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violetwolfraven · 3 years

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Modern!Wormsies Headcanons because I’m terrified wormsies is going to die before 2021 gets here

Tw for mild horror. I don’t think this is that bad but read at your own risk. I don’t l know why I created it I just felt compelled to but don’t read it unless you’re as insane as I am and are fully prepared to read the most cursed thing I have ever created. Seriously. This is by far the most cursed thing I have ever written. Good luck. 💜

So anyway they’re not selling to survive obviously since it’s modern au.

In my modern au they’re all theatre nerds cause why not.

So they’re backstage one day and Race finds this blue thing behind an old set that has probably been there for several years.

Lo and behold, it is a worm on a string.

And Race is kinda weirded out and wondering who left it there but he’s like aight guess I’m keeping this thing.

He ties it to a strap on his backpack and forgets about it for the rest of rehearsal.

Then Romeo (one of Race’s 3 adoptive brothers, the others being Jack and Crutchie) notices it and f l i p s o u t.

Romeo drags over Specs and Jack and Crutchie to show them the worm Race found and they’re all like omg this is the best thing we’ve ever seen.

Race is still kinda confused but like hey whatever this might as well happen and he just figures if his brothers and his little brother’s boyfriend are gonna obsess over worms, why not join in?

They all get worms somehow. Romeo gets a green one, Specs gets a purple one, Jack gets a dark blue one, and Crutchie gets a yellow one.

When they all show up to rehearsal a few days later with worms, a few others pick up on it and are like lmao let’s join in on the insanity.

So anyway Albert gets a red one, Smalls gets a green one, Mike gets a purple one, Ike gets a yellow one cause it’s the opposite of purple, and Elmer gets a green one.

All the others are all kinda just whatever do what you want don’t involve us in your insanity.

BUT THEN

Over the course of the next couple weeks, only a couple more people join in on getting worms.

Sniper gets a purple one and Finch gets an orange one.

But what’s strange is that everybody starts noticing...

The kids with worms pick up choreography...

Faster and Better...

Than the kids without worms...

They’re stretchier and more agile...

...almost like..?

Almost like...

They...

don’t...

have...

spines..?

They wiggle just like their worms wiggle wiggle wiggle.

And Specs is the most logical of the ones with worms but even he fully believes his worm gives him special powers.

They spend their snack breaks talking about this and a few more people decide to get in on it.

Jojo gets a yellow one, Mush gets a dark blue one, and Blink gets a light blue one.

Davey, Spot, and Katherine still refuse to believe in this.

Sarah got a pink worm and they were all terribly disappointed in her.

But anyway they hold out their lack of belief despite how the kids with worms continue to perform better in dance numbers than the few left without.

Kenny caves and gets a dark blue one somewhere in here.

There are now a lot more kids with worms than kids without and the holidays are rolling around.

Ike gets Hotshot a red worm and Hotshot in turn gets red worms for all his crowd on the stage crew (Bart, Rafaela, Joey, Hildy, York, and Vince).

Hell, even the crew kids perform better with worms, it turns out.

Cause they can run fast to get places they need to be and squeeze through spaces they shouldn’t be able to squeeze through.

But anyway Katherine and Davey and Spot are starting to get a little creeped out.

Cause their friends and partners are starting to act more and more like they’re in a cult, even more than the cult that they’re already in (the drama club).

They pretend their worms have fucking personalities and make tiny hats for them and stuff.

And the ones left without worms are dropping like flies and getting assimilated to the other side.

Buttons gets a light blue one, Tommy Boy gets a pink one, Henry gets an orange one, and

And Sarah gets Les a green worm.

That’s kinda the last straw for Davey.

He fucking waits until his siblings are asleep and he throws their worms in the trash.

But mysteriously

They both have their worms back in time for rehearsal.

And Davey gets home that night and there’s a light blue worm waiting on his pillow.

He throws it away but it’s tied to his backpack strap the next day.

He flushes it down the toilet and it shows up in his favorite hoodie pocket.

He tells Katherine and Spot, super freaked out, but they don’t really believe him cause there’s no such thing as magic worms... right?

Then Katherine finds a purple worm on the seat she usually sits in during breaks.

She’s moderately creeped out so she leaves it there and goes to a different seat but the next break the worm is on that seat.

She can’t remember seeing anyone move it.

Meanwhile Spot is making out with Race behind a curtain (obviously) and Race

Race fucking pulls a red worm out of his sleeve like a scarf trick and gives it to him.

Spot is super weirded out by this and wants to just throw the dumb thing away the minute he and Race are done making out, but he just...

He can’t.

He can’t get rid of the worm, so he ties it to his backpack.

Katherine and Davey are mildly horrified that Spot has given in and won’t give up his worm even though you’re encouraging their cult-like behavior, Spot, come on.

Spot insists that he could throw away his worm if he wanted to, he just... doesn’t want to. And besides, he can keep up with the others on theatre stuff now, so why would he?

So Kath and Davey are

The

Last

Ones

Left

Without worms.

Davey’s worm is still following him around but he refuses to give in and he always gets rid of it as soon as he finds it but it always pops up again.

Katherine’s shows up less frequently, but it starts getting more and more frequent and she starts getting more and more freaked out as one night, she goes into her room and that fucking purple worm is on her pillow.

None of her friends have been to her house in the last 24 hours so this development is fucking terrifying.

She calls Davey and flips out on the phone to him about it and he’s trying to calm her down but Sarah ends up stealing his phone after a few minutes because she’s my girlfriend, Davey, not yours.

When Davey gets the phone back, Katherine is significantly calmer. He asks her if she threw the worm away.

She

Didn’t

Throw the worm away.

She claims it’s fine, that they might as well give in, Davey, we’re the last ones left without worms, just out of stubbornness. And anyway our friends with worms are doing fine; look at your siblings if you need proof.

Sarah and Les are having a tea party with their worms and Davey is getting pretty scared at this point.

He’s the last one left without a worm, though that blue one still always seems to show up wherever he is.

Until

Opening night

Their

Show

Afterwards everybody’s pumped up and ready to go to Applebee’s to celebrate and Davey is relieved because no one has mentioned worms in the last 24 hours or even really looked at the ones still tied to their backpacks.

He thinks maybe the others got bored with it and this thing is finally dying, especially since that damn light blue worm hasn’t showed up today either.

But then Davey is just sharing a nice coffee alone with Jack backstage (which he hasn’t done since the worm thing started because honestly his boyfriend was creeping him out).

Jack suddenly starts crying, and Davey’s all like hey what is it? Babe look at me what’s wrong?

And Jack just goes I’m sorry love I know it hurts now but it’s better in the long run trust me.

That’s when Elmer, Specs, Sarah, and Mush burst in behind them and grab Davey, shoving a bag over his head and dragging him somewhere.

When the bag is taken off of Davey’s head, he’s tied to a chair in the middle of a choir room that all his friends have somehow squeezed into.

They’re all holding their worms.

And Davey is like guys if this is an elaborate prank it wasn’t even that funny to begin with but now it is very very much not funny.

But Sarah just goes in a sad tone it’s not a prank Davey.

Les not looking like he’s trying not to laugh is what makes Davey believe it’s not a prank.

And Davey is legitimately terrified at this point because even Spot and Katherine are looking at him with a solemn kind of pity and when he asks them for help they just shake their heads and tell him everything will be okay.

He turns to Jack and is still clinging to that last little bit of hope that one of the people he loves might not have gone off the deep end.

That last little bit of hope that the boy he loves is still the boy I fell for. I know you’re still in there so please just untie me Jackie.

Jack looks like he’s trying not to cry but he doesn’t move.

Instead he says I love you Davey. It’ll all be over soon.

Do it, Race.

Race steps forward and Davey just about has a heart attack because

He’s

Holding

That

Goddamn

Light blue

Worm

And he takes some rainbow duct tape out of his pocket and tapes it to Davey’s shirt.

And the others all start chanting one of us one of us one of us as Davey can practically feel the spine leave his body and travel to another dimension where there’s a man who collects them.

It turns out the others were right that he should just give in.

Now it’s time for them to get the rest of the school.

Edit: here is my attempt to justify myself for this. 💜

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mountphoenixrp · 3 years

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We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

Rafaela Lee Garcia, who is known by no other name, a 26 year old daughter of Huracan. She is an investor and the director of Mount Phoenix Bank.

FC NAME/GROUP: Kang Seulgi / Red Velvet CHARACTER NAME: Rafaela Lee García AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: November 8th, 1994 PLACE OF BIRTH: Tampa, Florida, the USA OCCUPATION: business investor, Director of Mount Phoenix Bank (MPB) HEIGHT: 162cm DEFINING FEATURES:

a well-proportioned figure, broad shoulder; hooded, upturned eyes that tend to completely close when she smiles; full cheeks; round chin

a faint scar on the inner side of her left wrist

PERSONALITY: Rafaela will never be satisfied with being inferior. Authoritative, charismatic, shrewd, calculating, and somewhat manipulative, she’s living to follow her own dreams and ambitions. Her hard-earned grit and self-esteem turn her into a disciplined and dignified individual. Being prudent with strong leadership, she takes herself and her doings very seriously. She’s more than willing to work hard and give everything she’s got for the sake of success, yet at the same time showing respect to people, the law, and work ethic.

While looking stern and composed most of the time, Rafaela still sees herself as fun-loving and approachable. Her whimsicality and sense of humour may surprise others, whereas her intense desire for privacy can perplex even those who are close to her. She prefers to mind her own business and have fun with people she cares for at times, and what she wants from others is respect and not attention. In short, people can try to pay tribute or validation to her, but they shouldn’t expect true gratitude or appreciation from her in return.

Far beyond that calm and powerful facade is a great deal of anxiety and confusion. Rafaela knows well that she’s here to strive for success and status since that seems to be the only way to keep her going. Until now, when she’s done with self-pitying and blaming the world for her weaknesses, she’s still struggling to find what makes her genuinely happy. While she’s got rather healthy self esteem but a quite serious trust issue, and she still needs to learn the true meaning of self-love and, to a further extent, love for other people.

HISTORY: TW: mention of mental disorder, self-harm, sexual harassment, abortion

Rafaela’s birth coincided with the formation of the Gordon, a devastating hurricane, in the southwestern Caribbean. Her mother always included that fact in the explanation, convincing exclusively to her, for Rafaela’s thunderous vagitus and later, her forcefulness.

Being a middle child and the only daughter of a Spanish-American hotel-resort group owner and his young Korean wife, little Cordelia received too much yet too little attention from the world. Intense sibling rivalry, constant peer pressure, and lack of life purpose were the major theme of Rafaela’s life growing up among the brilliant García boys. As a kid, she didn’t mind that at all. The bright side of being the only girl in the family was still enjoyable, as long as she kept being good enough to maintain a decent amount of attention on her existence.

Unfortunately, innocence could never last long. The early adolescent years mercilessly knocked out Rafaela’s sunny core, pushing her right down the bottomless hole of depression. They said she was just another rich kid dealing with trivial struggles typical of her age, and she also believed it. Hence, she did what a teenager in her inexplicable quarter-life crisis would do. Each decision made came out worse than the last, confirming the label that had been unfairly - or fairly? - sealed on her. Spoiled brat, attention whore, brainless rebel, drama queen. Ironically, she had never been or felt like a queen, definitely not at home, and only in her wishful thinking at school. Top education and affluent background didn’t make the kids any nicer, and with her stubborn quietness, Rafaela effortlessly turned herself into an outcast.

One day, at the tender sixteen, when the love letter she wrote to her classmate, a sweet girl with an angelic face, was read aloud in the middle of the school cafeteria at lunchtime, Rafaela revenged herself with a razor. Today, that stupid decision still makes her laugh.

Her poorly planned revenge obviously didn’t work out well, but at least, she was pulled out of that high-end school and instead trapped in their house’s four walls, with CCTVs, a butler, and tutors. She also got a personal chauffeur whose main duty was taking her to and from the office of a prestigious psychologist in town. Six months after her first therapy session, Rafaela was taken to the hospital to take a growing life out of her, while that psychologist was sent to jail for child sexual abuse.

In the next few years, nothing really looked up, except for a really interesting self-discovery. One particular morning, when Rafaela had to walk past that damn psychology office, a tidal of wrath suddenly rose in her chest. Right at her curse, a bold of lightning stroke down from the clear blue sky, setting fire to the whole property.

It would have been only a bizarre coincidence if the same incident hadn’t happened again, then again, whenever she verbalized her wish for destruction. Cool, she thought, since those accusatory fingers pointed at her for being a freak was actually not at all far from the truth. Contrary to popular belief, Rafaela’s supernatural power discovery fueled her confidence rather than deflating her, as she knew that at least, she felt weird in her own skin for a good reason. Being totally aware of the destruction the power could cause, she started to practice methods to control her tempers, and inner peace and a truce with herself followed as side effects.

Soon, the college era came. It almost magically put an end to that long gloomy winter of her life, for suddenly, she was free to do whatever she wanted, including what she had never thought that she would want to do. Unlike everyone’s, including her own belief that she would never be interested in banking and finance, Rafaela turned out to be one of the best with money among her siblings and half-siblings. With the family’s prosperous assets and what a master degree in finance had taught her, Rafaela made her way to the seat of financial manager of the García’s hotel chains. She also had been venturing into the stock market since her college years, not without some memorable mistakes, but Rafaela’s earned much more than just money from it.

However, it wasn’t all that she wanted. Disliking working under her father’s power and her brothers’ influences, Rafaela constantly sought a way to be completely independent of her family. Finally, on a stormy day, that opportunity came in the form of a mysterious stranger. They gave her the instruction to an equally mysterious island, namely Mount Phoenix, where she was promised not only the independence she had been longing for, but also the truth of who she was. That decently triggered her curiosity, enough for her to actually give it a try.

It turned out that Mount Phoenix really exists, and living in it are real deities and their half-human descendants. And she, not really surprisingly, is one of them.

PANTHEON: Mayan CHILD OF: Huracan (Mayan god of rain, storm, and lightning) POWERS:

Lightning Manipulation: She can generate and manipulate bolts of lightning, and other electronics to some extent. Besides her purposeful use, lightning can also strike the subject of her anger when she curses at it.

Rain manipulation: She can generate and manipulate rain in different forms, including drizzles, light showers, downpours, and monsoons. The scale and duration of the rain will depend heavily on her physical and mental strength at the time she uses the power.

Storm Manipulation: She can generate and manipulate a few types of storms, including rainstorms, hail, thunderstorms, and cyclones. Currently, she can create and control small storms within a small area for approximately fifteen minutes. Using this power demands lots of physical and mental strength.

STRENGTHS:

Despite her rather cold and intimidating look, she likes to socialize and knows how to have fun.

She’s a creative problem solver who loves dealing with good challenges, and to some extent, puzzles and crosswords.

She’s an astute businesswoman with a no-bullshit attitude and the true grit of a survivor

She’s a walking lie detector, so please don’t try to fool around unless you really know how to

WEAKNESSES:

Her stubbornness’ level: 3000 (and counting)

She’s calculating and manipulative at times, especially when it comes to the real business

She requires lots of privacy and alone time. Nothing will upset her faster than being disturbed in her resting time, and sometimes that means real lightning will strike

While she’s approachable and friendly, it’s actually challenging to get to know the true her, for she’s a well-trained sceptic with six-foot walls built around her core self.

#kpop rp #krp #red velvet #kang seulgi #red velvet seulgi #mp; welcome

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cosmic-hearts · 4 years

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castles in the air | lee donghyuck | three

lee donghyuck x female reader

genre; enemies-to-lovers, friendship, romance, fluff, angst

warnings; none

foreword; in which you might be a real-life princess with a prince promised to you right from the start, but you won’t be getting your happy ever after.

