#rip my raising canes tea though | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyonstorm · 3 years

Text

The Breeze from an Airplane

MAJOR SPOILER WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER 138/139 AOT MANGA

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: death, graphic images

Read on AO3

Pairing: Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoe

Summary: Levi never thought the day would come where he had to relive the one of the most tragic moments of his life. He had finally begun to recover from Hange Zoe's tragic, sacrificial death. Now, two men stand at his door."We found Commander Hange's body."

Words: 4955

Levi received the worst news that evening. It was an inconvenient time to bear bad news, around 7pm. That was the time for Levi’s tea. It was usually a time for him to relax and unwind, but not tonight. The kettle was whistling; the tea was finished brewing. Levi had come out of the study and into the kitchen to retrieve the boiling water. Then, there was a knock at the door. It was strange. Usually, no one would come this late at night to bother him. He assumed it would be Armin coming to check up on him. He usually wrote to him as to when he would be stopping by. He hobbled to the door, feeling more apprehensive than he probably should’ve felt. He looked through the peephole in the door. Two men were dressed in suits. One wore round glasses, the other none. They must’ve had the wrong house.

“Mr. Ackerman,” The one with the glasses called out, knocking loudly again. Levi groaned, opening the door.

“What do you want?” Levi said, leaning against the door for support and crossed his arms. He forgot to bring his cane. The one with no glasses held a manila folder under his arm. The one with glasses wore a frown on his face. Levi’s eyes darted between the two of the mens’ faces.

“Mr. Ackerman. Good evening. We have some news for you.” The tone of his voice was neutral, as if they weren’t sure if it was good or bad news. His heart sank into his stomach, making him sick. What was it now? Haven’t I been through enough?

“We found Commander Hange’s body.”

It felt like two strong hands were slowly and steadily ripping his heart apart, every muscle, every nerve, every artery and vein came apart, leaking blood into each individual body cavity. His body began to feel heavy, blood leaking and drowning his body to its maximum. He had finally, finally, began to recover from losing her. Now, he was back to square one. He was brought back to that day on Odiha.

“And that’s that. I’ll see you guys later,” Hange said firmly, turning around to walk away. She called out to Armin.

“Oh, right. Levi’s your subordinate now, so work him to the bone. Okay?” Armin and the other’s faces read horror. Hange began to walk away from the group. As her decision began to settle with her, she felt herself begin to panic. She walked a bit before finding Levi. She didn’t intend to find him. She was scared to face him. She was scared to go. She didn’t let that show to Armin and the others, of course. She allowed her forced neutral expression transition into a deep frown. She felt her heart ache in her chest, and adrenaline began to pulse through her veins. As Hange forced her legs towards Levi, he called out.

“Hey, four-eyes.” She swallowed, feeling a lump form in her throat. He hadn’t called her that since she became Commander. She walked up to him, her shoulders in line with his. Hange wasn’t sure if she could look him in the eye, for her resolve could’ve broken at any time.

“You understand…” Hange began. He did understand, but he couldn’t accept what was doomed to happen, though. “It’s finally here. You know? ...It’s my turn.” Levi felt his heart ache. It seemed like all his senses shut down. The world had stopped around them. He wished to go back in time to the forest. Why couldn’t they have more time? Why did they have to meet in such unfortunate circumstances? It was pointless getting attached; He fell for Hange regardless, even though falling in love was suicide in the Survey Corps. Comrades, friends, and family died left and right. They were so close to freedom, to a peaceful life together that it physically pained him. He wished him and Hange forgot about the cruel world, even just for a little while. He was drowning in his pain at that time, but Hange helped him up to the surface. She was gentle when she sewed his face. Determined when she swam away with him to safety. Caring when she told him he didn’t need to get up. She protected him; this would be the third time he was saved by her. She was breaking his heart, well… whatever was left of it. He felt as if Hange herself shoved her hand into his chest, tearing his heart out.

“I want to look as cool as I possibly can right now. So please let me go.”

He thought it was very like Hange to say something like that. She wanted to look cool. She was still, even at this treacherous moment, trying to make light of the situation. But Levi could tell Hange was petrified. He couldn’t hold her back. He knew he could’ve easily changed her mind or broken her resolve, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He knew she had to go. He knew this day would come... but never did he believe it’d be so soon.

‘Please let me go.’ Those would haunt him for the restless nights to come.

He couldn’t think of what to say. He wanted to confess to her. To the person who has been by his side since day one. They have been there for each other no matter what. Levi fell for Hange every time he saw her.

I love you, he wanted to say.

I need you, he wanted to say.

Please, don’t go, he wanted to say.

But that would’ve been selfish. He couldn’t be selfish now. He had to be strong for her.

He raised his left hand and formed a fist. He struck it against her chest. Against her heart.

I dedicate my heart to you.

“Dedicate your heart,” He said, as strong as he could manage. He heard her breath hitch for a moment. Hange’s lips trembled. She knew what he meant. I love you, I need you. I dedicate my heart to you. Take my heart with you. Before her resolve was dissipated, she mustered up a laugh.

“Haha! That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that,” She said aloud. Her ODM gear zipped, and she was gone. There was a breeze that passed as she flew away. She took his heart with her. His chest was hollow. What she said was true: It’s the first time she heard him say it, but it’s also the first time he said it ever.

He had tried to reach Hange telepathically. She must’ve been too focused on the task at hand to respond. He saw her killing Colossal titans left and right as she flew through the sky. He was so proud of her. “You know I love you, right?” He told her as he hobbled onto the plane. “I will be forever in debt to you.” Deep down, he knew she heard him.

The plane took off. Levi couldn’t bring himself to look out the window like his comrades. They were screaming Hange’s name, crying, wishing it didn’t have to end like this. He didn’t want to remember Hange as she died. He remembered her as the strong, intelligent, brave Commander she had always been. He remembered her gentle touch when she wrapped his hands. He squeezed his bandaged hands together, reminiscing of his Hange.

“See you, Hange. Keep watching us.”

Levi passively allowed the two men into his house and shut the door behind them. The two men sat down at his dining table. Levi used his cane to assist him to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of his favorite evening tea. It steeped too long; however, and it had turned sour. His lips puckered, pouring out the tea into the sink. He walked to the table and sat down. He stared blankly into the white linen table cloth.

“It’s up to you, Mr. Ackerman, whether or not you’d like an open casket. The body isn’t in good shape, I’ll be honest with you.” The body. That’s all it was to them. Hange’s dead body. She is a person one minute, a body the next. The two men must’ve delivered this news a thousand times to other distraught family members. Their tone expressed no sympathy whatsoever. All they cared about was business. “We will escort you to the morgue so you can see for yourself.” The morgue. He forced himself to nod, even though agreeing to see her body was asking for torture.

“If you choose, you’d have to hold the wake soon. The preservation chemicals can only hold for a few days before the body begins to --”

“I get it,” Levi interrupted with a shaky voice. He couldn’t let them finish that sentence. He would’ve broken down right there. He used his cane to push himself onto his two feet. “I’ll get Onyankapon.” He slowly hobbled into the back room where Onyankapon was. He was very torn up about Hange, too. Levi knew they were close. He was in his desk chair, reading. He saw Levi right as he entered, his presence altering the mood of the room from calm to anguish.

“Two men are here. They found Hange’s body,” Levi muttered, unable to make eye contact with his roommate. Onyankapon’s face turned sour and he stood up. “They’re gonna take us to see her.”

The ride to the morgue was quiet. Quiet was an understatement. It was mute, void of any sound. No one spoke. No one dared to put the music on in the vehicle. The streets were quiet. It was late in the evening when the bearers of bad news arrived at their place. It was cold. No one was walking about the town. The morgue, as it turns out, wasn’t far away. This made Levi shudder. Her body was so close to him in proximity. Her dead body.

They arrived at the morgue, Onyankapon got out of the vehicle first to help Levi. He submissively accepted his help following the two men inside. As they neared her room, Levi felt his heart begin to pump faster. He didn’t know what she would look like. How did she really die? Was she trampled? Burned alive? Both? He was starting to ask himself why he agreed to this. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t think he could handle seeing her again. Seeing her body again, after all this time had passed. He stopped dead in his tracks. The two men continued walking and reached the room, but Onyankapon stopped.

“Levi,” he said. He tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. “We should do this.” Levi could tell he was anxious too. That comforted him, in a strange way.

Levi kept telling his legs to move, and finally they listened.

“The body was in bad shape when we found it. We were able to reconstruct what we can, but without knowing what she looked like prior to the incident, she may not look the same.” Reconstruct? Just how bad was it? One of the two men held the door open. Onyankapon allowed Levi to see her first. He wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or not once he walked into the room. Levi and the man with glasses entered the room. It was a shabby room with peeling grey wallpaper. The overhead light buzzed annoyingly. The room was very cold. In the center of the room was the body, covered with a light blue drape. At the foot of the bed, it read “Hange Zoe.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said monotonously, holding the edge of the drape. Levi could always sense when Hange was around. She was right there, yet he couldn’t sense her presence. Levi took a deep, quivering inhale. He would never be ready, but he nodded anyways. It seemed like the man pulled the drape off her face in slow motion. He was shaking. Horrified of what could be. Once the drape was off, the man left the room, closing the door. Levi's eyes were fixated in the corner of the dim, grey room. He couldn’t bring himself to look at first. He didn’t want to look, but he wanted to look so bad. He wanted her to be alive.

It was worse. Much, much worse than he thought.

Now he knew what they meant by reconstruct. Her body was extremely flat. Her skull must’ve been crushed in, but whoever fixed her up must’ve reconstructed her skull so her face was somewhat normal again. The oxygen seemed to be sucked out of the room; He felt himself desperately gasping for air once he saw her face. His knees buckled underneath him, and he fell at the bedside, his head resting on the tops of his hands, hot tears gushing uncontrollably from his eyes. A strangled sound escaped from his lips. When he managed to look at her face through glassy eyes, he was taken aback. Right away he noticed her nose was different. From the side, it looked reconstructed to be turned-up, which did not suit Hange at all. It looked nothing like Hange, yet so much like her at the same time. Her skin was dark red and brown, charred from the steam of the colossal titans. It was dry and peeling around her eyes, nose, cheeks, and chin. There were multiple blisters scattered over her head and neck. Her eyes were closed, but her eyelashes and eyebrows were fried off. The hair on her head, the hair he loved so much, was thin, sparse, and ratty. Most of it had burnt off too. Her eyepatch must’ve been lost, exposing the scar tissue of her left eye. She must have suffered. No doubt about it. He hated the thought of her suffering. It made the tears flow harder. This was the woman he loved; Now a dead, lifeless corpse.

He moved the drape out of the way to look at her hands. They were burnt, too. Skin and muscle burnt, bones broken. He was almost positive every bone in Hange’s body was broken. Her body was frail. So still. It seemed so strange for her to be so still. It was so unlike her. Usually, she could never stay still. She was never quiet, always being the brightest and loudest in the room. He enjoyed it; it was strangely comforting. He never knew how much he loved it until it was gone. The humming of the overhead light fills the room. She was dead, and that was for certain.

“Hange,” He whimpered, looking in his lap. Tears wet his lap. “You weren’t able to stay out of the action after all.” He was so proud of his Commander. She sacrificed herself for him and their comrades without hesitation. She sacrificed her life for his. His life was worth so damn much to her that she would die for him. She did die for him.

Levi wiped his eyes and cheeks with his shirt, causing his sleeve to dampen. He stood up. He gently placed his left fist against her broken chest.

“My heart is yours.”

He was still bugged by how still Hange’s body was. He wanted to tell her to wake up. Join me. Live with me. Be with me. He allowed his selfish thoughts to take over for just a brief moment. Onyankapon knocked on then opened the door slowly, checking in on Levi. His eyes quickly jolted from Levi to the corpse on the table. Tears welled up in his eyes instantaneously as he rushed to the other side of her.

“God, Hange,” He sighed, his voice shaking. “What happened to you…” He wasn’t able to drown himself in his feelings after she was left on the island. He had to man the plane. He had to shift the plane into motion and into the air, leaving his close friend behind to die. All the suppressed emotions came flowing out of him when he saw her burnt body.

After a few minutes passed, the two distraught men came out of the room.

“We decided on a closed casket,” Levi muttered. He couldn’t let the other’s see her like this.

“Okay. There is a funeral home just down the block which--”

“That’s fine.”

“Okay…” One of the men scowled. “How is two days from now?”

“That’s fine.”

One of the men smiled insincerely with a nod. “It’s settled. 5pm.”

Two days was more than enough time to contact the 104. Everyone was quick to accept the invite. Levi didn’t know if he could do it. If he could go through all this pain again. He had laid his suit out neatly on his bed.

Today’s the day you are put to rest, Commander.

He picked up his white button-down, sliding his arms through the sleeve holes. He remembered how Hange used to get ready with him from time to time.

“Hange,” Levi called out, storming over to her. “Your shirt isn’t even buttoned right. I know you can barely see as it is but damn, I didn’t think your eyesight was this bad.”

He started to unbutton her top. He noticed Hange’s cheeks flush a bit. Once he got to the top, he began to button it correctly.

“Sorry. I am in a rush to get to a meeting,” she would say.

Levi shook his head. “You can’t go like this.”

“What would I do without you?” Hange would say, laughing.

What would I do without you? he now asked himself.

His shirt was buttoned up to the top. He grabbed his cravat, tucking it into his collar. He sat down to put his trousers on. He took a deep breath. Putting pants on was always a struggle each morning. His legs barely worked on their own anymore. Onyankapon suggested a wheelchair, maybe he should finally submit to the offer.

He leaned down to put his socks and dress shoes on. For the most part, the only time he wore a suit was to funerals or memorials. He disliked the suit, but now he hated it. He hated the reason he had to wear it.

He went to grab his suit jacket when he paused. He turned to his closet, deciding to wear the black jacket him and Hange shared. She had worn it last. He had tried not to wear it so the scent wouldn’t dissipate. He held it to his face, taking a sentimental whiff of her scent. It smelt of fresh soil and a hint of sweat. There was a special scent he couldn’t quite place, but it was Hange’s signature scent. Maybe it was the detergent she used or the soap she used (or didn’t use) in the shower, but it was her. He hadn’t smelt the jacket since she died, but he couldn’t help himself anymore. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he felt as if he could sob right then and there. He slid the jacket on him, the jacket being slightly too big for him but he didn’t care. He put his thumb and fingers to the lateral part of his eyes, squeezing inward. He silently sobbed. He was allowed to; no one was around.

After a few moments passed, he took a sharp inhale and closed his eyes slowly. He was starting to question why he had agreed to hold a funeral for her. It was for them, the 104. He patted his eyes with a tissue, took another deep breath, and then went to the living room. Onyankapon was shuffling through a box.

“Ready?” He asked. Levi nodded.

“What’s with the box?” Levi asked, turning the door knob and opening the door.

“Some of Hange-san’s belongings from the accident. Those two men dropped this off last night.”

“I see.”

He decided he shouldn’t go through it now. He would get too worked up. Besides, her clothes were probably burnt and unsalvageable anyways. Onyankapon popped open a wheelchair, gesturing for Levi to sit down. Levi could barely walk, let alone stand, anymore. He hobbled over and slowly sat down, groaning slightly. Onyankapon wheeled him outside, shutting the door. Outside were the same two men, ready to escort Levi and Onyankopon to the funeral home. They were standing in front of a long, black limousine. One of the back doors was opened. As he was wheeled to the car, Levi glanced to his left and saw the hearse. It was black and had small, purple, velvet curtains behind the windows. She was in there. Levi couldn’t look away even though he wanted to. Levi felt tears start to pool in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. He stood up, getting into the black vehicle. Onyankapon folded up the wheelchair and got in beside him.

Like the ride a few days ago, no one spoke. It was mute. Levi’s stomach churned each time he thought about having to see the 104 again, talking about their lost Commander. Within 10 minutes, they arrived at the funeral home. There were a ton of people standing outside the funeral home, chatting amongst themselves and waiting to get inside. Levi stopped frowning. All these people were here to see Hange. It made his heart swell. The car stopped and was parked. The man with the glasses opened the door on Levi’s side, helping him out. The wheelchair was already propped open for him. Levi sat and he was wheeled to Onyankapon. He saw familiar faces: Mikasa, Armin, Gabi, Falco, Jean, Connie, Annie, Reiner… These people really cared about her, he thought. His stomach wasn’t hurting anymore.

Onyankapon and Levi were allowed into the funeral home first with the two men. It reeked of stale flowers. There was a beautiful gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the entryway that glistened when the sun shone on it. The carpet had a red and burgundy checkered pattern. He stared at it as he was pushed to Hange’s service room. They finally arrived. There were rows and rows of metal chairs lined up, facing right, to the casket. Casket. That word right there almost made Levi lose it. There were beautiful flowers of all colors surrounding the casket. Yellow, red, pink, purple. Hange loved flowers, especially bright ones. It was very fitting. The casket was a rich dark mahogany color with a thick golden railing on either side. It was tragically beautiful. There was a small red velvet cushion on the floor in front of the casket for people to pray. There was a black and white banner that hung above the casket. “14th Commander of the Survey Corps,” It said in small text towards the top. “Hange Zoe,” it said in big text underneath. Levi admired it for a while. He was curious who set all this up. Could it have been Onyankapon? The 104? He made a mental note to find out and thank them. Levi was facing the casket now. Levi pushed off the armrests and kneeled on the semi-hard cushion. Onyankapon kneeled next to him. Levi wasn’t one to pray, but figured now may be a good time to start. He laced his fingers together, pressing his forehead against his thumbs and closed his eyes.

Dear Hange, thank you for saving my shitty life. Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I am so proud of you... I miss you every day. Are you still watching me? At that moment, someone must’ve opened a window because he felt a gentle breeze pass by him, caressing his face as it wooshed by. This caused Levi to open his eyes and look behind him. There was one big window, but it was locked shut. Levi took a deep breath, smiling. Rest easy, four-eyes.

He pushed himself to stand, then sitting back in the wheelchair. Onyankapon finished his prayer, a tear streaming down his face. The two men recognized they were done and allowed the rest of the visitors inside. The doors to her room opened, people started flooding in. Levi took this time to wheel himself over to the brown cork board that hung on the left side of the room. It contained photos of Hange. For the most part, he recognized the photos. There was one in specific he never saw before though, and it wasn’t on the board either. It was a large portrait of Hange in a dark wood frame that sat on an easel. He admired this photo the longest. It must’ve been painted of her when she had just become Commander. She had her beautiful chestnut hair up in her typical ponytail (which was neater than usual), her black eyepatch on, her thin oval glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, and she wore her olive green Survey Corps jacket. She wore the oval green stone around her neck, which sat at the top of her chest. There was a hint of a smile in the photo, even though the painter insisted she kept a straight face. Hange persuaded him to make her smile in the portrait, though. Levi thought she looked breathtaking.

He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. He tensed slightly, turning around. He saw Armin and Annie together. They were both dressed well and teary-eyed.

“It’s good to see you Levi. We are sorry for your loss,” Armin said, shaking Levi’s hand and placing his other hand on top of his. Afterwards, Armin stuck a hand in his pocket.

“You, too. Thanks,” Levi replied.

