeling suddenly nervous. “Yeah.” He couldn't take meeting their eyes so he stared down at the table. “His name is Ryan. I ran into him in the woods. I don't know anything about him.”

There was silence around him. He finally looked back up and the rest of the Gods were looking between themselves. It was almost like they were communicating silently somehow. Eventually, Keith looked back at Shane and smiled.

“So, you don't know anything about him?” He asked.

Shane was about to shake his head when he remembered a few things. “Well, he was shooting some video so he might have a channel. Um, he lives on my street I think… and I told him I go to the Seashell sometimes if he ever wanted to hang out.”

“Oh, well that's something.” Ned said, looking a little less stressed about the situation. “Why do you think he's the one?”

Shane stilled. He pursed his lips. Why did he think Ryan was the one? Because of that pulling feeling in the woods? Because of his deep brown eyes? Was it the feel of his body pressing into him and his small, soft hands?

“I was in the forest,” he said, scratching his chin. “There was this pulling in my chest. Like I was attached to a string. I felt drawn away. And then-- I met him.”

The other Gods looked a little in awe. It really did sound like it was meant to be when he said it like that. But he wasn't exaggerating. He didn't make that kind of thing up.

“Wow, that sounds magical.” Ned said after a breathless pause. “Did the feeling go away after you met him?”

Shane nodded. He felt so stupid now, after he got the chance to really think about it. The fates weren't so cruel. They were trying to bring them together and he ignored them. It made his head hurt thinking about it.

“Well, how do we find him?” Shane heard one of them say. He shook his head.

“I- I didn't get his number or anything. I didn't think I was gonna see him again. I told him about the bar though.” He explained. “He might go there tonight. Should I go?”

Zach piped up, “I think it's your best chance at seeing him again.” He said. “Do you really think you found him so easily?”

Shane looked at Zach for a moment before casting his eyes down. He studied the table and took a short breath in.

“I may have found him, but it's never so easy.” Shane said softly. The rest of the Gods fell silent. After a moment, Shane awkwardly laughed. “So, wanna get set up with a new apartment?”

When Ryan got home from work, he was nervous. He was going to go to the Seashell tonight, meet up with Shane, and clear everything up. Honestly, his nerves were on fire, his thoughts running a mile a minute. He was considering every outcome as he went through some daily routines.What if Shane didn't show? What if he didn't recognize him? What if he couldn't find the bar? What if the bar was unexpectedly closed? What if Shane wasn't even a nice guy, what if he was a serial killer?

There were a lot of things to consider when you went out on a limb like he was doing. He wanted to make a good impression, but he didn't want to seem like he was trying too hard. He also wanted to know what he was going to say to the man. What information is too much? What is too little? He didn't want to appear mysterious, because he was actually quite boring. Although, part of him also reminded him that the way they met was already like some meet-cute romance novel, so maybe it wouldn't end up being that bad after all.

Ryan managed to set aside his worry long enough to look at his clothes. He needed to pick an outfit, but he wasn't sure what look he was going for. His wardrobe mostly consisted of jerseys and basketball shorts, since he was lazy at best. He had some nicer outfits, mostly for work, but some for formal occasions.

After rummaging through his closet for thirty minutes he managed to muster up an outfit for the night. It was dark grey jeans, almost black, paired with a light grey button up. The button up had a tiny red rose pattern, giving the look some color back. Ryan debated wearing a bow tie, but ditched the idea last minute. It was a bar for Christ sake! He was already going to be overdressed. He just hoped Shane didn't dress like a hobo for this specific occasion- or just didn't show at all.

He checked all of his belongings three times. He had his wallet, with his ID, some cash, and card. He had his fully charged cell phone. He itched to bring his camera, but it would undoubtedly get damaged so he left it alone. Was that everything? He took one last look at his place before turning towards the door. His hand on the doorknob, he took a long breath in and then let it out slowly. He opened the door and went out.

Everything was going to be fine .

“Guys please, I need to go.” Shane said, although his voice didn't sound urgent. He was too tired to sound urgent.

After breakfast, Shane and the group had scoped out new apartments. Despite his best efforts, they ended up landing a place right next door to Shane's apartment complex that was slightly higher quality and also much larger than his own. He kinda hoped the group would be drawn to the more lavish apartments… the ones that were further away from him. But now they were involved with him. Zach, especially, wanted to help Shane. Ned thought the whole thing was romantic, which Shane would have to pass a hard disagree on.

After they sorted out the paperwork, they booked the hotel for a few more nights until move in. Then the group decided that they wanted to pick out Shane's outfit for tonight.

Cue four extra people in Shane's little apartment bedroom, throwing about clothing and arguing amongst themselves for a few hours.

Shane needed a drink. Lots of drinks. And fast. Very fast.

Currently, Ned and Eugene were both holding up shirts to Shane's torso and shouting over which one looked nicer. It was a close tie between a disco patterned button up and a soft, charcoal grey sweater.

“Well I think this sweater gives a welcoming, homey vibe. You know, imagine coming home from work to your husband wearing a cozy looking sweater. Wouldn't you want to snuggle up?” Ned defended his choice well. Shane liked the particular sweater he was holding. It was well worn and comfortable, something he wore on lazy days.

Eugene scoffed. “He's going to a bar, not your grandmother's Christmas party! This shirt has more pop, it catches the eye. And ugly patterns are in now! It perfectly matches his personality. Modern, but cool.”

Shane had to admit, they both had good arguments. Although, he wasn't sure how ‘ modern, but cool ’ he was. He did like the disco patterned shirt. It was mostly a joke, but he was also pretty fond of how it fit.

Zach butted in. “I say disco pattern.” In the background, Keith nodded in agreement. Ned stomped his foot, not unlike a child being told 'no’ . Shane swallowed down a laugh.

“You guys have no sense!” He tossed the sweater onto Shane's bed and crossed his arms in a huff.

“Disco pattern it is then?” Shane said, sounding relieved. He was itching to leave. He didn't care what he was wearing at this point.

“I hope this Ryan guy likes losers,” Ned muttered under his breath.

The rest of them chuckled at the comment, and left Shane to get changed. After the outfit was situated, he simply looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess, even after many attempts at combing his fingers through it. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and he looked plain tired. He wondered what Ryan would think about him.

Was he even going to show up? Was this a good idea?

He sighed. There was only one way to find out.

He left his bedroom to find the boys in the kitchen. There were five shot glasses all in a line down the counter. They had some sort of clear liquid in it. Shane paled.

Eugene was holding a bottle of vanilla vodka, and he laughed at the other God's expression.

“Don't worry, it's not poison!” He joked. “We thought one shot to give you a little confidence boost?”

The rest of them nodded enthusiastically and picked up their own glasses. Eugene put the bottle down and picked up two glasses, handing one off to Shane.

“To Hades’ love life!” Eugene cheered. The rest of them laughed. Shane pretended to gag.

“To Hades’ love life!”

The bar was crowded. Well, to be fair it was the weekend, of course people would be excited to go out. The seashell was one of his favorite places to hang out and observe people.

Humans were curious creatures. Like the God's, they had complex emotions and intricate bonds. They had desires and needs that weren't always so easy to understand. Unlike the God's, however, they were inhibited by their mortality. For example, if two people were brawling in this bar, it wouldn't normally get too out of hand, lest someone get mortally wounded.

Besides the laws in their society, humans naturally feared things they couldn't understand. Death, afterlife, religion, mental illness, the list goes on. To watch humans interact in such a vulnerable place. A bar, where morals are loosened, where bars are lowered. It was interesting.

Though today, he wasn't people watching. He was here for a reason.

He leaned against an open bar stool and ordered a simple beer. The shot from earlier wasn't enough to buzz him, but it did make him feel warm- and a little less anxious.

“Would you like the start a tab, sir?” the bartender asked him.

“Yes, thank you,” he said and handed her his credit card. A few patrons mingled around the bar. The Seashell wasn't the largest bar every, but it was a fairly good sized building. It had an upper floor that was a sit down restaurant, and this lower level was the bar. It wasn't dingy-- clean enough to make you feel okay about sticking around.

After a few moments, he checked his phone.

Sara : what are you doing this weekend?

Shane gave a soft hum at the text. He'd been so busy carting around that gaggle of Gods that he completely forgot about Sara. He hoped she wasn't too upset about it. She undoubtedly knew he was a busy guy.

Shane : I dunno yet. I met someone. I'm at the bar right now waiting for him.

Just then the bartender passed him his beer. He smiled as he thanked her. He took a sip, and a moment later a woman leaned on the stool next to him.

“Hey,” she said to him. Shane had to do a double take to realize that it was actually him she was talking to. “You here all by yourself?”

Shane swallowed nervously. It wasn't that he'd never been flirted with before, it was more like-- he really didn't need to be dealing with such a situation right now. What if Ryan saw him and got angry? Although, it wasn't as if the two were dating. Even if that might be in their future.

He would have to see if his theory was correct first, before he thought about that.

“N-no, I'm waiting for someone.” He said, thankfully only stuttering a little bit. The girl looked on mischievously.

“Who is it, your girlfriend? Your wife?” She leaned into his space. He pulled back, but she was still uncomfortably close. He felt a nervous sweat on the back of his neck.

His phone buzzed.

Sara : Met someone? Ohmygod you have to tell me all the deets! He's a dude? What's his name? Is he pretty?

Shane gave a short huff of laughter at the text. Then he smiled slyly and looked back at the woman.

“Yeah, I'm waiting for my boyfriend.” He said, sternly. The women's face fell and she backed off.

“Ahh, okay then.” With that, she left. Shane grimaced, even though he felt better with her gone. He took a long drink of his beer.

Shane : His name is Ryan. He's short. Cute. Dark hair. Dark eyes. He makes videos. Might have a YouTube channel. Don't know yet though.

When he looked up from his phone this time, he felt a soft tugging in his heart. He glanced towards the door and instantly saw him.

Ryan was dressed casually, but still nice. He looked nervous, but determined. In fact, Shane wasn't sure how he didn't see the similarities before. The boy really did look like a modern, male Persephone.

Then Ryan looked his way and smiled. It was blinding. Shane waved him over.

“Hey, you're here.” Ryan said. He blushed then, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “W-well, of course you are. You said you'd be here…”

Shane stifled a laugh at Ryan's little stumble. He knew what the boy meant. You couldn't always be sure when you're making plans with strangers.

“No worries, I wouldn't ditch you.” He smiled. “I'm a little surprised you came, too. I was worried you might've thought I was some kind of creep.”

Ryan laughed at that. “No, no! You're not creepy, well-- as far as I can tell. Although, we did meet each other in the woods.” He looked away for a moment, and noticed Shane's beer. “Already started, huh?”

“Of course. Hey, drinks on me, yeah?” He offered. Ryan blushed again.

“On you? Oh, no, I--” Ryan started, but cut himself off. He seemed to ponder it for a moment before sighing. “Oh- okay. As long as you let me pay the next time.”

“Next time? You must like me.” Shane couldn't help but laugh. Ryan lightly punched him in the arm.

Shane ordered two more drinks for them and they chatted away. Ryan barely spoke a word or two about his job, but went off about his YouTube channel. He loved film and vlogging helped him a lot with practicing different filming and editing styles. It also helped him build his portfolio so that he could break into a career in it. Shane gave some vague description of an accountant as his job, and mostly steered the conversation towards his hobbies. Gardening, reading, and watching movies were his top three. He mostly liked movies for the popcorn, though, if he was being honest.

“Oh yeah, same. Popcorn is my favorite food!" Ryan said, grinning. “I like it classic, though. Just a spritz of butter and a dash of salt and you're good to go!”

“One time I walked into a theater and bought a large popcorn even though I wasn't seeing a movie.” Shane said. Ryan laughed. “The employees eyed me strangely, but otherwise it was a liberating experience.”

“What kinds of things do you garden?” Ryan asked. He was on his fifth or sixth beer, Shane noticed. He had switched to water after his third beer. He hoped Ryan wasn't drinking too much. Though he was curious about how he would act, drunk.