<< previous chapter | next chapter >>

Over the next couple of dates, it’s like a switch has been flicked in your relationship with Donghyuck. You could finally say with confidence that he’s a friend, and you’re grateful for this time with him; it feels like you’re both catching up on all the lost years.

Sure, he made fun of you constantly for that obnoxious heart-shaped Prada Odette Heart Bag you always carried around with you for casual dates, and for wearing Dior sneakers on the rare days you weren’t in heels. God, that bag looks like it’s for a twelve-year old. And who the hell wears Dior sneakers? I didn’t even know freaking Dior sold sneakers. You tried explaining to him that it was an AF1xDior collaboration special but that didn’t soften his judgement in any way, so you settled for calling him an uncultured jerk. And there was the time he got gravy on your prized pink bag and you nearly stabbed him with your butter knife.

But there were sweeter times too. When he was feeling generous and perhaps more than a little sentimental, he sang you songs as you two sat on the hood of his car, soaking up the moonlight. These days were rare and therefore exceedingly precious, and though you’d never tell him, you cherished them deeply. His voice whisked you away from this sublunary world, to a place filled with the breath of angels and flights of fancy, a place where you could build castles in the air and wonder what it would be like if what you had with Donghyuck was real.

You love every second with him.

That said, you’re already regretting your decision to go with Donghyuck to his senior high prom. Even your coveted Sadek Majed Summer Spring Couture gown (literally woven with all the blessings of spring) isn’t enough to keep anxiety from clawing its way through the perfectly fitted waistline. It might have something to do with the fact that you’ve never actually been to a prom before.

It doesn’t get any better when you step into his school and all eyes are on you. Perhaps it’s your gown; you had a feeling you’d overdone it this time. You knew it from the moment you got into Donghyuck’s car and his jaw literally dropped. When you asked him what was wrong, he looked away, cleared his throat and gripped the steering wheel unnecessarily hard without bothering to reply. You knew maybe you’d taken it a little too far, but you didn’t think you looked that bad.

Donghyuck brings you to the auditorium, then promptly abandons you in search of Jaemin. You’d expected as much—Lee Donghyuck may have the voice of an angel, but he most certainly isn’t one.

You sip your glass of punch, and when you set it down you see someone’s come to sit opposite you.

“Hi,” she says, eyes curving into crescents, “I think we’ve met before.”

You take a good look at the girl; she’s dressed in a baby blue rafaela dress, obsidian locks tumbling across her shoulders, a sharp contrast to her alabaster complexion.

“Oh, that’s right,” you say, eyes widening in recognition, “Sohui, right? Donghyuck’s girlfriend?”

“Yup,” she says, “I just wanted to say thank you for that day. When you spoke up for me… I really appreciated it.”

You smile. “It’s no problem. Don’t worry about it.”

Sohui scoots over to sit next to you. “I absolutely love your dress. It’s so pretty.”

“Thanks. I really like yours too.”

Silence ensues for a moment, then she says, “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sure, what is it?” “It’s about Donghyuck.”

Your grip on your glass tightens just the slightest. Of course it would be about Donghyuck.

“I just wanted to ask, when will this whole fake dating thing end? I know I might seem like a really jealous girlfriend right now, but… I’m actually asking for Donghyuck.”

For Donghyuck? “I’m not sure,” you reply truthfully, “but I can try to speed things up. I’m sorry about having to hog him like this; I know it’s not easy for you both.”

Her perfect face almost melts with relief. “Thank you,” she says, “that would be great. Donghyuck’s just been really stressed lately and I’m worried about him.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why has he been stressed? Did he say something?”

Sohui sighs, her shoulders falling into a slump. “I’m not sure if I should tell you this.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to him if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Okay then. I don’t know how to put this any other way, but… it might be because of you.”

And then she tells you. She finally tells you the reason why Donghyuck had spent the majority of his life hating you.

Your expression never once falters, not even a bit. Not even when Donghyuck returns and you witness his face light up at the sight of his real girlfriend.

You will not falter.

—

“Hey,” Donghyuck says, his voice filling the silence that had been permeating the car all the way back. “You’re being unusually quiet today.”

You fiddle with the embroidered flowers sewn into your dress, iridescent in the shaft of moonlight streaming through the car window. Tonight, even the beautiful artistry of fashion fails to make you smile.

“I’m just tired.”

Donghyuck laughs. “I didn’t ever think you could run out of energy at events like these. You always looked so perfectly put together at every single social function. Unlike me. God, I always found it all so tiring. I could never understand how you did it.”

You didn’t know me, you bite back the urge to say, just like how I still don’t know you.

It seems like years pass before he reaches your house, and for once, you can’t wait to bolt out of the car, to run as far away from him as possible.

“By the way, I wanted to tell you something.”

You respond with a questioning glance. Donghyuck’s gaze darts away from you and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“When I first saw you just now… I didn’t think you looked bad at all. Really.”

Your heart stills for a moment.

“I thought you looked... really pretty. I mean, you still look… really pretty, of course.”

You give him a polite smile, say thank you and goodnight, step out of the car and walk away until you hear the sound of the engine revving.

It is then that you finally fall apart.

“His hatred for you… it’s because he feels that you’re tying him down. Holding him back from all the things he wants to achieve. He told me that he hated you because he was made to marry you from the start and he viewed this marriage as a prison. He feels that you’re taking his freedom away from him.”

Your head spins.

“So you can probably see… having to spend all this time with you… it’s taking a toll on him. I think for his sake, you should end it soon.”

You let out a bitter chuckle at your own hypocrisy—you wanted to help him reach for the stars, but you’re the one who’s chaining him to the ground.

Your house stands before you like a castle gleaming in the starlight. You sigh, a soft sound that escapes immediately into the darkness.

All this time, you were merely building castles in the air. How naive of you to believe that what you and Donghyuck had could ever be real.

But you’re strong and you don’t need anyone, you tell yourself. You close your eyes, imagining the moonlight washing away the pain, the starlight making you new and whole again. You’ll be ready to make things right; it’s the least you can do for Donghyuck.

And you? You’ll be okay. You always are.

—

“Darling, you look absolutely fabulous.”

You won’t demur or say otherwise, not when you actually do think you look ready to rule the goddamn universe tonight.

You decided on a dress from POEM Couture’s autumn-winter collection, and you really do think you look like a dream, ethereal almost. Your hair is put up in a low tendril twist bun with curled wisps escaping from the knot, framing the sides of your face.

You’re about to head downstairs to check in on the decorations when your phone screen lights up with a message.

From: hyuck

happy birthday, see u later ;) mayhaps i got u a present

Jaw tightening, you put your phone facedown on your desk.

Don’t ruin your makeup, you say sternly to yourself, swallowing harshly to get rid of the sudden thickness in your throat.

You just need to get through this night and everything will be okay again.

—

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for being here to celebrate my daughter’s 18th birthday with us today.”

Donghyuck looks out at the sea of people in stiff suits and designer dresses, and pulls uncomfortably at his necktie. How many of these people do you actually know, he wonders? They’re probably your parents’ colleagues, friends, rivals, people they wanted to show you off to. They’re milling about at your birthday celebration, making polite, small talk and pretending like they actually want to be here.

“Y/N has always been the most perfect child,” your mother coos into the mic, “and we’re so lucky to have her as our daughter. Today is a very special day; our daughter has grown up into a beautiful young lady, with a beautiful mind of her own. And I’m so happy that she has finally found the one for her to blossom through her eighteenth year with.” She sends a wink in Donghyuck’s direction, and he offers back a weak smile while his own parents look proudly on.

He wonders where you are, and why you haven’t replied to his text. Then again, he imagines that you must be absolutely swamped with preparations for today. He makes a mental note to go find you later so he can pass you your present in private.

“All right, I won’t delay this anymore. After all, this is my daughter’s night, not mine. Everyone, I present to you, Y/N!”

Like magic, you appear from the shadows of the upper wing and all goes quiet.

Donghyuck’s eyes widen.

He doesn’t know much about fashion, but it doesn’t take much to realize that you’re dressed to kill tonight. The midnight purple bodice of your gown fades out into a lush pink in a glorious ombre, like twilight melding with a rosy sunrise. Your hair is delicately tied in a low bun, curly wisps gently kissing the sides of your face. Under the luminous light of the chandelier above, your skin is aglow with radiance, eyes aflame with a sparkle that takes his breath away.

As you descend the grand staircase, a hand on the gold rail, a regal aura is composed around you and time seems to stop. Donghyuck swears he can hear several sharp intakes of breath.

You look just like a princess.

You look like you have the blood of a royal running through your veins. If Donghyuck has the ability to command and captivate with his voice, you too have that same ability, but with your mere presence.

“Oh, my darling daughter,” your mother gushes, arms extended towards you. She raises a hand towards Donghyuck, signalling him to come over.

“I’m so glad you two are finally together. I mean, we knew it would happen all along, but now that it’s finalized, I can rest assured,” she announces, and Donghyuck finds that he can scarcely lift his eyes to meet yours; you’re simply too dazzling.

The crowd erupts into applause, and at first it is low, quiet him, but it soon morphs into a collective cheer, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

You cast a despairing glance at your mother, trying to convey to her the sheer impropriety of such a notion, but she merely winks at you and whispers, “Don’t worry, we’re not all that old-fashioned.”

Unconsciously, you grab a fistful of your dress as your heart begins to race. You simply cannot kiss Donghyuck, that would literally be the end of you. Donghyuck would hate it with every fibre of his being, and you don’t want to force him into doing this; he would hate you even more than he already does. You absolutely cannot bear the thought of tasting the disgust on his lips—

A warm hand closes around yours, the one that’s nervously clutching onto the folds of your dress. Your fist uncurls and your relaxes as Donghyuck threads his fingers through yours, his grip firm but gentle. He places his other hand on your cheek and whispers so softly that you know it is meant for your ears alone,

“Can I kiss you?”

You look up into his eyes, expecting to find reluctance and discomfort, but instead, his eyes are burning with a sort of—you wouldn’t call it desire, not exactly, but more of determination to see this moment through, because he too knows that there’s no way out of this.

So you let your eyelids flutter shut to indicate your assent; you might as well get this done and over with, it’s all meaningless anyway and Donghyuck knows it too.

But the moment his lips meet yours, a shower of sparks explodes in your chest and you can feel your heart sing. Your grip on his hand tightens as you attempt to hold him close and you will this moment to last forever so that you can memorize the sweet taste of his lips on yours, the heat of his hand against your cheek, handling you with such gentleness and care you almost believe this charade you’re both playing is real. He presses his lips against yours just a little deeper, draws you closer to him ever so slightly, thumb stroking your flushed cheek, and a shiver of electricity jolts through your veins, sending a chill down your spine—maybe the castles you’d been building in the air can be real after all.

But this isn’t a fairytale, and your happy ever after won’t come by so easily.

Donghyuck’s lips leave yours. As quickly as it had begun, it was over, and the castles crumble right before you. You can’t hear the whoops and cheers arising from all around—in that moment, all you are aware of is Lee Donghyuck, gazing down at you with the darkness of midnight in his eyes and stardust streaked across his face.

You’re suddenly transported back to a cramped, dimly-lit closet, where a boy huddled so close to you you could feel his breath on the shell of your ear and see the beauty spots that speckled his skin. Like stardust.

“... if I kiss you, you might just fall in love with me. Can’t risk that now, can we?”

How right he is. You almost let out a sardonic laugh right then and there.

You’re royally screwed, and all it took was a single kiss.

—

You gaze out at the cityscape below you, breathing in the cool night air on the balcony and watching the twinkling nightlife of the rest of the world. You hope the chilly winds will cool the warmth in your cheeks and restore your former composure, so you won’t look like you’ve just been wrecked apart with the mere sensation of Donghyuck’s lips on yours.

That would be too humiliating.

You’re about to turn around and go back to the party, back to where you should be, when you feel a soft tug on your bun. Your hair escapes free from its tight hold and falls down your back, a long and lustrous stream illuminated by moonlight.

You turn to the side and see Donghyuck, eyes gleaming with mischief. The familiarity of this action makes your heart swell; it’s like he’s reminding you of the memories he made with you. It’s like he’s deliberately making this so damn difficult for you.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten that you haven’t returned me my Scrunchie,” you say, and Donghyuck lets out a loud guffaw.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it back soon.”

Then his gaze suddenly drops away from yours, towards the floor. He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks blazing. “About just now—,”

“Thank you for that. I really appreciated it, and I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“N-No,” Donghyuck says, a little too quickly, “it was fine for me.. Really. I was actually wondering if you were okay with it.”

Oh, he had no idea.

“We did what we had to do, and that’s all that matters,” you reply, turning away from him to face the night.

You two stand in silence for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest as you gather up the courage let Donghyuck go.

Now.

“Y/N,” Donghyuck starts, right at the exact moment you say, “I think it’s time.”

Donghyuck tilts his head to the side, eyes focused on you. “You go first.”

You take a deep breath and plough forth. No turning back now. “I think it’s time to stop this. Tomorrow I’ll tell my parents that I want to cancel the engagement.”

Donghyuck freezes, eyes wide, and for a moment you think you saw a glimpse of hurt flash across his eyes. But you must be deluding yourself.

“Why?”

You raise an eyebrow in feigned incredulity. “What do you mean why? We were supposed to end all of this after we tried it out for a while, just to show our parents that we were putting in the effort. I’ll let them know tomorrow that I want to break up with you. I think we’ve fake dated for long enough and it should be enough to convince our parents. It’s time we both moved on, don’t you think?” you say, doing your best to keep your tone light while twirling a lock of hair around your finger and hoping you were a picture-perfect portrait of absolute indifference. And not a shaking mess.

Donghyuck’s eyes are glassy, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looked crushed.

“I just have one question,” he says, eyes boring into you, “well, two, actually.”

You lift your chin to meet his gaze, a defiant shine in your eyes and a coy smile on your lips. “Go ahead.”

“Did you feel anything when we kissed?”

It is your turn to freeze. Why would he ask this? And how can you possibly tell him that when he kissed you it was like a thousand angels were singing in unison, and you felt your heart soaring to places it had never been before? That if you could, you would grab his collar, pull him towards you and claim his lips just once more—

“Are you drunk right now, Lee Donghyuck? That’s literally the craziest thing to ask. Of course I didn’t.”

His eyes harden. “Great. Just… one more question then.”

You cross your arms over your chest because your hands are shaking visibly and you’re unable to stop them.

“Is this what you really want?”

Again, you’re assaulted by a wave of deja-vu—the same cold, starlit night on a different balcony, where he’d asked you the same question in all earnestness. Previously you weren’t sure if he really cared what you wanted, but now that you know he truly cares, it makes it all the more painful.

“I don’t want a model answer, Y/N. I’m asking you what you really want.”

You bite down hard on your lip, suppressing the wildness in you that screams no.

“Again, that’s a stupid question. Of course it’s what I want. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s what we both want, isn’t it? You wanted so much to break our marriage contract because you hate me. That’s why we’re doing all this in the first place.”

A film descends over his eyes at that moment and your heart breaks.

“You’re right,” he says after what seems like an eternity, voice barely above a whisper, “we should have ended this long ago. I’m sorry. For wasting your time.”

Your heart breaks at his words, even though you’d seen them coming from a mile away and you really don’t have the right to expect anything else. Your heart breaks at the way he’s already slipping away from you.

Even though he was never yours to begin with.

He steps closer to you and takes your wrist. You feel a prickle of electricity course through your bones, but he merely hands you a large shopping bag.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” he says, with a smile that appears forced and yet genuine all at once. Like he really wants to smile at you but he can’t bring himself to.

And with that, he turns and leaves. You grip tightly onto the bag, fingernails digging into the skin of your palm as his silhouette fades back into the glow of the ballroom.

You don’t even have it in you to cry, to regret, to yell for him to come back.