“Hange-san handed me this after she made her decision to stay behind,” Armin explained, handing Levi an envelope which was folded in half. “It was addressed to you.” Levi took it from the new Commander, turning it to see the envelope addressed to “Levi” in Hange’s handwriting.

“Thank you, Armin,” Levi nodded at him.

“What do you think of the flowers?” Annie asked, sitting down in the front row of metal chairs. Levi looked towards the flowers again.

“Hange would’ve loved them,” he replied. Annie smiled sadly. “She would have.”

Mikasa came up behind Armin, giving a small wave to Levi. Armin stepped out of the way, allowing Mikasa to pass. She took both his hands into hers, looking into his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Levi,” She whimpered, her eyes tearing up. She felt at fault for Hange’s death. She thought maybe she could’ve saved her, but didn’t. The truth is, Levi didn’t blame anyone specifically for her death. “If you need anything, I’m here for you.” Deep down, he knew usually no one actually reached out for help from others. He appreciated the offer, though.

“Thank you, Mikasa,” he replied.

As the lot of people passed by to visit Hange, Levi grew sick of the apologies. He appreciated them, but he couldn’t bear seeing everyone’s sad faces anymore. It made him feel worse. He told Onyankapon he was going outside for some air. The stale flower stench was starting to sink into his clothes and skin. He wheeled himself out of the room, down the hall, and through the doors. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, shining beautiful shades of pink and red throughout the city. He took the envelope out of his pocket, slowly but surely unfolding the letter. He began to read.

Dear Levi,

You will receive this for one of two reasons: one, I am dead; or two, I worked up the courage to personally hand it to you. I hope it’s the latter. I know I am being selfish when I say this, but I wish we stayed in the forest together a little while longer. I began to write this after that day.Currently, you are asleep in the carriage I built. I stopped to make dinner for us. I barely had time, but I had to get my thoughts in writing.

I think I am going to die soon. So, I had to tell you how I felt before I go. I know my time is coming up very fast, and I am not afraid to die. That is what we signed up for when we joined the Survey Corps, after all. What is bothering me is when. I wish it’d be peaceful in a warm, comfortable bed. I doubt that, though. If it’s true, maybe we would be living together. Isn’t it true that if you live with someone for a long time, you’re considered married by common law? I wouldn’t mind being married to you, Levi. I wouldn’t mind waking up every morning and you’re nearby. I wouldn’t mind spending every day with you. We could explore the world together. Leave these walls in the past and be free, together. I can study vegetation, you can open the tea shop you’ve always dreamt about. Maybe I’d discover new plants and food for us to try. Or maybe I’d work to create inventions. Maybe I’d create a new type of food or plant. Maybe I’d invent a more efficient flying boat. Well… whatever I do, I hope it’s with you. Even if I am gone when you read this, live your life. Explore the world. I’ll be right by your side. I promise.

Always yours,

Hange Zoe

Levi held the letter close to his heart. His heart was throbbing and felt like it would burst out of his chest. Tears were flowing uncontrollably down his cheeks and into his lap. He folded up the letter, careful not to rip it. He slid it into the envelope, sticking it in the inside pocket of his, their, jacket. He looked up to the beautiful pink sky and saw a flying boat pass by, buzzing in the air.

I’ll be right by your side. I promise.

#levihan #levihan fic #levihan fanfiction #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levi x hange #levi x hanji #AoT #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levihan one shot #levihan oneshot #rivahan

89 notes · View notes

painless-innit-colourful · 3 years

Text

‘Would You Cry If I Died, Would You Remember My Name?’ - a Ranbutler Fic

Remember how much you loved Ranbutler during the first half of the Masquerade stream? Me too! Everytime Billiam said something about punishing him I wrote it down. Here’s 1700 words of an unnamed character suffering :)

tw for starvation, Egg manipulation, implied beating.

“As a bonus,” Sir Billiam joked with a kind of triumphant smile. “If we die down here, they’ll never find our bodies!” He laughed voraciously, and Karl soon joined him.

---

The Butler didn’t think it was very funny. There were crimson tendrils at the edge of his vision, like bloody hands trying to ensnare him. They were red, like anger and violence and pain. So much pain. Billiam had laughed at him earlier that day. Invited him to talk over an afternoon tea in the library. None of which he would be getting. The Butler swore he’d seen his employers eyes turn red, like the Devil himself was sitting across from him. It couldn’t be though, because the Devil seeks out the greedy. He just wanted something to eat.

He just wanted something to eat.

Another wave of dizziness swept over him, and it was a battle to stay on his feet. He was bent double, leaning hard against the rough wall of the secret passage, one hand gripping grooves in the wood with the tips of his fingers to hold him upright, while his other arm was wrapped tightly around his midsection, squeezing as if it could somehow counteract the pain. Despite his frigid surroundings, he didn’t shiver: he couldn’t feel it. He could’ve been submerged in the aquarium and drowned without realising. He was empty, stomach growling, demanding food, but there was nothing he could do. He felt his grip on the wall slipping, and he bit through his tongue with the effort to stay upright. If he sat down, he feared he’d never get up again.

Domed dinner plates, silver serving trays and deep-dish bowls piled high and poised precariously danced through his subconscious. Sweet and savoury pies, delicate canapes, a roasted round of venison, sautéed mushrooms. He’d made all those, some with assistance from Hubert, for a dinner party Billiam had thrown over a week and a half ago. He’d slaved away for hours prior to his master’s gathering of rich friends and richer acquaintances, preparing four courses, organising the alcohol, cleaning the dining room and ballroom, pressing tablecloths and watering the potted plants (some of a more reddish hue than normal). His intention was to make too much food: then he’d be scolded with no follow-through and get to retreat to the kitchen to finish the leftovers. It was a perfect plan.

But Fortune did not smile upon him; she glowered angrily as she often liked to do. From the moment he’d turned the corner from the dining room to the hall, time seemed to slow, and he watched with detached horror and a muted resignation as he collided with Lord James, and the wine he’d been carrying splashed all over the newly-divorced gentleman’s dinner jacket. The gent’s formerly suave cream blazer now bore a closer resemblance to the coat of a fallen soldier. The Butler wanted the ground to swallow him whole as his master came marching out of the ballroom to berate him, the guests exchanging smug looks and glances that filled him toe to top with shame.

“James I am so sorry, I’ll lend you a dinner jacket - there’s a rather fine one in the second guest bedroom’s wardrobe. Please, I invite you to clean yourself while I deal with him,” He shot the Butler a glare that sank his heart with dread, “And I’ll replace your jacket tomorrow. Hubert!” Billiam’s other butler immediately stepped out of the nearest extraneous doorway. “Show James to the second guest room and help him clean up.”

“And as for you,” The Butler shrunk back involuntarily as Billiam loomed over him, leaning closer to his ear. “Twenty lashes, no food for two weeks and the cost of his jacket comes out of your wages.” It felt like the air had been ripped out of his lungs, but the Butler held his tongue. Often Billiam would make empty threats he’d forget about hours later, so long as the Butler remained well-behaved and/or invisible. “Now get out of my sight.” He didn’t have to be told twice before he retreated upstairs, stuffing himself into a small cubbyhole where no guest would find him by accident. He would be left alone for the remainder of the party, when he’d leave and get something to eat without being seen or heard. He’d be fine. He’d be fine.

The kitchen doors were locked though when he tried to silently open them in the early hours of the morning, and when he turned away he was met with the sight of Hubert holding a candle in one hand and a cane in the other. A cold sweat formed on his brow like condensation on a chilly window pane.

“Hubert?” “Take off your shirt.” “But-” “Take off your shirt and step outside, please.” Hubert’s icy-grey eyes showed no sympathy as the two of them walked through a side door and stepped out onto the grounds of the estate. The Butler heard him set down the candle by the door as he shrugged off his waistcoat and undid the buttons of his shirt, trembling. Hubert took them out of his hands and cast them aside as he raised the cane, looking the Butler in the eyes as he tensed all the muscles in his body in anticipation. “No hard feelings.” “Right.” He murmured, shutting his eyes.

At least the agonising pains of starvation had distracted him from the raw ache of his back as it made contact with the wall behind him. He’d lost the fight to stay upright and was now huddled on the floor in the dank passage, tasting the blood in his mouth from where he’d bit through his tongue. It was better than nothing, he would only admit in this state. The tips of his fingers played with the canteen of water on the floor beside him: his only hope of surviving. This wasn’t the first time Billiam had withheld food from him, and he’d learnt that if he drank enough, he could about sustain himself through achingly empty days and endless torturous nights. Still, it did nothing to relieve his torment. It had been eleven days since the dinner party, and though the Butler knew he could survive this, the throbbing pain in his belly felt like Death consuming him from the inside out, withering him away in the secret passage. He was safe in there from his master at least, but what about his fellow servant? Did Hubert know about this hidey-hole?

If he died in here, would anyone find him? Would anyone care?

He titled his head back and let out a low moan as another wave of dizziness clouded his thoughts and senses. No one would care if he was gone. Not even his master, Billiam, would pay it any mind: Hubert was more than capable of running the show on his own. He never incurred Billiam’s wrath; he was never locked out of the kitchen or taken outside to be beaten or scolded for simply existing. Billiam and Hubert had conversations; the Butler was denied speech at all times. The Butler wasn’t even permitted his own name in Billiam’s establishment: he whispered it to himself while he was alone at night so he wouldn’t forget it. The memories of being called by his name grew dim in his mind, wasting away with no one else to value them. No one to value him.

The next time he was swept with a wave of nausea and weakness, the red tendrils returned to his vision, and this time they didn’t leave. “Oh Butler, or should I say, John...” “How… How do you know my name..?” He whispered back, without considering the source of the voice intruding into his mind. “You poor mortal soul, suffering alone with no one to care.” “How- How do you know that? Who are you?” The Butler’s voice was weak as he rasped questions to the darkness. “What is it that you want, hm? More than anything in the world, what is it that your heart desires?” “Are you Satan?” “No, child.” Somehow that pronouncement scared him more. “Please- I don’t want anything…” “Oh but you do!” The voice then fell silent, leaving the Butler alone with his thoughts for a long moment. The presence remained, but without the voice to distract him, the Butler once again whimpered aloud from the pain of his hunger pangs. “I- I guess- I guess I’d like something to eat.” He admitted, his voice a soft whisper as he basked in the shame he felt. “Yes, child, and that I can give to you, and so much more. I can grant you everything you’ve ever desired. Food, so much you’ll never go hungry again, rich and filling like what you serve to your master and his guests. You may have Billiam’s approval… He may even call you by your name.” The Butler’s vision was swimming. “H-How.” He mumbled, barely finding the will to whisper the words.

“Come. Come to me. In the library, behind the second painting. Then, lowly mortal, I will make sure you never starve again.” He tried, searching inside himself for the last of his resolve, tried to find the willpower to hold out against the pull of whatever demon was beckoning to him. His parents, were they alive, would never approve. Billiam would never approve.

But they didn’t matter. His parents were dead. And Billiam was the reason he was too weak to resist in the first place. His willpower shrivelled up and died as he dragged himself across the floor towards the rickety ladder upstairs. If just trying to survive made him a sinner, then he hoped at least that Hell would be warm.

---

“Karl,” He stared down the peculiarly-dressed stranger. “I’m going to have to ask you to go back inside.” He watched as the man hesitantly stepped under his arm where he held back the painting, his eyes darting between him and his master at the far end of the room, standing proud next to the Egg. He listened to him give Karl a small speech without hearing any of the words as he retrieved the scabbard from behind the other painting, then himself stepping through the hole in the wall.

As he reappeared, Billiam smiled and folded his hands before him. “Oh, the Egg is hungry.” The Butler unsheathed the wicked-sharp blade, stained with the blood of the Egg’s previous victims. As he looked at the last of the night’s targets in the eyes, he had only one thought.

‘So am I.’

#so this was interesting to write #lot of really specific googling #lot of synonyms for pain #symptoms of starvation #types of food they served at banquets in the olden times. that sorta thing #i reread half of the second hetty feather book halfway through because that also contains an ailing servant #crim writes #dream smp #tales from the smp #dsmp fic #ranboo #ranbutler #technoblade #billiam the third #dream smp egg #i hope you guys like it!#oh also! i wrote this before the wild west stream but i added in my hc that ranbutler and john john are the same person #so that's on his name being john

128 notes · View notes

rikalovesrice · 3 years

Note

rika if you ever actually write a newsies/wizards crossover I will SCREAM IN LOVE AND AFFECTION FOREVER

“And who wants Brooklyn?”

At the mention of the most feared borough in New York, the boys went silent, ducking into their elbows or spinning around in their seats to hide their grimances. Douxie remained still and quiet where he sat next to Davey, tapping a finger against the table. Archie in his lap flicked his tail.

Jack scoffed. “Oh c’mon! Brooklyn!” Still nothing. “Finch!” The called-out newsboy peeked over his shoulder. “You tellin’ me you scared of Brooklyn?”

Finch rose up to stand on his chair, brandishing his slingshot. “I ain’t scared of no turf!” At the expectant looks of his pals, his indignation was quickly replaced with nerves. “B-but that Spot Conlon...does make me a little uh...jittery…” Boos and laughs had a now sheepish Finch back in his seat.

Jack rolled his eyes and yelled over the noise, “Alright me and Davey will take Brooklyn!” Jack glanced down at Douxie. “You’re comin’, too, Tricks.”

“What?” Douxie said. The thought of being snapped in half always gave Douxie the jitters himself, whether it be ghoulish monsters or a bunch of thugs who soaked people for fun. “Why me?”

“Yeah what’s he gonna do?” Racetrack said. He feigned lifting a teacup to his lips, pinky out, and adopted what he thought to be a British accent. “Give em’ tea and biscuits?” The diner erupted into chortling. Douxie rolled his eyes to meet Davey’s, who shook his head. Archie resisted the urge to groan. Jack didn’t answer Douxie’s question and just yelled for everyone to shut up.

And so here Douxie was, wringing his hands as he, Davey, and Jack crossed into Brooklyn over the bridge. The smell of salt and fish thickened as they approached the harbor, Brooklyn boys roughhousing about on the dock. One pulled himself out of the water to stand in Jack’s space.

“Goin’ somewhere, Kelly?” he said, all intimidation even as Jack paid him no mind and brushed by. Davey stuck close to his back. “Aye look this guy’s got a cat!”

“I’m hungry!” another boy shouted, other newsboys chiming in with jeers. One mimicked clutching and ripping into a chunk of meat with his teeth. At that, Douxie’s nerves dampened. One look and the ruffians, though they didn’t back down, stopped laughing. Archie hissed and flattened his ears, walking between Douxie’s feet.

“Well if ain’t Jack Be Nimble, Jack Be Quick,” a boy in red said from atop a ladder. He watched them closely, turning a slingshot in one hand and a cane with a golden handle in the other.

“Hey ta you, too, Spotty,” Jack said. Spot set his slingshot between his teeth and descended the ladder, hopping onto the deck in time to look Jack in the face. Douxie and Davey held their breath in the silence that followed, completely surrounded by Brooklyn newsies cracking their knuckles. Then a grin broke out on Jack’s face and he spat into his palm. Spot reciprocated and the two leaders shook hands. Douxie wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Shoulda brought cards if I’d known you were comin’, Tricks,” Spot said. He glimpsed Archie and raised a brow. “Little puss really follows you everywhere, huh?”

“Sure does,” Douxie said with an awkward smile.

“Or is that some magic, too?”

“You could call it that.”

Spot smirked. He fished a stone out of his pocket and started loading up his slingshot.

“So uh...Jacky Boy,” Spot said. He took aim and shattered a bottle up on a wooden platform. Davey jumped. “Little bird’s been chirpin’ in my ear. Says Manhattan newsies are playing ‘Go On Strike’.”

Jack stepped around Spot, hands in his pockets. “Birdies ain’t lyin’.”

“But we’re not playing,” Davey said. “We really are going on strike.”

“Oh yeah, yeah?” Spot replied into Davey’s face, tone mocking. “What is this Jacky Boy, some kinda walkin’ mouth?”

“Yeah he is,” Jack said, clapping Davey’s shoulders. “A mouth with a brain and if ya got half of one you’ll listen to what he has to say.”

And so Davey had the floor. He did his best to convince the most feared and renowned newsie in all of New York, and his borough, to join their cause. But in the end, Spot wasn’t convinced.

“All this talkin’ ain’t good enough, Jacky Boy,” Spot said. “You gotta show me you have what it takes. That you’re not gonna run as soon as a bull comes at you with a club.” Spot glanced over at Douxie. “You’re gonna need more than magic tricks to win this. You’re gonna need guts. And I don’t know if you got ‘em.” Another beat of silence as Spot and Jack locked eyes. “Show em’ out, Look!”

The Brooklyn newsboys began to make way in the back of the crowd. Douxie tensed. Look, he’d been told, was Spot’s right hand girl, rumored to be just as fearsome as the King of Brooklyn himself. When she finally stepped out, Douxie’s heart lurched in his chest and suddenly everything else didn’t exist.

Her chestnut hair was contained in a simple braid over her left shoulder, loose strands escaping from beneath her hat and onto her face lovely as ever. Her beige shirt was tucked into a long pink skirt that hovered just above her boots. She had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows so Douxie could see her many bracelets, including the one that matched one of his. Her brilliant blue eyes widened when they finally landed on him. They both stood gawking at each other for a hair of a second before some boy shouted.

“Take his cat, I’m starvin’!”

Before Douxie could even comprehend it, and before the other boys could really start back up with all that, Zoe whirled around.

“Shut it!” she snapped and every Brooklyn who wasn’t Spot Conlon took a good step back without a peep. She turned back to the Manhattans, her eyes lingering on Douxie for a moment and then flickering over to Jack. “Let’s go, Kelly.”

Zoe accompanied them all the way across to the other side of the bridge, arms crossed and eyes like a hawk on their backs. Right as Jack and Davey stepped off the bridge and back onto Manhattan soil, Douxie spun around. Zoe had been about to reach for his hand. She glanced fondly down at Archie.

“Mordrax’s miracles…,” Archie said.

Douxie’s mind scrambled for words. “H-here...Here tonight—”

“Don’t be late,” she whispered, smiling softly.

It took everything in Douxie to not throw his arms around her and hold her close like he’d been longing to do for the last decade. Instead he smiled back, heart fluttering, and backed away to catch up with Jack and Davey.

“What was that?” Jack asked. He looked over his shoulder at Zoe watching them leave. Jack nudged Douxie in the ribs with his elbow. “Someone soft for ya, Tricks?”

“Soft?” Davey said, not daring a glance back. “What part of her was soft?”

“It was nothing,” Douxie said. He peered back. Zoe was gone. “She was trying to scare me, that’s all.”

“She didn’t scare you?” Davey asked.

Of course she did.

“No, of course not,” Douxie said with a shrug.

Jack playfully smacked the back of his head.

“Lie to us again.”

◇

The ocean breeze combed through Douxie’s hair as he leaned against the railing of the bridge and stared out at the moon’s soft light rolling on the waves.

“But what if she doesn’t come?” Douxie asked for the upteenth time, and so Archie didn’t even bother answering, opting to silently beg for Zoe to save him from this madness.

“Tricks, huh?”

Douxie whipped his head to the side and there she was hugging herself. Half shadowed, half bathed in moonlight. Perfection.