“Well, I can't do much with my current apartment. But I do grow lots of flowers. I set them up on all my windows and try my hardest to keep them alive.” He paused, suddenly feeling a bit forlorn. “Gardening reminds me of someone I used to know. They were really special to me.”

“Who?” Ryan asked, though he bit his lip and quickly said, “You don't have to talk about it if you don't want.”

Shane shook his head. His heart hurt to talk about Persephone, but he'd been hurting for so long that it was natural for him. He smiled.

“Her name was Persie.” He said, leaning against the bar. Ryan moved in closer, interest written on his face. “She was really one of a kind. Plants in her care thrived effortlessly, any kind, no matter the weather. She had such a way with animals, too. Even the most savage beasts would roll over for a rub when she was around.” He paused, letting out a sigh. “I have this dog. He's quite a vicious dog, trained in guarding territory. The first time she met him, he whined and licked her hand. He hasn't even done that with me. It was amazing.”

Ryan smiled, “wow, she sounds wonderful. What happened to her?”

Shane let his face fall a bit at the question. “I-- uh,” he hesitated, taking a sip of his water. His voice was nothing but a whisper. “She… she went away.”

Ryan frowned empathetically. “I'm so sorry.”

Shane was quiet for a moment, before peeking back up. “It's alright. That was a long, long time ago.”

Ryan downed the rest of his beer. There was a constant pink tinge in his face from drinking, Shane could tell. It was rather cute.

“Hey, this may or may not be too much info, but speaking of more serious things, I keep having these weird dreams.” Ryan started. He inched closer to Shane, enough so that he could lean against him. Shane blushed, but didn't pull away. “Sometimes i'm on a long, white sand beach somewhere I've never seen before. Sometimes I'm drowning in dark water. Once, I was in a magnificent castle. But I'm always someone else.” He paused. “Well. I'm still me, but people call me another name. I have even seen myself in my dream. I look the same, but also-- different. A different version of myself.”

“What do they call you in these dreams?” Shane asked. His heart pounded. What Ryan was about to say might change everything.

Ryan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, he winced and brought up a hand to his head like he was hurt. Shane put an arm around his shoulders, but Ryan was quick to push him away.

“I should go,” he said. Shane was kind of stunned. He wasn’t sure what to say. As Ryan got up to leave, he grabbed the man’s arm.

“Wait--” he started. Ryan looked back at him then, and Shane could’ve sworn his eyes flashed gold.

He let go.

Ryan left the bar quickly and disappeared from sight. Shane still had his hand open, the lingering feeling of pressing skin to skin still on his fingers. Those eyes. Shane’s heart pounded away. His phone buzzed.

Sara : He sounds cute! Don’t mess it up!

#shyan #gods au #like the dawn #my fic #shyan fic

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stormbornbastard · 6 years

Text

Seven Minute First Kisses (Lucadora One-Shot)

Kissing Lucas Friar was probably one of the most unexpectedly incredible things Smackle has ever done.

It was the end of junior year, Riley and Farkle had officially cemented their status as best friends turned lovers. They were annoyingly happy together, which is truly what they deserved. Still, Smackle couldn't help but think, really? Right in front of her salad whenever they did their cute couple things.

Josh was in town and he and Maya were still playing the long game.You know, the stupid game they made up to wait until they're in similar places in their lives before actually doing something about their relationship. At least that's what Smackle figured, but the longing glances and the casualty of their touching made it seem like they were already together. Even if they didn't know it yet.

Zay and Sage, a fairly new couple to the group, were also there. Still deep in the honeymoon phase but for the time being it was endurable. Smackle knew it would fade once they settled into the relationship. Riley and Farkle however, were always gonna be like that.

Surprisingly, Missy and Charlie were there. As a couple? Somehow, after Missy came back from private school, she had become tolerable and even an aquaintance of sorts. Charlie got over Riley and was now completely infatuated with Missy, who was just as smitten. Unexpected but not completely deplorable. And with Riley's magical powers of forgiveness and friendship, they had become friends with the clique. Not completely in it but they were surely on their way to it.

It was game night and Topanga and Cory were out, chaperoning the first official date between Auggie and Ava. It was probably more like a double date between two married couples at this point if they were all being honest.

Anyway, the game of life got boring fast and being the reckless hormonal teenagers they were, a bottle arrived and now Lucas was spinning it.

Smackle didn't even really know what she was doing here. She and Farkle had broken up, mutually of course, when they were Sophomorse. She didn't think they'd all end up still friends but Riley and Maya however, were not letting her get away that easily.

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't uncomfortable in this situation. Everyone was coupled up and she was pretty much the only single person there. It felt like an invasion of some kind, like she was the only alien on Earth. Well there was Lucas, but he rarely counted.

In Smackle's mind, Lucas was invincible. The only human emotions she'd ever really observed of his were joy and anger. If she was being fair she didn't know him very well. They both just never had the opportunity to really get to know one another.

Lost in thought and logic, Smackle forgot about the game completely. Until Maya nudged her. She blinked, looking at the blonde who motioned toward the bottle, which of course, was pointed in her direction.

Smackle looked over at Lucas who seemed a bit surprised himself.

It did seem like the only appropriate pairing if you thought about it, even if it was by chance. It wouldn't spark jealousy or uncomfortability in anyone else. It definitely wouldn't make the two question their relationships because, what relationships were there for them to question.

"You guys don't have to do this."

"Riley's room is the first door on the left."

Both Maya and Riley said at the same time , earning some laughs from the group. Smackle sat there for a moment, pondering her options.

Her mind flashed to the first time they met and the countless of other times she attempted to flirt with him in a failed manor. Even when she was with Farkle she flirted with Lucas. Sure it was because she was insecure in her relationship but also because his face never failed to amuse her when she did so.

She looked at the tanned brunette before coming to the conclusion that it couldn't hurt.

Naturally Smackle made the first move in standing and walking towards Riley's room. She didn't even look back to see if he followed, he was too nice to leave her hanging.

Maya and Zay whistled and let out a few whoops as the pair disappeared into the hallway and Smackle ignored the light churning in her stomach because of it. Lucas closed the door behind them and with the familiar click of the door handle, Smackle's nerves hit her like a truck. What was she thinking? Did she really want her first kiss to be because of a game and not with someone who actually liked her for her?

"We don't have to do anything. We can just sit here for seven minutes and talk. Or not, just be in silence or something." Lucas said, sitting down on Riley's bed.

His voice was off and when she looked over, he wouldn't meet her gaze. Strange.

Lucas is always so confident in himself, it's a bit annoying if she's honest. Now he just looked like a scared teenager suffering at the hands of peer pressure.

"Sounds sufficient." She said, but for some reason she moved to sit beside him in the dark of Riley's room.

They sat there, thoughts racing before Smackle interrupted the silence.

"Do you not want to kiss me? I know I lack in experience but that doesn't mean I couldn't get the job done."

To say Lucas was surprised was an understatement. He had never really thought about kissing Smackle, or really seen her in that way.

"I-I never said that. I just, I know its your first kiss and I think if it happened like this, you'd regret it."

His explanation made sense but for some reason, it didn't sit well with her. She and Farkle, they never had much of a physical relationship. They didn't get past hugging before they broke up, not because she didn't want it. Mainly because Farkle was hesitant to, because of Riley.

She broke up with him because of it. She knew his feelings before he did and now a year later, Farkle and Riley had been together for six months and they kissed, a lot.

Smackle wasn't bitter, she was happy for them. Sometimes though, she wondered what it would be like to have something like that.

"You didn't answer the question."

It was true, he had just given reasoning as to why they shouldn't. Or rather, why she shouldn't. Still, the prospect didn't revolt her.

Lucas was conventionally attractive, he always has been and Smackle would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about kissing him before. She may have been younger but still, at one time she did.

"I don't know. It's never really seemed like an option until now."

For the first time since they entered that room, he looked directly at her.

Smackle observed his eyes, green? She had forgotten the color of his eyes, just naturally assumed they were blue. To be fair,they hadn't been this close since the first time they met and now Smackle was now incredibly aware of that.

She forgot that his eyes could be so beautiful, so captivating.

"What if, what if I wanted my first kiss to be exactly like this?"

Her words were softer than she anticipated. Lucas stared at her, not saying a word.

His gaze flickered to her lips and she, she did the same.

He made a move that neither he nor Smackle were prepared for, he cupped her cheek. She didn't think he could be so gentle, he didn't think her skin would be this soft.

It felt nice.

He didn't move.

She did.

She closed the distance, and it was...she understood the feeling in those romantic comedies that Riley made her watch. How they released the fireworks in the background and it..made sense. Kissing Lucas made sense, it felt good and right and wow.

The emotion that bubbled in her chest was hard to explain, hard to understand but she didn't want it to go away.

Both his hands held her face and her's made their way to his waist.

It was soft and slow and more than Smackle expected her first kiss to be.

Lucas's mind was hazy and he didn't, he didn't really know what he was doing in the first place when he made the first move. Maybe some part of him was curious, maybe it was the tension or maybe the mutual attraction he didn't even knew existed until she looked at him like that.

With her big brown eyes, accentuated by her glasses.

He was a sucker for brown eyes.

She was just so beautiful and he doesn't really know what made him do it.

He didn't think it would amount to this, Lucas had kissed girls before but it never felt like this.

He didn't register Smackle moving, her hands slipped from his waist and she stood. Not once did she break the kiss as she moved to sit on his lap.

Both legs on either side of his. Lucas's fingers slipped into her hair and his right hand rested on the back of her back. He held her there, close to him as the kiss reached new heights.

His tongue slipped past her lips and he guided her through the new sensation. One hand on her waist, the other on her hair. Smackle sighed against him, her left hand moved to hold his neck and the other rested on his shoulder.

For the first time, Smackle wasn't thinking. Just acting, on whatever emotion coursed through her at the moment.

It was amazing.

And it ended way too soon.

"Time's U-oh my god!"

Smackle jumped off Lucas before he stood up himself. Her glasses were crooked and her hair a mess. Not to mention the tingling sensation in her lips and the adrenaline that coursed through her body.

Lucas wasn't much better and Maya pretended not to notice the slight adjustment he made with his jeans.

"I-I-"

"Wow Ranger Rick, I'm impressed. Anda Smackle, I knew you had it in you but you've really succeeded all my expectations." Maya stated, the amusement in her voice incredibly evident, as Riley lost her words and continued to stare dumbfounded at the two.

Maya smirked at them and Lucas's felt his cheeks burn. Smackle's gaze traveled to her shoes, as she tried to regain her ability to breathe properly.

"What's going on?" Zay said, emerging from the living room along with the others.

"Yeah, Maya has a smug on her face and she only smugs when something amusing has happened." Josh said and Maya's eyes widened, she didn't know he knew that about her.

The surprise left her face as soon as it came. "Nothing to worry your pretty little head about Boing, who's in the mood for Uno? Seven minutes in Heaven seems a bit..messy" Maya stated, disappearing back into the hall followed by Josh.

"Tell me about it" Riley said, still slightly shocked from what she had just witnessed.

They all made their way back into the living room and Lucas released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Smackle felt a sense of relief wash over her once the others left.

She looked over at Lucas, a small smile crept on her lips before she could register it happening.

"I-uh-maybe we should hang out sometime. W-without the others." Lucas asked and Smackle was a little taken back.

He cursed himself, definitely not his smoothest moment.

Smackle however, was still reeling from the initial shock that he would even ask that. She knew better than to assume that the kiss meant anything to him. As far as she knew, all first kisses felt like that?

But something nagged at the back of her mind that made her question that thought. It made her think the exact opposite of it really.

A small bit of that feeling, that emotion she had when kissing him, ran through her at the thought of actually going on a date with him. With Lucas Frair.

She wanted to hold onto that emotion for as long as humanly possible. For forever if she could.

"I would like that very much Lucas."