Because the moment he left a gaping hole tore through you and now you are just too filled up with empty to feel anything.

—

Hey Y/N,

Happy birthday! I can’t believe it’s been so long since we started hanging out. Honestly, I’d long forgotten about our contract, and now that I think about it, it’s actually so stupid—how did we even come up with that bullshit? Then again, I guess I’m glad we did, because it gave us the opportunity to hang out and without it, I would never have known what a great person you are.

Here’s your Scrunchie (did you really think I wouldn’t give it back lol) and your birthday present, because I’m sorry I got gravy on your ugly ass Prada bag. Don’t worry, this one’s also from Prada, and I think it’s SO much nicer—my mum helped me get it custom made. I personally chose all the colors and the design, and it has your name inscribed inside so you’d better not lose it. Don’t you dare get gravy on this one or else I’ll literally come for your ass.

All right, now that that’s out of the way, it’s confession time. You’re right, I did hate you before (and it’s not because I hate pink, I swear), but I realized that it wasn’t personal. I just hated having to marry you, not because of you, but I just didn’t want to be in an arranged marriage. I thought that would take all my freedom away and I really didn’t want that. I’m sorry for hating you so much—that was just plain stupid of me.

But in a funny way, even though I saw you as killing my freedom, you were the one who gave it back to me—you were the one who rekindled my love for singing at a time when everyone around me was telling me I should give it up. I can’t believe you still remembered that I sing, by the way. I didn’t even know that you knew, so that was pretty cool of you. So yeah, I just wanted to say thank you for that, you have no idea how much it meant to me. How important it was to me. If you look inside the Prada bag you’ll find a USB drive. I’d actually been working on a song for you for a couple months just to say thank you. It’s called “Beautiful Time”, and I really hope you’ll like it.

I hope that whatever happens next, we’ll always be friends, because you’re seriously one of the coolest and strongest people I know. Sometimes I wish I had your strength; I don’t know if you know this, but you’re so strong it makes me jealous sometimes. It’s crazy how we’re the same age but you’re just so much more mature and stronger. You’re just… so amazing sometimes.

All right, before I puke writing this, let’s just end it here. Here’s to many more memories and great times, have a great birthday Y/N <3

Love, Donghyuck

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vvirgils · 4 years

Text

Chronicles of Straith #2-The Witch’s Dragon:Chapter 14

Chronicles of Straith #1-Fate’s Door///Chapter 13/Chapter 15//Masterpost

The sun was peeking over the clouds when the ship arrived at port in Chanidy City. Roman and Virgil woke up when the voices of the sailors above them became loud and energetic, the rare sun waking everyone up. After thanking the ship’s captain, the pair left the ship, Virgil levitating the dragon above them. It still slept, deep in the trance Virgil had crafted. Laurus decided to perch on Roman’s shoulder, deciding it was the best view when their owner was occupied. The little dragon slept peacefully in the boat, and he was happy to feel the sun shining on his scales again.

Roman had warned her about the crowded market before they left, and neither the early hour nor the cold wind had dissuaded merchants and customers alike from filling the space.

“So, where do we go from here?” Virgil asked, taking in the bustling marketplace and magical chaos of Canea. “I assume we need to go to the palace and get someone to help us find Lyrwrithe.”

“Yeah, basically. I know people there, so it shouldn’t be too difficult. The palace is right there.” Roman pointed. It was within walking distance, but not an enjoyable one. “I have the royal seal of Straith for identity purposes, and I met the king. They have to let me in,” Roman said, although without Tyler by their side, they felt less certain.

“Okay,” Virgil said. She looked at the market once more. “Is it okay if we go slowly? I know we’re on a tight schedule, but I’ve never seen this much magic before.”

“Sure. We’ve got the time, just don’t take all day,” Roman answered. They remembered the first time they saw this market, how overwhelming everything had been. Now, knowing what it was like, the market was less overwhelming, but only a little.

Virgil talked to several of the vendors, curious about everything. Though the dragon she carried would have stood out anywhere else, nobody batted an eye. A dragon breeder even asked her if she was selling. Virgil asked them about containing dragons, and was told that her sleep spell and perfectly made trap would hold it, but to add another sleep spell for good measure. She asked the woman selling portable balls of light what the spell was, and quickly learned that those sorts of things were trade secrets.

Watching Virgil experience it all was almost better than seeing it for the first time to Roman. They admired her curiosity—not just at the more outlandish things, but at things as ordinary as soap and mood rings that worked with magic. She took all the free samples and trinkets that the stands had to offer, and demonstrated her sorcery abilities when asked “Are you a sorcerer?” No one pressed her about her age, and many commented on Laurus’s cuteness, as if Roman wasn’t holding onto him half the time. She laughed, and was more friendly and social than they’d ever seen her before.

Roman didn’t mind being ignored, but as noon approached, they knew that, in the interest of time, it would be best to get going. “We should head to the castle soon,” they said, trying to gently nudge Virgil away from the market.

“Okay, I’m going to buy a book or two first,” Virgil said, heading to a spellbook vendor. She gave the merchant a few coins for a handsome leather-bound volume, and they were off to the palace.

Unlike Straith, there weren’t any guards around the perimeter, so Roman circled the palace in search of a front entrance. After what seemed like forever— they were both getting hungry— Roman found a small corridor that led into some offices. Roman knocked on the door to one of them, which opened to reveal an unfriendly sorcerer, a cloud of brilliant yellow-white energy surrounding him.

“What do you want?” he said, looking from one of them to the other. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“I’m King—Prince Roman, I’m looking for King Mark. This is my good friend, she’s a sorcerer.” Virgil gave a small wave and smile, not sure what to do.

“Well, if you want the king, maybe you shouldn’t be in here,” the sorcerer said. He took a deep breath, steadying himself to give them a telling-off to go with his glare.

“It’s okay, Matt, they’re with me.” Roman and Virgil spun around to see a tall girl with multicolored hair, turning from orange to turquoise before their eyes. The sorcerer grumbled and closed the door, muttering something about kids these days.

Jessie watched the door close, then turned to the two teenagers. “Roman, what are you doing here? Not that it’s bad to see you, of course, but I didn’t think you would just show up. And who is this?” She pointed at Virgil, looking between the two of them as if trying to puzzle out something. Laurus curled around Roman’s feet, looking up at Jessie with wide-eyed curiosity.

“We’re here to get that dragon— “ Roman pointed to the purple bubble, where the gray dragon inside was, thankfully, slumbering. “To Lyrwrithe, the place you told me about. The thing is, my father wants to kind of…take back the kingdom. He said that I’m unfit to rule because I let that dragon terrorize Archdale, but I managed to negotiate. If I can get the dragon to Lyrwrithe and keep it from terrorizing anyone else within the week, I get to stay king. If I don’t, he —he makes sorcery illegal again. Virgil is um, she’s a sorcerer.”

“Okay,” Jessie said, and Roman could see her thinking it through. “You said you had a week, right?”

“Yeah, so we kind of do need to leave today,” Virgil said, biting her lip. “Any help would be good.”

“I remember Epos’s reign,” Jessie said. A cloud passed over her face, and her hair turned gray. “And I don’t really have anything pressing to do this week, and I know Tyler is really busy. You guys just have to get to Lyrwrithe and back, right?”

Roman nodded. “Yeah, and we need some supplies, but nothing fancy. We were thinking of just taking the Graelen River, all we’d need is a boat and someone to sail it.” They looked at Jessie expectantly, hoping that she could help, or Rafaela was as good as dead.

Jessie took a deep breath, gathering herself. “I don’t want to get your hopes up,” she started, uncertain. “But I might be able to guide you guys there. I do have family that work at Lyrwrithe, but I need to talk to the king first. I can’t just abandon the palace, but I definitely think the world is a better place when Straith allows magic. Plus, I haven’t seen my brother in a while… I’ll talk to Mark, okay? No promises.”

“Thank you so much,” Virgil said, without a touch of sarcasm. “Um, is there anything here to eat?”

“Employee breakroom. Go straight, take a left, second door on your right,” Jessie said, “I’ll go ask the king. See you in an hour or so.” She waved goodbye, and walked to the nearest stairwell, hair changing to electric blue.

Roman and Virgil didn’t have any difficulty finding the break room, and they dug into the soup someone had brought from home. “What’s the book about?” Roman asked Virgil, trying to make conversation to pass the time. They slipped Laurus a piece of meat, knowing the little dragon had to be hungry. He gulped it down.

“History of sorcery,” Virgil answered, turning the volume over in her hands. “It’s got some cool spells in it, too, that’s what the lady said. I… do you mind if I read it now? Just sitting around and waiting makes me anxious.”

“Go ahead, I don’t mind,” Roman said, even though there was nothing for them to do. “You don’t have to ask me.”

Virgil opened up her book and started reading. “Cool.”

Since Roman hadn’t slept well in the boat, and they certainly couldn’t sleep well now, they had seconds of the soup, and tried to look inconspicuous as various people came in and out of the break room. Fortunately, Laurus and the grey dragon helped them fit in, this was the sorcery wing after all.

Going by the clock on the wall, it was about forty minutes before Jessie came for them. She almost ran over to them, a wide smile on her face as she crossed the room to the pair. Virgil looked up from her book when she saw Jessie, looking at her hopefully.

“So, I have good news and bad news,” Jessie said, sitting down next to Roman. “Which do you want first?”

Roman perked up, Laurus running up from their lap to the table. “Good news,” they said.

“No, bad news first,” Virgil said, picking up her dragon and taking him off the table. “Whatever. Just tell us.”

“I can take you guys to Lyrwrithe, but not until tomorrow,” Jessie said, patting Laurus on the head. “You can stay here tonight—there’s some guest rooms—and we’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Roman said, a flutter of hope leaping in their chest. “That’s almost perfect. Do we get to eat dinner with the king?”

“Wait, that’s an option?” Virgil asked, looking terrified at the prospect.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourselves, Mark will be busy with other engagements tonight. I think you’ll just get food delivered to your rooms,” Jessie said, her hair shifting from deep black to platinum blond as she twirled it around her finger. “In fact, I can take you to your guest rooms right now, unless you want to spend more time outside the palace.”

“Can we drop our things off at our rooms and then leave?” Virgil asked, running her fingers over the cover of her book. Roman wasn’t big on the idea of going back out into the cold, but with Virgil it wouldn’t be too bad.

“Sure, I can give you a tour, too, Virgil. If you want, that is,” Jessie said, carding her hand through her hair.

“Oh, I think I’d rather visit the market, sorry,” Virgil said, blushing a little with embarrassment. “Let’s go to our um, rooms.”

“Sounds good to me,” Roman said. “To the market we go.”

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sandersstudies · 5 years

Text

Quirky - Chapter 5

A High School Superhero AU - Sanders Sides

(Will add tag list in a reblog! If I miss you, please let me know ASAP - As always, asks, comments, messages, reblogs, and keysmashes are more than welcome.)

-> Chapter Six

<- Chapter Four

<<- Chapter One

You can now also find the fic with the same username and title on AO3 :)

Virgil kicked a stone in front of him as the class walked toward the bus. Next to him, Logan was going on about the history of U.S.J., their destination for Hero Studies class. Virgil wasn’t a fan of field trips. He almost envied Terrence, who had stayed home sick from school.

“Pick up the pace, gang,” Mr. Picani said. “Last I checked, none of you had lead feet as a quirk.” There had been no updates on Mr. Sanders, but Virgil and many of the other students had been watching the news religiously. All that had been released to the public was that Mr. Sanders had encountered an unnamed retired pro hero at the site of a recent vandalism, attacked him using his quirk, and fled the scene. Police officers had pursued, but initially lost the trail until Mr. Sanders was arrested in the early hours of the morning in his apartment. The date of his trial had not yet been announced.

“Am I boring you?” Logan asked, stopping mid-sentence.

“Oh, no, no,” Virgil said, spasmodically grabbing Logan’s wrist and then dropping it immediately. “Sorry, guess I’m a little caught up in my own head. What were you saying?”

“U.S.J. is a fascinating location, that is all,” Logan said. Mr. Picani checked their names off his list as they got on board the bus. “Think: a single building containing several ecosystems and terrains to prepare heroes for work in any field at all! Especially useful for disaster intervention, search-and-rescue...but I won’t go on.” He took one of the few remaining open seats, and Virgil sat beside him, on the aisle side. “What were you thinking about?”

“Mr. Sanders again,” Virgil said, lowering his voice and leaning toward Logan. He felt exposed sitting near the aisle. “Do you really think he attacked another hero?”

“Rumor has it the other hero was the Flying Falcon,” Logan said in an even lower voice. “But I don’t like spreading inconclusive evidence.”

“The Flying-” Logan shushed him. “The Flying Falcon?” Virgil whispered. “Roman’s dad?”

“Inconclusive evidence.”

Virgil craned over the back of his seat as the bus started. Roman was several seats back reading a comic book, the seat next to him empty.

His posse not hanging out with him anymore? Roman had seemed a little quieter than usual yesterday. Then again, everyone had. Roman was dwelling an awfully long time on his page. He’s no genius, Virgil thought, But I’m pretty sure he can read. Roman’s eyes did look a little glazed over, come to think of it—

Logan pulled gently on Virgil’s sleeve, and Virgil came back to himself as he slid back into the seat.

“It’s rude to stare,” Logan said. Virgil felt his neck flush hot as he bounced his leg. Logan must think he was a real ass. He stared down at his hands, and then toward the front window of the bus, watching for U.S.J. to appear on the horizon. Another disadvantage of sitting on the aisle side of the seat was limited window access.

“There it is,” Rafaela said a few minutes later, pointing. Students craned their necks to get a first glance at the dome.

“Please stay in your seats,” Mr. Picani said from the front of the bus. Students sulked back down.

U.S.J. didn’t look like much to Virgil. He’d gone on vacation once with his mom and visited the Omaha zoo, and the huge glass building reminded him of the desert dome that housed things like Fennec foxes and meerkats. He had a vague idea that once he entered U.S.J. he would be pounced on by a bobcat.

“The hero Glass runs the U.S.J.,” Kai whispered to Kenny from behind Virgil. “They’re so cool.”

Virgil vaguely recalled seeing Glass on television before. The hero could turn things they touched into glass, and also transform into a glass figure which, when damaged, could regenerate almost instantly. That cheesy action figure, Virgil remembered. The little clear plastic arm that shot off and could “regrow with the power of their Quirk!” (that is, be replaced and reused). How many millions did heroes make off of dumb things like that?

Kai was bouncing up and down, grasping the back of Virgil’s seat and shaking it back and forth as the bus pulled up to the building. Virgil winced. He’d noticed that when Kai was overexcited, his quirk goo could leak from his nose and ears.

“Let’s go!” Kai said.

“Just a minute,” Mr. Picani said. “Your names must be checked off the list as you get off the bus, so don’t rush, now.”

“You checked us on off when we got on!” Kai whined, draping himself over his seat. Roman was instructed to check off names so Mr. Picani could lead the students into the building, and the students started to file into the aisle. Virgil wondered for a moment if Roman would be petty enough to leave Virgil’s name unchecked, but the class president’s face was serious as the other students got off the bus.

“Are you thinking again?” Logan asked, alighting just behind Virgil.

“A little,” Virgil admitted. At least Logan wasn’t embarrassed by Virgil’s awkward staring anymore.

“I do find the construction of U.S.J. compelling,” Logan said again. “The ecosystems…” He was staring at the building with barely-contained delight. “I’ve read about their systems of environment regulation for the six main zones. It’s fascinating. Do let me know if I go on about them too long.”

Virgil felt his lips contort irresistibly into a smile. Logan sure was a nerd, but it was kind of funny how excited he got. “You’re fine.”