“They um…” Douxie swallowed. “They like to play cards and well…” They gazed at each other for a long moment. Neither of them knew who moved first but not a moment later they were running into each other’s arms. Zoe hugged his neck, a shaking breath leaving her. Douxie picked her up and spun her around. Kissed her hair.

“I really thought you were dead,” Zoe said into his neck. Douxie’s heart clenched. He held her tighter.

“And I really thought I’d never see you again,” he said. Douxie set her down and they pulled away to look at each other. Douxie ran a hand down the side of her head, tucking some hair behind her ear. After sharing another long embrace, they settled against the railing. Zoe scratched behind Archie’s ear, kissing his cheek as he curled himself around her shoulders, purring loudly.

“To think the both of us were selling papes this whole time,” Douxie said, putting humorous emphasis on the shorthand for newspapers.

“No limits, no boundaries,” Zoe said. “It’s the perfect gig for us. Has Manhattan had a goblin infestation, too?”

“Eh, more imps than anything, those bloody pests,” Douxie said. “Although I did have to drive out a flyslug the other night. Definitely smelled all the unwashed clothes. Ugh, it was a nightmare trying not to wake any of the boys...”

“Brooklyn newsies are surprisingly hygienic.”

“Well aren’t you just blessed.”

A peaceful quiet settled over them. At some point they’d moved closer, their arms now touching. Thoughts of the strike returned to Douxie’s mind and he frowned. He looked down at his hands and picked at his thumbnail.

“It’s awful,” Douxie said. “What Pulitzer’s done.” He turned around and leaned his back against the rail. “Raising prices like that...As if these children could barely afford what it was before.”

“Is there any way you could convince Spot, Zoe?” Archie asked. “Evidently he thinks highly of you.”

Zoe worried her lip. Then she sighed heavily, mirroring Douxie’s position and resting her back against the rail. Archie hopped off her shoulders and onto Douxie’s. They all stared up at the stars.

“Trust me when I say Brooklyn’s probably more angry about it than anyone,” Zoe said. “But...Spot doesn’t budge when he’s made up his mind. If he says Manhattan has to prove it, then you guys have to prove it.” She looked up at Douxie. “Which, I mean, I’m not really concerned about.”

“Well I can’t send bulls to Limbo,” Douxie said. “Nor am I any good with my fists…”

“Right, you like to bite people.”

“What! I don’t like doing that!”

Zoe chuckled. Then she turned to Douxie, expression pensive.

“It’ll be alright,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “You’ll find a way. You always do.”

“Without Brooklyn’s support, all the other boroughs won’t likely join the strike,” Douxie said. “But...Jack isn’t one to back down. And they all listen to Davey well. He’s a good kid. Smart, too. Him and his little brother.”

“And you’d risk everything to help children trying to survive on the streets,” Zoe said. “So again. I’m not concerned.”

Their eyes met, tender smiles on both their faces. Douxie reached up to hold Zoe’s hand on his arm as he processed her words. Every time he saw a newsie shout a fake, outrageous headline in hopes of someone buying it, he could only remember his days as a street rat in Camelot. Never a child or fellow man in desperate need for a gracious helping hand but only ever seen as filthy scum and a bother. Sweltering hot in the summer. Freezing cold in the winter. Always hungry either way. Always afraid.

“When can I see you again?” Douxie asked. Zoe took a long, thoughtful pause.

“Tomorrow,” she said. Douxie blanked.

“W-wait what? But you said—”

“Spot may not be convinced yet.” Zoe crossed her arms. “But I’m not waiting to show Pulitzer what a tyrant he is. And…” She knocked her knuckles against Douxie’s arm. “You know I’d never let you fight alone, right?”

Douxie smiled, his heart soft with affection and gratitude.

“Right,” he said.

“We should be off then,” Archie said. “Before anyone finds us gone.”

Douxie and Zoe stepped into another long, warm embrace. Douxie wondered if he could just hold Zoe like this forever but then she slowly pulled away.

“Tomorrow,” she said, backing away. Zoe held Douxie in her sights until she was several feet away. Then she turned and hurried back to Brooklyn. Douxie watched her go, still and entranced. Eventually Archie pawed at his cheek and he snickered, sparing one last look.

“Tomorrow.”

-------

Author’s Notes : Y’know, of all the things I’ve thought of crossing Wizards with, Newsies was definitely not one of them lol. But boy, I’m so glad I did! Bless and thank you, Non, this was so much fun to write heehee! And you had me remembering how much I adore Newsies. Fans of the musical may catch that I drew inspiration from both the Broadway musical and the 1992 film (which was so cheesy and silly I loved it so much hehe)🎭🎵

BLESSED THOUGHTS OF DOUXIE BEING IN A MUSICAL ASLDKFAL;SDKAF

HE’S THEATER KID ADJACENT YA KNOW HE WOULD ALSO LOOKIT MY BOYS--

This little ficlet’s a thing now because of this post✨ Hope you all enjoyed! Until next time, God bleeeeess💙

27 notes · View notes

joonkorre · 3 years

Text

They got a plan for (you)

@drarrymicrofic prompt: Dangerous by Big Data (ft. Joywave)

this song emits a very, hmm, being-in-the-middle-of-a-conspiracy vibe. so. here we are. enjoy. AO3

Harry knows the person standing in front of him. Or maybe he doesn't. If anyone else knows, well. They're not supposed to.

“Cormac McLaggen? Haven’t heard of him in years.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Ron replies, twirling his quill. Harry tries to copy it and gets ink on his face instead. “The bloke’s fucked off to the Mediterranean for some consultant work. He came in, I helped sorted out his paperwork, and he’s gone. It’s been, ah, five years, I think.”

“Right, right. Remember how he was back in Hogwarts?”

“A fucking nightmare.”

“I know,” Harry agrees. “The Sorting Hat should’ve put him in Slytherin— wait, maybe not. He and Malfoy would tear the school apart.”

Ron looks at him odd for a moment before snickering. “The things you say, mate…”

Harry stills. Has his sense of humor changed in some way for Ron to say that? And not just him, a few others of his friends have remarked along the same lines as well.

He sips his tea and grimaces. It’s gone cold.

“Anyway, hopefully his attitude’s improved somewhat.”

“Oh, it has to,” Ron says. “I mean, he’s assigned as your partner. Soon, you’ll be stuck with him here while I’m halfway across the building. So I’m not scared he’d do you in,” Ron points at Harry. “I’m scared you’d snap and end up in Azkaban within an hour.”

“Your trust in me is astounding, Jesus Christ, Ronald.”

There’s a knock on their office’s door. It swings open, revealing Head Auror Robards. Harry and Ron stand up in unison and bow.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you both are working?” Robards taps his cane on the floor, and the door closes with a quiet clack. His bad leg is acting up, it seems.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Diligently?”

“There might have been a bit of discussion,” Ron says, his shoulders loosening, “all about work, I assure you.”

“Mhmm,” Robards says. As his retirement looms, he’s more like a grumpy grandpa than a boss these days. “Smart mouth. Potter.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry straightens.

“You’ve gotten the news?”

“I have, Sir,” Harry says, slipping the document from a folder on his desk. “My new partner is Cormac McLaggen while Auror Weasley is transferred to admin.”

“Correct. How are your lungs doing, Weasley?”

“Ah,” Ron shrugs, but a sheen of sweat can still be seen on his forehead, “same old, same old, Sir. I can’t say I won’t miss fieldwork, though.”

“I know,” Robards nods, a rare sympathetic expression on his face, tapping his cane once more. “Your eye for detail and diplomatic abilities will serve everyone well. Just because you can’t jump all crazy and shit anymore doesn’t mean you’re useless, Weasley, remember that.”

Ron bows and start collecting the piles of paperwork he’s packed up on his desk. Harry reaches over and clasps him on the shoulder, getting a teary smile in return. For a moment, nothing is heard except the rustling of paper.

“Well, gentlemen.”

Harry retracts his hand and turns toward Robards.

“I’m just here to check in on you both. It appears that McLaggen’s encountered some trouble with his International Portkey, so unfortunately, he won’t be—”

There’s another knock on the door. “Excuse me, I was informed Head Auror Robards is currently here?”

Robards lets out an audible sigh of relief and twists the knob. Over his shoulders, Harry can see a head of blonde. Very, very fair blonde.

“Yes, I’m here. Apologies, I had some matters that need to be discussed in person with Mr. Weasley and Auror Potter, so I wasn’t in my office.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I was at fault, anyway. My Portkey was on the cheaper side, so there was a bit of malfunction. Thank Merlin I made it just in time. Your secretary— Miss Brown, is it?— was lovely. You ought to give her a raise.”

Robards laughs politely. “Everybody always says that about her. A hard worker, that woman, I’ll inform her of your commendation.”

He invites the man inside, and Harry feels his world roll upside down.

“Potter, here is Dr. McLaggen. He will be here as consultation, and with your upcoming case,” Robards peers at him over his thin glasses, “his expertise in Potions and International Law will help immensely.”

The man grins, all teeth, but completely non-threatening. His waistcoat fits him snugly, highlighting his tapered waist. The silvery specks in his eyes— not blue like they should be— glint in the summer sun, almost colorless, as he offers a hand toward Harry.

“Malfoy.”

Harry grips those long, pompously manicured fingers of Draco Malfoy tightly, barely registering the growl that rips out of his throat.

“Pardon?” Malfoy— not McLaggen, never McLaggen— tilts his head. His look of confusion is almost convincing.

Something sharp jabs Harry’s side. He doesn’t flinch, but he does drop Malfoy’s hand, who holds it with the other to his chest protectively.

“Mate, what is wrong with you?” Ron hisses in Harry’s ear. The latter whips his head to stare at him. Ron stares right back as if Harry is the one being insane here. “McLaggen was a douche, yeah, but he’s not even doing anything. Why’re you antagonizing him?”

“Antag— Ron,” Harry stresses, aware of a keen gaze flickering back and forth between him and Ron. “That’s literally Draco Malfoy standing in front of us. Tell me you’re not buying this.”

“What?” Ron strains his head back, eyes wide. Harry’s ears pound, and with the way Ron is shaking his head, he can tell he’s not going to like what’s coming out of Ron’s mouth.

“Who the fuck is Draco Malfoy?”

Harry tries and tries and tries. Tries to make sense of this. He fails.

All he can do is watch, numb in a detached sort of way, as Ron shakes Malfoy’s hesitant hand and apologizes for his best mate’s behavior, really, he’s been feeling ill these days, you know how the weather is. Malfoy lets a generous smile stretch across his cheeks, dimples deepening, and Harry hasn’t seen his face look like this before, hasn’t seen those dimples once in all the years he’s known and remembered Malfoy. It looks unnatural. Ron is sold.

Harry swivels to Robards, disbelieving. Robards has to know what’s going on. He’s too good to let someone like Draco Malfoy cast such a blatant Disfigurement Charm or whatever else he did to fool everyone. He can’t be falling for a criminal’s tricks. Yes, this must be a test, or a covert mission only a few are aware of.

Robards, who has been silent during the whole ordeal, catches Harry’s eyes. A presence pierces through his Occlumency shield, clean like a well-sharpened blade through unsuspecting flesh.

You will be dealt with, Auror Potter.

The presence leaves.

Robards says something dry and witty to the other two occupants in the room, and they laugh. With one final shake of hands with McLaggen—no, Malfoy— he wishes both Harry and his new partner a good day. Ron follows him out, a briefcase and a large box in his arms, desk now void of everything ‘Ron.’ He throws Harry a look, that signature ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’ look, before closing the door behind him.

There’s no one else in the office but Harry and someone called Cormac McLaggen.

“I’m… sorry,” that person says, putting his briefcase on the surface of Ron’s desk gently. He tucks a messy strand of hair behind his ear, allowing Harry a better view of his face. “You must have mistaken me with, ah…”

“Yes. Draco Malfoy,” Harry says after a moment, putting his hands behind his back. A test. The person only blinks. “You’re both blonde and your facial structure is. Quite similar.”

“I see,” the person nods in understanding before sending a quick, warm smile at Harry. He looks honest. The past decade of Auror work clears out the fog in Harry’s brain, and he sees it; he really is honest. “It happens, don’t worry about it. Let’s just take a few moments to get to know each other, shall we?”

There’s no sign of recognition in the man’s eyes when he talks to Harry. Whoever did this to him, to everyone else, was sloppy. Arrogant. Harry makes a mental note to bring his backup wand from now on, especially in the event that he’s called to Robards’ office.

“Sure,” Harry sits down and gets comfortable, gesturing for Malfoy to do the same. Whatever is going on, he’d be damned if he won’t get to the bottom of it.

“Let’s.”

#drarry #drarrymicrofic #prompt: dangerous #harry potter #draco malfoy #aurors #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #government conspiracy #hope i put enough plot in this mf #i've always loved things that makes the government look like ass #bc they are lmao #and memory loss/alteration is also to my taste #so boom here it is #joonkorre writes

31 notes · View notes

phantomato · 3 years

Text

Waterlogged, Ch. 11

Too soon, it was January, and Hermione owled him.

They started small. Tea on the weekends, perhaps breakfast or lunch in the Muggle world. She would touch his hand and laugh as he told stories about his geriatric colleagues. “Lord Slughorn thought the American Muggles were still having a civil war,” he’d say, or, “Lady Flint told me that back in the mid-1800s, when she was new on the Wizengamot, one of the members hit another with his cane over import fees for honeydew melons.” They would talk about the absurdity of these purebloods, so lost in their own world, and wonder if it was possible they would ever live long enough to be so out-of-touch. “No,” Hermione would insist, “we’re too grounded in our Muggle roots,” and she would make a broad gesture at the dingy place where they were eating their ration-impacted fry-ups. Tom would bite back a comment about whose Muggle roots the crappy old café filled with factory workers really reflected, and suggest, instead, “It would happen to anyone if they got as old as Dippet,” and they would marvel that the man was still employed.

Tom would cajole her in an attempt to learn her plans, but Hermione stayed quiet on that front. “Not out in public,” she would deflect, and he would raise an eyebrow as he looked pointedly at their Muggle surroundings. She never caved. She would put her hand on his arm and give it a squeeze, though, and promise him “soon.” “What’s keeping you?” he would ask, and she would just shake her head and give him that sweet, clever little smile that said she was planning something. They would return to compiling notes on the Wizengamot members and Ministry department heads and he would let the topic drop for the day.

Then Hermione started coming over.

[AO3]

What do they do when Hermione comes over??? (they fuck)

Meta below the fold

We’re getting into the meat of this relationship, the parts of Tom/Hermione that inspired the fic title. They’re something waterlogged, bloated and misshapen and unpleasant to the touch, and even if you managed to dry it back out again, it would be warped beyond recognition.

It’s infuriating to me in the way that nearly all relationships in your late teens/early 20s are infuriating, this mess of codependence where two people stagnate together because moving forward would involve risks and that’s impossible to contemplate at an age when so much in life is changing, and you feel compelled to hang on to whatever stability you can find, even if it’s not good stability. Negative values are constants just as much as positive values, y’know? (Forgive me bringing it back to computer science; I am programmed for one thing.)

This is where sticking with Tom’s POV gets itchy. There’s a temptation to flip over to Hermione and give some due to her thoughts, let her emotions and conflicts breathe so that we get to see her in a more sympathetic light. Even if Tom isn’t cursing her or upset with her—and pretty clearly, he’s not, not long-term, not in a serious way—when I read this, I see her as somewhat villainous. And she must not be, she must have feelings about the whole situation that are more complicated than “fuck that guy,” but this is Tom’s story and so: does it really matter? If she’s not vocalizing those feelings, if she keeps him at arm’s length, what does it matter what type of fondness she has for him, if she likes how he smiles, if she thinks he’s irresistible when he moans, whatever.

Switching their typical ship roles is like wearing a jacket where the shoulders are too small. It’s uncomfortable when you move. It doesn’t bend naturally. You want to take it off and put on something familiar, something that fits better, but I think—at least, it works like this for me—I’ll never not notice how shoulders fit again after that experience. every future jacket will be evaluated for the fit of the shoulders, and maybe I’ll realize that some past jackets didn’t fit as well as I’d thought, just not as badly as this one. Is this metaphor too drawn-out?

I had wanted to talk more about the politics in my writeup for this post, to close out. I’m really proud of Hermione’s ideas, here, and I think she’s fucking on target. The wizarding world is nuts and should be ripped apart, brick by brick, and reforged into something more sensible, and there’s no way to do that without getting at least metaphorically violent.

However.

I posted this chapter yesterday morning, and then I turned on the news and watched extremists storm the American Capitol building and suddenly, writing a fic that even vaguely touched on politics made me feel a little ill. The scene where she talks about education reform was written back in October, it’s actually one of the first things that I wrote for this fic, and now I feel like I should be meditating on what I’m covering a little bit more before diving further in. I have one more chapter already written, and I might post just that before taking some space. I’m not totally sure. I just... Hermione, in this story, is meant to be very ideologically radical in a way that is both extremely progressive and also, sometimes, self-aggrandizing. She’s high on her own passion, and it’s meant to occasionally hurt others. That’s the story. I’m not sure how to tell that respectfully in this moment.

#tomione #tom riddle #hermione granger #hermione x tom #tom x hermione #hp fanfic #waterlogged

7 notes · View notes

lady-of-all-cards · 4 years

Text

Ikemen Revolution: Alternate Ending (Edgar Bright)

One-Shot Statictis: Pages: 4 Word Count: 1593 Characters: 8869 Characters (without spaces): 7319

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Characters: Lancelot Kingsley, Edgar Bright, Claudius Bright, Alice the Second. Pairings: Edgar Bright/Main Character Summary: This was the last step of the journey- the last trial seperating the Crimson Jack and his freedom. Facing his own tainted blood in equal skill, only one Bright would be walking away from the Garden with his life...

Notes: SPOILERS!This is an alternate universe ending based on Edgar’s main route. If you don’t want the main points of Edgar’s route being spoiled, don’t read this. I highly recommend downloading the game if you already haven’t and experiencing Edgar’s route for yourself, because it’s my all-time favourite route and I don’t think Edgar gets a lot of credit and appriciation anymore.

A month since she last stepped foot in the rooftop Garden, she found herself surrounded by the blooming roses and the fresh, green scent once again. The Jack led them to the back, where the hole to London was now closed.

“King Lancelot, Alice. Please remain here.” He spoke, letting his hand fall from his beloved Alice’s. “I will wait for my uncle to arrive in the tea party area. He will not make it past me.” He said, voice full of conviction.

“Fine. Alice and I will watch from back here. Okay, Alice?” Lancelot’s stoic voice held a warning for her not to run off to Edgar’s aid, no matter what.

“I understand.” She said, nodding her head, but her heart still felt heavy. Edgar said he was prepared for this, but he was still going to have to fight the man who raised him. “Edgar, there’s something I need to apologize to you for.”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry that, because of me, you’ve had to give up your uncle.” She muttered, looking down at her shoes.

“What are you talking about?” He furrowed his eyebrows, truly confused about what she was saying.

“I think he’s a truly frightening man and his evil schemes need to be stopped. But he is still your family, Edgar.”