#lucadora #smucas #lucas friar #isadora smackle #gmw #girl meets world #joshaya #riarkle #zage #marlie #lucadora fic #gmw fic #lucadora aesthetic

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spooderdood-blog1 · 7 years

Text

Royalty (Part One)

Series Summary: (Bucky x POC! reader) After the events of CA:CW, Bucky joins the Avengers in attempting to defeat HYDRA. Reader is a former Wakandan queen who was kidnapped by HYDRA in the 1960′s and is currently a super soldier for them.

Chapter Summary: A mission with the Avengers brings back some memories Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to regain.

Warnings: Character death (minor, I’m not that bad of a person... yet), angst.

Word Count:

Author’s note: Hello, friends! I know this chapter has been long awaited, and I’m sorry about that. Work and school have been taking up all of my time, but I’m soo excited to share this with you all! I do not know T’Challa’s actual date of birth, so I put 1985. If anyone knows it, please message me so I can edit the story. Thanks for Reading! :)

Wakanda, 1992

“T’Challa! Shuri! Come this way!” Both children began running towards their father, his arms spread as he kneeled down to give them a hug. They met him at full force, giggles escaping their mouths as it as the first time they’d seen their father in days due to his diplomatic ventures as King of Wakanda. Ramonda stood behind them, appreciating the joy that the scene in front of her displayed.

“Father, Shuri and I had a question,” T’Chaka released his children to view his son peering up at him with wide eyes, looking slightly shy and nervous.

“Yes, my son?”

“How come we’ve never met your sister? You talk about her with mother, but we never see her,” T’Challa watched his father physically recoil at the mention of his older sister. His father was the strongest man he knew, and the young boy quickly regretted asking his father a question that gave the king of an entire country such pause. T’Chaka placed on hand on each of their shoulders, consoling them both as they knew based on his reaction they had drudged up something.

“She went missing when I was young, younger than you are now, my children,” he softly smiled at both of them, “I don’t know what happened to her. I only know that she would be so very proud of the both of you, exactly as I am.”

New York, 2017

Bucky adjusted the cuffs on his jacket, looking at himself in the mirror and attempting to make himself look presentable for his undercover mission. This wasn’t his first rodeo after time in cryofreeze, but he still was nervous. He had this instinctive ache in his bones that made him feel uneasy, like something was going to jump out right whenever everyone had gotten comfortable.

“Agent Barnes, your presence is requested in the conference room by Mr. Stark,” the AI made Bucky jump as he could see his eyes widen in the mirror. While he’d being living in quarters equipped with FRIDAY and the technological advancements of the century for several months, the voice that you could just barely tell wasn’t human still alarmed him quite a bit.

He mumbled his thanks to the AI as he put his watch on and made sure his phone was plugged in by the wall. He didn’t hate all the technology of this century but he really didn’t like cellphones. That, combined with the fact that he felt uneasy about his first undercover operation with the Avengers was enough to make anyone uneasy. His dread was quickly interrupted by a voice feeding through one of the many rooms in Stark Tower.

“Barnes, I know you aren’t ignoring my or my AI,” Tony called out over the speaker, no doubt jut as ready to get this over with as everyone else. Tony Stark always enjoyed a lavish party, which was why Bucky was surprised that he, Natasha, and Sam were the only ones taking part in the small intel operation.

Bucky approached the conference room, desperately trying to loosen the tenseness that had been forming in his muscles since he tied his tie. He had cut his hair and shaved earlier in the week, hoping to not look as much like the Winter Soldier that could be so easily identified. He opened the door to the conference room, Steve and Natasha immediately giving him a nod as he closed the door behind him.

“Well, now we know what took you so long, Barnes. Glad you could finally join us,” Tony nodded at one of the empty seats on the left side of the table, Bucky sitting down next to Sam. Tony began again without much pause.

“This mission is just intel. Nat, you approach the target, get information out of him. Wilson, Barnes, you guys are there in case there is a need for back up; otherwise, let Romanoff do her thing. The point of this mission is to gain intel on a new asset HYDRA is reportedly engineering. We don’t know much, only that their intention is to use it in the same way they did the Winter Soldier,” Bucky visibly tensed as Tony pulled up several pictures of murders HYDRA had likely pulled off, the rest of Tony’s words fading into static, white noise. He felt like he couldn’t escape, like no matter how much work into getting away or getting better he put in, it wouldn’t be enough. It made him want to scream and pull out his hair and run 10 miles; he wanted to laugh out loud at the fact that he would live to be 100 years old but he couldn’t find any peace. Most people his age craved some kind of discourse, some kind of excitement; he’d take a rocking chair on some porch in South Florida any day before this shit again. He felt something touch his shin under the table, and he glanced up to see Natasha squinting at him, her chin tilted back in assessment. He felt like she was the only one who would understand him sometimes. He hated that. Not that he had a problem with Tasha, he loved her like you love a younger sister. He had a problem with the fact that someone else felt just as poorly as he had for almost as long.

Tony finally finished talking, but Bucky remained seated for a second, trying to rope it all in. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling deeply and putting his elbows on the edge of the table. He could see Steve going up to Sam in his peripheral, could he see Steve gently moving to adjust Sam’s bowtie, and Sam gently smacking his chest and laughing quietly. Bucky smirked at the idea, the breath of a memory of skinny Steve Rogers in 1939, blushing madly at the idea of holding anyone’s hand in public, and now Bucky knew he had a ring hidden in his pocket to give to Sam. Bucky wanted something like that. Someone that grounded him the way Sam did for Steve. Natasha pulled him out of his thoughts by gently touching his shoulder, gesturing towards the door while trying to meet his eyes and catch some hint that he was okay. He gave her a nod, pushing himself up from the table and moving towards the door.

“Not so fast, James. You-“

“What, Nat? What sage wisdom do you have to offer me this time? What can you say to me that is going to cure whatever the hell we’re going to find out at that dinner party? That I have to find out some guy is suffering the same fate I did? That Steve threw away three years of his life and a semblance of a good relationship with Stark for us to have to defeat God knows how many more of the same assassins we were?” Natasha let out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding towards the door.

“C’mon Barnes, you know they don’t make ‘em like they used to. There’s no way anyone could take you down. We’ve gotta leave anyway, Bucky, the gun strapped to my thigh is getting cold,” Bucky let out a breathy, humorless chuckle at her comment, placing his hands in his pockets and following her out the door.

Sam and Bucky were leaned against opposite ends of the bar, glancing around the party and trying to inconspicuously look out for Natasha, who was draped all over the side of some booth across from some sleazy guy who she had to gain intel from. All of them had earpieces that were synced together in case they needed to make a break for it. Bucky stirred from his spot when he heard heavily accented English order a drink, causing him to turn his head. All the breath in his lungs quickly left as she saw the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on leaning against the bar next to him. His eyes moved up from a pair of deadly black stilettos and a floor-length purple dress to smartly pinned back hair and black eyes. The woman tilted her chin back, glancing at Bucky.

“Purple doesn’t really seem like a fall color to me,” Bucky said before he could stop himself. He was on a mission. He was supposed to help gain intel and watch out for Nat, pass lines on this ethereal woman waiting on her amaretto sour.

“Neither is that blue suit, yet here we both are at a party in October. And if I had a say in it, we both look too good for people to care about seasonal colors,” this caused Bucky to scoff, knowing that now he probably woudn’t be able to stop the comments from coming. Even after half a century of mental and physical torture, Bucky still has a certain amount of charm.

“I was hoping someone would acknowledge the effort I put into this outfit,” this caused the woman to raise her eyebrows, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice her soft lips stretch into an easy grin.

“Well, I’m glad it could be me. My name is Adaeze, and that must make you?” She peered at him inquisitively, as if she were trying to guess who he is. He glanced at her, hoping she hadn’t started to recognize him.

“Its uhm,” he had been doing so great until this moment, so charming and peasant and now he’d forgotten his entire cover story, “its Ryan.”

Bucky wanted to crawl behind the bar and vomit. Adaeze’s amaretto sour was handed to her, and she lifted the glass in Bucky’s direction.

“To wearing the wrong colors, but meeting the right people, James,” she nodded at him, downing her drink and then leaving, He smiled at her until she walked away. He looked over at Natasha, realizing she was alone at the booth, glancing at her watch. He glanced at Sam, who looked bored out of his mind. Bucky had about thirty seconds more of clarity before he realized that the woman who said her name was Adaeze had called him James, not Ryan.

Bucky almost dropped his champagne on the way to Sam, cover be damned. Or it looked like it already was. Bucky was five steps shy of Wilson when a blood-curdling scream let out, coming from a coat closet. A woman made her way out of the small room, shouting something about someone being dead. Bucky and Sam met eyes before walking over to the room, seeing that the dead body belonged to the man Natasha was sitting with earlier.

Tony, Sam, and Natasha were all back in the conference room by the time Bucky walked in after changing, bringing Steve in tow. Bucky sat across from Sam rather than beside, deciding to give Steve the proper amount of time to mother hen around his boyfriend while Tony spoke to them about what happened.

“I wasn’t able to get any intel. He was just interested in securing plans after the gala, and he said he was going to the bathroom, and then his body was discovered,” Natasha cleared her throat after finishing her side of the story.

Tony nodded, typing away on his laptop, “Friday, can you pull security footage from the hotel please? The clip I played earlier?” The AI confirmed, the lights dimming in the room so they could all see the screen once Tony started playing the video.

“Before I play the security footage, I did some research on the supposed asset that is in the video. Her name is (Y/N) Udaku, a not-so-distant relative of our feline friend. If my research serves correctly, she is his aunt,” a picture was projected on the wall: one of T’Challa’s grandparents, a young girl in front of the couple, as well as a baby in their arms.

“She disappeared in the 1960’s as a child, and hasn’t been publicly sighted since then. At least, that’s what everyone thought,” Tony pressed play, a video of the gala in the hotel playing. The coat closet coming into view. Bucky’s stomach lurched as he saw the now dead man walk into the closet, and less than a minute later, a floor length purple dress. Bucky coughed loudly, Steve glancing back at him in confusion. Bucky nodded in his friends direction, focusing back on the screen to see the woman who claimed to be Adaeze move down the hallway and exit the hotel right before the commotion started.

SERIES TAGS: @sanjariti , @peachyysuugar , @learisa

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x poc!reader #bucky barnes x poc #marvel #marvel fanfiction

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lakewitchjournal · 5 years

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Books, Crystals & Incense! - 003

So this is kind of a continuation from my last post! I’m going to start with the books:

Material Girl, Mystical World by Ruby Warrington ⚠️

Rating: 4.5/10, no recommendation

This book was okay. It certainly provided some wonderful insights, but there were some really strong ‘White Feminist™️’ influences in it that made it... tone deaf? I really disliked that aspect of the book and it made it difficult to read it all. I really got a lot out of the astrology and tarot sections of the book. I skimmed through the last three chapters, because at that point I didn’t find anything new or relevant and was bored of the book.

Kitchen Table Tarot by Melissa Cynova ❓

A book a just started, but so far it’s really great! The author does a really good job of articulating what they want to say without drawing it out in a rambly way. So far it’s providing some really cool insights, like what tarot reading might feel like. So far, I love this book and its approach. We’ll see once I finish it!

Let’s talk about crystals.

You might say that crystals were kind of the gateway for me to this path. It all started with listening to the ‘Gemology’ episode of the ‘Ologies’ podcast, where the host had a gemologist on to talk about ROCKS. Small aside: I love rocks. I have always loved rocks. When I was a kid I would collect rocks I thought were pretty, and keep them in a small box on a bed of cotton. I would stare at them, play with them, take them with me to places. I loved these rocks. When my grandmother passed away, I inherited her rock collection. She was an avid traveller, so these were specimens that she had collected from all over the world. I still have this rock collection. I would have been 6 or 7 when it was passed on to me.

Back to the podcast! I’ve always been a skeptic of crystals. But what this gemologist was saying about them really made me think about it (because remember, I fuckin’ love rocks). I can’t remember what was exactly said, but my take away was that crystals can be a visual reminder of the energies and positive attributes that we want to attract. I do remember someone saying on the podcast, ‘if it makes you happy then do it’.