Logan continued, rejuvenated by Virgil’s consent. “The main zones are the Ruins, the Landslide, the Mountain, the Flood, the Downpour, and the Conflagration zones. As their names suggest, each is related to a different environmental factor.”

Logan sounded almost like he was reciting from a book. His quirk isn’t a photographic memory, Virgil thought. In fact, Logan was liable to forget things that didn’t interest him. But it might as well be when it comes to this stuff.

“The Conflagration Zone is perhaps most impressive,” Logan went on. “Designed to simulate a city on fire, a blaze is kept constant within the zone, maintained by the environmental factors which prevent it from spreading into the other zones. It’s actually a very delicate balance, the design took years to perfect.” He spoke as proudly as if he’d designed it himself. The class began to move toward the entrance of the building where there was a large sign with U.S.J. emblazoned above it in gold letters.

“Glass is the official caretaker and one of the head designers, along with Multi-Man himself.” Logan’s arms moved emphatically. “Glass’ quirk is quite astonishing. I would be very interested in seeing it in person. Of course, they are also a faculty member. Perhaps they would prefer to be referred to by their civilian name.”

Other students were also commenting on the structure and its caretaker, but none in such technical terms as Logan, who had paused to take a breath after a particularly long paragraph.

“We’re going to process into the front entrance,” Mr. Picani said. “We’ll stop there and you’ll be directed into the next location.”

The students jostled a bit, and Virgil shrunk into his oversized hoodie. Logan, on the other hand, seemed to have grown two inches taller since they’d left the main campus. He was scanning each part of the building as they went through the front double doors, and Virgil imagined once again that he could hear Logan’s synapses firing.

The class oohed and ahhed as they entered the building. The raised platform they entered onto let them see across the entire space, which was more massive than a stadium. From their height, it reminded Virgil of an arena. In front of them was a blue arch leading to the stairs that descended into the rest of the building, which had a dirt floor. Smaller domes encased two of the environmental zones, but a real miniature mountain rose to the ceiling on their right, with a landslide arching down to its base where rested a mock town, small but with everything to real scale. It was so realistic Virgil expected to see people peering out of the windows to watch their arrival. At the edge of the town was a series of collapsed buildings which came almost up to the edge of the raised platform, and across from those was a lake to the students’ right; Virgil had anticipated a pool, a simulated lake, but the body of water had grass and even small trees at the edge, growing happily inside the pavilion with a healthy diet of lake water and sunshine.

The building seemed all sunshine, in fact. Even the mountain was contained inside the massive glass ceiling, and on this sunny day no artificial lights were needed. A few metal beams around the edge were the only reminder that they were not really outside.

Forgetting Mr. Picani’s instructions in their excitement, a couple students began to rush for the stairs that led down into the zones, but stopped suddenly, as if prevented by an invisible barrier.

“Woah there,” said a new voice. In their astonishment at seeing the building, none of the students had noticed the figure standing before him. The person had outstretched their hands to stop Kai with one arm and Rafaela with the other. They were not invisible, but clear through their entire body, and it was only as they began to return to their ordinary form that Virgil could make them out.

They wore ordinary black clothing that looked casual and modern. In place of the mask that usually covered the whole round face was a smile under dark eyes and hair. Virgil realized that the action figure had exaggerated the hero’s age: Glass could not be much older than some of the UA upperclassmen. A few students muttered the name in awe and surprise.

“Here, I’d ask that you refer to me as Mx. Stokes,” Glass said. “Glass is for field work and going on Ellen and things like that.”

Kai was staring up at Mx. Stokes in astonishment, mouth slightly agape. Mr. Picani walked up to the other hero.

“Mx. Stokes is going to begin by giving you all a bit of a tour, and then you’ll be prepared when you start using this place for rescue training,” he said

“That’s right,” Mx. Stokes agreed. “Do any of you know how many zones are in U.S.J.?”

Logan’s hand shot up so fast he almost smacked Virgil in the face.

“Yes?” Mx. Stokes said. “And your name is?”

Logan had begun after the teacher’s first word, so the response went something like “U.S.J-contains-eight-zones-six-of-which—Logan—six-of-which-contain-specific-environmental-factors.”

“Thank you, Logan,” Mx. Stokes said. “That’s correct. All of you are actually standing in the first zone now. The entrance is itself one of the zones, and if you’ll look down those steps you can see into the central plaza, which connects the entrance to the six environmental zones.”

Virgil stared past the other students down the massive flights of steps, lined with guardrails and wide enough that the whole class could have walked down side-by-side. At the base of the steps was the plaza, in the center of which was a circular green space. Virgil hadn’t noticed it at first; it had been dwarfed in size by the other zones. It was little more than a fountain surrounded by plants, a typical park centerpiece. It looked out of place only because it was framed by fallen buildings, a mountain, and a lake.

“Let’s start walking toward the plaza,” Mx. Stokes said, turning for the stairs. The students began to follow, Kai leading the way. Virgil grumbled at the thought of having to go back up the stairs again before they left. He envied Patton, who Mr. Picani was directing to a small elevator — too small for the whole class, but Virgil could dream.

“Now, when lots of people think of hero work,” Mx. Stokes went on. “They think first of TV stuff like punching people and blowing stuff up, right?” A few students muttered agreement. “Right! But the most important part of being a hero isn’t that stuff. Even more important than knocking the shit out of villains—”

“Glass,” Mr. Picani warned from the top of the steps.

“Knocking the stuffing out of villains is caring for the people we serve, and that often means search-and-rescue operations. Plenty of heroes are known for this kind of work.”

There was a beat of glances among the students. Rescue was Multi-Man’s speciality.

If he wasn’t in jail, would he be giving us this speech? Virgil wondered.

“Now,” Mx. Stokes said, breaking the moment. “If the entrance is noon, we’re going to move around the zones clockwise. Does anybody know what the zone immediately to our left is called?” The students were halfway down the stairs, and the collapsed buildings began to loom to one side.

Logan’s hand shot up in the air again, but Mx. Stokes glanced over the students and called on Kai’s much shorter raised arm instead.

“The Ruined Zone,” Kai said.

“Ruins Zone,” Logan corrected in a whisper.

“Right, the Ruins Zone,” Mx. Stokes said. “Or the Collapse Zone. It probably looks a lot like the place where you guys had your heroes vs. villains exercise, and where you took your entrance exam.”

Virgil shuddered at the memory.

“However, the Ruins Zone is meant to simulate an urban environment in the middle of a disaster like an earthquake or tornado, and some of the buildings are not very stable.” They’d finally reached the base of the stairs and had landed almost among the buildings where Patton, just coming off the elevator, was waiting for them. Virgil was startled by the level of detail in the fallen city. Real road signs lay bent at the side of cracked roads. He could see inside individual broken windows and into the rooms inside. He could imagine himself, perched on top of a building in his mask. He could swoop inside the windows and rescue...who was inside the building? He imagined a crouched figure inside. Perhaps it was—

He cut off his daydream halfway. Unrealistic.

“Could...could one of the buildings collapse now?” Kai asked nervously.

“Nope,” Mx. Stokes said, hands on their hips. “The entire building is currently in safety mode. Nothing can hurt you right now so long as nobody goes messing around. But some of the beams and stones are very unstable and are liable to collapse if tampered with, so it’s not a good place to experiment if you don’t know it very well. Anybody know the name of this next zone?”

Since they’d reached the bottom of the stairs, Logan had edged closer to the front of the class and was directly in Mx. Stokes line of sight when he raised his hand.

“Logan.”

“The Landslide Zone,” Logan enunciated.

“That’s right,” Mx. Stokes said, turning around to lead then away from the buildings and toward the small town, surrounded by forest and half-buried under the edge of the mountain with mud and rocks. “I think the name is pretty self-explanatory.”

Virgil was astonished with how long it took to walk first to the Landslide Zone and then all the way to the Mountain Zone, around five or six o’clock on Mx. Stokes’ imaginary map. Surely the building didn’t look this big from the outside? If he kept his gaze focused on the mountain, he found he could almost forget he was inside a building.

“Quite a lot of cliffs there,” Mx. Stokes declared after ignoring Logan’s hand to allow Remy to say “Mountain Zone.”

“Here’s a question,” Mr. Picani said, coming to stand beside Mx. Stokes. “I want each of you to think about your quirk strengths and weaknesses for a moment, and when we get back to the entrance, I’d like to hear which zones you feel work to your advantage and which would be most difficult for you.”

“Does this count as homework?” Remy asked.

Mr. Picani pointed a joking finger at the students. “Be lucky this is Hero Studies and not Literature or I’d have you write an essay on it.” A few students chuckled good-naturedly.

“We’ll take a quick break here,” Mx. Stokes said. “You guys can think about that question and take a quick look around the base of the mountain. No climbing though, okay?”

Some of the students practically sprinted toward the rocks, while Virgil and several others fell gratefully into splayed sitting positions.

“I am going to investigate the rock face, would you like to come?” Logan asked, leaning over Virgil.

“No thanks,” Virgil said. “Think I’m just gonna chill out here.”

“Understood.” Logan sped-walked away, paused to examine a root, and vanished behind a small clump of trees at the base of the mountain.

It is cool, having all this stuff indoors, Virgil admitted to himself. But he was no geology student. He flopped onto his back. The ground felt like real dirt, and he stared through the ceiling’s metal beams to see the clouds drifting lazily overhead. He hadn’t slept well after the news about Mr. Sanders. It was silly but—

He was distracted from his thoughts as Mx. Stokes leaned in to say something to Mr. Picani, too quietly for Virgil to hear except as a mutter. The glass hero touched the other teacher on the arm, and the two took several steps away from the class, though Mr. Picani’s gaze still scanned the students, most of whom had run some distance away or were now chatting amongst themselves. Kai had made a bouncy ball using his goo quirk and he and Kenny were tossing it back and forth, occasionally sprinting after it when it managed to slip through their fingers.

What was Glass saying to Picani? Half-closing his eyes, Virgil rolled onto his side as casually as possible to see the pair better. With the arrest of Mr. Sanders, maybe it was better not to trust anyone, not even the other UA teachers.

From Virgil’s distance, Mx. Stokes’ furrowed brows looked almost sympathetic as he spoke. Picani shooed the younger teacher away after a moment, and Mx. Stokes took a respectful step back.

Something’s going on between those two, Virgil thought. He glanced around to see if any of the other students were watching, but the only one nearby was Patton who was—

Looking at him.

Virgil quickly rolled over and went back to half-closing his eyes. He probably didn’t see that, he tried to convince himself. It didn’t work. He really didn’t like Patton’s eyes. If Virgil had had the courage, he would have watched to see if Patton ever actually blinked, or if his eyes were always staring just a bit. He didn’t look back for several minutes, and was nearly drifting into a nap when Mx. Stokes’ voice broke out again.

“Okay, everybody come back!” Mx. Stokes called. “Roman, you’re class rep, aren’t you? Run around toward the mountain and make sure we’ve got everybody back.”

Virgil pushed himself back into a standing position and dusted himself up without checking to see whether Patton was looking at him.

“Enjoyed your rest?” Logan asked as he approached.

“Enjoyed your investigating?” Virgil responded.

“Thoroughly. They’ve used an ingenious mix of sedimentary rock and artificial materials to create an accurate imitation of a genuine landmass. The trees are growing via an irrigation system routed from the lake under the tile.”

“Who knows the name of the next zone?” Mx. Stokes asked. Logan’s delight at the discovery of sediment and irrigations had distracted him long enough that he had not raised his hand by the time the question was answered.

“The Conflagration or Fire Zone.”

“That’s right, Roman,” Mx. Stokes said. “Let’s start moving that way. And before any of you freak out—” The teacher raised their hands defensively. “The safety settings make the location totally secure.”

A few students scoffed, but Virgil stifled a grateful sigh. The Conflagration Zone, situated near seven o’clock, was the first of the zones covered completely in a dome, this one red instead of clear, with drawn-on flames rising along the sides. Ordinarily, Virgil would have thought of it as a large building, but dwarfed by the entire U.S.J. it was much less impressive. Virgil could almost feel Logan shaking with excitement next to him.

“How does the Conflagration Zone work?” Virgil said, deadpan.

“Very interesting that you would ask!” Logan almost burst out. “Actually, the fire in the space is maintained via a chemical balance, not by burning materials, which regulates it while simulating real fire. Many of the materials inside are actually functionally fireproof. A ventilation system maintains a regulated amount of smoke, and—”

“So,” Mx. Stokes began from the front of the group. Logan trailed off his lecture to listen. “We’re about to go inside the dome now. We are going to stop right inside the entrance, where there won’t be any fire, so don’t break off from the group or run around.”

The doors looked as if they might lead into an ordinary pavillion or museum, but Virgil shivered (ironically, he thought) at the prospect of going inside. He pulled his hood over his head.

“The Conflagration Zone is an environmentally controlled space—” The teacher’s voice changed as he crossed the threshold of the dome, and Virgil was pushed along as the students followed. It was a good thing Logan had already told him about the zone, because he couldn’t hear Mx. Stokes talking over the roaring in his ears.

Like the Ruins Zone, the space contained rubble and several collapsed structures, all engulfed in fire. Standing just inside the door was like facing a raging campfire, and Virgil flushed in the heat. There was no lighting inside the dome besides the flames, so the entire place was illuminated in red and orange. A few mock streets between buildings were the only places away from the entrance that seemed to be totally clear of fire. The class’ brief stay inside was mostly a blur for Virgil, and he breathed deeply when they turned and proceeded back outside. Outside, Virgil realized, was how he thought of the inside of U.S.J., despite the domed ceiling above them.

“Everybody really likes this next spot,” Mx. Stokes said. “Who knows what it’s called?”

“Flood Zone,” a few students said at once.

“Right, sometimes called the Shipwreck Zone,” Mx. Stokes went on. “Nice relief after that heat, huh?”

The students muttered agreement. Near nine o’clock arched the clear blue water of the artificial lake, a large yacht bobbing like a massive buoy two hundred yards from the shore. Behind the lake rose up a small mountain on which perched wooden scaffolding to support a amusement-park-style waterslide, funneling water into the lake. The main slide twisted around several times, reaching the height of an office building, and was wide enough that the entire yacht could have slid inside it. An offshoot from the slide did not come to rest in the water, but jutted out over the zone, spewing water to form a waterfall.

“Looks fun, right?” Mx. Stokes said. “You can’t see from here, but rock formations stab out of the belly of the slide, and the way down is pretty dangerous. The slide and boat are fully functional, though. You guys can check them out when you come back for your first session of rescue training.”

They’d reached the edge of the water, and Mx. Stokes bent down on the mossy shore to reach into the water and cup it in their hand.

“Lightly chlorinated,” they said. “To keep out bacteria and the like. You can even—” and they slurped the water from their hand like they were taking a shot. “Though I don’t necessarily recommend it. Go ahead and touch if you like.”

Several of the students plunged their hands into the water. Kai slipped off his sandles and dipped in his toes. Virgil slid down to sitting and felt the wet ground sink slightly under his weight. When he stuck his fingers into the lake, he could still see them clearly, if slightly distorted in shape and blued in color.

Logan plopped down next to Virgil and plunged his arm in all the way up to his shirt sleeve. When he pulled his hand back out, he’d grasped a fistful of soil from the edge of the water.

“Incredible,” he said, rubbing the grains of sandy dirt between his fingers. “They’ve actually incorporated the lake directly into the ground of the location. The irrigation of the water must be highly advanced.” When he sat back up, the front of his shirt was blurred with mud, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“The lake is connected directly to our next zone,” Mx. Stokes said, gesturing to the dome near ten o’clock. “The Downpour Zone’s ceiling and floor are routed with pipes to and from the lake to create the constant rain without wasting water. Now, I can see you’re all enjoying the lake, but I’m not sure you all would like to walk into the eye of a storm.”