“You truly are kind.” Edgar breathed, smiling gently, but genuinely. He reached out to carefully stroke her hair. “I learned something important from you. That kindness allows you to feel the pain of others. If my uncle or I deceive someone, that person ends up hurt. Like you were. If my uncle or I kill someone, that person’s loved ones are plunged into despair. That’s how I felt when Amon’s plot took you from me. I’ve begun to feel the pain other people feel, ever since falling in love with you. That is why I have to stop my uncle.” Lancelot placed a hand on Alice’s shoulder as Edgar finished speaking.

“Alice, I don’t pretend to understand what love feels like. But if you do, then you shouldn’t apologise. You should be proud. And you should watch with your eyes wide open as Edgar proves his resolve”

“Yes, you’re right.” She nodded, looking up at the King of Hearts for a moment before looking back at Edgar, gazing into his eyes. Their jade-green glow didn’t even a sliver of doubt.

“I won’t close my eyes.”

“Thank you for everything, Alice.” She would have said something, anything, but Lancelot’s voice cut through her thoughts as his hand fell from her shoulder.

“He’s here.” She hadn’t heard any footsteps, but when she turned toward the tea party area, she saw a shadowy figure arrive.

“This is it. Alice and King Lancelot, I’ll see you soon.” Turning his back to them, Edgar strode off soundlessly

With Alice and King Lancelot safely behind him, Edgar stepped into the tea party area. The white, well-starched tablecloth covering the long table seemed to glow faintly in the darkness, and on the other side of it, stood the man he had to defeat.

“Hello, Edgar. The moon is beautiful tonight, don’t you think?” He greeted, running a thumb over the pommel of his walking cane.

“Yes, it is, Uncle.” On opposite ends of the luxurious tea table, the uncle and nephew faced off. They were both smiling as if they were having a pleasant family chat.

“Look, the moonlight is so crisp and clear. It’s a perfect night for betrayal. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“No, Uncle.” Edgar said shortly. “I think it’s a perfect night to confess my feelings to the one I love.”

“What’s this? It’s rare for our opinions to differ.”

“Indeed. But I’m confident that we will never share the same opinion again.” With that, Edgar leapt straight into the air, and with a soft tap, his boots landed on the table between two dishes. In the next instant, his sword was in his hand and he was charging toward Claudius.

“I didn’t raise you to be such a rude boy, Edgar. Looks like you need some more discipline.” Using a chair like a step, Claudius climbed gracefully onto the table, and with a flick of his walking stick, he blocked Edgar’s attack. “Have a seat.”

“I decline.” The sword and stick parted and then clashed again just as swiftly, the fierce exchange sending sparks flying as their feet danced to the clattering of tableware. Step by step, Edgar forced Claudius back toward the edge of the table.

“Haha, how surprising! You’ve improved so much-- it’s impressive!”

“All thanks to you.” Just then, Edgar’s blade stabbed Claudius’s thigh. Set off balance, he sank down.

“Why, that was a dirty move!”

“I learned from the best.”

“No need to get defensive. That was a compliment.” Cruelty glittered in eyes that were the same colour as his nephew’s, and, still crouching, Claudius delivered a sweeping kick to Edgar’s ankles.

“Whoa--” When the kick landed, Edgar’s sword-hand loosened slightly. In the moment it took for him to regain his grip, Claudius aimed another powerful kick at his midsection. “Oof--” Edgar grunted as his uncle’s heel smashed right into the center of his stomach. Without missing a beat, Claudius’s walking stick spun through the air, knocking Edgar’s sword from his hand. “Agh--”

“And that’s checkmate.” The tip of the walking stick was at Edgar’s throat. The hidden cap on the stick had been removed, revealing a sharp blade that glittered in the moonlight.”

“I’ve never seen you use your hidden blade before.” Edgar commented, swallowing thickly.

“This will be the first and last time you see it, Edgar.” His voice was low and strangely mournful. “It pains me to do this. Having to eliminate my own flesh and blood.” He slowly pushed the bladed cane across Edgar’s throat. As it moved, small drops of red trickled down his skin.

“Damn you--” Edgar hissed.

“Farewell, my child.” And with that, Claudius plunged the shape blade into Edgar’s stomach, watching as a choked gasp forced itself from Edgar’s throat. The air he breathed out was mixed with blood, which now spilled from the corner of his mouth to his ear. His hand grasped at the junction between the cane and his body, but he couldn’t pry it from him with his waning strength.

Claudius watched his nephew struggle, his gaze never leaving Edgar’s jaden eyes. He let his guard down, true pain showing on his face as a tear dropped from it’s duct onto Edgar’s pale cheek. That was his last mistake...

Edgar’s other hand scrambled for anything- his sword, a stick, anything! His long fingers tightened around a spoon, which he gripped tightly. His other hand crawled up the stick, coming to rest over his Uncle’s hand at the top, and, despite the weapon that was driven through his body, pulled himself up with his remaining strength to shove the spoon deep into his uncle’s throat, before kicking him in the throat, sending him falling back off the table.

Without the support of his uncle, Edgar fell back down the weapon, gasping in pain as tears slipped from his eyes. The blade was now firmly stuck in the table, and there was no hope of pulling it from him now.

“Edgar!” The cry of his beloved broke him, and he tried to pull the blade from him again, however, it was ripped from him as the strong arms of his king brought him down from the table, setting him in his lap and holding a hand to the gaping hole.

On his other side, he felt her touch- stroking his hair back from his eyes, holding his hand... he leaned into her touch, but leaned also into the hold of his King. He gripped her hand, while his other layover Lancelot’s. He felt his own body rise and fall with his gasping breaths, he felt his eyes drooping, until he felt and saw no more...

The company of eight officers were gathered outside the Civic Center with the record keeper and their old professor. After hearing what was transpiring, Dean and Blanc had arrived just after dawn, just in time to see Claudius being whisked away to the Red Army Headquarters, but then half an hour passed, then another half, and a third half, and there had been no sign of Lancelot, Alice or Edgar.

There was tension in the air. Jonah had started pacing in front of the steps long ago, arms folded across his chest. Luka forbade him interrupting whatever was going on in the Garden, knowing all too well the pain of losing family, even though that family was still alive and breathing, just an enemy of his heart...

But it had not been Edgar’s heart that had been yearning, and it was clear when Alice sped-walked out. She sought safety in Zero’s arms, slamming into him and sobbing into his chest. The Ace held her closely, looking at the other officers in question, but they all knew.

The doors opened again, magically by the power of the king. Luka stood up from his seat on the steps, his lip quivering as he stumbled back...

Edgar was curled in the arms of the King, limp and lifeless. Crimson stained his uniform, a few drops falling from his hand that once so fearlessly weiled his saber. His feet, once sure, strong and straight, swayed gently in the movements of the King...

Luka backed a few steps more, and bumped into Jonah. For the first time in seven years, he sought the warmth of his brother’s embrace...

#lancelot kingsley #edgar bright #claudius bright #alice the second

9 notes · View notes

sweetcatmintea · 4 years

Text

So I’m a Vampire now...

Hello hello! It’s flash fiction Friday again! (Hurray!) Guess who still hasn’t learnt to stick to a word limit: This creature! (I’m so sorry <u<;;;;) Anyways, this kinda snuck up on me and I couldn’t think of anything better than this little vampire drabble. I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is appreciated ^u^

FFF is hosted by @flashfictionfridayofficial

Prompt: Deep End Words: 1665

----

“And we’ll have fun fun fun unt- Michael, put the rock down.” I hoped my voice conveyed how done I was with his reaction. Michael stood, back to the old jeep his mum let him borrow when he mowed the lawn, arm raised, poised to bash my head in with a sizable chunk of concrete. Vanessa wondered back to him from the direction of the mostly closed shops, an eyebrow quirked above her glasses.

“I swear to god, put the rock down. I’m not here to gogurt you.” Why do I have to be friends with an idiot?

He held firmer to his makeshift weapon. “Prove it. I can see the blood lust in your eyes.”

I pressed a palm into my forehead. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. “Yeah, my eyes dilated. Y’know, that thing that happens when you are happy to see your friends. Go repeat bio. If I was gonna slurp your guts, I wouldn’t be singing the beach boys and waltzing up to you like a door knocker asking for money. Especially not after I asked you for a lift.”

Michael narrowed his eyes at me. “Unless that’s what you want us to think. I know you Jessie. You’re sneaky.”

“Oh my god, why are you so dumb? Vanessa, can you PLEase talk some sense into him.”

Vanessa knocked the rock out of his hand, pitching it across the desolate car park before he could react. She should go into a ball sport. I don’t know, baseball or something. It clattered somewhere in the distance.

“Michael, stop being weird. We both know Jessie could have pinned you before they got turned. Your noodle arms can barely open a particularly sturdy container. You’re just making them feel unwelcomed. And being a trashy friend.”

“All true.” I nodded. “Plus, it’s not like I chose to get turned. If that loser Josh hadn’t done me dirty last week, I’d be at home feeding my Tamagotchi. Has he even reported me missing yet?”

Michael mumbled a sheepish apology. “Sorry, I was just worried you’d gone off the deep end all blood lusty or something…”

I waved it off. I wasn’t really angry. It’s not like we’d exactly been in this situation before.

Vanessa shook her head, giving me a one-armed greeting hug which I, of course, returned. “He hasn’t mentioned it. I mean, you have been reported missing. That was a whole thing that happened with your parents and then us pretending like you weren’t texting us because how do you tell someone their kid is off getting the lowdown on being undead, but yeah, not reported by Josh.”

“What a soggy zit. I swear, when I get my hands on him.”

“You’re not going to kill him, are you?” Michael and Vanessa shared a worried look.

“What? No. Of course not! That’s disgusting. You think I’m gonna put my face hole anywhere near that slimy weasel and voluntarily drink two thirds of his blood?? Do you know how long that would even take?”

Michael rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes. “Well, I kinda thought you’d y’know, snap his neck or something now you have super strength…”

“Who’s gone off the deep end now?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not some killing machine. I’ll just dob him in and let him flounder some explanation for how he shoved me at the burglar while we were closing up shop and ran away. He’s lucky it was a vampire and not some lunatic or I’d really be dead.”

Vanessa plopped down on a concrete chock block, sipping her bubble tea and settling in for a long conversation. It was wild, I could hear the jelly in the cup squishing together. Michael sat to her side, patting the ground to invite me to complete the triangle. I obliged.

Vanessa started us off. “So what’s it like? Being all vampirey now?”

“Well, I’ve got cool powers now. Not the powers of being cool, I already had that.”

It was Michael’s turn to roll his eyes at me. I elbowed him in the ribs. Gently. Breaking bones had become a real danger. He snorted a laugh, almost shooting red bull up his nose.

“I got these neato glow in the dark eyes. Don’t know if you can turn that off. They do the cat slit thing though which is interesting. I can see So much more at night. But I think I need reading glasses now? Can’t make out squat near my face in the day.”

Shuffling around in the pockets of my oversized 90s jacket, I retrieved a packet of dried wasabi peas and munched away as I talked.

“I’m like, crazy strong. No kidding, I accidentally ripped my favourite jeans on the second day of being a vampire. Just tugged them a liiiittle too hard and bam, ruined pants.”

“Have you got fangs?” Vanessa peered closer at my mouth. It would have been better to ask that before I started eating.

“Fangs for the memories, even if they weren’t so- nah, I’m just kidding. I got them.” I bared my teeth at them, poking the lengthened canines with an index finger. “They’re sharp as anything. I’ve drunk more of my own blood than anyone else’s ‘cause I keep biting my freaking tongue. Reminds me of being little and sucking a candy cane into a shank. I’m surprised none of us got an impromptu festive tongue piercing off those things.”

“Speaking of blood… Do you need to drink it now?” They both leaned forward, anxious for my answer.

“Oi, quit it with the looks. I’m not going to freaking bite you. I’m not some mindless animal, I’m just me. Just Jessie.”

“Is there a difference there?” Michael’s ribbing was, for once, welcome.

“Hardy har. Yes, I mean, technically, I have to consume blood. But, like, the pamphlet seems to say that it’s basically a supplement more than anything so I’ve just gotta eat normal stuff and chuck back a shot or two after.”

“Okay, two things. First, human blood?”

“Again. Eww. Do you have any idea how many diseases are in human blood? There’s a reason we haven’t literally eaten the rich yet. To be fair, I’m somewhat immortal now so I won’t get sick physically, but emotionally? Imagine the toll.”

“So how do you..?”

“You know you can just go to the butchers and buy blood right? It’s like an actual cooking ingredient. It comes in blocks. It tastes like satan’s toe jam but you just gotta chuck it back real quick. Or, I’m getting a fondness for black pudding. It too tastes like feet but isn’t as bad.”

Vanessa took a thoughtful sip of her drink. “Okay. Second thing. Pamphlet?”

“Oh yeah, this thing.” I fished it out of my other pocket, passing it to them. The vampire pr committee went to great lengths to make it cute with little cartoon vampires giving advice on this time of change, talking about how your body is changing and the strange things you may feel.

“Aww that’s super cute.” Vanessa pointed to a little vampire on the cover, handing it to Michael when she was finished skimming.

“I know right. Apparently they got tired of the old program where you get bitten and have to have an awkward talk with the weirdo who kinda killed you.”

Michael handed the pamphlet back. “Speaking of, what was it like living with a vampire for a week?”

I groaned. “Oh my god, he was insufferable. At first it was like ‘I vill show you ze vorld, shining shimmering splendour va ha ha’ which was neat but then it got all ‘I’ve turned you into a monster! You will suffer for eternity! Woe is ze life of an immortal. I am so sorry va ha ha’. Which I’m like, yeah you could have at least asked my name first or waited for my hair to grow out a little instead of sticking me with this too short for the long style, too long for the short style do I’ve gotta rock for the rest of time, but all in all, it’s not the worst that could happen so chill a little maybe?”

“Aw, poor guy. He doesn’t sound that bad.” Vanessa was much less, judgey, than me. I kinda felt bad for ripping on the man.

“Okay, he’s not terrible, but the lamenting. God, the lamenting. ‘Woe is me, I have seen so many seasons I can not even remember my age.’ Why don’t you just get a calculator and subtract this year from your birth year? Then you can know that bit. ‘Oh, but ze isolation! My human friends are long dead and buried!’ That’s super sucky bro. Why don’t you make some new friends and ask if they want to be turned? Or like, go on immortalsingles.com and get a butt touch buddy? With the internet age, it’s a lot easier to connect. ‘oh but who could love a monster like me? I haven’t even seen my face in five hundred years va ha ha.’ There is a Whole genre of people online (and in line) for that. And just, update your mirrors. Get a cheap one and it won’t have silver in it and you can see your face again. I kinda think he just enjoys lamenting. If he’d get with the times, things wouldn’t be half as unpleasant for him.”

“You’re not a very empathetic listener, are you.” That’s a lot coming from the guy who was going to stone me fifteen minutes ago.

“Hey! I hooked him up to the internet and gave him my number. I didn’t just leave him.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Whatever you say Jessie.” Michael got up, brushing his jeans off and stretching. Vanessa and I followed suit. One thing remained on my mind. Something I needed to prepare myself for.

“Okay, before we head home, I have one last, very important question.”

They looked at me quizzically.

“Has anyone been looking after my Tamagotchi?”

-----

Tag List

@snobbysnekboi, @inkovert, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll, and @goblin-writer

#Flash Fiction Friday #fff31 #writing #writblr #vampires #story #short story #original story #literature #More at my deviantArt SweetCatMint

29 notes · View notes

cryptidkieren · 5 years

Text

come around (1/6)

ayy waddup its ya boy back at it again with good omens fic

i wrote literally the entire outline and the first couple chapters before my power randomly went out????? so i had to start from scratch rip

heres the ao3 link if you want it :)

edit: so i adjusted the tags a bit and it completely erased the body of the post???? i love being on tungle.com :)

-----

It first began, as these things were wont to do, on a quiet winter morning. This one happened to be in Aziraphale’s bookshop.

The angel had been enjoying his morning, flipping the sign on the door to ‘Open!’ somewhere around 10. The warm light of his gas lamps combined with the smell of old books still put him at ease, even after all these years. Snow was falling softly outside, muffling the chaotic noise of London a bit and bringing with it that impatient sense of the incoming holidays that December promised. He still hadn’t heard anything from the Head Office, not since Adam Young ordered both Heaven and Hell to leave them alone over 6 months before.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, tea cup resting against his bottom lip.

There stood Crowley, wrapped in too many layers to be comfortable, snow and malice swirling around his feet as he clomped- yes, clomped into the shop. The heavy black boots he wore were packed with already melting snow, making small puddles on the hardwood under him.

“Do shut the door, Crowley, or are you trying to heat all of London?” Aziraphale set his cup back down on the tray beside him, lips twitching as he tried to fight off a grin.

“Anything to end this bloody weather, angel!” The demon waved a gloved hand carelessly at the heavy door, forcing it to close if it knew what was good for it. “I am sick to death of the cold! I might actually be sick! Can demons even get sick? If not, then I am definitely one of a kind!”

Aziraphale chuckled as he got up from his comfortable spot, allowing Crowley to rant and shuck his numerous layers onto the floor. “I swear, you get more prickly every winter, my dear.” The angel snapped his fingers and the scattered outerwear was miraculous hung up on the coat peg by the door.

Crowley glared at him, his dark shades slightly fogged and fiery hair a right state from his designer beanie. “I swear this is my punishment from the bust Armageddon. God is torturing me with this cold front, knowing I’m going to freeze my bollocks off and die!”

The angel snorted, cheeks heating slightly, and covered his mouth. How dramatic. He stepped up to unwind the crimson knit scarf hanging around the demon’s neck. “It’s only the first snowfall of the year, dear. I have no idea why you don’t retire to the south during winter at this point, to be honest. Greece is wonderful this time of year, and I know how you love to make fun of tourists at the Parthenon.” Aziraphale smiled at him, turning to hook the scarf on the coat peg with the demon’s jacket.

It was quiet for a moment. Aziraphale turned back to the other, an eyebrow raised in question. He willed it back down to a normal elevation; he had been spending too much time with Crowley.

The demon in question just stared at him, lips pursed and brows drawn behind his glasses. “You haven’t left your bookshop for that long since you opened it.”

“Um,” Aziraphale blinked, quite confused with the sudden topic change. “I-I suppose that’s true. How is it relevant, though?”

The angel could only as Crowley opened his mouth, paused, and let out a rush of air as he raked a hand through his already messy hair, turning to look out the frosted window. “I guess it isn’t.” He seemed… Dejected?

Oh!

“Crowley-”

Something in Aziraphale’s voice must have caught his attention, for he whipped back around to stare at the other, back ramrod straight and shoulders tight. He looked like he was ready for a fight.

It broke the angel’s heart.

“Crowley, darling,” he said, catching the way the occult being twitched at the endearment. He frowned, not wanting to make his friend uncomfortable. “I-I mean, my boy, this isn’t like Alpha Centauri. If you wanted to go on holiday during the winter, you can always ask. I could never imagine having a problem following you across the world.”

Aziraphale caught up with his own words only moments after they escaped, causing his face to flame and panic to set his heart racing. After 6,000 years, he finally let the cat out of the bag and now Crowley was going to hate him or be disgusted by him or quietly pretend it hadn’t happened and he didn’t know which one would be worse-

Time seemed to slow to a standstill as he watched Crowley open his mouth, obviously about to deliver Aziraphale’s death sentence, when the bell above the door rang out and broke the moment.