I’ve been keeping my distance from rocks, crystals, whatever you want to call them, because I’ve held the belief that I’m ‘too old’ to have a serious rock collection now, and don’t want to be see as, you know... ‘woo-woo’. But after hearing this episode, I started really thinking about it. And then one day on the bus, I was feeling really overwhelmed and shitty and awful (one part seasonal depression, one part absorbing everyone’s awful morning commute emotions), and I just googled ‘Crystals for Winter Blues’. And I fell down that rabbit hole head first.

Before going much further, I would just like to add a little disclaimer. I recognize that crystals, herbs, and whatever else cannot replace or be used in place of proper care for any illness (mental, physical, etc.). It can be used in tandem with proper care and treatment yes, but crystals, herbs WILL NOT cure anyone of depression, cancer, etc. This is a belief I hold strongly. I realize this is a tricky issue. Being from Canada, where a decent amount of healthcare is covered, and as well having some benefits that can cover a little bit of therapy and pharmaceuticals, I don’t really have to worry about paying absurds amounts of money to get the help I need. Whereas I recognize that people often turn to ‘alternative’ methods because they cannot afford proper treatment, and these alternative methods/medicines, etc, are not nearly as expensive. So I say this and I recognize I’m speaking from a place of privilege. Capitalism sucks.

Another quick thing: I think the human brain is a powerful thing. There’s something to be said about the placebo effect. I am all about harnessing the power of that placebo effect. That’s so fuckin’ cool.

ANYWAYS: After that morning on the bus, a week later I went into a store with a list of crystals that I wanted to buy and did so. I hate buying things, but I also love pretty rocks. I started out with the following:

2 Black Tourmalines

Rose Quartz

Smoky Quartz Cluster

2 Amethysts

2 Fluorites

Carnelian

Citrine

Hematite

Green Aventurine

Labradorite

2 Clear Quartz’

Jade

Tiger’s Eye

Howlite

Malachite

Bloodstone

Lepidolite

I went nuts. To be honest, I should have started with much, much less. Here’s what I think I should have started out with now:

Black Tourmaline

Rose Quartz

Clear Quartz

Amethyst

Citrine

Carnelian

IMO that’s the best starter kit. But now in April, here I am with almost 80 crystals. I love them all. My particular favourite right now is Blue Lace Agate, which I have 3 of. I’m still learning how I can work with them, but sometimes I make little formations around a candle or burning incense, or on my nightstand with ones I feel that will help me. I’ll make another post sometime about my findings of each stone and how they’ve helped me, what they represent to me, and how I work with them. Right now I use them as physical reminders. For example: when I carry Black Tourmaline with me when I’m in public. Whenever I start to feel anxious or that I’m starting to absorb emotions that aren’t mine, I just reach into my pocket and hold the stone and remind myself that I’m grounded and protected and visualize a forcefield around me, and picture it being reinforced by the Black Tourmaline. It’s really helped. That’s enough on crystals for now. But man, I love them. They’re great.

When I was buying my crystals, I also picked up some incense. I used to hate the smell of incense. I’m not even sure why I bought it in the first place, but I felt compelled to at the time. And one thing I’ve learned to listen to over these years is my intuition. I felt a strong desire for it from my gut, so I picked up a small black wooden holder with a Sun engraved on it, and a pack of sage incense. I burn it about 3 times a month, whenever I feel that I need to clear my mind or relax. When I do longer meditation sessions, I try to burn some as I feel it helps me get more into that mindset. I intend to do some reading up on it, but for now I’m just going with what feels right to my intuition.

I wanted to get to more in this post, but I’ve run out of time for today. Maybe I should make a daily practice out of it so I don’t have these crazy long run on posts. But for future posts, I’m going to talk about tarot! My past experiences with it, the deck I just ordered, the books I’m going to read, all that. I’d also like to make an entry about coming to terms with being an empath. And I’m still going to discuss my experience with some basic intention setting, how I’ve been training to protect myself as an empath in public, guided meditation and past life regression meditation, some youtube videos that I’ve checked out, as well as the huge let down I experienced at an ‘expo’ here in the city. These will probably all be separate posts. So expect the next one to be about the expo letdown!

April 4th, 2019

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no-white-knights-blog · 7 years

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Halo - An Etrian Odyssey Novel (Chapter 15/50)