Virgil suspected Logan would enjoy that very much, if it meant a chance to learn about irrigation or whatever it was.

“So, we’re going to walk along the dome and take a look through the doors, and we won’t be getting soaked,” Mx. Stokes said, beginning to walk around the edge of the lake toward the second dome at a brisk trot. Some of the students took an extra moment to get up from the shore, and Kai skipped several steps as he tried to put on his left sandal. Mr. Picani brought up the rear.

“You guys still with me?” Mx. Stokes called over their shoulder smilingly. “We’re almost done, I promise.”

As they approached the final dome, there was a faint sound of thunder from within, muffled by the walls, and Virgil had an image of the Downpour Zone as a snowglobe on Mx. Stokes’ mantlepiece. The dome was indigo and dappled with large painted clouds of blue and purple, intersected with large beams. When the teacher swung the double doors in to let the students peer inside, Virgil remained suspended near the back of the group. He’d seen storms before, and he only had to wait through a few minutes of oohs and ahhs before it was the time he’d been dreading: time to ascend back up all those massive stairs to the exit. Do you want to be a hero or not? he asked himself in an attempt at motivation.

Not that badly, he responded.

The entire group sans Patton and Mr. Picani, who had returned in the elevator, slugged up the stairs. The only students still apparently full of energy were Kai and Logan, who had sparked a conversation in their mutual admiration of the space and were now gibbering away to one another excitedly.

Too discouraged by the stairs to keep up, Virgil walked a few steps behind. It looked like Logan had found a new, more willing set of ears, even if those ears sometimes leaked goo. Virgil found he wasn’t relieved to be rid of Logan’s lecturing, and managed to catch a few snippets of their conversation.

“The production of the building was a direct result of…that’s why I find it so interesting....me too!”

Kai was several inches shorter than Logan, and did pant for breath about halfway up the stairs. Virgil slowed even further, but still caught up to the pair.

“Hello, Virgil,” Logan said. He was smiling. “Kai also knows a lot regarding the history of U.S.J.”

“I’m a big Glass fan,” Kai said, pausing to catch his breath. “I figured.” Virgil hadn’t meant to sound so cold, but Kai’s nose was leaking goo again. The shorter boy sniffed and then suddenly tensed. “Oh no, don’t—” Virgil didn’t get a chance to finish before Kai let out a massive sneeze, splattering Virgil with flecks of goo like smashed Jell-O.

“Oh, gross!” he said instinctively, shoving Kai away from him. Whether the other student was already thrown off balance or whether he’d pushed harder than he meant to Virgil was never quite sure, but Kai tumbled back and would have fallen onto his butt if Logan had not been directly behind him. Too surprised to catch Kai, Logan fell back against the railing of the stairs with an “oof,” Kai essentially in his lap. His glasses went flying.

Kai exclaimed and threw out one hand as if to catch the glasses, and they were enveloped suddenly by goo shot from his fingers before they flew past the safety rail and over the edge of the tall, tall staircase.

Kai almost screamed. “I’m really sorry!” he said, covering the noise of Virgil swearing.

Virgil leaned down to drag Kai to his feet — he was very light — and take Logan by the hand.

“I think my glasses…” Logan muttered.

“They went over the edge,” Virgil said. “Gosh, I’m so so sorry, will you need new ones? Can you see okay? Should I—”

“Oh, they’re not broken!” Kai insisted.

“What?” Logan got back to his feet.

“They’re not broken,” Kai said. “My goo is a shock absorber, they’ll be protected.”

“Everything okay back there?” Mx. Stokes had been leading the group, but paused when Kai shouted, and had now turned around to approach them. Mr. Picani appeared at the top of the steps after exiting the elevator with Patton and was also peering down to see why the group had paused.

“We’re so sorry, Mx. Stokes,” Virgil stuttered. “It was my fault. Logan’s glasses fell over the side of the stairs.”

“Well, that’s not good,” Mx. Stokes said after a beat. They leaned over the guardrail to peer into the Ruins Zone below. “Can’t see much from here, huh? Well, why don’t you — and what’s your name, kid?” They planted their left hand on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Virgil.”

“Okay, Virgil, I don’t think Logan here will be much help to you down there.”

Logan had, in fact, lost his depth perception and was experimentally walking up and down the nearest three steps with only minimal success.

“You...you want me to go down there?” Virgil asked. He was unsure how to put confused emphasis on every word in a sentence at once.

Mx. Stokes tapped their thumb against their lip. “Here, Virgil, why don’t you take your class rep, he’s a popular guy, right? His light quirk will be a big help down there.” Virgil had no time to protest before Mx. Stokes was waving. “Hey, Roman! Hop down here a minute!”

Roman was near the front of the group but trooped down the steps at the sound of his name. Mx. Stokes slapped their right hand onto his shoulder so they stood in a T-pose connecting the boys (albeit a crooked T, because Roman was taller than Virgil).

“You’re gonna take a jaunt with Virgil here to recover Logan’s glasses,” Mx. Stokes said. “Think of it like a real hero mission, boys.”

Roman looked unimpressed.

“Now,” Mx. Stokes went on. “Safety settings are still on in all zones, so there’s nothing dangerous down there so long as neither of you messes with anything. Just go ahead and run down there and right back up and we’ll hold the bus for you.” They lightly smacked both the boys’ shoulders and jogged away, gesturing for the rest of the class to follow.

“I really appreciate it, Virgil,” Logan said, touching Virgil’s arm lightly before walking away and leaving Virgil facing Roman on the middle of the stair.

The two stared at one another for a second before Roman huffed and started off down the steps. “Well, are we going or not?”

Virgil bit his tongue. He supposed putting up with Roman was enough of a punishment for sending Logan’s glasses spiraling into a collapsed city, and began to follow the other boy down, loath to think that he’d have to climb the stairs all over again.

When Virgil reached the base of the steps, Roman had wandered a few steps into the city and was staring around the ground, occasionally swearing under his breath.

“Thought you and Specs were buddies or something,” he said, peering under some fallen beams. “What’d you knock his glasses off for?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Virgil snapped.

“Geez, chill out,” Roman said, straightening up. “Just a question. Where did the damn things go, anyhow?”

“They fell over there,” Virgil said, pointing deeper into the ruins. There were a number of beams arching above the walk and though a strong sunlight was coming through the ceiling, it was difficult to see underneath them. “Why don’t you just use your quirk?”

“I don’t need to use it for everything!” Roman said a little too loudly.

“Geez, just a question,” Virgil said, imitating Roman and sticking out his tongue. “What, jealous since you’re basically quirkless anyway?”

“Hey, fuck off!” Virgil said, bristling. “I didn’t drag you down here or anything.”

“You said it was your fault the stupid things fell.” Roman took a few steps toward Virgil, his hands balled into fists.

“Yeah, but it’s not my fault that you’re acting like a massive ass,” Virgil snarled.

“Oh, fuck off, I’ll get the stupid things myself.” Roman whirled around. He stalked away, shaking slightly at the shoulders. Just as he was about to round the corner of one of the collapsed buildings, he took a furious swing at a low hanging beam, the impact of which created a hollow groaning sound. Roman kept walking.

Virgil was about to follow him when suddenly the groaning grew instead of faded, and the beam shuddered and collapsed directly over Roman’s head.

#studywritesstuff #sanders sides #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

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thelasttejada · 5 years

Text

He could have sworn it was just a trick of his old, senile brain, but that woman; the way she looked, the way she laughed, and when she talked with the giant ghoul walking with her as they passed by the shop, he could have sworn he addressed her as Cottonbelle.

While the name and appearence might have been coincidence, the burned bullet scar on the left side of her forehead and those brilliant blue eyes couldn’t be, unless, somehow, the collective jet fumes coming off nearly every resident in town had started to affect him.

He hadn’t seen her again, and the following weeks since seeing her, he had simply chalked it up to some undiagnosed trauma-related hallucination. The Courier was dead; had some kind of lung or esophagus infection or cancer. He and Arcade had found her body in a cave across the Colorado river with the back half of her skull caved in, but the cybernetic spine and heart, along with the gold teeth and trademark duster was all unmistakably hers. Whether she had succumbed to her terminal illness before the cranium injury, Arcade wasn’t able to determine, but at that point, it didn’t really matter. She was dead, he had to accept that; just like he had to accept Rafaela and Claudia’s death.

But then he came in, the hulking seven-foot-tall ghoul that might as well just have been a horribly burned super mutant with a decent posture, a sack of caps in one hand and a broken weapon in the other. Raul could now confirm that at least he was real, and not a figment of his centuries old imagination. KLE-0 directed the red-head to the mechanic, and the old vaquero glanced over at him from the corner of his eye.

@royalmuses for Charon

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spraceandfreshair · 5 years

Text

Coffee Shop Romances (sprace)

The morning sun was just beginning to rise as Spot made his way into the coffee shop he worked at, the opening shift baristas were all busy preparing for the morning rush that was bound to come within the hour. Spot walked into the back room, hanging his coat on a hook and digging his apron out of his bag, he had gotten up late and didn’t have time to do much but get dressed and brush his teeth before running out the door so he felt disoriented and tired. It was gonna take a lot of espresso to wake him up. Spot clocked in and set about making himself a highly caffeinated and sugary beverage, his fellow shift lead, who everyone called Hotshot -because he can just drink a fucking freshly poured espresso shot without flinching and that shit is hot as hell- came over and talked him through the day and schedule, “Davey will be coming in for mid shift and I think Jack is closing” Hotshot explained, “great, at least I’ll be gone before night shift, I don’t think I can take another shift filled with their weird sexual tension” Spot jokes, he’s pretty convinced that the two were seeing each other but desperately trying to keep it a secret from their boss so that neither of them would have to transfer stores. Spot got on with most of his co-workers just fine, at least the morning shift gang was pretty great.

Spot was put on bar for most of the morning, along with Rafaela, she focused on cold drinks and he made the hot ones. They worked together in perfect harmony until peak ended. Spot had just started running cleaning cycles on the first espresso bar when he saw them enter the store, two young men around Spot’s age. One with fiery red hair tucked under a SnapBack, and the other with soft blond curls that fell in a million directions, like he’d rolled out of bed and hadn’t bothered to fix his hair. Spot watches them as they stand in line, he almost forgets that he’s making a drink for drive thru, he can hear Romeo speaking to him through the headset “earth to Spot, I need that Macchiato!” Spot quickly comes to his senses and finishes the drink, handing it off to Romeo who’s flirting with the people waiting at the window.

Spot kept his attention mainly on the blond boy, there was something about him that made Spot wanna get to know him, maybe it was the way he smirked at his friend (Spot hoped it was just his friend) as he ordered both their coffees, or the way his blue eyes sparkled when he said thank you when Spot handed him his coffee. Whatever it was Spot knew he had to get to know this guy.

****

The next day went about the same as the day before, Spot got to work shortly before peak started and helped finish getting everything ready for the rush of angry people headed to work that needed their morning latte. Katherine was opening with him today, she was their new assistant manager, Spot liked her okay.

“Spot, I’m leaving the sampling to you today. We need to get our customer connections score up so please be friendly” Kath told him, writing down the assignment in the play book, Spot groaned internally but nodded, peak had ended about an hour ago so things had slowed down. Spot couldn’t help but think of the blond guy from the day before, he hoped he’d come in again. Spot set about making sample sized mochas and cutting a scone into tiny pieces to hand out to customers.

Spot had just about finished with the sampling when he notices the guys from yesterday seated at a table in the corner, he made his way over to them. “Hi, would either of you like to try our mocha and or a scone?” Both boys looked up at him, red haired boy nodded and grabbed the last scone and a tiny mocha, the blond boy smiled and took the other mocha, “what’s your name?” Blond boy asked, “I’m Spot, at least that’s what everyone calls me, and you are?”

“I’m Race. Middle School nickname that stuck, why do they call you Spot?”

Spot moved the sample tray so he held it in his arm against his side, and pushed up his right shirt sleeve, exposing the vitiligo that made lighter spots of skin all up and down his arm, “kids were mean but the name stuck...why do they call you Race?” Race shrugs “I could run fast.”

***

Over the next two weeks Spot saw more and more of Race and his friend Albert (he’d been introduced to the red haired boy after the second or third encounter)

Spot just couldn’t figure out how to ask Race if he wanted to go out with him, he still wasn’t sure if Race and Albert were very close friends or boyfriends and it felt rude to ask, so Spot stuck to making Race his insanely caffeinated espresso drink and making small talk. Race on the other hand was pining hard, and made sure whenever he and Albert studied together they went to the coffee shop. Race would go out of his way to complement Spot, calling me cute pet names which Spot would roll his eyes at but Race loved how flustered it made him, so he continued.

Pretty soon everyone at the shop knew what was up with Spot and their new regular who only stayed to hang out if Spot was working, everyone on morning shift was rooting for them, but neither boy was quite ready to take that next step and actually ask the other out.

Until one morning...

“Oh Spotty! Your boyfriend’s here!” Romeo had yelled it so everyone in the cafe could hear, Spot resisted the urge to punch the kid in the face, knowing it was a joke, but still. Spot moved over to the register, surprised to see Race alone, normally he and Albert were attached at the hip. “Hey Racer, your usual today?” Spot asked, “yes, and also your number” Spot looked up from the registers screen to look at the boy in front of him, who was wearing his signature smirk, “I mean, since according to Romeo we’re boyfriends, I should probably have your number.” Race laughed nervously, scratching at the back of his neck. “gimme your arm” Spot said, and Race did, Spot took a sharpie out of his apron pocket and scrawled his phone number onto Races forearm, “if you wanna grab a drink or something you can text me, just don’t ask for free coffee” Spot said with a wink. And went to fix Race’s drink.

****

Months after they’d started dating Race was still one of the shops regulars. Spot would write stupid sappy notes on his coffee cup and then cover them with the sleeve so no one but Race knew, and Race would read them and smile and send Spot a text telling him he’s “a real sap” and Spot would reply “only for you babe”

#haha! i did it #i wrote a one shot #enjoy children #axel writes #spot conlon #newsies #racetrack higgins #coffee shop au #javid #sprace

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stockwellarchives · 6 years

Text

“[Stockwell said,] I heard that Dino De Laurentis had rented the studio, that they were building the sets, that DUNE was going to be done, and that David Lynch would direct it,’ the actor remembers. ‘So, I put on my mental calendar that, before I left [where he was filming To Kill a Stranger], I would get over there and see if DUNE was being cast, and if I had a chance of getting in it. The next to last day of shooting, we had some stuff on the edges of the back lot, so at lunch, I asked Juan Lopez Moctezuma if he would be kind enough to get me an introduction to the DUNE people. Sure enough, I met David in the cafeteria, and it turned out, much to my surprise, that we had met once before, years ago. I said, “David, I love DUNE. I think it's great that you're doing this project, and I would LOVE to be in it.” I just flat out put my cards on the table. He thought for a second, then he had to tell me that the movie, at that point in time, was cast. So, I wished him all the best with DUNE and said goodbye. I left Mexico City and came back home [New Mexico], then went to LA for a TV show.

“‘Suddenly, I got a call from my wife, saying that my agent had called. I thought it was about another project, also being done in Mexico, by the first company that I had worked with down there. So, I called and my agent told me it was DUNE. I jumped up and down, very happy. He said they wanted me for the part of Dr. Yueh, and of course, I said to accept it. I finished [To Kill a Stranger], went back to my home, and made a telephone connection with David Lynch in Mexico City. What had happened was that John Hurt, who had originally been cast in the role, had found a schedule conflict and backed out of DUNE. Because I had fortuitously met with him in Mexico City, David immediately went with me.