They both turned to watch as an elderly woman hobbled in from the cold, snow melting in her silver curly hair. Her lilac colored coat was promptly hung up next to one of Crowley’s, standing out against the all the black. She looked around for a moment, leaning a bit on her wooden cane, before spotting them and smiling politely.

“Good morning, gentlemen! Are one of you the proprietor of this shop?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale choked, clearing his throat slightly as he took a step away from the demon. He valiantly swallowed his terror and slapped on his customer service smile. “That would be me, madam. How may I help you?”

“Oh, I was looking for a book,” she said, hobbling over to him on her cane. Crowley politely moved away from them, towards the counter with the old fashioned register that was barely used.

“Obviously,” the demon muttered, though not very quietly.

The customer narrowed her eyes in his direction, as if she were thinking of hitting him with her cane.

“What kind of book?” Aziraphale jumped in. After all, he didn’t want violence to break out in his shop. He had a feeling Crowley wouldn’t come away unscathed.

The woman turned to him again, making the demon let out a breath audible from across the room. She smirked. “It’s an old book, of course. My great grandmother used to read it to me when I was little, and I wanted to start that tradition up with my newborn grandson.”

The angel smiled warmly, feeling the love pouring out of the elderly woman. One of the perks to being an angel was the ability to feel good things everywhere, like love, which this woman seemed to have an abundance of. “Of course, madam. Would you happen to have the title or the author?”

Here, the woman sighed mournfully. “‘Fraid not, dearie. My memory isn’t what it used to be. I can remember bits and pieces, though, would that help?”

Even a demon couldn’t say no to her hopeful, pleading face. Good thing he wasn’t, as the angel jumped at the chance to help.

“Worth a shot, right?” Aziraphale smiled widely, ushering her over to his chair with the untouched tea service. A little twitch of his fingers and the pot was steaming once more. He sat on the small floor pouf decorated with little bow ties tucked under the chair, something Crowley once got him as a gag gift. “Please, make yourself comfortable and tell me what you remember.”

He listened as the elderly woman described her book and sipped her tea, smiling as he made notes on a little notepad from his pocket. He admired the woman’s dedication to details, such as the texture of the pages and the style of the front cover.

Of course, he also noticed how Crowley leaned against the counter behind her, watching them with his chin in his hand. His eyes were unreadable behind his spectacles, but the small smile on his lips was easier to define.

Aziraphale ducked his head again, hiding his own smile.

When the woman finished her description, the angel straightened up and checked his notes. It sounded familiar enough…

“Oh!” he grinned, swiftly rising from his own seat before helping the old woman to her feet. “I think I know where that is!”

His enthusiasm was contagious, apparently, as even Crowley grinned and moved out of the way when the angel came bustling around the counter. He headed towards a case in the North wing, already picturing where the novel would be housed.

Aziraphale grinned as he looked up at the top shelf of the case. There it was, sitting amongst its brethren, just as he thought it would be! As he reached up, he immediately encountered a problem: it was inches out of reach.

The angel frowned, straining and stretching his arm, trying to make up the distance. He contemplated performing a miracle to get it down, but the woman was watching him with barely contained amusement.

He dropped back to his heels, toes and side aching a bit, as he stared up at the offending novel. The angel heard a huff of laughter behind him before a darkly clad arm suddenly invaded his eyesight. “Honestly, angel, I’m going to buy you a step ladder one of these days.”

The heavy book was dropped into Aziraphale’s hands. He blinked at it for a moment before his felt his entire face grow warm. Wrinkling his nose at the smirking demon, he thanked him primly before turning back to his customer.

Before he could even start, the woman chuckled, deepening her wrinkles. “My wife used to do things like that for me too, bless her soul.” Her bittersweet expression only touched on the sudden feeling of melancholic love she pushed out from her soul, causing Aziraphale’s breath to stutter in his lungs.

It also didn’t help that her insinuation made his cooling face reignite with embarrassment.

“Oh! He’s not- We’re not- I mean-”

Crowley fled then, heading towards the back room with bright red ears . Aziraphale caught a glimpse of his hand over his mouth before he disappeared and the angel felt his stomach drop out.

Oh. Alright. Disgust was the answer to that question, then.

“Don’t worry, love,” Aziraphale’s quiet breakdown was interrupted by the elderly woman, whom he had quite forgotten about as his heart was breaking. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Your young man seems to love you very much.”

The angel smiled tightly at the woman, feeling his face flush further against his will. He quickly brought the book to the register, intent on getting her out as soon as possible. As he was writing out the necessary information for his records, the older woman placed a hand on his own, effectively capturing his attention.

“Listen, my dear, if you two really aren't together, then you're both blind.” The woman raised an eyebrow at the angel, a kind smile on her lips. “It’s obvious to just about anyone with eyes that you love each other, and time isn't forever. If I could go back and be with my wife sooner, I would, because there was already so much wasted time before we both had to buck up and have a little faith.”

She patted his hand, then, grinning mischievously. Hers was dark and soft against his own, heavily lined though he had lived so much longer than her. “Have courage, my dear. As the kids say, you only live once.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aziraphale bit his lip, ducking his head as the customer withdrew her hand. He finished cashing her out (at an extraordinarily discounted price, to boot) and helped her back into her coat. As she left the shop, the bell ringing happily above her, the angel sighed deeply as his earlier panic reared its ugly head again. He would rather face all of Heaven alone than go find Crowley at that moment.

Aziraphale steeled himself and determinedly made his way to the back room. It was cramped, the space not really made for what he used it for, but it was comfortable. The small kitchenette shoved in the corner was rarely used, while the tattered sofa and threadbare armchair dominated most of the space.

Crowley himself was lounging on the sofa, a glass of something amber in his hands despite the early hour.

“What a lovely woman,” Aziraphale said with a smile and a shake of his head. He moved to the kitchenette, determined to make himself a cup of tea the human way to soothe his simmering anxiety.

“Sure, lovely, right,” he muttered, draining his glass in one go. The angel tutted reproachfully.

“Isn’t it a bit early for that, Crowley?” He sat in the armchair with a contented sigh, sipping delicately on his too hot tea.

He didn’t have to see the demon’s eyes to know he was rolling them. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, etcetera etcetera.” He then reached for the crystal bottle on the table between them to refill his glass.

It grew quiet then, Aziraphale occasionally sipping from his cup while Crowley stared into his as if it held answers he was searching for. The old clock on the wall ticked away, the only noise in the room.

The angel took the time to ponder on what the old woman said. ‘Have courage.’ He felt his heart ache something fierce, a well of yearning opening up in him. He wished he had courage.

But courage couldn’t make Crowley love him. His expression as he made a break for it earlier was proof enough of that.

His mounting inner turmoil was then interrupted by the being who caused it.

“Tempt you to a spot of lunch, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled at him, feeling brittle, as he set down his cup. “It’s barely gone half past ten, Crowley. They’re not serving lunch anywhere at the moment.”

The demon huffed, sitting forward to set his own glass down next to the angel’s. He looked at Aziraphale over his sunglasses, golden eyes sparkling in the lamp light, as a mischievous smirk settled on his face. “Brunch, then. I know how you adore those little pie things in that café in Athens.”

“Oh, their spinach and feta pites are to die for,” Aziraphale moaned, already craving the dish. A sudden choking noise made him turn back to the demon.

Crowley’s glasses had slid down his pointy nose, allowing him to stare openly at the angel. Two spots of color sat high on his cheeks. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

“Crowley? Are you alright, my dear?”

He seemed to snap out of whatever trance held him then, jerking back as he roughly pushed his dark glasses back up. The color on his cheeks seemed to be spreading.

“I’m fine, I’m good,” Crowley said roughly. He jumped up from the sofa then, giving the angel a start. “Race you to Greece!”

And he was gone, the bell at the front tinkling behind him.

Aziraphale shook his head with a small chuckle. He rose from his own seat at a more leisurely pace, snapping his fingers to clean the glasses and send them back to their cupboard.

“What a cheat.”

Then he chased after his demon, feeling content enough.

-----

[next chapter]

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #a.z. fell #anthony j crowley #aj crowley #aziraphale/crowley #fic #fanfiction #im writin #in progress #aziracrow #a x c #fic: come around

110 notes · View notes

comicteaparty · 4 years

Text

July 20th-July 26th, 2020 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party week long chat that occurred from July 20th, 2020 to July 26th, 2020. The chat focused on Ring Spell by Artem Ficta.

Featured Comment:

Chat:

Comic Tea Party

BOOK CLUB START!

Hello and welcome everyone to Comic Tea Party’s Book Club~! This week we’ll be focusing on Ring Spell by Artem Ficta~! (http://ring-spell.com/)

You are free to read and comment about the comic all week at your own pace until July 26th, so stop on by whenever it suits your schedule! Discussions are freeform, but we do offer discussion prompts in the pins for those who’d like to have them. Additionally, remember that while constructive criticism is allowed, our focus is to have fun and appreciate the comic! Whether you finish the comic or can only read a few pages, everyone is welcome to join and chat with us!

DISCUSSION PROMPTS – PART 1

1. What did you like about the beginning of the comic?

2. What has been your favorite moment in the comic (so far)?

3. Who is your favorite character?

4. Which characters do like seeing interact the most?

5. What is something you like about the art? If you have a favorite illustration, please share it!

6. What is a theme you like that the comic explores?

7. What do you like about the comic’s story or overall related content?

8. Overall, what do you think the comic’s strengths are?

Don’t feel inspired by the prompts? Feel free to discuss anything else that interested you!

Feather J. Fern

1. What did you like about the beginning of the comic? I like how it seems lighthearted at first, but knowing Artem it's going to drop the ball on us really soon haha.(edited)

Also I always love how the backgrounds are, they look great.

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

Hahah, it's a shame I didn't get one more update up XD Thank you so much, Feather~!

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

well, the CTP is gonna run for the rest of the week...

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

I can't finish the next 8 pages by then XD

My guess is they'll be up the week after next

RebelVampire

For the beginning, I'm with Feather and I like how quickly the comic transitions from just lalala happy school to oh wait there's weird shit going on. I really like stories where the status quo is quickly ripped out from under your feet. My favorite moment in the comic so far is probably the most recent scene when we get to see Lyall's apartment and ya know, Claire starts dropping all these bombshells on us. The scene is the epitome of "Well that escalated quickly" and its just loaded with so much info to unpack. My favorite character right now is Claire. One because she seems the most sensible and mysterious, and two because I love Claire's hair so much and I'm so jealous and want such floof beautiful hair. ;3; As for characters I like see interacting the most, probably Claire and Lyall and they have some really good banter and a relationship, insofar, that's just kind of hilarious in its brutal honesty. A close second for me is Claire and Tasha as it quickly switches from happy smiles to probably most likely to have a catfight in the hallway.

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

Catfight in the hallway, lolol. Makes me want to draw them dressed like cat girls XD

RebelVampire

No not that sort of catfight

probably

O_O

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

comic turns into a catgirl fetish comic

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

1. I like how the first word is Zenchav which was the title of the comic this is a hard reboot of XD 2. My favorite moment was Lyall sticking his hands up Damon's shirt XD I really like how it was drawn and it's the most Lyall thing ever to do. 3. My favorite character overall is Damon, although it's probably Lyall at this point in the story. But I like them all of course XD 4. Damon and anybody, lol. I like when I get to draw him XD 5. I've been trying out a new shading style with this since I almost exclusively just hard shaded before, so it's nice to be branching out a bit and trying some new things. The Intro page is probably my favorite atm.

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

Theory: Lyall sticking his cold hands up Damon's shirt is how he drains Damon's energy, because secretly he's the witch.

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Oh no! XD that would be a twist!

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

Oh snap!

mathtans

Hmmm, so we ship Claire and Tasha then?

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

I don't not ship Tasha and Claire >v>

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

Drew that picture of them

RebelVampire

We should indeed all suspect Lyall. I mean no parents, lives alone, yet somehow affords everything? That's witchery.

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

How does he afford all that stuff

does he sell drugs on the side or something XD it is suspicious

mathtans

1. I'll mostly echo everyone else here in terms of the start seems pretty straightforward and makes one wonder how the teaser page fits into it all. I'll add a remark on the subtle details of world building, like you've got your digital alarm... and dude straight up has a TAIL, and it's like, no comment, that's normal too.

2. Favourite moment was probably recruiting Claire into the cosplay skit. It's like, hello new person, oh you want to associate with us? Then you need the proper accessories, and Claire's all 'Um, I'm not sure... prop weapons? Uh, okay then...' Cosplay is a force to be reckoned with. (nods)

3. Fave character... yeah, may have to echo Rebel here and go with Claire. Possibly because she's the first chapter name, and like the reader is coming into this new situation, so can get behind her trying to figure it out... but also because I'm big on the time/space bureau stuff and that sounds like a cool job to get.

Damon has a cool cane and has the mysterious ailment afflicting his cosplay though, so he's my fave guy at the moment. (Werewolf blood? Moon thing? Dunno.)

4. I honestly do like the Tasha/Claire interactions the most, because each of them seems to have something to hide, and so you're kind of wondering if and when one of them might slip up. The other girl interrupting with the paint was classic, and I felt it helped break tension. The ship picture (which I imagine won't show in the log) is kind of representative of that with the chessboard too, like they're making moves against the other (though I'm not yet convinced that one is a witch, could be a setup).

Of course, I'm very biased towards the yuri, so grain of salt for my opinions and all. And while the ship was a humour comment at first, I think I'm more into it after seeing a "catfight" could play out.

All that said, the Lyall/Damon interactions are equally good. Lyall's perversion sometimes saying the quiet part out loud.

5. I recognize the art style, have read some of the work before (under different name). Always find the hair impressive, like here you get the impression of each individual strand except that's not actually what's drawn... you can still see the neat ears, Claire having some strands that fall in front of her too. The shading is really good too, like definitely shades of grey, not just black and white.

Kind of echoing the author there, but I can see it.

I'm so bad with themes and need to charge computer, will be back later. o.o

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

I love all this input Math, thank you ;3;/

RebelVampire

@mathtans You have no idea how happy I am that someone noticed the tail that nobody seemed to comment on.

RebelVampire

What I like about the art is how clean and crisp everything is cause mmmm that sexy lineart you can just paint bucket when needed. <3 I like that the comic explores the idea of having someone you've known your entire life possibly be evil. Cause it opens up a lot of questions. Like should you doubt? Should you trust? And at which point have you hit the point of betrayal? So I'm glad we'll get to see a bit of this tackled as Lyall and Claire look for evidence. As for the overall story, I like that there's just lots of questions going on. It's a theorists dream. But I find the more mysteries a comic has, the more engaging it is. Because even when you know the answer, it's interesting everytime to see the characters reach that answer. As for the comic's strengths, see the above and the art. It's super pretty and clean to look at, has some fantastic emotive faces during the more comedic moments, and there's just lots to theorize and look forward too. ;3;

Now I will proceed to weep as someone who beta read the script and actually can't theorize cause I just know .

mathtans

Others may have noticed but not been sure what to say? (Does the tail turn into the cane?)

6. Ok, themes... could be a theme of belonging in there. Like Claire being accepted into the group, like Lyall wondering if she's only talking to him to get to Damon, that sort of thing? Then there's the idea Rebel raised of thinking you know someone but not necessarily knowing them.

Of course, there's also credibility, like maybe Claire is simply an escaped mental patient with really good hacking skills to get herself in the school and apartment. Because that's quite the tale she spins. (Though Lyall had heard of the organization? Or he's pranking her, bit hard to know for sure.)

7/8. The story's been setting up a number of things in the background, I feel. Which can be a strength, as we're learning more character items first. Though Claire's latest revelation I'm really jazzed about, because the idea of time travel (times when demons weren't supposed to be) and personification (Earth as a female entity) are right up my alley. So that's cool.

Also Lyall apparently has a strange aura to go with Tasha's strange energy? Maybe the witch is jumping bodies. Maybe we should ship Lyall/Tasha.

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

Oh my gosh, loving these ideas!

I don't want to give spoilers but I think I'll answer the tail thing cause I never really meant for it to be a mystery It's just tucked into his pants when he's in public is all. That's why he's wearing the track suit for the school and not the standard school uniform, cause the pants are looser.

although it turning into the cane could have been hella cool(edited)

now I'm a little bummed I never thought of that

But the cane has other purposes

mathtans

I didn't really think it was a big mystery, and that explanation makes sense. (So I suppose it could be not normal, only normal for Damon's friends... demon prejudice otherwise?) Ok, so the cane is where he hides his stimulants to keep awake until the full moon.

Comic Tea Party

DISCUSSION PROMPTS – PART 2

9. What are your theories about Damon’s past? Why is he concerned about when the full moon is? Additionally, what do you think was meant about Damon and Xerfonos being the same age but not being twins?

10. Do you think Claire is right that Tasha is the witch Cadence? If so, how will she prove it? If not, who else could it be? Also, what might this all have to do with Tasha’s concern about Claire being the mysterious Draco’s student?

11. What do you think Cadence ultimately wants from Damon? Why would this compel the Earth, and by extension Apus, to protect him? Also, even if the characters find Cadence, can she actually be stopped?

12. Why do you think Lyall reacted so strangely to Claire mentioning Apus, and why do you think he’s so sure Apus wouldn’t care about protecting Damon? Do you think Lyall can trust Claire even for the long term?

Don’t feel inspired by the prompts? Feel free to discuss anything else that interested you!

mathtans

9. I mean, Damon seems to be a demon, but he's cool with being in our world, so... maybe he was born of a human/demon pairing? Or he was adopted by humans when he was a baby and simply given the same birthday as Xerfonos. I'm guessing the full moon has more significance than merely to werewolves (unless Damon needs to bite a werewolf to regain strength idk) and so it would help him.

I will say that initially the "same age" thing didn't phase me because there's more than 9 months in a year, plenty of time for having a second kid born in the same year. But now that I'm debating the adoption angle, maybe there's more to it.

They're not twins... they're TRIPLETS! Dun dun dun. Anyway.

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

they could also just not be twins due to a date technicality like one was born right before midnight and one was born right after

but yeah the adoption angle would explain a lot

mathtans

10. I don't think she's right about Tasha, or if she's right, not in the way she thinks. Because we've seen some from Tasha's perspective and she didn't seem to be the person in charge of whatever. In terms of proof, I guess she could see if Tasha would cosplay as a witch? And if the shoe fits? But yeah, maybe the witch is jumping between people like I mentioned earlier, or is not actually there yet, like APUS got the date wrong or something. Maybe Tasha's also trying to protect Damon from the witch (hence trying to give him that new name) but it's a rival organization?

I mean, technically still twins in that case, just not having the same birthday. (If Feb 29th enters into it, it gets even weirder.)

Actually, why wouldn't Claire use Damon's given name? Maybe her organization doesn't know everything it thinks it does?

Anyway, just had time for some random thoughts. Back later tonight.

mathtans

11. Cadence may just want him to keep living so that she can keep siphoning off energy. (Thus perhaps APUS wants him dead, it's not about protection?!) Or maybe Cadence wants a sweet cosplay. (Probably not.) Of course, it might be that if she's a free floating witch, she wants his body. Maybe she can't be stopped, but could be redirected?