Notes: Arcan chapter, yay! Fun fact - my profile picture is official art of Sage, drawn by Rona67 on Deviant-Art. I’m so invested in Halo I spent actual money to commission official art of my children. Sage is beautiful, I will fight

~~~~~~~

Arcan sighed heavily as he shuffled towards his house, stopping partway to the steps and turning his head to watch as the sun set in the distance, casting stunning rays of gold splitting through the blue sky. It was a beautiful sight, something he never got tired of seeing, but he doubted it would be as beautiful as the dark blue he’d seen just hours earlier. Truthfully, he’d never seen anything like those eyes. Like dark sapphires.

The gunner tore his eyes away from the scene causing the sky to turn purple and red and walked the rest of the way to his apartment. His home was located in the midst of the lower wards of Lagaard, everything smelt of rust, soot, and rotten food, sometimes he found people sleeping out in the open, curled into balls in the middle of the day, dressed in ratted clothes and pale as a sheet of papyrus paper.

He’d lived there his entire life, in the ground floor apartment with the red door, the paint chipping and curling with the number 7 bolted onto the door, the metal it was made of rusted so badly that there were brown streaks leading down the front of the door. The lock was broken and the doorknob was splintered, it had cut into his hand plenty of times before, but they couldn’t afford to replace it.

When he grabbed onto it, it cut into the palm of his hand yet again, and he jerked it away with a curse before taking hold of it once more, jiggling it to the right before turning it, then jiggling up before pushing the door in. Of course he had to push hard, the bottom of the door scraping over the floor with a shrieking noise, because it was hanging a little off of the first hinge, which was loose and wobbly.

“Miss Adkin, I’m home! Nana?” Arcan squeezed through the small gap he managed to open and pushed his hair from his face before stepping into the room and pushing the door closed, turning and securing it with a fraying rope for security before turning back and walking up to the table in the small room the front door opened to.

There was a note on the table, tucked under a small basket with a white cloth covering it, and Arcan used that clothed to wrap around the new gash on his hand, frowning at the biscuits sitting in the basket before lifting the note up and sighing.

Arcan,

Couldn’t stay any longer, the old woman is crazy. Took Blaise and left. I’ll take care of him, so you don’t have to worry.

Miss Adkin

“Fucking bitch,” Arcan slammed the note down and tossed the bloody rag onto the table before storming back up to the door, but he didn’t bother with trying to wiggle it open and instead shoved the window beside it open and hopped out, running the few feet to the bottom of the steps that lead up to the top floor.

Miss Adkin’s apartment was on the far north side of the complex, and Arcan ran there. The door was carved with beautiful symbols and pictures and painted a pure white with the number 88 bolted to the front, a lion head just beneath it with a knocker hanging from its mouth. Arcan ignored that factor and punched the door with his fist, the ring knocker clanging in the lion’s mouth for five minutes straight before the door was wrenched open.

Adkin was in her mid-forties, glaring at Arcan with piercing black eyes and greying hair pulled back into a high bun, “What is it?”

“You know exactly what, ma’am. I came to pick my brother up,” he shouldered her aside and stormed into the elegantly decorated entry before calling out, “Blaise!”

“Arcan, you need to face facts,” Miss Adkin chided, “That woman is losing her mind, it’s not a good environment for a child-.”

“So, you think you have a right to kidnap him, huh? We’re doing fine! All I asked was that you keep an eye on nana and Blaise while I’m working! But if you’re going to continue taking him like this then I’ll find someone else to watch them!” Arcan turned away again, “Blaise, come on, let’s go!”

The patter of feet echoed down the hall and Arcan relaxed substantially when his five-year-old brother, Blaise, ran up to him and wrapped his arms around his legs, looking up at him with bright amber eyes and a breathtaking smile.

“Arcan, aunt Adkin let me eat this fancy food, it was sweet and she called it cake!”

“Really?” Arcan asked, his smile broken and forced as he pet back Blaise’s pale blond hair, “Did you have fun?”

“Uh-huh!”

“I’m glad. We’re going to go home now, okay? Are you tired?”

Blaise just frowned a little, pushing his face into Arcan’s stomach, “Will nana start yelling again?” he asked, and Arcan winced a little.

“You know it’s not her fault, kid. I’ll take care of it and you can just stay in our room, okay?”

“It’s not a good environment for him,” Miss Adkin chided condescendingly, “Leave him here, you can hardly feed yourself and that old lady, but I can take care of Blaise. You’re just a kid yourself, you shouldn’t have to worry about raising someone.”

Arcan snarled at her, “He’s my brother.”

“And you’re ruining his life!” Miss Adkin yelled, and Blaise clung to Arcan’s shirt, “Do you know what that kind of environment does to a child?! If you care about your brother at all, you’ll leave him here with me. You can visit whenever you want, he’ll be able to eat his fill, not be hungry, have his own room! These are things you’ve never had before; don’t you want him to have a better chance than you? To have a better chance at life then becoming some reckless explorer only to die young?! At least this way when you’re lost in the Labyrinth, he’ll still have somewhere to live and won’t be shipped off to an orphanage in Etria!”

“Shut up!” Arcan snapped, tightening his grip on Blaise and looking down at him, his face hidden in Arcan’s shirt, rubbing his little back and nudging him to look up, “Do you wanna come home with me or stay here for the night?” he asked, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking as much as he thought, and Blaise’s eyes widened before looking down and frowning, looking utterly confused.

“I wanna go home with you…”

Arcan gave Miss Adkin a smug look and turned towards the door, “Well, ma’am, we’ll be leaving now. Don’t bother stopping by tomorrow, I can ask someone else. Someone more trustworthy. Let’s go Blaise.”

He let the five-year-old run ahead, hiking down the stairs and waiting at the bottom until Arcan had reached him before skipping towards their apartment. Arcan stopped him at the door, tugging him back and turning him towards the window instead.

“Remember I said no touching the door, it’s broken.”

“Sorry,” Blaise said, and Arcan smiled as he picked him up and placed him in the apartment through the window before following and shutting the window behind him and ruffling Blaise’s pale hair.

“Grab a seat, I’ll check on nana and start dinner.”

He left Blaise there and slipped into one of the three other rooms through a door to the left, his nose wrinkling at the unattractive smell and shutting the door behind him. His great grandmother was almost ninety years old, sitting in a chair with quivering fingers and a lost look in her glazed eyes, her hair short and curled and white, wrinkles deep in her sagging, paper-thin skin.

“Hey nana,” Arcan called softly and knelt down in front of the woman who’d raised he and Blaise from the moment the younger was born, “Sorry I was gone so long, but I’m home now. Are you hungry?” he looked at the fireplace and cringed, “Sorry, it’s pretty cold in here. I’ll restock the fire and get you a blanket, okay?”

The old woman didn’t respond, she hadn’t said a word in over a year in fact, and Arcan sighed a little as he stood up, squeezing her frail hand and walking over to the bed set up there, taking a blanket from it and draping it around his catatonic nana before moving over to the fireplace and throwing in a few logs.

As the flames grew he couldn’t help but remember his father, an alchemist, who died in the Labyrinth. He sacrificed himself to save he and his mother, who didn’t even know she was pregnant again until a week after his funeral. She cried when she found out, because she was scared. How was she supposed to provide for two children?

Moving in with her mother, Arcan’s nana, was supposed to make things better, but she overworked herself while pregnant, and when it was time for Blaise to be born, she was too stressed, she lost too much blood, Arcan stood in the room with his baby brother in his arms while his nana held his mother’s hand and she passed away peacefully.

For four years, everything was great, but Arcan’s nana was slowly losing her mind to age, and after only a year the dementia had ravaged her mind and her body entirely. There wasn’t much else Arcan could do besides take care of her, look after Blaise, and take on odd jobs for a little bit of money just so they could afford the shitty apartment they were living in now.

Being an explorer would mean more money for taking on requests, but Arcan wasn’t exactly skilled as a gunner yet. He didn’t have a teacher, and his mother died before she could teach him anything more than he now knew, so when he decided to go looking for someone to train with, it didn’t matter to him if it was a gunner or not. A survivalist taught his mother most of what she knew, so Arcan looked for a survivalist before anything else. The whole reason he approached Iliad was because he was standing at the fountain, Arcan used to throw coins into the water after making wishes, and that was kind of why Arcan went there in the first place.

To throw in one of his last coins and make a wish that something good would happen, a lucky break, and seeing Iliad there… well, it was like he got his wish without throwing his money away. It was a given the explorer would be a little hostile, almost every survivalist Arcan spoke to was, but there was a gentle fire to Iliad’s eyes that made him appear far less intimidating than he tried to act.

So Arcan approached him and asked if he would train with him. At least he didn’t say no, but now Arcan had to somehow manage a seemingly impossible feat and shoot a fucking leaf out of a tree without ruining it. How could anyone do that?! Was Iliad skilled enough to manage something so incredible? If he was then Arcan definitely wanted to train with him.

“I’m really sorry nana,” Arcan sighed as he stood up, pulling his gun from the holster belted around his hips and opening the chamber, “I ended up wasting a bunch of bullets trying to shoot a leaf out of a tree,” he laughed and shook his head, “I guess I’m pretty desperate, but don’t worry, I’ll do some quick jobs around town tomorrow so I can buy more bullets at Sitoth Trading. All I have to do is shoot a leaf, then I can train to be a real explorer, and we’ll have enough money to get you some medicine,” he squeezed the old woman’s hand again and sighed, dropping his head, “I’ll go make dinner, just sit tight.”

The night was a methodic memory of movements he’d done a hundred times and more. Dump a bunch of leftovers from their previous meals into a pot and make a stew that was tasteless and hardly edible but gave the nutrients needed to live. Arcan hated the fall to Blaise’s face when the bowl was set in front of him, but he still smiled and thanked his brother like it was the best food in the world.

Arcan didn’t eat, there wasn’t enough, he focused on sitting with his nana and spooning stew into her partially open mouth. It’s nothing he hadn’t done before, it was like feeding Blaise when he was still a baby, but having to do it to an elderly woman who practically raised him made it so much harder.

After getting the woman into bed he went back out and was pleased to see Blaise was soaking up the remains of the stew in his bowl with one of the biscuits Miss Adkin had left, holding the dish up with a proud smile to show Arcan he’d finished all on his own. The next step was to push the boy in the direction of the second room, to the right of the table, so he could clean himself up in the little bathroom and get ready for bed.

While Blaise did that, Arcan cleaned the dishes, stoked the fireplace in his nana’s room, secured the door the best he could, because poverty stricken or not, there was always something lower ward bandits would want to steal. In this case one of Arcan’s dual guns, vintage and gifted to him when his mother passed, or his father’s arm guards, which were gold plated, a little dented, but likely worth a fortune, or even the biscuits sitting on the table.

Hell, Arcan was certain that some of them would be willing to kidnap Blaise to sell as a slave in Etria. He couldn’t let that happen.

Their bedroom was much smaller than their nana’s, for obvious reasons. Their bed was a worn mattress stuffed with extra sheets and blankets to make it more comfortable, and a thick comforter that smelled so much like their mother. It calmed Blaise down enough to curl up underneath it, watching Arcan shut the door and making sure the window was locked and covered before slipping in beside him. They had to share the same bed of course, but Arcan didn’t mind, and it made Blaise feel safer to curl up against him.

“Can I have a bedtime story?” Blaise asked softly, and Arcan rolled his head, tearing his eyes away from the gun he was holding up and staring at to smile at the five-year-old using his shoulder as a pillow.

“Sure.”

There were several times Arcan considered selling the guns and arm guards for a little more money, surely he could get enough to pay rent and buy some actual food, maybe even get Blaise a treat, but the very thought of parting with these relics, these heirlooms passed to him by his deceased parents, filled him with a sense of loss and dread that had his eyes burning.

Even some of his neighbors asked why he bothered to keep them, just melt the gold down for profit, but they didn’t understand. No one understood…

“Just for a few hours,” Arcan assured, squeezing Blaise’s hands and beaming at him, “I’ll be home before sunset, I promise,” Blaise nodded his head slowly and Arcan stood up, smiling at the woman standing beside the table, “Thank you for doing this, I was worried I might not be able to find anyone, and I didn’t want to ask that woman again.”

The light-haired medic waved a hand with a smile, “It’s not a problem, I don’t have a hospital shift today, so it’s the least I could do to check up on your nana and babysit for a while.”

“I really shouldn’t be gone too long. I already asked and I was able to get an easy job down by the docks. Hopefully it can get me a bit so I can buy us food.”

The medic, Angie, bit onto her lip before smiling and nodding. “You know if you need any help, there’s no shame in it.”

“I doubt there’s much you can do, and I don’t want to trouble anyone,” Arcan said, ruffling Blaise’s hair and turning for the door, “Be good!”

A few hours of dock work was all he could get, carrying crates he could barely lift off of ships and onto the docks to get organized and brought into Lagaard, distributed between the different stores and restaurants in town. He was on his way to the bar when he got distracted by someone yelling at him. By name. When he turned, he was mildly stunned to see Iliad was the one standing there.

“What are you doing?” the survivalist asked when he was close enough, and Arcan pointed at himself.

“Working.”

“Why aren’t you training the way I told you to?” Iliad asked, “If you want me to train with you then you need to shoot a leaf out of the tallest tree you can find! That was the deal!”

“Yea, I remember,” Arcan smiled a little, “I was trying all day yesterday! I ran out of bullets though, so I need to make some extra money to buy more.”

Iliad stared at Arcan with a blank expression, like he was trying to comprehend the fact Arcan was broke, then squinted, “Are you stupid? Throw the gun itself or something! Do you think if you run out of bullets in the Labyrinth Sitoth Trading will be there? You think a monster is going to wait for you? No! You run out of bullets, you die!”

“Well hey, I didn’t have a lot to begin with,” Arcan said, furrowing his brows, “If you wanna wait here for a little I just have to drop this box off with Cass at the bar and grab my day’s pay from the docks, I’ll go to Sitoth Trading after and get some bullets,” he shrugged with one shoulder and Iliad threw his hands up.