“‘But the funny thing is, on the phone, the first thing he did was to apologize. He said, “If my reaction looked strange when you came into the commissary down there in Mexico City, please forgive me, but I had heard you were dead.” Whereupon I assured him that THAT information was incorrect.’ Feeling ‘plenty alive,’ as he describes it, Stockwell couldn't control his enthusiasm about DUNE. ‘My first reaction when I heard I got the part was, I couldn't care less which role it was because I just wanted to be in this movie,’ he says. ‘Then, I read the book again to refresh my memory. I thought of it as a part with a good deal of dimension to it. Yueh's not just a soldier. He has some guts. If I had chosen a character to play in this film, I think that he would have been among my first choices.’

“Stockwell also feels positive about his collaboration with director David Lynch. ‘David is just great to work for,’ Stockwell explains. "He has enormous respect for actors, and actors really respond to respect, let me tell you. If you want to get an actor pleased and doing his best work, just show him respect and you'll get it.....and love. David has that. He's not a technician who's only interested in the effects and the camera. His concern is the drama going on the screen. That, to me, makes a good director. And that's the kind of director with whom I enjoy working. DUNE was a lot of fun.’ The actor's admiration extends to producer Rafaela De Laurentis, whom he credits for carrying the project to its successful conclusion. Like many other production members, Stockwell had read Frank Herbert's novel years ago. An avid DUNE fan, he was well aware of the inherent difficulties of translating the Herbert masterwork from print to film. ‘At the time I read the book,’ Stockwell explains, ‘I NEVER thought of DUNE in terms of a movie, because there's so much internal stuff happening. If somebody had handed me the book and asked me about making it into a movie, I would have read it in a different way. I still would have been sceptical, because the obstacles to its conversion into a film were formidable. I think that fact was proved with the efforts of various other filmmakers to bring it to the screen, and failing. It wasn't until Rafaela De Laurentis tackled DUNE that it came about. I've worked with many wonderful, wonderful producers. But, in all honesty, I must say that Rafaela is the hottest producer with whom I've ever worked. She has the knack for it. It's as natural for her as walking is for a baby. It just comes so easy to her, that everyone feels at ease. You're not going to take advantage of Rafaela, because of her strength, but she doesn't put undue pressure on everybody, and things work themselves out because of her attitude. She's remarkable.’

“Despite his previous experience filming in Mexico, Stockwell admits that the shooting conditions for DUNE were ‘pretty rugged.’ He adds, "but, I was fortunate, in that my costumes were made of simple cloth. David has this thing for RUBBER. He has a fascination - you could even call it a PASSION - for rubber. He feels that nothing looks like rubber, and he's correct I'm sure. Working with the designer, he designed all the soldiers' outfits to be made out of rubber. Some weighed 160 pounds. The lightest ones, I think, were 70 or 80 pounds. All out of rubber, in the summer, in Mexico! So, you had many people passing out. As I said, I was lucky because I just wore a light cloth costume. I was down there for eight weeks, and I shot for six. I knew about the smog and the altitude. Their air pollution in Mexico City is pretty wicked. It's worse than LA. I think it's the worst in the world. But everything that I did on DUNE, was shot on soundstages. So, I didn't have the good - or bad - luck to have to go out in the desert to shoot. That must have been rougher still.’

“Shooting in such a large city far away from home for a long period of time can instill a sense of isolation among a film company. Yet, according to Stockwell, the loneliness blues didn't infect DUNE. ‘You didn't really have time to feel isolated,’ he says, ‘even if you weren't shooting every day, which was the case with many of us. Mexico City may be a big town, but the hotels where production people were placed were all in a central location. A long taxi ride to the studio, by the way. Most of the talent stayed in the “Pink Zone” two or three different hotels, all within a few blocks. If you were working, then, of course, everything was taken care of. But if you weren't then you would be walking around the block and there would be Sting, or Max von Sydow, or here comes the cameraman. If you went to dinner, there would be Rafaela and a group at one Italian restaurant. Go to another restaurant, and there would be David and somebody else. It became like a film festival because of the international atmosphere.’

“Stockwell found working with the international cast to be a pleasure. ‘It's a very gratifying feeling whenever you work with really top-notch, world-class actors,’ he says. "Of course, it does one's ego good. But, also it's very, very enjoyable, because you're aware of their competence, their professionalism and their total commitment. You can count on those actors, and that makes your work easier. I'm a big fan of Max von Sydow [who plays Imperial Ecologist Liet-Kynes]. It was a gas to meet him and share a scene with him. That was a trip. There aren't too many people who I get a little flustered about. But I was really impressed. He's very down home, personable and sweet. A very sweet man. He told me that he had admired something that I had done, and that just floored me. To have someone whom you really admire tell you that he liked something you have done is really great. It makes you feel wonderful. I also very much enjoyed working with Ken McMillan [who portrays the evil Baron Harkonnen]. He's a very dedicated, madman kind of actor. Ken and I spent quite a bit of time together on days off. We would go visit some little town or something. I enjoyed his company. He's an actor's actor if ever there was one.’

“Stockwell's favorite scene in DUNE may turn some moviegoers' stomachs. ‘I believe that, after people have seen the film, they'll remember it,’ he comments. ‘As everyone knows, Dr. Yueh is working for both sides. At a certain point, before all hell breaks loose, when everyone is aware that there's a traitor in the house of Atreides but not WHO, there's a little scene in Dr. Yueh's autopsy lab. Bodies of Harkonnen soldiers are laying around. A new body has just been delivered. Yueh has a kind of X-ray arrangement above the table. You see him with this body lying there, and suddenly he sees something imbedded inside the body. It's a tube with a message for him from the Harkonnens, which has to do with the plans for overthrowing the House of Atreides. Whereupon, he is obliged to take a scalpel and SLICE THIS BODY OPEN, then reach his hand into this body and fish around to find the tube! We shot the hell out of this scene, close-ups of my hand going into this body and fishing around. It was a big makeup deal. They had a fake body which was fantastically well done Everyone on the set was queasy from watching. If it had been my first movie, I probably would have fainted. It was pretty weird.’”

Lofficier, Randy, and Jean-Marc Lofficier. "DEAN STOCKWELL - THE TRAITOR OF DUNE." STARLOG Magazine, January 1985.

#Dean Stockwell #Dune #1984 #quote

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solelyhephaestus · 3 years

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This Side of Paradise by Rafaela Abana

THIS SIDE OF PARADISE

A One-Act Play

Irish Rafaela Abana

CHARACTERS

Sofia Davis – 19 years old student

Dahlia del Luna – 21 years old student

Gabriel Lopez – 21 years old student

TIME

The time is the present.

PLACE

A town in Canada.

SCENE 5

SOFIA and DAISY are entering the living room.

SOFIA puts down her cup of coffee on the coffee table.

Afternoon. Raining

DAISY

(DAISY walks from the couch to the side of the piano and reaches for her guitar.)

Sofia, listen to the song I wrote.

SOFIA

(Sits down on the couch while smiling)

Wow! Okay, let me judge it.

DAISY

(Strums her guitar and starts singing)

Take me to your paradise

Kiss me in the blue moonlight

Heaven's door is closed tonight

You’re my hope in hell

In this side of paradise.

SOFIA

(SOFIA CLAPs her hands and bursts into laughter)

Wow! That is actually so good! But who is it for?

DAISY

(Pouts)

If it is good then why are you laughing?

GABRIEL

(Barges into the living room)

Stop talking to that fraud Sofia!

SOFIA

(Raises her eyebrow to him)

What do you mean by that Gabe?

GABRIEL

Well, that girl standing in front of you is clearly not Dahlia.

(Smirks)

How long have you been faking it?

(GABRIEL pauses and clenches his jaw)

Daisy?

DAISY

(Stutters a few words before answering)

Since summer.

GABRIEL

(Goes to the other side of living room near the glass window and looking far away.)

That explains why you have been distant from me. (Stays quiet for a while) Where is your twin sister? Dahlia? Why did she leave me? Did she find somebody new already?

DAISY

(Stands up and gets a piece of envelope in the drawer under the television.)

Well, she decided to look for a new adventure in order for her to discover herself. I actually don’t know where she is now since the only thing she said to me when I migrated here was to ask me to pretend to be her. She told me to give this to you when I already got caught.

(Approaches GABRIEL and hands over the envelope to him.)

GABRIEL

(Wipes the tears from his eyes before receiving the envelope)

Can't you just tell me where she is so I can follow her? I already know what the truth is, you don’t have to hide her anymore!

DAISY

(Looks at him directly in his eyes)

Do you really think that she will hide it if she wants you to come and find her?

GABRIEL

(Shakes head)

You are unbelievable.

(Walks out) (Slams the door)

SOFIA

You have been (Voice cracks) lying to me since then?

(DAISY listens but does not answer her questions)

SOFIA

(Raises her voice and looks at DAISY)

You’ve been lying to me for the whole 4 months?

(Daisy is not responding)

SOFIA

You know much I hate liars! Why did you lie to me Dahlia? (Sarcastic) Or should I say Daisy? Or maybe you didn’t since it’s your twin sister who knows me so well!

DAISY

(Tearing up while looking directly at SOFIA’s eyes)

I am really sorry. I am actually afraid to disappoint my sister and break her one and only request when I moved here.

SOFIA

(Walks back and forth on the living room) (Crying)

How can the both of you do this to me? All I ever did was to be an honest and a loyal friend to her. Where (Sniffs) did I go wrong?

DAISY

(Wipes SOFIA’s tears)

‘I want to feel free once again.’ That was her exact words she told me. Before she traveled. Daisy loves you so much but she just can’t live this life anymore. I guess she realized that all her life she was just always beside Gabriel and this small-boring town you have.

SOFIA

(Smirks)

What about you? Did you enjoyed lying and pretending huh? You’ve got everything Dahlia once had. A best friend, boyfriend, and popularity.

DAISY

(Lets out a heavy sigh)

Do you really think that I loved those girly friends my sister has? (Sarcastic) Wow Sofia! Just Wow! Do you really think that I would love that toxic and clingy boyfriend of my sister? Well it sounds that you are the only person unbelievable here!

SOFIA

(Claps slowly)

Wow you now have something to say with everyone in this (Quotes in the air) Small-boring town of ours (Crosses her arms) Well come on, don’t be shy! Tell something about me and how much you hate me!

DAISY

Why would I do that? You are perfect.

SOFIA

Of course you ha—

DAISY

(DAISY interrupts SOFIA and answers her in a soft voice.)

I love you.

SOFIA

(Stutters)

What?

DAISY

(Sighs and increases the volume of her voice.)

I love you Sofia!

SOFIA

(Fakes a smile)

Stop lying Daisy! Stop making me believe in every words that you say, Gabriel and I already knows the truth!

DAISY

(Raises her voice)

What? Do you really think I am lying? Well, come to think of those times we are together. You said that the (Quotes in the air) Dahlia before does not hug you, does not like being in your videos, and does not smile the way I smile at you. Of course Sofia! Dahlia won’t do that because that is me! That was the time I was so confused with my personality. (Pauses for 3 seconds) That was the time I realized I am not like the most girls out there. So if you are going to ask me why did I chose to continue lying, it’s because I chose to ruin my supposed to be perfect and peaceful life because I love you. Not because I want my sister’s life or her boyfriend.

(DAISY turns her back then stops to the living room door and answers SOFIA in a serious voice but still not looking back)

I’ll tell Dahlia what happened so she would answer your messages. I’m sorry for ruining your night and please drive safely. And about the song? That is for you.

NEXT SCENE.

#creative writing #oneactplay

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trishscully · 3 years

Link

Flower girls are an incredibly ancient tradition of marriage that goes back centuries. Over time, the essence and meaning of their position and duties have evolved into the modern understanding we now have. Unlike bridesmaids, flower girls are young girls (usually between the ages of 3 and 9) who are mostly members of the bride or groom’s extended family. As part of the wedding ceremony procession, they would walk down the aisle scattering flower petals before the bride.

Symbolically, in the expectation that these will be brought to the marriage in question, the flower girl’s appearance, along with the flowers she brings and disperses, has long represented wealth and fertility. Further reading on the distinction between a girl with a flower and a bridesmaid.

As practices grow naturally, things like what flower girls dresses wear often do, and more and more individuals end up confused as to what the etiquette is. Among the top questions are:

1. Do dresses for flower girls have to match the bride?

2. Do all girls with flowers have to match each other?

3. Do flower dresses for girls have to be white?

Some thoughts will almost certainly occur while trying to decide on a flower girl’s dress, so we will try to help address these tough questions in this article while clear some common myths to help you on your way.

Do the dresses of flower girls have to conform to the brides?

Traditionally, a flower girl’s dress will resemble the bride’s, while a bridesmaid’s garb will typically differ more. As this is just tradition, though, and not a formal law, you don’t have to adhere to this at all. Other considerations that influence the degree to which you abide by this tradition are the flower girl’s ages, the flower girl’s style, and the bride’s desires itself.

What’s good about matching the dressing gown of the bride, or at least bearing a similarity to it, is that it creates harmony in the wedding party and creates an aesthetically appealing unity that is ideal for wedding photographs that reinforce memories are intended to last a lifetime. You probably ought to wear a shade of white or cream when matching with the bride’s gown; these shades are perfect blank canvases that can be mixed and matched with many other colors. This means you can put your spin on things while still creating cohesion and keep your outfit original and exclusive.

Do all girls with flowers have to match each other?

Again, this is another possible misconception that is misleading. There is no clear law or even practice that specifies that all flower girls must wear matching dresses at the same wedding party. And as above, things like the ages of the flower girls, the flower girls’ styles, and the tastes of the bride itself are key factors in determining how you view this important choice. You can go for all matches if you want the picture-perfect wedding photo. Still, it can be fun to dress them slightly differently with young flower girls and encourage them to express their personalities and wear comfortable.

It’s probably better to pick something on the simple side to complement and fit the majority of tastes, shapes, and sizes if you’re going for all-matching.

Due to its simplicity, anything like this ivory dress is perfect; the fit and flare form flatters various heights and body sizes in an all-over ivory color. Although the frill detail on the back adds a pleasant finishing touch, the overall look is clean and polished.

However, if you have any flower girls and want to change them, you have several choices. You may have a different color for each of them or variants of the same color. This method will encourage you to personally spend time with each girl and find out about what they like and their style, so you can make sure they wear something that feels and looks just right. In a range of colors, you might also play with materials such as ribbon and lace to decorate a plain dress and add even more personality.

Do dresses for flower girls have to be white?

As the custom goes that flower girl dresses typically imitate the bride’s, they will always be a shade of white, cream, or ivory because this is what the bride’s dress will be. However, more and more individuals are opening up to the notion of doing something new and placing their unique stamp on things. Very obviously, the answer is no: flower girl dresses don’t need to be white.

You might choose something like, for instance, this bella rafaela dress by Trish Scully. Packed with bountiful layers of ethereal tulle, the hi-lo skirt is ideal for the girl and her twirl! For the perfect finishing touch on the best dress, laser-cut flower details grace the shoulders and neckline! Small elastic shoulder straps covered with satin hold it perfectly in place: 100% polyester, 100% light cotton padding. Your girl would love it.

This pastel shade is suitable for those of you who want something special; pale pinks, blues, and greens are just a few options to select a non-traditional but still wedding-appropriate flower girl gown. Likewise, if you want anything white, then by adding some accessories, you can always display a bit of personality. A perfect way to complete an ensemble and add a bit of sparkle and glamour is with hairbands and jewelry.

Admittedly, sticking to long-standing traditions and respecting the past can be useful. Still, both the world and the fashion industry are evolving so rapidly that we are lucky enough to have a large variety of choices available to us. Today, weddings are becoming more innovative and progressive, and the enormous selection of clothing options allows everyone to choose what is right for them.

You don’t just have to play by the law, despite the more strict flower girl etiquette that persists and can be fun to indulge in for a day. Hopefully, this guide has answered these all-important questions now so that you can get on with the perfect dress picking. Visit Trish Scully today to buy your ideal dress.