The Earth aspect is one I haven't really been able to figure out yet. (Are pavonis a type of pasta?) But maybe there's a destiny or something that Damon needs to fulfil first.

12. Lyall could have been pranking, but maybe he knows a different organization like that... or maybe that's the name of some mystery file on his computer that he hasn't been able to open because the Cadence inside him hasn't revealed the password, oooh. I think Lyall can trust Claire (assuming she's not a raving lunatic) and she might even need him to provide better cover (she didn't seem to even know what apartment she was in)... but that's short term. Long term is another question, if she starts getting Apus directives saying to do things he wouldn't agree with.

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

This is all so interesting ;3;

Pavonis as a type of pasta, lolol

mathtans

I'm glad it's more interesting than rambly.

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

Nah, I love it XD I'm afraid I'd give spoilers if I said anymore lmao

RebelVampire

My theories about Damon's past are that he's a werewolf. And that something about being a werewolf has changed how he ages compared to Xerfonos - thus why they're the same age but not twins. Granted I guess they could also just be half brothers who have a shared father who said, "Man I should knock two girls up at once." But werewolf sounds more interesting. No I think we've established Lyall is clearly the witch. He is too suspicious. Tasha probably is a super secret agent or something, hence the suspicion. Maybe Apus is into some shady shit that Tasha knows about, especially Draco, so she doesn't want them jumping in on everything. As for how proof, she won't. Cadence will reveal she's Lyall when the most damage can be caused and Claire will weep her career as a detective is through. Cadence might just think Damon is hot. Although I think Damon has a grand destiny ahead of him, and Cadence wants to interfere with that destiny while also bulking up on some of that tasty werewolf energy. Also, can Cadence be stopped? Probably. But definitely not by these chumps right now. XD Lyall reacted strangely cause that was the Cadence in him going oh shit and kind of taking over. And sure, Lyall can trust Claire to never figure out its him. Sorry Claire, you hot, but clearly aren't noticing some stuff.

mathtans

I hadn't considered the "same father different mothers" angle. O.o Maybe it was a sperm donation sort of thing though?

As to Claire, maybe Tasha will be nice enough to buy Claire ice cream and give her snuggles once she realizes the error of her ways.

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

Tasha and Claire will get to snuggling at some point I'm sure XD

The same father with different mothers sounds most probable

of what's been mentioned at least

mathtans

I mean, time travel could also be involved. What with Apus.

Maybe Claire is Damon's daughter and she's trying to protect her own existence.

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

Maybe Claire is Xerfonos' mother

Wait, I don't think that'd work out lmao

Daughter would be way more probable

Comic Tea Party

DISCUSSION PROMPTS – PART 3

13. What are you most looking forward to seeing in regards to the comic?

14. Any final words of encouragement for the comic?

Don’t feel inspired by the prompts? Feel free to discuss anything else that interested you!

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

I look forward to getting a bit further into the story XD it's still pretty early on atm and there's a lot of really good scenes later. I don't feel like we've really gotten to know Damon yet either

RebelVampire

I am looking forward to seeing people's theories as the story continues and pieces fall into place. It will be interesting to see the routes people take with the ideas of what the answers are going to be. My final words are just read the comic. O_O

mariah (rainy day dreams)

I didn't end up having any brain power to write responses over the week, but I really enjoyed Ring Spell. Damon and his brother are cuties, Claire seems very capable, and I can't wait to find out what Tasha's motives are. I'm real excited to see how the themes of magical marital vows come to the forefront :3

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

Thank you~!

mathtans

Busy weekend was busy. Looking forward to seeing how the Apus thing fits in, like is Claire even from their time period? Will Lyall spill all the secrets? Will the ships happen? I'm so behind in all my reading but I've flagged it to check back when I can.

There was also the bit at the start implying knowing people from other lives, but the time travel possibilities make that weird. And I guess there's also the question of whether a Ring will have a Spell on it. Like, maybe the witch doesn't know she's the witch while she's wearing a ring? Or they have to get her to wear a ring? Here I am guessing again. ^^

14. To conclude, all the best with it, looks like a good setup. I do enjoy the art style too.

Also I guess congrats on being the finale CTP? Nice that you got it in there. Good initiative.

Artem Ficta (Ring Spell)

Thank you so much Math~!

Comic Tea Party

BOOK CLUB END!

Thank you everyone so much for reading and chatting about Ring Spell this week! Please also give a special thank you to Artem Ficta for volunteering the comic and creating it! If you liked Ring Spell, make sure to continue to support it via some of the links below!

Read and Comment: http://ring-spell.com/

Artem Ficta’s Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/artemficta

Artem Ficta’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/ArtemFicta

#ctparchive #webcomics #indie comics #comics #comic chat #comic discussion #book club #bookclub #webcomic bookclub #webcomic book club #comic tea party #ctp #ring spell #artem ficta

1 note · View note

prorevenge · 5 years

Text

Destroy my childhood, ruin my chance at college, and laugh when I said I was homeless? Lol cool, I'll ruin your life.

Long story. TL;DR at the end.

BACKSTORY: My mother was a really shitty person. I have 4 other siblings. One older sister, 3 way younger, 3 different dads. Before I was born (im a male btw), my oldest sister was taken away from my mother when she was a few months old because she tried to stab/slice the father of my sister WHILE HE WAS HOLDING HER. She lost custody and the dude left her. Older sister goes to live with her fathers family in a different city. CUE LIL OL ME COMING INTO THIS SEXY WORLD. My dad went to jail 2-3 years after I was born for a while, I rarely saw him. He's an alcoholic if that matters. She was a single mother but she made it work and she worked hard. One of the bigger problems was that she took out all her agression and hatred of my father on me as well as work stress and etc. She dealt with sexual abuse growing up which I'm sure definitely affected her relationships and how she treated me as well. Anyways...

Cue me being abused from the age of 4-5 to about 17. Every day was hell. She was extremely strict and her perspective was warped. She was also pretty big in stature and had alot of strength. Examples of her being shitty: I've gotten beaten up badly once because HER room was dirty. The dishes weren't washed and I got beaten soon as I got home, even if there werent dishes when I left to school. If i walked too loud, id get my ass beat. She broke my nose for looking at her the wrong way on my 10th birthday when she brought me a cake I was allergic too(It had peanuts, she knows im slightly allergic but feigned ignorance..) It was more or less every day or every other day. She used her fists/elbows/extension cords/hangers/chairs/canes/bats/etc. Whatever she could find I was getting beaten with. I couldn't ever escape to my room for long because she would always call me every few minutes to get her things or to yell at me. She never drank or did drugs or anything. Whenever she was upset and I happened to be in front of her she'd kick me down the stairs to make me hurry up. She's put a knife to my neck before and had to be forcibly stopped by her bf of the time. Burned my christmas presents from other people (she didnt get me anything that year) and just other really shitty things. The only thing I will say, she tried really hard to make up for it with video games and electronics and etc. It didn't make a difference to me though, it never helped.

She controlled most aspects of my life. I got by with little petty revenges. Peeing in the lipton iced tea she drank. Rubbing her forks and spoons between ny buttcheeks before i served her dinner. Ignoring her screams for help when she had kidney stones (how tf am i supposed to help anyways??) But by the time i got to highschool I turned to alcohol. I resented her and the negative atmosphere affected who I was as a person. I started to be cold and uncaring. Calculated. She started kicking me out every few months telling me to find somewhere else to live by age 15. She sent me away to a different country for a year and tried to keep my passport but I made it back to the US with the help of the embassy and my step father (she'd already left by that time and found some other dude). I came back senior year with no credits for the prior grade which ended with me getting a GED. I spent most of the time i could with my best friend and started working shitty jobs. I was terrible at saving as i had accumulated loads of shitty habits while growing up so it didnt make much difference. She eventually told me that If i went to college, I would ALWAYS have a place to live until I finished. Cue my first 2 semesters at a 2 year college, I maintained a 3.7ish gpa. My teachers loved me and it was my escape. Towards the end of my 2nd semester during finals, i came home late one night around 10pm and my mother yanks the door open screaming in my face asking when I'll move out. I'm slightly drunk and decide to completely ignore her and walk to my room. If I opened my mouth, that day would be the day I blew up and cursed her out. I've rarely ever raised my voice at her because it never ended well. Now at this point im 19 and I've been doing school full time with no savings. Im also fairly fit and could easily take my mom at this point (Never laid a hand on her or any woman, i hate violence). I get to my room, she rips my door open, and starts yelling. I say nothing and stare at her. She walks away and called the police on me saying she thought id murder her and my younger siblings. I don't know where the fuck she got that idea from as she's the one who's nearly killed me many times.

I packed everything into a duffle bag and left 5 minutes afterwards. I failed all of my finals because I couldnt make it to my school. Things kinda spiraled and the next 2-3 years were me on and off homeless. I survived the best I could in a big city with no college degree and made alot of shitty choices due to my shitty habits. Eventually i found a profitable hobby that gave me meaning and through that i started to work my way up. Got my own apartment, had a full time job, and did my hobby on the side. I hadn't kept up contact with my mother at all but my younger sister who was old enough to have a phone found me on social media so i saw photos and such, she didn't have it anywhere near as bad but she did get beaten occasionally. My mother reached out via email all smiles asking how I've been. Now guys, ive always been envious of the relationship most ppl have with their moms so I gave her a chance and gave her a call. We talked for a few minutes and everything was civil and seemed like things would go okay but then...

She asked me what I've been up to the last few years and I told her honestly, that I was homeless for a while and struggled alot after what she did to me but I worked my way out of it. SHE LITERALLY LAUGHS. She laughed for a few seconds in a very condescending kinda chuckle and then said "I never did a thing to you so you don't know what abuse is! its your own damn fault you were homeless. So how about yo-" but by that point I hung up. I was speechless and fuming. I don't know what abuse is? OKAY BITCH. IVE SPENT TOO FUCKING LONG LETTING YOU DESTROY MY SANITY. NOW IS THE TIME.

There was a few things my mother didn't know. One, I knew for a fact that current well paying job she had was gotten on lies as she never got her college degree and lied about it on her resume. Two, I had access to all of her email accounts and cloud storage accounts since I was the one that set them up when I was younger and she never changes her passwords. Lastly, she DEFINITELY wasn't aware that from 13yrs old and onto the last time she hit me I took photos of ALL my bruises/marks/wounds/bloody noses saving them to my computer and then google drive. ON TOP OF THAT, my little sister had been sending me photos via social media of the bruises she got from my mom.

The first thing I did was compile ALL of those photos/videos into one folder. I then reached out to CPS in my city and explained that my siblings were being abused, how I was abused in the past, and that I had mountains of proof. Since ive called the cops on my mother before AND the thing that happened with my older sister, there was immediately a home visit. They arrived almost a day later with the police and coincidentally my mother was literally in the process of beating my younger sister when they were knocking. Cue an Emergency removal of all my siblings from the house and my mother getting arrested though she was released hours later. (I was getting a day to day play by play because my mothers best friend is a blabber mouth and everything my mother said she told her son who relayed it to me without either of their knowledge.) I sent CPS all the evidence and there's a legit case against my mother now. The next day I emailed and then called up her job to inform them that she had lied about having a very necessary college degree as well current events in her life which sparked a background check. She was fired days later. Say adios to 75k and a blacklist in the only industry you know how to work. I then spitefully deleted every cloud account and email address I ever made for her, which was all of them which im sure will make keeping up with alot bills and etc nearly impossible. I then anonymously reported her to the IRS because of the tax fraud she committed for years by claiming people's children that weren't hers with ALOT of detailed information since I lived with her while she did it.

So now, my mother lost all her kids and her job. Im meeting with a caseworker from CPS next week to talk more about what happens moving forward but I do know they're NOT going back. Idk how she's gonna pay her mortgage now and survive. I'm sure she's gonna get a call from the IRS who'll be looking for a few thousand dollars she owes them. She also has to go back to court in a few months, not exactly sure what she was charged with but ill update when I find out how everything turns out.

Side Note: She isn't aware im the cause of any of this. I plan on keeping tabs on her and waiting until it seems like she's close to death before I tell her it was all me and I peed in her lipton.

TL;DR - My mother abuses me badly for most of my life as well as my younger siblings. I have to drop out of college and support myself after she drove me to homelessness. She proceeds to laugh at me about me being homeless and denys abuse. So I ruined her life by getting my younger siblings removed and her arrested, making her lose her job, reported her to the IRS, and essentially set her up so that the remainder of her life is full of disaster and hardships.

(source) (story by howbout_that_lipton)

#prorevenge #by howbout_that_lipton #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #revenge story #last10 #updated

2K notes · View notes

chnat0wn · 5 years

Text

Black Irises

Relationship: Alfie Solomons/Original Female Character

07. The First Ray of Spring Sun

Alfie Solomons’ bakery wasn't the peak of dreams or achievement worth mentioning. It wasn't an exclusive place, it didn't provide high earnings, and the atmosphere there was rather heavy, mainly due to – often unreasonable – nervousness of the employer.

The building itself didn't offer anything extraordinary. It wasn't an architectural masterpiece, and the interiors resembled abandoned, old houses. The underground was loud and smelled of alcohol. The ground floor was empty for most of the time – there were Alfie and Ollie's offices, a dining room and an unused kitchen. The second floor was an object of jokes – the men working in the bakery claimed it to be scaring upstairs. They often said that this scary ghost belongs to their boss' dead sense of humor.

During each meal break, Deborah sat with Ollie in a large, spacious room with several long tables, benches and other resting places. Men worked in the bakery mainly, and although they didn't look particularly friendly – their faces were mostly covered with scars, fresh or healing wounds – Deborah felt no fear. Given her experience with Biagio, she received a huge number of males completely calmly.

The men didn't hide their interest in the new crew member. Especially since it was a woman. Some focused on the meal, others on the card game, the rest was looking at sitting at the Ollie's side Deborah. Deborah herself never had anything with her to eat. Instead, she decided to fill the time with knitting. She brought a colored yarns and a pair of knitting needles with her. She chose wool in a cherry shade of red and focused on her task, nodding from time to time to Ollie's words.

“Hello, pretty one” she heard a male, stranger voice. Only after a while she looked questioningly at the interlocutor. The man she only knew by sight was sitting with his elbows on the table, watching her. “Whatcha doin’ there?”

“Knitting.” she said blankly. She forced a smile and lifted the scrap of material that was being created so that the man received the appropriate proof of her words.

“But why?” the another one asked. All conversations ceased. The present men paid attention to this exchange. Deborah felt the eyes of the most, if not all, of the gathered.

“It's relaxing.” she explained briefly. She couldn't explain why, but instead of looking down and back to her previous job, she was moving her eyes from one face to another.

“Relaxing.” the first of them repeated and scratched his chin. “So you should definitely teach us.” he laughed. A wave of laughter passed through the room. Even Deborah managed a light, honest smile this time.

“If you want.” she shrugged.

The expression on the man's face, who had the conversation with her, changed in the moment. As if he didn't expect Deborah to really want to devote her time to them.

“It is not manly.” one of the others gathered waved a hand, completely rejecting Deborah's offer.

“You're right, Frank.” another on spoke up. “And you know what is more manly? Your wife!”

Another wave of laughter echoed in the dining room. Deborah smiled broadly, but instead of saying something more, she decided to just go back to do her thing. She frowned, feeling someone's presence beside her. She glanced at the man who decided to join her.

“I’m Bill.” he introduced himself, and wasn't counting on Deborah shaking his hand, since her fingers were now wrapped in wool. “Show me how you do it.”

Deborah raised her eyebrows at Bill. She tried to sense if he was serious. He seemed to being eager to learn, and he was giving her an expectant but friendly look. Immediately after, two more men sat at Ollie and Deborah's table.

“Roy” one of them nodded. “And this is Freddie. Mute Freddie. So? Will you teach us that stuff?”

Deborah hadn't felt better in a long time. She had the opportunity to leave the house, spent less time with Biagio, and felt part of a more complex community. She felt needed and wanted. Over time, men working in the bakery turned to her during a meal, talked about problems with her wives, and Deborah tried to suggest ways to resolve conflicts. Not everyone, but a lot of them. Others continued to give her anxious glances. They were here only to work, not to gossip.

Deborah's still uncertain position in the bakery wasn't a topic that she could raise in conversation with her husband's wealthy friends. But she smiled to herself whenever she came to the bakery. She greeted Ollie with extraordinary enthusiasm, which he soon got used to, though at first he couldn't understand how anyone could be happy coming here.

Perhaps this is why the workers have become somewhat more relaxed over time. In addition to the practice of knitting, they had the opportunity to watch a woman smiling from ear to ear. She was moving lightly between the tables, trying to make a short conversation. Deborah was like the first ray of spring sun after a long, hard winter. She was a blast of fresh air.

“Good morning, Ollie!” Deborah greeted him with a broad smile, hanging up her coat. “Today will be a good day. Everything points to it. By everything, I mean the weather. No single cloud…” she sighed blissfully.

“Good morning.” Ollie replied, taking a break from writing. “I don’t think so. Mr Solomons is in a bad mood today.”

Deborah didn't find this information useful. First of all, Alfie was mostly in a "bad mood". Secondly, all this time since she worked here, Deborah has rarely made contact with him. “You think?” she raised an eyebrow, resting her hands on the edge of Ollie's desk.

“I’m sure.” he nodded. “This time, it's probably something with his health. That's why it's so… annoyed.”

“With his health?” Deborah repeated. She knew that he sometimes used a cane, but there was no indication in what condition Alfie could be. As a young man, he was full of strength, he never complained about pain or malaise. “Alright,” she gasped heavily and looked at the watch on the wall. “I should start work in ten minutes.”

“Sure. Work. ” Ollie laughed and returned to the documents.

Deborah left the room and stopped behind the door. She should help Ollie with the papers or at least pretend to do just that. After all, some irresistible need told her to go to Alfie's office. She was aware that he probably didn't want to see her.

She knocked on the door and looked inside. Alfie was flipping the pages. Ollie was right, there was nervousness on his face, which meant an explosion that appearance was only a matter of time. Moreover, Alfie's skin seemed to be in worse condition than usual. His face was covered with red spots and traces of intense scratching here and there.

“Good morning.” she smiled, closing the door behind her.

“What?” he asked, staring at the documents with a frown on his forehead. “Do ya need somefin’?”

Deborah came a little closer. She shrugged, then stopped in front of the chair and placed her hands on the backrest. “No.” she answered uncertainly, squinting. She pursed her lips, wondering if she should continue this short, pointless conversation. “ Do you need something..?”

Alfie stopped everything he was doing. He frowned and slowly looked up at Deborah. He rested his elbows on the desktop and put his fingers together.

“I can make you some tea or…”

“No. You can not. And you know why?” he asked calmly, yet Deborah knew that this calmness wouldn't last long. “I don't pay you for makin' some fuckin' tea and standin' in me office. And that 's what ya doin', yeah?”

“What?” Deborah narrowed her eyes. “You don't pay me at all.”

Alfie detached his elbow of the wooden surface and reached out, pointing with his finger at the door. He didn't have to say anything more. Deborah obediently headed to leave.