“Whatever! Why did I even bother with you? All gunners are the same.”

He spun around, but he was walking to Sitoth Trading, so Arcan smiled and shook his head before carrying the box the rest of the way to the bar, then sprinted back to the dock for his pay. He counted it out on the way to Sitoth Trading but paused with a heavy frown before he got there, closing the little drawstring bag with a sigh.

Iliad was leaning against the wall outside trading, and he pushed away when he saw Arcan, “You made me wait so you better have a leaf after today.”

“Ah, actually,” Arcan held the bag up, “I don’t have enough for bullets today. I’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

Iliad held his hand out, “That’s plenty for bullets, what are you talking about?!”

“Yea, just bullets, but I have to buy food for tonight,” Arcan explained, slipping the money into a pouch belted to his thigh, “Maybe tomorrow, okay? Do you mind waiting?”

Iliad snarled a little, bristling like a kitten who was just denied a toy, and Arcan would have laughed at how cute he looked if it weren’t for what Iliad snapped at him, “Don’t bother, you obviously don’t care nearly enough, so the deals off,” he stormed past, “Have fun finding a friendly survivalist.”

Arcan sucked in through his teeth and closed his eyes before shoving the pain back down his throat and turning with a smile and a wave, “I’m sorry I disappointed you,” he said, his voice choked, and Iliad stopped, but Arcan turned and walked away before the explorer could meet his glassy eyes.

That had been his last chance. He told himself if he could find a teacher within the week then he’d be able to become an explorer, but he searched everywhere he could think and no such luck. He didn’t have time to keep searching, rent was due in three days and he was broke, they would barely eat that night.

So when he got home he let Angie take the basket of food to prepare dinner and shuffled into his nana’s room where his father’s chest was, kneeling down and opening it to reveal the beautiful gold arm guards, sighing with a drop of his head.

“Sorry dad. Sorry mom. I gotta make sure Blaise can eat. I… I’ll make it up to you both, someday.”

#arcan is precious #iliad is a little prick #but he'll get better I swear #EO #etrian odyssey #fanfiction #original characters #guild halo

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ibta-alexia · 6 years

Text

Lifeline Outline

The Title of my LIFE LINE PRESENTATION: Jubbly

A PICTURE of my LIFELINE: 10

My LIFELINE PERFORMANCE PITCH: 25

My aim for my lifeline performance is to tell a hidden side of myself that not many people expect from me as I present myself as a public and extroverted person. This, I feel, will strike my peers more so than other audience members because they have a view of who I am and an idea on who I am to them. The performance itself will be the story of my childhood and “coming of age” through different mediums to replicate the phases I have been through in my life and the complexity of my inner-thoughts. The minimal set will mirror the minimal costuming and highlight the vivid lighting and the abundance of symbols throughout.

MIS EN SCENE ELEMENTS: 50

Lighting:

The lighting would vary depending on the scenes, however regardless the lighting would be the most elaborate part of the the mis en scene. In scene one, would be a gold wash of the stage to emphasise the yellow/youth in the scene whereas scene three would have soley the projection as the lighting and therefore creating a set within a set. The more simple lights would be scene two and four, as scene two is a standard spotlight and scene four would simply be a simple wash, much like the opening.

Set:

The set for the performance would be very simple, with props as opposed to elaborate set pieces as to adhere to the minimalist design. The staging will facilitate the majority of the set design as the stage would be a black-box space with the audience on the same level as the actress. The simple props would be onstage the whole time and the actress would simply be handed on by her “helpers” for whenever she wanted. These props would include; her collection of toys, a chair, her marker and a rag.

Costume:

The costuming would be fairly simple, the main character (Jubbly), would wear for the majority of the performance overalls over a simple white dress and a white underdress. The only time that the other layers were shown are in the final scene when she rids herself of her innocence and childhood. Her “helpers” would be dressed in drama blacks however, and have their hair tied up as to draw as little attention to themselves, to neutralise the characters within her “helpers”.

symbols/props/motif:

Each scene has its own motif and symbolism; the first scene’s symbolism is the toys that Jubbly plays with, the second scene revolves around the actual melody of the song and the marker, the third scene uses the light of the projection to create a space within the set and the fourth scene uses the removal of makeup and clothing as a symbol for become intimate and brief with the audience.

Color Palette:

The colour palette would be blues, browns and golds.

Music/Sound:

The main sound effect would be the audio of childhood videos for scene three, these would be actual audios of my childhood home movies, to give an element of realism. In addition, the voice overs of the male voices in the home videos would be the voices of people in the community, these voices are both familiar and foreign to the audience and therefore create the same overwhelming effect that the tapes have on Jubbly on the audience.

MY SCRIPT 25

Scene 1:

*Jubbly comes from a British saying; “Lovely Jubbly” which means good or wholesome.

In the first part of my lifeline, Jubbly or myself, is a young child in her childhood bedroom and explores my childhood.

Jubbly: Being an only child, I was always obsessed with toys. As if I was in my own little world and that world revolved around these objects. And when I had enough of one… I’d get a new one. (runs to pick up a barbie)

When I was 6, I got my favourite barbie. She was beautiful and she looked like… me. I didn’t think about it too much but I had something so perfect that looked just like how I wanted to be when I was 16. I could block out anything when I had her.

(Sound effects of; people arguing, mum telling me to eat, aunt telling me to do better, teachers asking her to stop talking, all the while the girl keeps playing with her barbies and making sound effects herself) And then I made her meet him, (pulls out male barbie).

His name was… Benny. And I would play with her and Benny like how at school Benny and I would play. I took them everywhere, and I hoped that eventually Benny would love her like I loved Benny in real life. And so I started to have Benny treat her just like Benny did me… The same clothes, the same gestures and even the same words. “Lovely Jubbly” “High School Musical wasn’t that good” “You’re different.” “She drinks too much coffee that’s why she looks like that” “There isn’t anymore room here” “We’re not even friends!”… (Jubbly suddenly stops playing with her barbies)… I don’t want to play with you anymore (Throws away Benny), and you… you’re too ugly to play with anyway. (Throws away girl barbie).

Scene 2:

In the second part of my lifeline, Jubbly or myself, is slightly older performing a traditional ballad, Scarborough Fair and slowly begins to unravel.

(Singing Scarborough Fair) That’s not right. Yeah… I know this is important. I won’t embarrass you. I promise… (stands in the middle of the stage determined) “Are you going to scarborough fair…” (Looks around as if someone is there even though she is alone) “..Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme.” (people chuckling) “Remember-Remember me to the one who lives there…” (Takes our marker and looks at it) “Then he’ll be a true love of mine”…

(Begins to mark herself with the marker and works herself into a frenzy) “Tell him to make me a cambric shirt-“ Yes mom, I promise… “Parsley sage-“ I was 11. (Shakes head) “Parsley Sage Rosemary-“ I was 11. No. Yes. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t tell him to stop- I won’t disappoint you mom. I promise. “And Thyme” WHY DIDN’T YOU BELIEVE ME! You said you’d protect me… You promised… You- I won’t disappoint you, I promise. “Without no wool or needle work” (tugging at clothes) I was 11- I was ele-I’ll show you on the doll- didn’t say stop- I didn’t know- I won’t disappoint you- I was 11- (scream) I’m sorry, mummy. “He once was… a true love of mine”

Scene 3:

In the third part of my lifeline, Jubbly or myself, is unhinged and seeks refuge in reminiscing on her childhood innocence, as she denies the loss of how things once were.

(Jubbly is already sitting on a chair upstage centre when the scene opens, while across her and in the background are a rewinding VCR, while the audio of her childhood home videos are heard. She sits on a chair looking straight out at the audience, not saying a word. She laughs slightly at the videos of her childhood that she finds amusing but does not speak. She mouths along the quick one liners. She bobs her head along to the melody her mother sings to her in the audio. But a man’s voice is heard saying she is “pretty and talented” and she suddenly starts to feel uncomfortable and begins to breath harshly, another man says the same thing and another and another until it layers over each other and all sound the same, all the while the innocent giggle of the childhood girl remain. She begins to hyperventilate and screams but nothing is heard. Eventually she stands up and turns off the audio and stands in the darkness and lets out an agonising scream and wails. A sudden spotlight appears on her, she looks out confused)

Voice: “You don’t have to do this alone”.

Scene 4:

Jubbly: (With a few other female cast members, she walks centerstage) It isn’t easy. I don’t have toys to hide behind. Melodies lose their meaning. And sometimes those voices don’t go away…

(Takes out ribbon, naivety, from her hair and hands it to one helper)

Jubbly: I am different. I am sad. I am happy. I am… Alexia Hope. (Stops and then removes her overalls, innocence) I am entitled to feel confused. I don’t have to smile all the time. I am alone, but not lonely. I am not the person I want to be…. But I am trying. (Takes off her shoes (vanity) and hands them to her helper) I am not the barbie I thought I would be at 16, but I am happy. I am not a supermodel, but I can look at myself in the mirror. (Taking off one half of her makeup, eyes mainly) I am confused. I am allowed to wake up and want to not wake up the next day. I am allowed to put on my red lipstick just to smudge it on someone else’s lips. (wipes off her lipstick) I am free to dance like nobody’s watching even though I know people can’t not look at me when I dance. (Help her out of her overdress, leaving her “underdress” on only) I am a best friend, and I will continue to be one. (Slowly the helpers return to their seats) I am a cousin, and will continue to be one. I am a daughter, and will continue to be one. I am an ex-girlfriend, and will continue to be one. I am a mother to someone who is not born yet, and I will be a damn good one at that. (She is left alone on stage, raw and exposed) I am… me.

INFLUENCE OF ANY OF THE FOLLOWING REPRESENTED IN MY PERFORMANCE: 25

I was definitely influenced by Eduardo’s workshops especially the work with body tension and physicality in the second and third scene, as well as the playback device; “chorus”. For the last scene I wanted to experiment with the idea of having Jubbly’s “helpers” act in unison, as one force.

Initially in the planning process of the life-line performance, I tried to incorporate relationships of power into my performance which was definitely influenced by the National Theatre’s Hedda Gabler. However, the theme of power did not work out into becoming the primary theme of my lifeline and therefore the idea was scrapped. Although a hint of power being swiftly taken away and crippling a character is mirrored in the second scene.

In addition, Peter Brooks’ minimalist ethos carried through into the set design and costuming for my performance.

What I hope the AUDIENCE WILL EXPERIENCE AS THEY WATCH MY PERFORMANCE: 10

As the audience watch my performance, I hope that they experience a new level of emotional complexity that I had felt many times in my life. When an emotion is not singular, like “happy”, “sad” but a multitude of emotions and thoughts happening all at once and that pure mess of emotions can be traced to a single moment… a trigger. I would like the audience to be able to experience a freefall that follows an event in someone’s life with radical empathy.

#Lifeline #Outline #yr1

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

I LOOK ABOUT ME, AND MAKE A DISCOVERY

I am doubtful whether I was at heart glad or sorry, when my school-days drew to an end, and the time came for my leaving Doctor Strong's. I had been very happy there, I had a great attachment for the Doctor, and I was eminent and distinguished in that little world. For these reasons I was sorry to go; but for other reasons, unsubstantial enough, I was glad. Misty ideas of being a young man at my own disposal, of the importance attaching to a young man at his own disposal, of the wonderful things to be seen and done by that magnificent animal, and the wonderful effects he could not fail to make upon society, lured me away. So powerful were these visionary considerations in my boyish mind, that I seem, according to my present way of thinking, to have left school without natural regret. The separation has not made the impression on me, that other separations have. I try in vain to recall how I felt about it, and what its circumstances were; but it is not momentous in my recollection. I suppose the opening prospect confused me. I know that my juvenile experiences went for little or nothing then; and that life was more like a great fairy story, which I was just about to begin to read, than anything else. MY aunt and I had held many grave deliberations on the calling to which I should be devoted. For a year or more I had endeavoured to find a satisfactory answer to her often-repeated question, 'What I would like to be?' But I had no particular liking, that I could discover, for anything. If I could have been inspired with a knowledge of the science of navigation, taken the command of a fast-sailing expedition, and gone round the world on a triumphant voyage of discovery, I think I might have considered myself completely suited. But, in the absence of any such miraculous provision, my desire was to apply myself to some pursuit that would not lie too heavily upon her purse; and to do my duty in it, whatever it might be. Mr. Dick had regularly assisted at our councils, with a meditative and sage demeanour. He never made a suggestion but once; and on that occasion (I don't know what put it in his head), he suddenly proposed that I should be 'a Brazier'. My aunt received this proposal so very ungraciously, that he never ventured on a second; but ever afterwards confined himself to looking watchfully at her for her suggestions, and rattling his money. 'Trot, I tell you what, my dear,' said my aunt, one morning in the Christmas season when I left school: 'as this knotty point is still unsettled, and as we must not make a mistake in our decision if we can help it, I think we had better take a little breathing-time. In the meanwhile, you must try to look at it from a new point of view, and not as a schoolboy.' 'I will, aunt.' 'It has occurred to me,' pursued my aunt, 'that a little change, and a glimpse of life out of doors, may be useful in helping you to know your own mind, and form a cooler judgement. Suppose you were to go down into the old part of the country again, for instance, and see that - that out-of-the-way woman with the savagest of names,' said my aunt, rubbing her nose, for she could never thoroughly forgive Peggotty for being so called. 'Of all things in the world, aunt, I should like it best!' 'Well,' said my aunt, 'that's lucky, for I should like it too. But it's natural and rational that you should like it. And I am very well persuaded that whatever you do, Trot, will always be natural and rational.' 'I hope so, aunt.' 'Your sister, Betsey Trotwood,' said my aunt, 'would have been as natural and rational a girl as ever breathed. You'll be worthy of her, won't you?' 