#Bella rafaela dress #Flower girls dresses

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violetwolfraven · 3 years

Text

Game Night

@iamsunshinesnowflake requested soft sprace where Race is embarrassed by it from @suddenly-im-respecsable but they passed it off to me so here goes nothing! I included a couple of background ships but I hope you don’t mind!

Tw: vaguely referenced period-typical homophobia, the word ‘queer’ but not used as a slur.

...

Spot loved game nights, not only because he was actually fairly good a card games and usually won a fair amount, but because it gave him an excuse to hang out in Manhattan.

Him and Hotshot came over about once every couple months, saying it was ‘maintaining a strategic alliance,’ but it was really just an excuse to come over and have fun.

He’d definitely never tell Jack Kelly to his face, but Manhattan did have one thing on Brooklyn, and that was the safety of a borough where damn near the entire population old enough to even think about romance were queer.

It was a breath of fresh air where Spot could let his guard down. Not that he did by much, but still.

In most other circumstances, he would deny that most of why he enjoyed Manhattan’s family-like dynamic was because of a certain blond, blue-eyed boy.

But today was a good day. Brooklyn had won a rumble against Harlem, putting both Spot and Hotshot in a good mood, Finch and Albert (who everyone had been bugging for months) had finally gotten together, and there’d been good headlines, so even the worst sellers had full bellies tonight.

Of course, Spot was smiling to himself just thinking about how he was going to get to spend tonight cuddling in his lover’s bed, but nobody else had to know that.

Hotshot seemed to notice, smirking at him from the other side of the poker circle, but he didn’t say anything, happy enough to be sitting there with Ike under his arm.

It was kind of weird, how most kids didn’t actively try to sit on the floor, yet here they all were, sitting in a circle on the floor when there were plenty of perfectly free bunks they could be sitting on.

Whatever. Race was sitting close by, his legs thrown over Spot’s lap, so Spot would’ve been happy even if it was a terrible day.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” he asked as he leaned over, trying to get a look at Spot’s cards again.

“You,” he answered truthfully, kissing him on the cheek as he pulled him a little closer, but still shielding his cards from view.

He loved Race, but not quite enough to let him cheat at poker.

“Aw, that’s adorable,” Cowboy said, shattering the moment.

“Spot...” Race mumbled under his breath, sounding oddly a little uncomfortable.

That was odd mainly because Race was shameless when they were alone, saying whatever he wanted to flirt and not shy about his love of physical contact almost to the point of cat-like clinginess.

In front of the Brooklyn newsies, obviously, they didn’t touch or flirt much. Brooklyn wasn’t safe. Spot wouldn’t trade his boys and girls for anything, but that didn’t make it fun, how most of them would turn on him if they found out who he loved.

Of course, some of them would turn on him, anyway, if they saw any sign of weakness. That was the hard part of having power like Spot did. That there was a chance anyone could turn on him at any second.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t a few people he trusted, because there were. He had a small gang of Brooklyn kids he at least mostly trusted, as his inner circle.

Hotshot, Bluebird, York, Bart, and Rafaela. Not as big a support system as Manhattan, and not one that really talked about feelings or romance or anything, but Spot loved them as brothers and sisters all the same.

Race had a whole group of brothers and sisters, here, all of whom he could trust with his life and his love. So...

Oh, maybe that was the problem. That Spot was getting used to the idea of Manhattan being safe territory and letting himself be affectionate in front of Race’s family.

Emotions and social situations were... definitely not his strong suit, but Spot guessed he could see why that might be embarrassing.

Spot loosened his grip on his lover’s shoulders, but kept his eyes on Jack Kelly.

“You’re one to talk, Cowboy.”

Jack shrugged, but he didn’t move from between Davey Jacobs’s legs, on the floor in front of where the other boy was sitting on one of the bunk beds and watching the game.

Spot could feel Race relax a little, and he realized maybe the problem was that he was worried Jack wouldn’t approve.

Well, normally he wouldn’t give a damn what Cowboy thought of him or anything he did, but for Race, he could think about it a little more.

“If I let ya see my cards will you go easy on me?” he asked, moving so that he wasn’t holding his lover anymore, but was still shoulder to shoulder with him.

Race shrugged happily, “Nope!”

“Traitor.”

“Maybe I was never on your side.”

“That’s cold.”

With that, Spot shoved him a couple feet away, but Race just laughed and threw his legs over his lap again, unbothered.

“I’m gonna win no matter what, Spottie.”

Albert smacked him upside the head, effectively reminding the two that there were other people in the room, “Unfortunately, he’s probably right.”

Spot shrugged. Somehow, that didn’t bother him too much.

#newsies #sprace #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #fluff #canon era #violet’s writing

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violetwolfraven · 4 years

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Pass Out

38 for sprace—requested by @just-a-gay-meme

I’m injured and I came to you because I didn’t want to tell my mom/Jack/whoever.

((So I guess this would be canon era, pre-strike when Race was selling at Sheepshead, so he and Spot did know each other, but they aren’t really even friends yet. It’s not the same universe as the one fic I’ve written with her in it, but it includes one of my ocs. Don’t worry, you didn’t forget about her. Bluebird just isn’t canon.))

...

Race would normally not be confused by the fact that he was waking up in a Lodging House, but today, he had an excuse, because he was waking up in the Brooklyn Lodging House.

“Well, well, well,” a voice said, and Race jumped, “He lives.”

There was a little girl sitting by his bed, holding a bowl and a wet washcloth that was suspiciously red, and Race didn’t think it was because that was Brooklyn’s territory color.

And Race was only 15, but this girl couldn’t be any older than maybe 10, so he got to call her a little girl, even though, as was visible because she was wearing one of Brooklyn’s signature red tanktops, she was probably stronger than he was. She had features kind of similar to Romeo, with black hair and brown eyes, so Race guessed she was Asian, or at least one of her parents was.

“What the fuck?” Race mumbled under his breath.

“Oh, no,” the little girl said, sounding genuinely concerned, “How hard did you get hit? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three,” Race said, because she clearly was.

“Hmm...” the little girl tilted her head as she put her hand down, “Do ya remember how you got here?”

“Brooklyn Lodging House? No. Got no clue. What the fuck am I doin’ here?”

“You got your ass kicked,” the little girl said flatly, “At least, I think ya did. You kinda just showed up, asked for help, and passed out. That was two hours ago.”

“Thanks,” Race said, “Um... what was your name again?”

“Bluebird. Ya didn’t know it in the first place. You’re Racetrack Higgins, right? The ‘Hattan boy Spot lets sell at Sheepshead?”

Race shrugged sitting up halfway and leaning back on his elbows, “The one and only.”

Bluebird wrinkled her nose, “No wonder ya got your ass kicked. All you Manhattan boys can’t fight to save your lives.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true! Manhattan’s probably the—“

“Blue.”

Bluebird looked at the floor as Spot called to her from the doorway.

Race sat up all the way as Brooklyn’s King walked over, putting his hand on the little girl’s shoulder.

“What did we say ‘bout antagonizin’ people for no reason?” Spot asked.

“To not to,” Bluebird mumbled.

“You’s a big girl, now, right, Blue? Your cute factor ain’t gonna get you out of fights much longer. Ya gotta learn not to pick fights you can’t win.”

“Bet I could win against him.”

Race laughed, “She’s probably right.”

“Maybe,” Spot reasoned, “But, Blue, appearances can be deceivin’. Race, here, happens to be really good at makin’ friends. Which means he has friends in every borough, this one included. Half the Newsies of New York’d go to war to defend him, so in short, Racetrack Higgins is either a good friend to have or a bad enemy. Take your pick.”

Bluebird snuck a glance at Race, “I’d rather be friends.”

Race smiled, “I’d rather be friends with you, too, kid.”

She smiled at him, and Race didn’t at all see what Spot meant. She wasn’t losing her cute factor. She probably wouldn’t for a couple more years.

“Run along, Bluebird,” Spot said, “I think Hotshot’s waitin’ for ya.”

“I’m sellin’ with Rafaela today!”

“Raf’s... busy. Go find Hotshot.”

“Okay!”

Bluebird hiked up her skirt to run faster, and Race laughed.

“So, I’m guessin’ I know what you meant by busy?”

Spot shrugged, “Yeah, she’s got a sweetheart, but I don’t know who it is. I’m pretty sure it’s either York or Joey, but Raf ain’t the talkative type, so I don’t know which. She asked me to watch Blue this afternoon, but I don’t need a little frontin’ for me.”

“And Hotshot does?”

“He’s an intimidatin’ lookin’ kid. He probably don’t need her, but with winter comin’ up, I’d rather be safe.”

Race nodded, then winced as that hurt, “That makes sense.”

Spot stood there silently for a couple seconds, then asked.

“So, what happened?”

Race shrugged, “Wish I knew. Thinkin’ back, it’s all kind of fuzzy.”

“There’s been some thugs ‘round Brooklyn lately, thinkin’ it’s funny to beat up on workin’ kids,” Spot muttered, “They targeted my kids at first, but learned to avoid us when we soaked them instead. I probably should have sent someone over to warn ya. Bluebird’s right. Only one of you Manhattan boys who can fight good is Cowboy.”

Race decided to ignore that last comment, “I don’t think I got soaked.”

“Hmm. You’re probably right. It’s just the one head wound, right? Nothin’ else hurts?”

Race shrugged, “It hurts to breathe a little, but...”

He looked down his own shirt to check.

“Not that many bruises.”

“I should check for broken ribs, anyway.”

Race honestly didn’t know what to think as Spot Conlon, the King of Brooklyn, sat down on the edge of the bed Race was still sitting on, putting up one hand.

“Can I? I know what I’m doin’.”

“I’m sure ya do,” Race admitted, knowing Brooklyn’s reputation for getting in fights with local gangs, other boroughs, even each other.

Of course, his mind was hyper-focused on the fact that Spot wasn’t known for being friendly, and he also happened to be less than a year older than Race.

He was kind of attractive. If Race was the type to go for badasses, he would be very flustered right now, which... he wasn’t. He totally wasn’t even a little flustered by this.

In the end, Race nodded, “You can check, but I’m pretty sure nothin’s broken.”

“Okay. Tell me what hurts.”

Spot gently put his hand against Race’s lower ribs, slowly increasing pressure before moving up, then checking the other side. And sure, it twinged in some places, but nothing hurt enough to actually be broken.

“Why’re you helpin’ me?” Race asked as Spot finished up.

The other boy shrugged, “Ya ain’t one of mine, Higgins, but you sell in Brooklyn. That makes ya at least partly my responsibility.”

Race wanted to protest that—he was one of Jack’s seconds, for fuck’s sake—but Spot was still talking.

“Also, that head wound wasn’t so bad that ya forgot what borough you’re from. If you really wanted to go back to ‘Hattan, you at least would’ve tried. Probably gotten run over on the way, but you’d have tried. Ya came here. Judgin’ by what little I know... you’s close with Kelly, right?”

Race nodded, “He’s like a big brother to me.”

Spot shrugged, “There ya go. Winter’s rough on every leader who actually cares about their kids, and it’s comin’ up fast. Jackie Boy’s probably stressed enough as it is, makin’ sure everyone sells as much as they can before it gets really hard, and ya didn’t want to worry him. So, you came here instead of goin’ home.”

Honestly, that sounded about right. Race still didn’t remember everything, but not going home when hurt so as not to worry Jack sounded like something he’d do.

“Well, that explains what I’m doin’ here,” he admitted, “But it doesn’t explain why ya actually helped.”

“Like I said, you’s partially my responsibility.”

“Bullshit. I’m Manhattan and you know it. Hell, I’m second in command along with Crutchie. Ya didn’t have to help me beyond makin’ sure I don’t die on your doorstep, so why? Do ya just want me to owe you a favor?”

Spot shrugged, not looking Race in the eye, “I might collect a favor later, but that ain’t why I did it.”

“Then why?”

They locked eyes, and Race could see that he was being completely serious.

“Genuinely nice people are few and far between. Bluebird ain’t the only one who’d like to be friends with you.”

Race smiled, “Well, if ya wanted to be friends, you could’ve just said so. I’m always open to new friends.”

Spot snorted, “One of these days, that’s gonna get ya killed.”

“Possibly... but I should probably be gettin’ back to Manhattan. Before I do, I have one question to ask you.”

“What?”

Race pointed vaguely at a throbbing area just above his temple, not wanting to actually touch it.

“How bad is it?”

“Your hair covers it, mostly, and Blue cleaned off the blood. It ain’t super noticeable, so if you avoid Cowboy for a bit to give it time to heal, he probably won’t have to find out.”

“Okay, great. Thanks, I guess. Thank Bluebird for me.”

“I will.”

Spot stayed close as Race stood up, probably expecting to have to catch him.

Race didn’t actually feel that bad. His head hurt, sure, but he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out anymore.

“I usually hang out under the stands when I take a break from sellin’,” he said, “If ya ever wanna... hang out, or whatever, come find me.”

Spot nodded, “Yeah. Sure. Maybe I will.”

Honestly, given that Spot Conlon was known for being hostile to pretty much everyone outside of Brooklyn, Race hadn’t expected to ever be able to befriend him. He was friendly on the rare occasion they saw each other, but he’d always seen Spot as kind of cold and distant.

Maybe it was just being in his own Lodging House—home turf—that made him drop his guard a little.

Whatever the case, Race couldn’t deny that a part of him was thinking about how if he could be friends with Spot Conlon, maybe he could slowly get closer and maybe even be more someday, but—

But this was a thought train for another day.

Well, this should be interesting.

#newsies #sprace #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #race x spot #violet’s writing

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vvirgils · 4 years

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Chronicles of Straith #2-The Witch’s Dragon:Chapter 9

Chronicles of Straith #1-Fate’s Door///Chapter 8/Chapter 10//Masterpost

The general consensus over Roman’s disappearance was that no one would talk about it, or give an inkling that the king wasn’t around to anyone outside the palace, much to Virgil’s dismay. Everyone was patiently waiting for their king to return, like they didn’t know how much Roman hated being king.

Wherever they were, she hoped Roman was safe and having a good time. She didn’t think they were kidnapped, honestly. More likely, Roman had panicked over the unknown threat to Straith (even if the dragon was only in Archdale) and run off to the next suburb over where a nice family decided to take in the distressed traveller. Or they were hiding in the palace itself.

She wasn’t worried. They would be fine.

She was worried. They could be anywhere.

It wasn’t like Virgil had time to think about it anyways. All she had time to do lately was put out fires, both literal and metaphorical. Rafaela was sick, whatever that meant, and there were only a few sorcerers in training who could handle even the basics of containment. They were so inexperienced, Virgil couldn’t bear the thought of making them face this unknown threat with next to no training.

Logan and Patton were both busy with their respective lives, so while she tried to deputize them in the quest of figuring out where the hell Roman went, no new information came in. She could barely manage to question the palace staff in between dealing with scared people and minimizing any damage that the misfired magical lab experiment in the woods was creating.

Sitting on top of the wall around the castle, Virgil let the snow create little mounds on her coat. It was late, but she couldn’t sleep. She got close, sometimes, but the bright bulbs lighting the castle kept her eyelids from closing. The incidents were coming about two hours apart. The next one was due in fifteen minutes, if she’d done her math correctly. Virgil had sent Laurus to her room to sleep, not wanting the dragon to overexert himself, although she was definitely overexerting herself.

The whole kingdom was visible from this high wall, and Virgil tried to ignore her shivering as she scanned the lights of the city for any disturbance. Fire, smoke, an explosion, all the lights going out. She’d seen it all, or what felt like it all, in the two days Roman had been absent. It was starting to wear at her, fray at the fabric of her sanity, and she hoped nothing would tear.