At meal time, Deborah and Ollie sat at one table with Billy, Roy, Freddie, and a group of other men who had found peace in the activity Deborah had given them. They brought materials and their own tools. Deborah tried to show everything slowly, step by step, control the work of her companions.

“My wife praises the socks I made for her.” Roy said. “They're unable to embrace her ankles, but she is still delighted.”

Deborah laughed, Roy was also smiling. Until the figure in the entrance cast a shadow – it would seem – on the whole room. Alfie stood with his arms folded, slightly hunched over. He was frowning so hard that his eyes disappeared under his eyebrows. His lips tapered into a thin line could hardly be seen. He had never been more terrifying before.

“What the fuck ya think ya doing, eh?” he asked without interest in the actual answer. He wouldn't receive it anyway. Everyone was silent, some of the men didn't even look at Alfie, too scared to look up. He scanned several faces, eventually stopping at Deborah. “What the ‘ell is this?”

Deborah involuntarily looked at her work. “Um, a scarf..? Well, it will be a scarf.”

“A fucking scarf!”

“Correct. A scarf.” she replied calmly.

Alfie glanced again at the closest points, mainly terrified faces. He seemed to be looking for something. Probably a smile that he could rip off. And he would do it with great pleasure. “Get back to yer fucking work!” he shouted so suddenly and loudly that Deborah dropped the knitting needles from her hand. “And you” he pointed at her. ��My office. Now.”

She knocked and looked inside the room. Alfie was sitting at his desk, as usual busy with paperwork. Deborah had never thought about it before, yet she came to a conclusion – she didn't think that the bakery was associated with a lot of documents, despite this Alfie was eternally filling them.

“Hello, Cyril” she whispered as the dog walked slowly up to her and lifted the muzzle to her hand so that Deborah would agree to stroke him. “Good boy.” she added, not paying too much attention to Alfie.

“Sit.” Alfie gasped. He put the documents down and rested his elbows on the desk. Deborah obediently followed his order and took the seat opposite. “Explain if you will, the knitting situation.” he put a insincere smile, but the expression on his face changed radically after a moment.

“Do you want me to teach you how to knit?” she raised her eyebrows. She knew what Alfie was asking about, but she wasn't going to give him what he wanted. Probably because he didn't seem as terrifying as before.

Alfie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He clenched his hands on the edge of the desktop. He seemed tired and undoubtedly annoyed that Deborah was obviously going to tease him. “Fuckin’ ‘ell.” Alfie said wearily. He pursed his lips. “A dozen men are walking 'round my bakery, right? A dozen men are walking 'round my bakery with fucking spikes. I can swear to ya that none of them is completely normal.”

“It is just a form of getting away from work–”

“Why the hell should they get away from work?” he interjected, leaning toward her.

Deborah rolled her eyes when Alfie interrupted her. She didn't even try to talk some sense into him. She knew he was probably right. And Alfie knew it too. “I don't think they are insane.” she said anyway.

“You have been working 'ere for a month. I run this bakery for years. And you sittin' here and telling me ya know more about them?” he frowned.

“No. I didn't say I know more about them.” she protested. “What's more, I don't know them at all. I don't spend much time with them,” she lied. She was afraid that otherwise Alfie would fire anyone who dared to talk to her. “I just do what they ask me to do. If that's all…” she slowly got up from the chair.

“Yeah. That’s all.” Alfie stroked his beard. “Fuck off now.”

Deborah couldn't help but make her lips bent in a tiny smile. She clenched them immediately not to reveal the amused expression on her face. But Alfie noticed. “I’m sorry. You say ‘fuck off’ in… some way.” Deborah she squinted. “A funny way.”

“FUCK OFF. NOW.” he repeated louder. Much louder. Deborah burst out laughing, tilting her back so hard that Alfie thought he was about to break in half. She grabbed the door handle – still laughing – and left his office. When she closed the door behind her, Alfie smiled barely, and shook his head.

“Look what I have!” Deborah said with obvious excitement, appearing in Ollie's office again.

He looked at her with terror on his face. “You were only supposed to leave for ten minutes! You've been gone for an hour! Do you know what Alfie would do if he found out?”

Deborah stood still, staring at panicking Ollie. Indeed, she hadn't thought about her disappearance, nor did she think that Ollie might actually 'get hit' when it was him who Deborah asked for cover. “You spend far too much time on what–ifs. Alfie didn't see a thing, you're still alive, and you still have this job. Inhale and exhale, Ollie.”

Ollie sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “What’s that?” he asked, nodding at the basket she'd brought with her. She also looked at the item she was holding and came closer. She set the basket on Ollie's desk.

“A few herbs.” she explained and pushed the cloth aside to show Ollie dried goods from her own garden. She didn't think they would ever be useful. She wasn't sure what effects they have, but Polly mentioned something about healing and sedative properties. “And juice, some jams…” she added immediately. “I thought I could spoil the boys a little. All the boys.” she raised her eyebrows significantly.

“An impressive collection… of everything.” Ollie said with admiration.

Deborah smiled. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Thank you, but…” he sighed. “But if Mr Solomons bust me with a tea–”

“Ollie!” she scolded him. “I told you, less what–ifs!”

Deborah decided to take the risk once again. And although Alfie rejected her earlier offer of tea, now she choose to press it on him. She prepared a drink of dried herbs in an idle kitchen, then looked into Alfie's office with a cup in her hand. Exceptionally, he didn't look at the papers, but directly towards the front door, as if he expected her to appear.

“We've already talked about tea, haven't we?”

“It is not exactly a tea.” Deborah forced a friendly, encouraging smile.

“Course it ‘s not.” Alfie said. “It's fucking gypsy piss.”

“Alfie” she said pleadingly, smiling sweetly. Just like she did in the past. They both went back to their youth for a moment. Alfie was taken aback, Deborah felt somewhat disappointed in her own act. She didn't plan it, his name just escaped from her mouth. She wanted to address him that way again. And she didn't quite understand the need. “You will feel better after this. It won't help your back, but maybe you'll be able to relax.” she sat down in front of the desk and sighed heavily, running her hands over her thighs. Alfie watched her restlessly. After all, he reached for a cup that seemed microscopic in his hands. “Listen, Alfie. Can I call you that..?”

“That ‘s me name.”

“It's not the point. What I mean is, I'm not looking for enemies. I know how does it look between us, but I haven't forgotten about you all these years. You were a really important part of my life. And I want it to be like that again. Not exactly like that, but… I want to have an ally in you.” she confessed and dared to look at him. “Is it possible?”

Alfie was breathing heavy, but he remained quiet in all of this. He narrowed his eyes and looked away at one of the walls. Not that he couldn't look into Deborah's eyes. He had no problem with it. “I craved to hate you, Debby. I was convinced that negative feelings would allow me to get rid of all others. And I thought I achieved it in a way, yeah? I thought I succeeded. And ya are risen again.” he smiled briefly, but there was nothing pleasant in his smile. “I cannot hate you. I did everything to hate memories of you. I modified 'em in me own head. But the moment I saw you again… You were the same precious, little 'fing. And not a distorted memory I tried to create.”

Deborah was silent, staring at Alfie with her lips slightly open. Her mind was empty. “B–but why… why did you want me to work here? Since being around me must be uncomfortable for you.” she asked confused.

“I wanted to make sure ya were safe.” he paused. The room was quiet again. Deborah held her breath, realizing that she was not indifferent to Alfie, otherwise he would have left her to Biagio. “I can keep an eye on ya ‘ere.”

“Thank you.” Deborah smiled sadly. “Well, we should take care of each other.” she said, rising from her seat. She walked slowly behind Alfie's armchair. Although it was definitely tightly between his seat and the shelves at the back, Deborah was thin enough to fit in easily.

“What are you doing?” he asked. He wasn't moving as if paralyzed by Deborah's closeness. She placed her hands on his shoulders and began to carefully massage them.

“Taking care of you.”

“Takin’ care of me, eh? That ‘s ridiculous, mate.” Alfie shook his head. He sat quietly for a moment, pursing his lips and focusing on her touch, nothing else. “Little higher.” he asked, causing Deborah to smirk.

Deborah pulled up her sleeves, tied her hair and knotted the apron she had received from Ollie at her own request. She looked at the products prepared on the counter, then looked around for the sacks of flour she had asked for. She measured off an accidental amount of white powder, made something that was looking like a mound from it, added a few eggs and some water. She took a deep breath, as if creating something sensible from this mess would be extremely difficult to achieve.

Finally, she sank her hands into the mixture. She tried to combine everything, while kneading something that apparently didn't want to be kneaded. The pulp was uncomfortably cold to the touch, was sticking to Deborah's fingers and effusing through them. “Jesus fucking Christ, disgusting.” she whispered under her breath, wincing. She have seen worse phenomena, especially in the past, but she couldn't react differently. Her work was like playing in the mud – a viscous, shapeless goo. Probably as edible as mud too.

“What are ya doing 'ere?”

Deborah looked hurriedly over her shoulder. She wasn't surprised by Alfie's position – he stood with arms folded and was looking at her. It was his presence that surprised her more. It seemed to her that he never came here, rather sat in his office, from time to time he controlled the work in the underground.

“I'm baking.” she said. Without wasting time, she returned to previous, unskillfully actions. “Well, I’m doing my best actually.” she raised her eyebrows. Shortly afterwards she heard footsteps approaching. Alfie stood next to her and looked attentively at what Deborah held her hands in. An amused smile appeared on his face, which Deborah hadn't seen in a really long time.

“Is this what you call baking? This crap?” he pointed at the mush spilling on the counter. “You are right, that's disgusting. That's fuckin' awful.” he repeated. Deborah narrowed her eyes, wondering how long he had been standing there and watching her. Before she knew, Alfie added another portion of flour. “‘ere you go.”

Deborah started kneading again, but the ingredients still didn't seem to hold together. Alfie gasped, which undoubtedly meant irritation, stood behind Deborah and placed his hands on her own. He directed them so that they gathered all the dough in one point, then he started kneading too. Deborah smiled – Alfie was extremely close. She could feel his warmth, his beard was scratching her cheek, yet Deborah didn't feel embarrassed or intimidated.

She could feel his warm breath on her neck and his smell that surrounded her everywhere. She took her hands away, wiped them on her apron, and step aside from the counter. She bumped into Alfie. He didn't move, as if he froze for a moment and had no idea what motion should he make. Deborah turned back carefully. She scanned Alfie's face – he looked at her, frowning. Soon after, his expression softened, but they both looked at each other without understanding.

Alfie placed his hand on her hip. He didn't know why and for what purpose he did it. He just wanted to touch her, remind her of his presence, make the situation real. Deborah looked down and ran her tongue over her chapped lips. She looked at Alfie again and put her hand on his shoulder. She needed a moment to get used to his heat again. She needed a moment to realize that Alfie was real.

Alfie leaned forward and rested his forehead on Deborah's forehead. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Deborah moved a hand to his cheek and gently brushed the surface under her fingers. Without thinking long, she kissed him. She kissed him insecure and subtle. Alfie took it quite naturally, but with an unknown to himself longing. He didn't think he would ever miss it. And only now did he realize how much he needed her lips. How much he needed her.

They both knew that what they were doing was slowly getting out of control. Alfie forgot that Deborah was married. He hadn't paid much attention to it before, but he stopped being mad at her for a moment. Deborah wasn't thinking about Biagio now. She didn't wonder what would happen if he somehow found out about it. There was nothing else, just them.

Alfie pressed Deborah to the edge of the countertop. He ran his hands over her body, eventually stopped one of them on Deborah's ribs, but quickly took it away, remembering a cruel bruise. Deborah rested one hand on the countertop, the other clamped on his shirt. She put her tongue between Alfie's lips. He accepted it as if waiting for it, and immediately dominated it.

Deborah climbed onto the worktop. Away from the mass that was still nearby. They did not have to talk about it, make sure that what they do is good or both of them want it. Alfie wanted to have her close since he saw her for the first time after all these years.

Deborah pulled up her skirt. In the meantime, Alfie lowered his pants. He embraced his cock, and though he didn't seem to need much preparation, he moved his hand several times before approaching Deborah. He brushed the material of her panties aside, rubbed the head of his dick over the soft, wet entrance, until he finally pushed his hips, thrusted into her. He began to make slow, single movements. Deborah suppressed moans by clenching her lips, tilted her head back, and Alfie ran his fingers over her arched neck, then placed several tickling kisses on it. She missed him and everything he carried with him. She missed how she felt with him.

Alfie was pushing harder and more neatly. Apart from Alfie's heavy, shallow gasping, aside from the moaning made by Deborah, the room was filled with characteristic noises as their bodies smashed against each other. Alfie filled Deborah with all of him again and again, looking her in the eye. Soon he saw tears gathering in them. Alfie stopped immediately. He wiped the wet trail from her cheek with his thumb, looking at her face in confusion and worry.

“What is it, love?” Alfie asked quietly. They were both breathing heavily and slowly, and Deborah was trying to gasp through the tears. “Talk to me, so I can hear you.” he placed his hand on her cheek. “Is something hurtin' ya? Are you in pain, Debby?”

Deborah smiled with difficulty and tilted her head, cuddling into his hand. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “I’m not. But my heart is. And my soul.” she said. “Don't stop, Alfie. Make love to me, please. It ease the pain.”

#Alfie Solomons #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x oc #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic

13 notes · View notes

jamjimz · 4 years

Text

I actually made a first chapter for my, uh, characters. I mean, it’s short, but— I thought it’d go nowhere?? So I’m proud?

TWs: Blood, Cursing, Violence (i think?)

Word Count: 850

Characters: Veronica Miller, James Alder (mentioned), Philip Brown, and Luna May

~~Veronica Miller’s POV~~

“Wait, please! Stop! I don’t wanna go!”

My eyes shot open as I sat up, breathing heavily. This is the third time I dreamt of that incident. She was long gone, I told myself. She’s dead. I checked the time, it was close to five. I squeezed my eyes shut, but couldn’t drift off to sleep. Oh well, guess it’s time to go to school.

School, as I call it, wasn’t actually a school. It’s just a place I go to, and linger for a while. I don’t need to do anything at all. Still, aside from that, I’m vital to the school, since I’m a student.

I got off of my small mattress, and went to the bathroom to take a quick shower. After a while, I got out of the bathroom with my hair already blow dried and combed.

I wore my usual: a light blue shirt, some ripped jeans, and a long green coat. My shoes weren’t really necessary, but I slipped them on anyway. I was almost ready to go. I swiped a line of eyeliner and put on some black lipstick. Okay, I was ready to go.

Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Veronica Miller. I’m 16 years old, 5’3 tall and I’m in a relationship with James Adler, who’s the same age as me and two inches taller.

How we ended up as a couple was a funny story, but that’s for another time.

I walked to school, inevitably meeting up with my other friends, Luna May and Philip Brown.

Philip is 17 years old, and the same height as I am. He wore a grey and red striped shirt with some blue jeans. His skin was pale, his eyes bright amber. Philip’s hair was black. He carried around a cane. Just for self defense, he says.

Luna is 15 years old, and is 4’11 tall. She had neat brown hair, which was cut short by her shoulders, and her eyes are black. Luna had a school uniform on, only she didn’t have a necktie for some reason. She had brass knuckles, and when someone asks why she has them, she’ll hiss. She will hiss at them, like a cat.

Although we do get along great, there is something bothering all of us. We don’t speak about it anymore though, which was good.

“Good morning, guys!” I yelled, even if they were a few feet away from me. Philip flinched as Luna laughed, waving at me. “Good morning, Veronica!”

I gave them a nod of acknowledgement. We all walked inside the school, chatting away.

“So, when’s your next date with James? I know a great boba tea shop..” Philip grinned, nudging me. I did a mental eye roll. “We haven’t decided. I’ll ask him about it later at lunch.”

We went to class, and did nothing but loiter around.

“This is boring.” Luna said, biting her nails. “Let’s go to the cafeteria.”

“Luna, that isn’t right.” Philip shook his head, placing his hands on his hips. “You know how the Principal is when we cut class.”

“But we’re doing nothing!” Luna protested, throwing her hands into the air. “Besides, the teacher isn’t here anyway.”

“Luna, follow the rules for once. How many times I have to get you out of detention.. I can’t count.” Philip frowned, and blocked the door. “I’m not letting you out.”

“I’ll fight you.” Luna warned. “And I fight real good.”

“You only use brass knuckles.” Philip mumbled to himself. “I use a cane that shoots bolts of electricity.”

“What was that?” Luna raised an eyebrow, stepping towards Philip. “Are you talking shit about my weapon of choice?”

“Wait, guys—” I tried to intervene. “I think we should all calm down—”

It was too late as Philip fired a bolt of electricity at Luna, but fortunately, it missed by two inches.

Luna launched herself at him, brass knuckles in hand.They crumpled on the floor, thrashing around like wildcats. I stood by, wanting to do something, but I was too scared to do so.

Luna kept scratching Philip’s arms and face with her nails. Philip was trying to reach his cane, which was a few feet away. He did punch Luna in the nose though. I was about to physically interfere, taking a step towards them. They rolled around, knocking into chairs, even tipping over some. A loud crash echoed in the classroom, and both of them paused.

Philip grabbed his cane and gave Luna a shock.

“Ack!” Luna fell limp.

I rushed to Luna’s side, helping her up. “Philip!”

“What? It’s better to shock her rather than getting a bruised lip.” Philip had scratches on his arms and face, whilst Luna had a bloody nose.

“..Never mind. We should probably go to the clinic.”

“It’s fine. Just a few scratches.” Philip reassured me, patting my arm.

Luna twitched, one of her eyes open.

“Luna doesn’t look too good.”

“You think?” A sigh escaped my lips.

We don’t talk for a couple of beats.

“Fine.” Philip finally said. “Let’s bring her to the clinic.”

#tw blood #tw cursing #tw violence?#my ocs #do not repost #my writing #chapter 1/?

1 note · View note

cherrytart-ffxiv · 5 years

Text

idontwannabeyouanymore

[[ Warning: This piece contains heavy domestic abuse, and heavily implied child abuse, along with the trafficking of a minor, suicidal ideation, and brief rape mention. Please read at your own discretion. ]]

"Stop! Get off of me!”

My screams rumble through the decrepit farmhouse, fallen into more disrepair than ever since my father’s passing. Half of the windows have glass that is shattered. The other half are so old that no amount of scrubbing makes them easy to see through. I try my best to keep the house clean, especially the room that had belonged to my mother. This is the only pristine area, the only place I really put up a fight about anyone else entering.

Not that they ever do. Connor and my grandparents had no affection for my mother. The only memory I have of fighting my grandmother out of the room-- the one that got the most sunlight, with the most perfect view of the sea-- was after my mother had passed. I was only six, but I howled when she went through what few worldly goods my mama had to sell them. I remember them vividly; the jade earrings, the gold and diamond ring she told me was not from my father and would not expand any further on, the expensive silk kimono that mama never got to wore but cherished.

At least her old pink cardigan had no monetary value.

Now, though, the old hag has me pinned to the dusty couch. It was one of her “good” days, or as I liked to call them, the days she stopped pretending to be too frail and sick to get herself out of bed. It was strange that her good days never coincided with the ones where I had plans. They only ever happened on the days I seemed to feel well, rare as they were.