'I hope I shall be worthy of YOU, aunt. That will be enough for me.' 'It's a mercy that poor dear baby of a mother of yours didn't live,' said my aunt, looking at me approvingly, 'or she'd have been so vain of her boy by this time, that her soft little head would have been completely turned, if there was anything of it left to turn.' (My aunt always excused any weakness of her own in my behalf, by transferring it in this way to my poor mother.) 'Bless me, Trotwood, how you do remind me of her!' 'Pleasantly, I hope, aunt?' said I. 'He's as like her, Dick,' said my aunt, emphatically, 'he's as like her, as she was that afternoon before she began to fret - bless my heart, he's as like her, as he can look at me out of his two eyes!' 'Is he indeed?' said Mr. Dick. 'And he's like David, too,' said my aunt, decisively. 'He is very like David!' said Mr. Dick. 'But what I want you to be, Trot,' resumed my aunt, '- I don't mean physically, but morally; you are very well physically - is, a firm fellow. A fine firm fellow, with a will of your own. With resolution,' said my aunt, shaking her cap at me, and clenching her hand. 'With determination. With character, Trot - with strength of character that is not to be influenced, except on good reason, by anybody, or by anything. That's what I want you to be. That's what your father and mother might both have been, Heaven knows, and been the better for it.' I intimated that I hoped I should be what she described. 'That you may begin, in a small way, to have a reliance upon yourself, and to act for yourself,' said my aunt, 'I shall send you upon your trip, alone. I did think, once, of Mr. Dick's going with you; but, on second thoughts, I shall keep him to take care of me.' Mr. Dick, for a moment, looked a little disappointed; until the honour and dignity of having to take care of the most wonderful woman in the world, restored the sunshine to his face. 'Besides,' said my aunt, 'there's the Memorial -' 'Oh, certainly,' said Mr. Dick, in a hurry, 'I intend, Trotwood, to get that done immediately - it really must be done immediately! And then it will go in, you know - and then -' said Mr. Dick, after checking himself, and pausing a long time, 'there'll be a pretty kettle of fish!' In pursuance of my aunt's kind scheme, I was shortly afterwards fitted out with a handsome purse of money, and a portmanteau, and tenderly dismissed upon my expedition. At parting, my aunt gave me some good advice, and a good many kisses; and said that as her object was that I should look about me, and should think a little, she would recommend me to stay a few days in London, if I liked it, either on my way down into Suffolk, or in coming back. In a word, I was at liberty to do what I would, for three weeks or a month; and no other conditions were imposed upon my freedom than the before-mentioned thinking and looking about me, and a pledge to write three times a week and faithfully report myself. I went to Canterbury first, that I might take leave of Agnes and Mr. Wickfield (my old room in whose house I had not yet relinquished), and also of the good Doctor. Agnes was very glad to see me, and told me that the house had not been like itself since I had left it. 'I am sure I am not like myself when I am away,' said I. 'I seem to want my right hand, when I miss you. Though that's not saying much; for there's no head in my right hand, and no heart. Everyone who knows you, consults with you, and is guided by you, Agnes.' 'Everyone who knows me, spoils me, I believe,' she answered, smiling. 'No. it's because you are like no one else. You are so good, and so sweet-tempered. You have such a gentle nature, and you are always right.' 'You talk,' said Agnes, breaking into a pleasant laugh, as she sat at work, 'as if I were the late Miss Larkins.' 'Come! It's not fair to abuse my confidence,' I answered, reddening at the recollection of my blue enslaver. 'But I shall confide in you, just the same, Agnes. I can never grow out of that. Whenever I fall into trouble, or fall in love, I shall always tell you, if you'll let me - even when I come to fall in love in earnest.' 'Why, you have always been in earnest!' said Agnes, laughing again. 'Oh! that was as a child, or a schoolboy,' said I, laughing in my turn, not without being a little shame-faced. 'Times are altering now, and I suppose I shall be in a terrible state of earnestness one day or other. My wonder is, that you are not in earnest yourself, by this time, Agnes.' Agnes laughed again, and shook her head. 'Oh, I know you are not!' said I, 'because if you had been you would have told me. Or at least' - for I saw a faint blush in her face, 'you would have let me find it out for myself. But there is no one that I know of, who deserves to love you, Agnes. Someone of a nobler character, and more worthy altogether than anyone I have ever seen here, must rise up, before I give my consent. In the time to come, I shall have a wary eye on all admirers; and shall exact a great deal from the successful one, I assure you.' We had gone on, so far, in a mixture of confidential jest and earnest, that had long grown naturally out of our familiar relations, begun as mere children. But Agnes, now suddenly lifting up her eyes to mine, and speaking in a different manner, said: 'Trotwood, there is something that I want to ask you, and that I may not have another opportunity of asking for a long time, perhaps - something I would ask, I think, of no one else. Have you observed any gradual alteration in Papa?' I had observed it, and had often wondered whether she had too. I must have shown as much, now, in my face; for her eyes were in a moment cast down, and I saw tears in them. 'Tell me what it is,' she said, in a low voice. 'I think - shall I be quite plain, Agnes, liking him so much?' 'Yes,' she said. 'I think he does himself no good by the habit that has increased upon him since I first came here. He is often very nervous - or I fancy so.' 'It is not fancy,' said Agnes, shaking her head. 'His hand trembles, his speech is not plain, and his eyes look wild. I have remarked that at those times, and when he is least like himself, he is most certain to be wanted on some business.' 'By Uriah,' said Agnes. 'Yes; and the sense of being unfit for it, or of not having understood it, or of having shown his condition in spite of himself, seems to make him so uneasy, that next day he is worse, and next day worse, and so he becomes jaded and haggard. Do not be alarmed by what I say, Agnes, but in this state I saw him, only the other evening, lay down his head upon his desk, and shed tears like a child.' Her hand passed softly before my lips while I was yet speaking, and in a moment she had met her father at the door of the room, and was hanging on his shoulder. The expression of her face, as they both looked towards me, I felt to be very touching. There was such deep fondness for him, and gratitude to him for all his love and care, in her beautiful look; and there was such a fervent appeal to me to deal tenderly by him, even in my inmost thoughts, and to let no harsh construction find any place against him; she was, at once, so proud of him and devoted to him, yet so compassionate and sorry, and so reliant upon me to be so, too; that nothing she could have said would have expressed more to me, or moved me more. We were to drink tea at the Doctor's. We went there at the usual hour; and round the study fireside found the Doctor, and his young wife, and her mother. The Doctor, who made as much of my going away as if I were going to China, received me as an honoured guest; and called for a log of wood to be thrown on the fire, that he might see the face of his old pupil reddening in the blaze. 'I shall not see many more new faces in Trotwood's stead, Wickfield,' said the Doctor, warming his hands; 'I am getting lazy, and want ease. I shall relinquish all my young people in another six months, and lead a quieter life.' 'You have said so, any time these ten years, Doctor,' Mr. Wickfield answered. 'But now I mean to do it,' returned the Doctor. 'My first master will succeed me - I am in earnest at last - so you'll soon have to arrange our contracts, and to bind us firmly to them, like a couple of knaves.' 'And to take care,' said Mr. Wickfield, 'that you're not imposed on, eh? As you certainly would be, in any contract you should make for yourself. Well! I am ready. There are worse tasks than that, in my calling.' 'I shall have nothing to think of then,' said the Doctor, with a smile, 'but my Dictionary; and this other contract-bargain Annie.' As Mr. Wickfield glanced towards her, sitting at the tea table by Agnes, she seemed to me to avoid his look with such unwonted hesitation and timidity, that his attention became fixed upon her, as if something were suggested to his thoughts. 'There is a post come in from India, I observe,' he said, after a short silence. 'By the by! and letters from Mr. Jack Maldon!' said the Doctor. 'Indeed!' 'Poor dear Jack!' said Mrs. Markleham, shaking her head. 'That trying climate! - like living, they tell me, on a sand-heap, underneath a burning-glass! He looked strong, but he wasn't. My dear Doctor, it was his spirit, not his constitution, that he ventured on so boldly. Annie, my dear, I am sure you must perfectly recollect that your cousin never was strong - not what can be called ROBUST, you know,' said Mrs. Markleham, with emphasis, and looking round upon us generally, '- from the time when my daughter and himself were children together, and walking about, arm-in-arm, the livelong day.' Annie, thus addressed, made no reply. 'Do I gather from what you say, ma'am, that Mr. Maldon is ill?' asked Mr. Wickfield. 'Ill!' replied the Old Soldier. 'My dear sir, he's all sorts of things.' 'Except well?' said Mr. Wickfield. 'Except well, indeed!' said the Old Soldier. 'He has had dreadful strokes of the sun, no doubt, and jungle fevers and agues, and every kind of thing you can mention. As to his liver,' said the Old Soldier resignedly, 'that, of course, he gave up altogether, when he first went out!' 'Does he say all this?' asked Mr. Wickfield. 'Say? My dear sir,' returned Mrs. Markleham, shaking her head and her fan, 'you little know my poor Jack Maldon when you ask that question. Say? Not he. You might drag him at the heels of four wild horses first.' 'Mama!' said Mrs. Strong. 'Annie, my dear,' returned her mother, 'once for all, I must really beg that you will not interfere with me, unless it is to confirm what I say. You know as well as I do that your cousin Maldon would be dragged at the heels of any number of wild horses - why should I confine myself to four! I WON'T confine myself to four - eight, sixteen, two-and-thirty, rather than say anything calculated to overturn the Doctor's plans.' 'Wickfield's plans,' said the Doctor, stroking his face, and looking penitently at his adviser. 'That is to say, our joint plans for him. I said myself, abroad or at home.' 'And I said' added Mr. Wickfield gravely, 'abroad. I was the means of sending him abroad. It's my responsibility.' 'Oh! Responsibility!' said the Old Soldier. 'Everything was done for the best, my dear Mr. Wickfield; everything was done for the kindest and best, we know. But if the dear fellow can't live there, he can't live there. And if he can't live there, he'll die there, sooner than he'll overturn the Doctor's plans. I know him,' said the Old Soldier, fanning herself, in a sort of calm prophetic agony, 'and I know he'll die there, sooner than he'll overturn the Doctor's plans.' 'Well, well, ma'am,' said the Doctor cheerfully, 'I am not bigoted to my plans, and I can overturn them myself. I can substitute some other plans. If Mr. Jack Maldon comes home on account of ill health, he must not be allowed to go back, and we must endeavour to make some more suitable and fortunate provision for him in this country.' Mrs. Markleham was so overcome by this generous speech - which, I need not say, she had not at all expected or led up to - that she could only tell the Doctor it was like himself, and go several times through that operation of kissing the sticks of her fan, and then tapping his hand with it. After which she gently chid her daughter Annie, for not being more demonstrative when such kindnesses were showered, for her sake, on her old playfellow; and entertained us with some particulars concerning other deserving members of her family, whom it was desirable to set on their deserving legs. All this time, her daughter Annie never once spoke, or lifted up her eyes. All this time, Mr. Wickfield had his glance upon her as she sat by his own daughter's side. It appeared to me that he never thought of being observed by anyone; but was so intent upon her, and upon his own thoughts in connexion with her, as to be quite absorbed. He now asked what Mr. Jack Maldon had actually written in reference to himself, and to whom he had written? 'Why, here,' said Mrs. Markleham, taking a letter from the chimney-piece above the Doctor's head, 'the dear fellow says to the Doctor himself - where is it? Oh! - "I am sorry to inform you that my health is suffering severely, and that I fear I may be reduced to the necessity of returning home for a time, as the only hope of restoration." That's pretty plain, poor fellow! His only hope of restoration! But Annie's letter is plainer still. Annie, show me that letter again.' 'Not now, mama,' she pleaded in a low tone. 'My dear, you absolutely are, on some subjects, one of the most ridiculous persons in the world,' returned her mother, 'and perhaps the most unnatural to the claims of your own family. We never should have heard of the letter at all, I believe, unless I had asked for it myself. Do you call that confidence, my love, towards Doctor Strong? I am surprised. You ought to know better.' The letter was reluctantly produced; and as I handed it to the old lady, I saw how the unwilling hand from which I took it, trembled. 'Now let us see,' said Mrs. Markleham, putting her glass to her eye, 'where the passage is. "The remembrance of old times, my dearest Annie" - and so forth - it's not there. "The amiable old Proctor" - who's he? Dear me, Annie, how illegibly your cousin Maldon writes, and how stupid I am! "Doctor," of course. Ah! amiable indeed!' Here she left off, to kiss her fan again, and shake it at the Doctor, who was looking at us in a state of placid satisfaction. 