A loud noise, shaking the bricks under her. Virgil sat up immediately, eyes following the jet of blue flame in the middle of the town, then jumped off the wall and landed in one smooth motion. The shock traveled up her legs, Virgil shook it off and ran.

It was dark, but she’d memorized the castle grounds a long time ago. Weaving in and out of bushes and trees, Virgil sped up as her feet hit the asphalt of the road. She could feel the ground shaking more under her feet, but kept running towards the source.

Brilliant blue flames were already going, and Virgil performed the incantation, the fire in the middle of the street disappearing bit by bit. She’d gotten better at this after having to do it nine times a day. When it was almost completely gone, more flames replaced it.

Virgil kept enchanting it away, but the fire kept coming, all from the same spot in the street. A source. If she could get rid of the source, the fire would go away. Thinking fast, she cast a containment spell around the fire that she could see—the damn street lights were out—and ran to where the source was, casting a small ball of light in her hand to see.

The thing illuminated before her made Virgil stop in her tracks. It appeared to be made of moving gray stone, solid red eyes reflecting her tiny light, a being towering over Virgil and most of the buildings surrounding it. Spikes on its face gave the thing an alien look, the sharp edges promising danger. The head alone was Virgil’s height, and she felt lucky it hadn’t noticed her yet when its mouth opened to let loose another burst of flame, razor-edged fangs glowing white under the blue.

She cast her gaze farther away from the fire, looking at the body of the creature. It had four legs, a tail with wicked spikes twisting from side to side and crashing into the buildings, and two protrusions that almost looked like folded…canvas? Virgil squinted at them, then realized that they were wings, wings with a long claw at the end of them.

There was a dragon standing in the middle of the street, setting fire to the cobblestones for no apparent reason, other than that it could. This was not Laurus, the cat-sized dragon sleeping on Virgil’s bed right now. This was a beast of old that belonged somewhere in a vast forest of legend, not in the heart of Archdale. Virgil had to get rid of it, keep it from causing any more damage.

Channelling her worst childhood nightmares, Virgil created an illusion of a black mass in front of the dragon. It was just smoke, pitch-black and menacing. The dragon moved back from it, no longer blowing fire. Gathering all her energy, Virgil vanished the fire while maintaining the smoke, letting it flicker only a few times before the fire was gone.

With the dragon taking step after step back, clearly frightened by Virgil’s creature of terror, she sighed with relief. The situation was under control.

It was the wrong move. With startling speed, the dragon turned towards her, and Virgil’s blood froze in her veins. Focusing on her, its eyes widened with a feeling she couldn’t place, not when it was such a foreign creature. She held her ground, not wanting to run in case it would chase. Then, the dragon took a step back, and Virgil realized it had been afraid when the creature turned around and ran for the woods, footsteps shaking the ground in a frantic staccato.

After a minute of just standing there, shocked still by the dragon, Virgil realized what this meant: She could solve this. There was nothing in books of magic, or Rafaela’s memory, about gray smudges in forests that set buildings on azure fire. But there were many things about dragons and other magical creatures.

She took a cursory glance to make sure nothing was too damaged in the street, then turned around and walked back to the castle, to talk to Rafaela. The fuzzy beginnings of a theory were starting to form in the cobwebs of Virgil’s mind, and she had a hunch that Rafaela was connected to the dragon hiding in the woods. There was no need to rush, especially when the cold of the night was turning her limbs stiff.

***

“You’re right.”

There was a long pause, then Rafaela said, “I created it.”

“How? Why? Why would you make something like that?” Virgil wanted to slap the frozen expression off of her mentor’s face. This was serious, and she was the only person who could stop it. Virgil was just an apprentice, albeit a talented one.

“It was an accident.” She refused to make eye contact with Virgil, gaze drifting along the bed and dressers of her chambers, as if drifting back to the last time she was a permanent resident of these rooms.

“How is a giant dragon an accident? Do you just misfire a simple fire spell and boom! Dragon?” Virgil said, her tone sharp and accusing. “And then you completely abandon me to take care of this thing while you sit at home and stare at the walls. This apprenticeship is really working out, Rafaela.”

The mask of Rafaela’s face twitched, and an ancient sadness filled the cracks. “I never told you about unhinged magic, did I? Although I am new to it myself.”

Virgil opened her mouth, about to fire another barrage of insults and sarcasm, but Rafaela cut her off. “Sorcery is about controlling your emotions and extending that control to the world around you. Unhinged magic is what happens when you’re not in control, and use your powers as a way to relieve those emotions. It was barely talked about in my day, I do not know how I remembered it now. That’s what I did. I didn’t intend to create a dragon, just blow off steam. I’d never done it before.”

“Why? What set it off? You’re always in control, aren’t you?”

“Now, I am. Last century, different story. It was the night after my stepfather sentenced me to eternal imprisonment. I went into the woods, to a place where I often went when I was hiding. From the king, from responsibilities, to perform magic in aid of others. A home away from home if you will. I would never see it again. I would live many lifetimes over inside the same four walls. I was mad. I lost control minutes after I walked through the door, and I sealed something in there because I was afraid of what my own rage would do.” She sighed, as if letting a weight slide off her shoulders. The weight of a secret the age of a century.

Virgil’s irritation at her mentor had not been wiped away by the story. “If it was sealed, what opened it?”

“I went back to visit, a few weeks ago. I missed it, it was so homey. And then I remembered, and I couldn’t go back and fix what I did. And it was the second time I brought harm to this country by my past errors. I was paralyzed, because I thought I would only bring more harm. I still don’t know if I can interfere without making things worse,” Rafaela finished, folding her hands in her lap and looking down at them, her face solemn.

“Rafaela, you’re the most powerful sorcerer in all of Straith,” Virgil said, looking at her mentor, dumbfounded. “If there’s anyone that can help, it’s you. Even if you did create this mess in the first place, that doesn’t mean you can’t do something.”

“I don’t know if I can face it,” Rafaela said, “It’s me, all my fear and rage from that one night, built up and ready to explode. Who knows what could happen? I could become possessed by that rage once again, or it could turn against me. I don’t know, and I can’t go in unless I know. I’m sorry, Virgil. I-I wish…” She trailed off, voice breaking apart.

“I guess I have to find Roman, then,” Virgil said, the bitterness in her voice brittle and ready to crack. “I’ll go into their quarters, see if there’s anything that hints at what happened. Roman is a private person, if there’s anything, it’ll be there. I didn’t think I’d have to do this, but you leave me no choice.” She got up from Rafaela’s bedside and walked out of the room, not willing to look back and see the look on her face.

Roman’s quarters weren’t far away, and Virgil didn’t have the time to fully think about what she was doing before she was at the door, and then inside Roman’s rooms. She had been too nervous to do this before, not wanting to overstep or invade on their space. But she was at her last resort, and Archdale’s too.

Virgil went to Roman’s desk first, because she knew that they kept a diary and well, desperate times and desperate measures go hand in hand. She’d been in here before, with Roman, and everything was always immaculate except the desk.

Right on top of the desk, there was a folded piece of paper with the words For Virgil on it. She hadn’t thought that Roman would leave a letter for just her. It was the only thing that might hint at where they were, although Virgil couldn’t banish the thoughts of it being a love note from her head. Must be the hour, it was so late.

Virgil-

I’m really sorry, but I just got the chance to visit Canea. It might be my only chance for a long time to visit and learn about my mother, and it’s not like Epos told me anything. Please tell my advisors that they have full reign, if they haven’t taken it already. I shouldn’t be gone long. The thing is, Canea has a lot of magic that I want to bring back to Straith. Maybe it could help with our forest problem? Sorry once again.

Love, Roman

P.S: To my cabinet: If I die, appoint Corbin and Sloane Gaines as co-rulers in my stead. Do not destroy the Sorcery Department, whatever you do, and don’t get mad at Virgil for learning about this before you all.

Virgil wanted to punch them, but she couldn’t deny the feeling of relief that washed over her. Canea. A concrete place, and certainty that they were alive. There was no way Canea would harm the child of their once-beloved princess. Now she just had to get there and drag them away from whatever they were doing in there.

One problem: she couldn’t leave Straith when there was a dragon on the loose. Fortunately, Virgil had friends.

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vvirgils · 4 years

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Chronicles of Straith #2-The Witch’s Dragon:Chapter 20

Chronicles of Straith #1-Fate’s Door///Chapter 19/Chapter 21//Masterpost

It was midmorning when the Dark Thought arrived at Lyrwrithe. Jessie, Roman, and Virgil were the only people onboard getting off, and they gathered up all belongings and dragons before leaving. The ship docked in the harbor, since this was the end of its route. It would be waiting for Roman and Virgil the next morning, to return to Chanidy City. The day was beautiful, warm enough to be pleasant, with only a few clouds in the deep blue sky.

The weather put everyone in good spirits. Jessie was happy to be home, with her family. Virgil was enchanted by the seemingly natural magic around her, and, like Roman, glad to have made it to Lyrwrithe on time. There was a bit of a walk to Jessie’s house, but it was on the border of the preserve, so no one complained.

Virgil wanted to get into Lyrwrithe the second she could, because carrying Gray was making her more and more anxious the longer she had it. She didn’t completely know how Rafaela’s trap worked, just that it used Virgil’s magical energy to create a shield. There was no way for her to recreate it, and if it broke she was screwed. The dragon had to be sedated twice yesterday, once during the night, and it was sleeping restlessly now— she’d given it another sleep spell before the boat docked.

Her main concern was that the dragon was becoming immune to her magic, building a resistance to the only thing keeping it contained. When she, Jessie, and Roman came to the house, Virgil asked if she could just go ahead without them.

“The longer the dragon is out here, the more I’m putting everyone here at risk,” Virgil said, looking from one to the other.

“Take care of it first,” Jessie said, eyeing the dragon carrier. “Then come back, you’ve got to meet everyone.” She pulled Virgil into a quick hug, then pointed her to the entrance of Lyrwrithe.

“I’ll come with you,” Roman said, handing the sleeping Laurus in their arms to Jessie.

“Roman, you don’t have to.” Virgil couldn’t figure out why, for the life of her, why Roman wanted to join.

“I want to. I want to make sure the dragon is put away. And I can play the royalty card if there’s any complications,” Roman said. They hadn’t missed how Virgil’s fingers were shaking as she held the dragon carrier, or the way her eyes flicked from one building to the other, like she was scared of the buildings themselves.

Of course, Roman wouldn’t admit that in a million years. Virgil fixed them with a look before saying, “Fine, come along. Just don’t get in the way.”

The pair walked to the gate, which didn’t look like a gate at first. It was just an empty gap in the trees, with a path running through it. Footprints covered the snow, so Virgil followed their tracks. When she reached the place where the trees of the preserve began, something stopped her.

It was an invisible barrier, keeping her out. Virgil set Gray down and tapped on it, wondering if you just had to knock. Growing frustrated after nothing happened, she shot a jet of magic at the barrier, wondering if she could weaken it somehow. She had to get inside, if she could just get inside…

A person appeared in front of her, though he was on the other side of the glass. “Excuse me, miss, but I need to know your purpose and intentions with Lyrwrithe Preserve of Magic before I can allow you to enter.”

Virgil pointed to the dragon carrier at her feet. “I’m here to um, put this dragon somewhere it can’t hurt anyone. It was in Straith, and it’s a piece of unhinged magic. I really need to get it someplace safe, if you could just let me in and tell me who to give it to, or where to put it, that would be great.”

Roman opened their mouth, as if to support her case, but the gatekeeper had understood just fine. “Ah, I see. Come on in, we’ve been expecting you.”

The gate parted, although Virgil didn’t realize what was happening at first. What had at first appeared to be a trail of snow leading into the horizon was instead a small clearing with perhaps ten or so people chatting, sharing their morning coffee and laughing. The trees looked much more menacing than before, the tightly knit pines not letting any light beneath their boughs.

“Oh, is this the sorcerer from Straith?” one woman said, walking over to where Virgil was still standing outside the gate.

Taking a step into Lyrwrithe, Virgil shook hands with her. She introduced herself as Cassandra. “Do you know where I can put this, um, dragon?”

Cassandra laughed. “I’m the dragon expert here, so yes I can. I’ve actually been preparing a special enclosure, in case the dragon turns out to be a problem. All I’ve been reading about in the newspapers lately is your deal with Epos.” She nodded to Roman. “I’m on your side, by the way. Believe me, he’s unfit to rule.”

“So, um, where’s the enclosure?” Roman asked, looking around at the tight curve of trees.

“Right this way,” Cassandra said, parting the trees like they were a curtain. The illusion of a forest slipped away, to be replaced by something resembling, well, a forest fire.

As Virgil knew, dragons were highly prone to setting things on fire. But she didn’t expect everything to be so… on fire when she walked into where the dragons were kept. Multicolored flames covered the trees, stopped only by some invisible forcefield surrounding the area near the entrance.

Putting out the flames with a wave of her hand, Cassandra pointed at a patch of land, just to her left, that appeared entirely unbothered by the chaos surrounded it. Not a piece of dirt was touched, and a few small trees struggled through the tightly packed land. “That’s the enclosure for your dragon over there. Eventually, we’ll let it out to socialize with the other dragons, but that depends on how things go,” she said, studying the dragon inside its purple bubble.

Virgil noticed that, where Cassandra had extinguished the fire on the trees, there was no scorch mark, but the buds of new leaves growing from where fire once had. “Your sorcery is very impressive,” she said, wondering how one managed such a spell.

“Thank you very much, I’ve heard many good things about your magic as well,” Cassandra said, smiling. Her skin seemed to glow from within at the praise, and Virgil supposed that she had to be a light sorcerer who was extremely powerful. The light quickly faded from her features, however, and Cassandra returned to the task at hand. “Now, let’s deal with your dragon. Put it in the cage and undo the shrinkage spell, I can handle the trap.”

“Oh, thank you.” Virgil set the dragon’s cage down in the very center of the enclosure and stepped back so that she was. “I have no idea how it works, Rafaela made it for me.” She concentrated on undoing the spell on the dragon cage. After a few seconds of focus, the carrier, and the dragon returned to its original size.

It also woke up, and Virgil felt the fear and adrenaline racing through her body as she took a step back. Roman did the same, and they took her hand for support. Virgil knew that it was the absolute worst time to be thinking about this, but she would really like them to hold her hand more.

Unlike the hormone-addled teenagers, Cassandra wasn’t scared. She looked at the dragon with a cool gaze, like it was another specimen. Though she had to know the dragon’s reputation, there was no fear in her eyes. With a flick of her wrist, the purple bubble surrounding the dragon vanished, tiny pieces of metal falling to the ground around it.

No matter how Cassandra felt, the dragon was terrifying. It was not only awake now, but enraged. The dragon glared at Virgil with its red eyes, and she held her breath. Then, it stepped back from its enclosure. Opening its mouth, the dragon blew a stream of blue flames at her, Roman, and Cassandra.

Virgil almost turned around and ran— she was out of practice with stopping the fire, it was angry enough to destroy this whole sanctuary— but an invisible forcefield kept the flames contained inside of its enclosure. She breathed a sigh of relief, staying put with Roman by her side.

“Does she have a name?” Cassandra asked Virgil, looking at the house-sized dragon that was still blowing fire everywhere.

“Um, Gray. That’s what I’ve been calling it,” Virgil said, answering before she thought about her words. “The dragon’s a girl?”

Cassandra smiled. “She was created by a female sorcerer, no? As an expression of anger, I’m guessing. Once she calms down, I’ll know for sure, but usually that logic holds up.”

“So, Gray won’t be able to escape from here?” Roman asked.

“No, not if I have anything to say about it.” The dragon had finally stopped breathing fire, and Cassandra reached a hand through the invisible barrier to stroke its snout.

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