'Now I have found it. "You may not be surprised to hear, Annie," - no, to be sure, knowing that he never was really strong; what did I say just now? - "that I have undergone so much in this distant place, as to have decided to leave it at all hazards; on sick leave, if I can; on total resignation, if that is not to be obtained. What I have endured, and do endure here, is insupportable." And but for the promptitude of that best of creatures,' said Mrs. Markleham, telegraphing the Doctor as before, and refolding the letter, 'it would be insupportable to me to think of.' Mr. Wickfield said not one word, though the old lady looked to him as if for his commentary on this intelligence; but sat severely silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground. Long after the subject was dismissed, and other topics occupied us, he remained so; seldom raising his eyes, unless to rest them for a moment, with a thoughtful frown, upon the Doctor, or his wife, or both. The Doctor was very fond of music. Agnes sang with great sweetness and expression, and so did Mrs. Strong. They sang together, and played duets together, and we had quite a little concert. But I remarked two things: first, that though Annie soon recovered her composure, and was quite herself, there was a blank between her and Mr. Wickfield which separated them wholly from each other; secondly, that Mr. Wickfield seemed to dislike the intimacy between her and Agnes, and to watch it with uneasiness. And now, I must confess, the recollection of what I had seen on that night when Mr. Maldon went away, first began to return upon me with a meaning it had never had, and to trouble me. The innocent beauty of her face was not as innocent to me as it had been; I mistrusted the natural grace and charm of her manner; and when I looked at Agnes by her side, and thought how good and true Agnes was, suspicions arose within me that it was an ill-assorted friendship. She was so happy in it herself, however, and the other was so happy too, that they made the evening fly away as if it were but an hour. It closed in an incident which I well remember. They were taking leave of each other, and Agnes was going to embrace her and kiss her, when Mr. Wickfield stepped between them, as if by accident, and drew Agnes quickly away. Then I saw, as though all the intervening time had been cancelled, and I were still standing in the doorway on the night of the departure, the expression of that night in the face of Mrs. Strong, as it confronted his. I cannot say what an impression this made upon me, or how impossible I found it, when I thought of her afterwards, to separate her from this look, and remember her face in its innocent loveliness again. It haunted me when I got home. I seemed to have left the Doctor's roof with a dark cloud lowering on it. The reverence that I had for his grey head, was mingled with commiseration for his faith in those who were treacherous to him, and with resentment against those who injured him. The impending shadow of a great affliction, and a great disgrace that had no distinct form in it yet, fell like a stain upon the quiet place where I had worked and played as a boy, and did it a cruel wrong. I had no pleasure in thinking, any more, of the grave old broad-leaved aloe-trees, which remained shut up in themselves a hundred years together, and of the trim smooth grass-plot, and the stone urns, and the Doctor's walk, and the congenial sound of the Cathedral bell hovering above them all. It was as if the tranquil sanctuary of my boyhood had been sacked before my face, and its peace and honour given to the winds. But morning brought with it my parting from the old house, which Agnes had filled with her influence; and that occupied my mind sufficiently. I should be there again soon, no doubt; I might sleep again - perhaps often - in my old room; but the days of my inhabiting there were gone, and the old time was past. I was heavier at heart when I packed up such of my books and clothes as still remained there to be sent to Dover, than I cared to show to Uriah Heep; who was so officious to help me, that I uncharitably thought him mighty glad that I was going. I got away from Agnes and her father, somehow, with an indifferent show of being very manly, and took my seat upon the box of the London coach. I was so softened and forgiving, going through the town, that I had half a mind to nod to my old enemy the butcher, and throw him five shillings to drink. But he looked such a very obdurate butcher as he stood scraping the great block in the shop, and moreover, his appearance was so little improved by the loss of a front tooth which I had knocked out, that I thought it best to make no advances. The main object on my mind, I remember, when we got fairly on the road, was to appear as old as possible to the coachman, and to speak extremely gruff. The latter point I achieved at great personal inconvenience; but I stuck to it, because I felt it was a grown-up sort of thing. 'You are going through, sir?' said the coachman. 'Yes, William,' I said, condescendingly (I knew him); 'I am going to London. I shall go down into Suffolk afterwards.' 'Shooting, sir?' said the coachman. He knew as well as I did that it was just as likely, at that time of year, I was going down there whaling; but I felt complimented, too. 'I don't know,' I said, pretending to be undecided, 'whether I shall take a shot or not.' 'Birds is got wery shy, I'm told,' said William. 'So I understand,' said I. 'Is Suffolk your county, sir?' asked William. 'Yes,' I said, with some importance. 'Suffolk's my county.' 'I'm told the dumplings is uncommon fine down there,' said William. I was not aware of it myself, but I felt it necessary to uphold the institutions of my county, and to evince a familiarity with them; so I shook my head, as much as to say, 'I believe you!' 'And the Punches,' said William. 'There's cattle! A Suffolk Punch, when he's a good un, is worth his weight in gold. Did you ever breed any Suffolk Punches yourself, sir?' 'N-no,' I said, 'not exactly.' 'Here's a gen'lm'n behind me, I'll pound it,' said William, 'as has bred 'em by wholesale.' The gentleman spoken of was a gentleman with a very unpromising squint, and a prominent chin, who had a tall white hat on with a narrow flat brim, and whose close-fitting drab trousers seemed to button all the way up outside his legs from his boots to his hips. His chin was cocked over the coachman's shoulder, so near to me, that his breath quite tickled the back of my head; and as I looked at him, he leered at the leaders with the eye with which he didn't squint, in a very knowing manner. 'Ain't you?' asked William. 'Ain't I what?' said the gentleman behind. 'Bred them Suffolk Punches by wholesale?' 'I should think so,' said the gentleman. 'There ain't no sort of orse that I ain't bred, and no sort of dorg. Orses and dorgs is some men's fancy. They're wittles and drink to me - lodging, wife, and children - reading, writing, and Arithmetic - snuff, tobacker, and sleep.' 'That ain't a sort of man to see sitting behind a coach-box, is it though?' said William in my ear, as he handled the reins. I construed this remark into an indication of a wish that he should have my place, so I blushingly offered to resign it. 'Well, if you don't mind, sir,' said William, 'I think it would be more correct.' I have always considered this as the first fall I had in life. When I booked my place at the coach office I had had 'Box Seat' written against the entry, and had given the book-keeper half-a-crown. I was got up in a special great-coat and shawl, expressly to do honour to that distinguished eminence; had glorified myself upon it a good deal; and had felt that I was a credit to the coach. And here, in the very first stage, I was supplanted by a shabby man with a squint, who had no other merit than smelling like a livery-stables, and being able to walk across me, more like a fly than a human being, while the horses were at a canter! A distrust of myself, which has often beset me in life on small occasions, when it would have been better away, was assuredly not stopped in its growth by this little incident outside the Canterbury coach. It was in vain to take refuge in gruffness of speech. I spoke from the pit of my stomach for the rest of the journey, but I felt completely extinguished, and dreadfully young. It was curious and interesting, nevertheless, to be sitting up there behind four horses: well educated, well dressed, and with plenty of money in my pocket; and to look out for the places where I had slept on my weary journey. I had abundant occupation for my thoughts, in every conspicuous landmark on the road. When I looked down at the trampers whom we passed, and saw that well-remembered style of face turned up, I felt as if the tinker's blackened hand were in the bosom of my shirt again. When we clattered through the narrow street of Chatham, and I caught a glimpse, in passing, of the lane where the old monster lived who had bought my jacket, I stretched my neck eagerly to look for the place where I had sat, in the sun and in the shade, waiting for my money. When we came, at last, within a stage of London, and passed the veritable Salem House where Mr. Creakle had laid about him with a heavy hand, I would have given all I had, for lawful permission to get down and thrash him, and let all the boys out like so many caged sparrows. We went to the Golden Cross at Charing Cross, then a mouldy sort of establishment in a close neighbourhood. A waiter showed me into the coffee-room; and a chambermaid introduced me to my small bedchamber, which smelt like a hackney-coach, and was shut up like a family vault. I was still painfully conscious of my youth, for nobody stood in any awe of me at all: the chambermaid being utterly indifferent to my opinions on any subject, and the waiter being familiar with me, and offering advice to my inexperience. 'Well now,' said the waiter, in a tone of confidence, 'what would you like for dinner? Young gentlemen likes poultry in general: have a fowl!' I told him, as majestically as I could, that I wasn't in the humour for a fowl. 'Ain't you?' said the waiter. 'Young gentlemen is generally tired of beef and mutton: have a weal cutlet!' I assented to this proposal, in default of being able to suggest anything else. 'Do you care for taters?' said the waiter, with an insinuating smile, and his head on one side. 'Young gentlemen generally has been overdosed with taters.' I commanded him, in my deepest voice, to order a veal cutlet and potatoes, and all things fitting; and to inquire at the bar if there were any letters for Trotwood Copperfield, Esquire - which I knew there were not, and couldn't be, but thought it manly to appear to expect. He soon came back to say that there were none (at which I was much surprised) and began to lay the cloth for my dinner in a box by the fire. While he was so engaged, he asked me what I would take with it; and on my replying 'Half a pint of sherry,'thought it a favourable opportunity, I am afraid, to extract that measure of wine from the stale leavings at the bottoms of several small decanters. I am of this opinion, because, while I was reading the newspaper, I observed him behind a low wooden partition, which was his private apartment, very busy pouring out of a number of those vessels into one, like a chemist and druggist making up a prescription. When the wine came, too, I thought it flat; and it certainly had more English crumbs in it, than were to be expected in a foreign wine in anything like a pure state, but I was bashful enough to drink it, and say nothing. Being then in a pleasant frame of mind (from which I infer that poisoning is not always disagreeable in some stages of the process), I resolved to go to the play. It was Covent Garden Theatre that I chose; and there, from the back of a centre box, I saw Julius Caesar and the new Pantomime. To have all those noble Romans alive before me, and walking in and out for my entertainment, instead of being the stern taskmasters they had been at school, was a most novel and delightful effect. But the mingled reality and mystery of the whole show, the influence upon me of the poetry, the lights, the music, the company, the smooth stupendous changes of glittering and brilliant scenery, were so dazzling, and opened up such illimitable regions of delight, that when I came out into the rainy street, at twelve o'clock at night, I felt as if I had come from the clouds, where I had been leading a romantic life for ages, to a bawling, splashing, link-lighted, umbrella-struggling, hackney-coach-jostling, patten-clinking, muddy, miserable world. I had emerged by another door, and stood in the street for a little while, as if I really were a stranger upon earth: but the unceremonious pushing and hustling that I received, soon recalled me to myself, and put me in the road back to the hotel; whither I went, revolving the glorious vision all the way; and where, after some porter and oysters, I sat revolving it still, at past one o'clock, with my eyes on the coffee-room fire. I was so filled with the play, and with the past - for it was, in a manner, like a shining transparency, through which I saw my earlier life moving along - that I don't know when the figure of a handsome well-formed young man dressed with a tasteful easy negligence which I have reason to remember very well, became a real presence to me. But I recollect being conscious of his company without having noticed his coming in - and my still sitting, musing, over the coffee-room fire. At last I rose to go to bed, much to the relief of the sleepy waiter, who had got the fidgets in his legs, and was twisting them, and hitting them, and putting them through all kinds of contortions in his small pantry. In going towards the door, I passed the person who had come in, and saw him plainly. I turned directly, came back, and looked again. He did not know me, but I knew him in a moment. At another time I might have wanted the confidence or the decision to speak to him, and might have put it off until next day, and might have lost him. But, in the then condition of my mind, where the play was still running high, his former protection of me appeared so deserving of my gratitude, and my old love for him overflowed my breast so freshly and spontaneously, that I went up to him at once, with a fast-beating heart, and said: 'Steerforth! won't you speak to me?' He looked at me - just as he used to look, sometimes -but I saw no recognition in his face. 'You don't remember me, I am afraid,' said I. 'My God!' he suddenly exclaimed. 'It's little Copperfield!' I grasped him by both hands, and could not let them go. But for very shame, and the fear that it might displease him, I could have held him round the neck and cried. 'I never, never, never was so glad! My dear Steerforth, I am so overjoyed to see you!' 'And I am rejoiced to see you, too!' he said, shaking my hands heartily. 'Why, Copperfield, old boy, don't be overpowered!' And yet he was glad, too, I thought, to see how the delight I had in meeting him affected me. I brushed away the tears that my utmost resolution had not been able to keep back, and I made a clumsy laugh of it, and we sat down together, side by side. 'Why, how do you come to be here?' said Steerforth, clapping me on the shoulder. 'I came here by the Canterbury coach, today. I have been adopted by an aunt down in that part of the country, and have just finished my education there. How do YOU come to be here, Steerforth?' 'Well, I am what they call an Oxford man,' he returned; 'that is to say, I get bored to death down there, periodically - and I am on my way now to my mother's. You're a devilish amiable-looking fellow, Copperfield. just what you used to be, now I look at you! Not altered in the least!' 'I knew you immediately,' I said; 'but you are more easily remembered.' He laughed as he ran his hand through the clustering curls of his hair, and said gaily: 'Yes, I am on an expedition of duty. My mother lives a little way out of town; and the roads being in a beastly condition, and our house tedious enough, I remained here tonight instead of going on. I have not been in town half-a-dozen hours, and those I have been dozing and grumbling away at the play.' 'I have been at the play, too,' said I. 'At Covent Garden. What a delightful and magnificent entertainment, Steerforth!' Steerforth laughed heartily. 'My dear young Davy,' he said, clapping me on the shoulder again, 'you are a very Daisy. The daisy of the field, at sunrise, is not fresher than you are. I have been at Covent Garden, too, and there never was a more miserable business. Holloa, you sir!' This was addressed to the waiter, who had been very attentive to our recognition, at a distance, and now came forward deferentially. 'Where have you put my friend, Mr. Copperfield?' said Steerforth. 'Beg your pardon, sir?' 'Where does he sleep? What's his number? You know what I mean,' said Steerforth. 'Well, sir,' said the waiter, with an apologetic air. 'Mr. Copperfield is at present in forty-four, sir.' 'And what the devil do you mean,' retorted Steerforth, 'by putting Mr. Copperfield into a little loft over a stable?' 'Why, you see we wasn't aware, sir,' returned the waiter, still apologetically, 'as Mr. Copperfield was anyways particular. We can give Mr. Copperfield seventy-two, sir, if it would be preferred. Next you, sir.' 'Of course it would be preferred,' said Steerforth. 'And do it at once.' The waiter immediately withdrew to make the exchange. Steerforth, very much amused at my having been put into forty-four, laughed again, and clapped me on the shoulder again, and invited me to breakfast with him next morning at ten o'clock - an invitation I was only too proud and happy to accept. It being now pretty late, we took our candles and went upstairs, where we parted with friendly heartiness at his door, and where I found my new room a great improvement on my old one, it not being at all musty, and having an immense four-post bedstead in it, which was quite a little landed estate. Here, among pillows enough for six, I soon fell asleep in a blissful condition, and dreamed of ancient Rome, Steerforth, and friendship, until the early morning coaches, rumbling out of the archway underneath, made me dream of thunder and the gods.

#DavidCopperfield

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