In her gnarled hands are a pair of rusty scissors. Her awful, yellow teeth are bared at me as she holds them over my head. Despite her hate and general evil fueling her, I’m younger. I’m stronger. Gasping, I throw the bitch off of me... onto the couch, rather than onto the floor. It’s better than she deserves.

“Come here!” she screeches like a banshee at my retreating back. “You think you get to wear that pretty crown of hair? After the exploits of you whoring all around the village reached my ears? I will NOT have you disobeying me in my own home, you little slut!”

It wasn’t my fault. It isn’t my fault! Please-- Please... No...!

I am sprinting for the door, a hand desperately reaching to wrench it open. Not fast enough. Screaming bloody murder as hands grab me from behind, I thrash. I slam my fists, kick my feet, as my brother grunts and hauls me over his shoulder. My grandfather walks by the scene with glassy eyes, not even sparing me a cursory glance to make sure that I was okay. Not even taking half a moment to register what was happening. He had a strict schedule to adhere to, of course. It was three o’clock. That meant it was time for tea, no matter the chaos that was happening in his living room.

“Pin her down, Connor,” Elizabeth Wells pants as I feel my back hit the couch again, nose scrunching in instinct at the scent of mold in the fabric. Dust puffs up around me, and the floor creaks. I snarl up at the old witch, my eyes boring into my face as I feel the all-too-familiar weight of my older brother pressing down on my body. I hate her. I hate her.

I hate her stiff silver hair, like steel wool, gathered at the nape of her neck. I hate her cold blue eyes. I hate the way she looks at me, like I am trash. Like I am scum. The way she looks at Connor, you’d think he hung the stars in the sky. He is my nightmare. He is the most evil creature I know, and our grandmother dotes upon him. Birds of a feather, I suppose.

With a vicious hand, my grandmother gathers my sheet of hair - so long that it fell to my waist - in her fist, yanking on it until I cry out, until I feel strands of it being ripped by the follicle from my scalp. The woman pulls it as taut as she can while I try to push Connor off of me, but he’s bigger. He’s stronger. And I am an underfed girl, wailing as I try to free myself. A punishment. A punishment for something I was forced to do. How was this fair? In what world was this okay?

The door bangs open again, just as I feel the blade of the rusty scissors pressing close against my scalp. Hiccuping, I look up, praying that it might just be the handsome prince I’d spent my younger years dreaming of. A handsome prince with armor and a sword that would whisk me away from all of this, away from my brother and my grandparents, to take me somewhere I... belonged. I knew I didn’t belong with these people who had so much loathing for me. And when I asked my grandmother why she hated me, our throats both raw from screaming at each other, cups and plates broken from our fight, she only ever offered me one simple response with venom dripping from her thin lips:

“You are just like that Far Eastern whore that seduced my son.”

The man that walks through is no prince, and I actually wail in sorrow, in emotional agony. No, this is not my savior. This is the man that put me here in this position to begin with. This is the man that negotiated the price of me with Connor, with Elizabeth, with glassy-eyed old Jack.

The price, I remember, had not been high.

“Good,” Elizabeth panted as she straightened up. “Alfie, come here. This defiant little wretch will make me cut her face if she keeps squirming. Take her arms while Connor takes her legs. Far too strong for such a little slip of a brat...”

Alfie raises a single eyebrow, leaning against his cane while his eyes look me over. Storm gray. Icy. He gives me a look that he thinks is one of pity, but I know better. I’m not stupid. He’s amused. Loosing a dramatic sigh, he approaches and strips off his leather gloves while Connor pants, shifting to pin my bare legs down against the sofa. In the kitchen doorway, I see Jack passing by like a spirit, gray and hollow, back up the stairs to his and Elizabeth’s bedroom.

“Please don’t-- please, Alfie--” I hate that I beg. I hate that he likes it.

“I am not your guardian, Audrey,” he remarks, glancing down at me as he pins my arms above my head. “And thus I cannot interfere with how your grandmother chooses to discipline you. Admittedly, I think she’s doing the right thing. You and I -- all of us -- we had a little secret to keep, didn’t we? And you didn’t use all the discretion I told you to use, did you? No... No, you didn’t. Hair grows back, child. Stop your screaming and be still.”

His hands are a vice around my wrists. I stare at the ceiling - at anywhere but him - as tears overflow from my eyes, falling hot against my cheeks. The scissors press against my scalp again, and I shut my eyes tightly as I hear the first cut through my silken locks. But the scissors are old, and my hair is thick. It goes slowly, with my grandmother muttering curses beneath her breath. I can feel how choppy it is, can feel the weight falling from my head, hear it falling onto the old, worn wooden floor.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

After the first few cuts, I stop struggling. Connor and Alfie don’t let me go. I don’t know which of them is more pleased to be overpowering me, to be sinking their hands into my skin while I weep and bite back the urge to beg more. And finally... Finally, it is over. They release me. I don’t stand right away.

It feels as if I’ve been raped. Not in the traditional sense, no. But they had gloated in my lack of power. They had exploited. And they had taken from me. I feel limp and cold. It’s just hair, isn’t it? But it was my hair. I knew what it meant to have one’s hair cut like this in the Far East. I was disgusting. I was dishonorable. Maybe it was a mercy that my grandmother wielded the scissors and not me. After the past few months... I don’t trust that I wouldn’t have used them to make sure I never woke.

It didn’t help that this was the anniversary of my mother’s death.

When I do stand, I run. No one tries to stop me this time. I run out the door and to the back of the house, my limbs and eyes searing. Doubling over, hands on my thighs, I let myself sob and gasp for breath all at once. Shaking hands eventually come to run through my hair... and I fall to my knees. There was barely anything left. It had been cropped, choppily, to my scalp. Years and years and years of growth, only to have it removed as punishment.

It was the nail in the coffin that affirmed that I no longer had any autonomy over my body. I had lost that when my grandmother and Connor shook hands with the serpent, with the devil in fine clothing.

“You’ll wear wigs until it grows to an acceptable length,” Alfie tells me as I walk, numbly, back into the farmhouse. “And then we’ll bleach all that black out and turn it red. Pretty, right? I know you’re upset, Audrey... But you disobeyed. This is to make sure you know who knows best, and that is your elders.”

I stare at him, emotionless. He is standing in my kitchen. Grandmother and Connor are nowhere to be seen. Alfie approaches me slowly, gripping my chin between his long, cold fingers and smiling his serpent’s smile, sadly. He is a good actor. I almost believe that he feels bad, that time.

“Hair grows,” he reminds me again, gently. “You were too pretty with all of it. It made me jealous, to see how men looked at you with those long, shiny locks. You don’t want to be too pretty, Audrey. Then no one will take you seriously. Be a good girl. I’ll be back tomorrow with some wigs to pick from, and then we can go out for lunch. Whatever you’d like.”

He leaves. I catch sight of myself in one of the windows that’s old rather than broken, and my bottom lip starts to tremble again. I hadn’t been too pretty. I had been nowhere close to pretty. I was disgusting. And now... I was even more wretched than I was before. Tears stream down my face again.

But there is a pile of dishes in the sink, and they won’t clean themselves. I turn away from the window. There are other tasks at hand I must do if I don’t want something else that’s precious to be taken away.

#writing #ffxiv stories #ffxiv #ffxiv rp #child abuse tw #human trafficking tw #domestic abuse tw

4 notes · View notes

allykat4416 · 5 years

Text

Meme Trip 2k19, Pt. 1

Dates: May 16 and 17th

Park: Kings Island in Mason, Ohio

I didn’t make trip reports for my second meme-trip in August of 2018. At the time, I thought I was doing myself a favor. Now, I incredibly regret not sharing that stuff straight away. I missed the chance to talk about my first visits to two parks that have very unique spots in my life. The first of those, obviously, is Six Flags New England, a park I’d been dying to go to because of one certain Superman. {And I did leave Massachusetts as a Super Stan.} The other of these parks is Kings Island.

Kings Island and I have a long, storied history filled with intense emotions. Like Carowinds, a lot of my plans to visit KI fell dead along the way— Dad didn’t win the tickets, I didn’t like my classmates enough to justify the trip, I wasn’t able to make the drive up, etc. It’s a park that means a lot to my dad, and he took my mom there when she came to meet his family for the first time. He was one of the first riders of Beast, there for her birthday as a gift for his own.

I cried in 2018 because I didn’t want it to be my home park when I thought I would be going to Northern Kentucky University. I used to crusade hard as hell for KI to never get a giga. The park gave me the largest heebie-jeebies when I visited in August of 2018. I don’t think I feel emotions as intensely for theme parks as some of my comrades, but Kings Island is one of those parks that almost makes me believe I can.

It was a rainy Thursday after a day of nothing but car-riding [and driving for Casie, bless her soul] when we pulled up into the parking lot. We saw that infamous “HELL IS REAL” billboard about an hour out, and I found it quite ironic. For a park that’s been so full of death and negative energy, it was fitting that that’s where we saw the iconic sign.

When we got into the park, both of the Not-Evil Wooden Coasters [NEWC, as it is] were down. We didn’t know why regarding Beast, but we did find out later that Mystic was struggling from electrical issues that day. We liked to think they were conspiring to make the 2020 giga not suck and help everyone else with half a soul say “fuck off” to Steve. Enemy of the enemy is my friend and whatnot.

Instead, we decided to get a snake in our boot since we were already in Rivertown. Diamondback has always been a solid ride—I maintain that B&M hypers are like ordering chicken tenders at a new restaurant because it’s very, very hard to mess them up and even 232 is fun when the trims don’t hit—but she was running really well that day. Diamondback ended up being our final ride of the day in the pouring rain. Rain at 80 mph doesn’t feel very great, but it was a laugh riot and worth it. I keep meaning to get a front-row ride on this, but the back row is such a tantalizing experience that I can’t quite pull myself away from it.

As far as B&M hypers go (and I’m not counting Fury), Diamondback is now my favorite. At any other park, it would probably be my second favorite in the overall roster, but Snek is actually my third at KI because of the aforementioned NEWCs. I wish we were able to get a ride in the following day, but Coasterstock had her queues slammed. Oh well.

After that, we headed over to see our favorite little anxiety boy, Flight of Fear. I don’t get the hate these rides receive. I find both this and his twin at KD to be fine, upstanding rides that are always worth at least one lap when I go. It’s one of those rare rides where stopping on the MCBR actually works in its favor. We were also assigned to the front row, which gives me the biggest uwus. We came up with a really cool character concept if Orion/Polaris sucks in the queue for FOF, and even if the ride is underwhelming, we’re happy Felix has a vaguely-powerful ally. There’s not a whole lot else about FOF to say- the transitions were nice and whippy, the little alien as you pull into the exit station is adorable, and I like the enclosure of it. I hope FOF is around for a nice long while.

(Obligatory RIP Firehawk comment here as well. Thanks for being a good flyer. Piss off, Nighthawk.)

Since it was the only wooden coaster open, it’s time to talk about Racer. I don’t want to talk about Racer. But sadly, I have to talk about Racer. Everything about this ride feels wrong- the aerial view of the turnarounds, the tunnels on the brake runs, the way almost literally everyone else universally adores this ride… Racer holds a lot of energy, and all of it is cryptic. It makes me wish I’d ridden Thunder Road, because Rebel Yell does not have this sense of permanent creeping dread. Ride-wise, Racer is inoffensive. But the vibe that ride gives me isn’t good. At all. We rode twice, red and blue. We raced Deb, Kat, and Brandon while in red and lost. We were the only people on red train, but we did not feel alone in the worst possible way. We won when we rode blue to peek at construction. The cheering in the tunnels had us fucked up.

I hate that, if there are any personifications that have a chance of being real, it’s most likely Abraham and Thaddeus. I’ve never been so wrong about a coaster’s personification before I rode it in my life.

We needed an exorcism after that ride on blue train, so we went to Banshee next. Again, while not my favorite invert, I don’t understand why so many people seem to hate this ride. I think a B&M invert complements their park nicely, and that slow roll at the end is nothing short of fire-hot. It’s also tons of fun to flip off Outpost 5 while you’re on it. It’s what Brynn would want us to do. Plus, missing the pre-drop never fails to give me butterflies! I do wish they had played the audio scream before we dropped though.

We got to ride this with one of our Insta friends, Wild, and we were both really happy to see her. She’s a great kid, and Banshee is a fun ride. We love our pastel goth icon, and we love our Junkrat Stan of a little sister. We also befriended a Banshee ride operator, and their group chat is called “Banshee’s Hot Topic” and that makes me want to cry in a good way.

Bat is awful in the sense that it breaks my heart. Yes, Tanner as a character is very sad (especially so in the Project Shooting Star universe), but it always hammers home how badly I miss Big Bad Wolf. What I’d give for one last ride on the Rhine with my lupine friend… Bat’s in a beautiful area, but that queue makes me feel like I’m at Camp Crystal Lake and Jason’s about to have some fun. Also, can we all say how much we hate seeing SOB’s old station? Because I hate that! A lot!!

Again. Like Racer, Bat as a ride is objectively inoffensive. But there’s so much energy around it, and I’m not sure if it’s residual garbage leftover from Son, the gunpowder factory, and the safari or what. Bat feels so detached from the rest of the park, but I don’t think there’s a more perfect place than KI for a ride that feels this full of sorrow.

Vortex was a one-and-done for us after some sinfully delicious blue ice cream, but I do admit it was better in the rain. The drop actually provided some decent air, and while the transitions are pretty janky, it’s an Arrow from the 80s. You can’t go into it expecting something butter smooth like B&M. That isn’t fair. It’s still not my favorite Arrow looper, and it wasn’t even my favorite one of this trip, but I do think I might have judged it a tad too harshly before. Like FOF, there isn’t much else to say about this ride.

The people we met also made the day phenomenal! Wild, Brandon, Kat, Debra…this one’s for you. I raise my Raisin’ Cane’s tea to ya’ll, stay funky and ride on.

But one day at that cryptic-ass park is never enough, shit’s like Hotel California. Being gluttons for punishment, we returned to Cursed Island.

Kings Island is so different in bright sunshine. It almost feels like a normal amusement park. Almost. We went for the first couple of hours, since Coasterstock people were there and it was a Friday on top of that. It was also hot as a ghost pepper outside. I’m still really sad we missed Tristin and Plummy!! Maybe next time. We did, however, finally get to meet Stephanie in real-life, and she’s pretty chill. We did the dumbest shit for our picture. However, I’m 99% sure the ride operator said “Enjoy your ride on Son of Beast!” when she was with us and I heavily dislike that.

We’d done basically everything else that we had wanted to the day prior. We already had the credits for Backlot, Invertigo, and Adventure Express, and none of those really warranted waiting in the lines. Vortex and Bat had been ridden already this visit. We have mad love for Banshee, FOF, and Diamondback, but those waits were gnarly. We didn’t want to even look at Racer again, let alone ride it. So now, we went to the NEWCs.

Since Five is dead, we rode Beast three times that morning. She was over her alcoholic shitfit, I suppose, and was running very well. Brandon called Beast a good noodle. From a ride standpoint, you can make the case that until that final helix, Beast doesn’t do very much. I personally like how it’s a bit more speed-oriented, but I understand why some others might not. Like Boulder Dash, I think a lot of the ride experience comes from the scenery. I also think knowing Beast’s history makes it the marvel it is. We got some pretty good air on the first hill after the main drop, and that helix is always so damn scary to me. Top 10 coaster moment for sure.

Beast has a TON of energy to it, but unlike Racer or Bat, it isn’t malicious. You may not like Beast, but you WILL respect Beast, you feel? And that energy is why I think Beast will always be my favorite in the park, even over the giga (and especially so if those blueprints are real.) Beast isn’t just a coaster. It’s an experience, and one that makes the park so worth visiting. My only regret is we didn’t get one of those fantastic night-rides.

If those blueprints are real, it’s time to talk about what will most likely still be my second favorite coaster at KI come 2020. Since Thunderhead was my first major coaster, I always have held a soft spot for GCI. And while I do still believe Thunderhead is better, boy howdy do I love Mystic Timbers. It’s a shitshow of a name for a kickass ride. Lines only allowed us to ride once, but we were lucky enough to be assigned to row one. Mystic is definitely better towards the front, I believe. You feel better air there, and while I still don’t think MyTi’s got ejector, it’s stronger floater in the front. (The truck out front played Survivor and I had to scream “WOW I LOVE SIX FLAGS”, so maybe she was just pissy over that.)

I understand why people were disappointed with the shed. Holograms can’t hold a candle when you’re expecting a Verbolten-style drop track. But the shed is cute for what it is, and it’s better than being stacked in the sunshine. We saw the snake scene this time, which is probably my favorite since Tatzelwurm doesn’t even exist in PSS universe anymore. Killer Cat was the best shed scene, but snakes will do.

Also, fun fact about Mystic. When we visited in October, I kept saying how badly I wanted to hear Bonnie Tyler in the shed. We hear it. Friday, I jokingly went “oh booooy I hope I hear my girl Bonnie again!” Lo and behold, we hit the shed and it plays Total Eclipse of the Heart. I lost my goddamn mind. Mystic Timbers said 80s retro. Hate that name, but man oh man, do I love that ride. We love our GCIs with big tiddys and bad personalities.

We rode the train to snag some pictures of Mystic and Snake Friend, but then we dipped and hit Taco Bell as one does. It was better that way. Kings Island had told us all it wanted to for now, and it let us take our time to mosey to the next park and really digest what we’d seen. We also had the opportunity to meet back up with Bee and spend some time with her since we left!

All in all, KI is such a cursed park. I know saying that makes it sound like I really dislike KI, but that’s not the case. I adore Kings Island BECAUSE it’s so cryptic. Their lineup is solid, and even though we can’t truly judge the giga before it opens, I don’t think it’s going to elevate them any but it won’t necessarily bring the park down. There’s so, so much in Mason to unpack, especially in the months to come. I can’t wait to see them again.

#trip reports #cursed island makes me do the big uwu

6 notes · View notes

lovemecharlie · 5 years

Text

Charlie Claus is Coming!

I'm late, but Christmas is my fave holiday so you're definitely getting a Christmas fic from me!

◇

Twas the weekend after Christmas and Charlie was aware of everyone in the house's movements as she sat on the floor in the foyer plotting like an evil elf. She still rocked the onesie Erik gave everyone with their name on it. Angel and Riley were upstairs making sweet passionate sexytime with Erik. Kimora and Homie were having a lightsaber fight with the Star Wars sabers they'd been gifted from Josephine as gag gifts. Josephine herself was off in search of rare ingredients... in the hood. Bastion was in her room recording herself in her new clothes and jewelry for her youtube that had close to a million followers. Aly'sha was napping after her exhausting round with the sex monster, Erik. Hennessy was organizing her closet.

“Alexa. Play Carol of the Bells by the Trans Siberian Orchestra,” Charlie requested for the sixth time in a row. She sat at the foot of the tall and elegant Christmas trees Angel out up.. in her red onesie, hypnotized by the glowing yellow lights in the dim lighting. Her Good Luck, Charlie mug sat next to her filled with cocoa with a fat marshmallow. The high banister looked as if it were being hugged by the Grinch, a hefty and well-lit green garland wrapping around. The candy cane stripes and the giant bright red bulbs like sweet oversized candy apples made Charlie's mouth water. She wanted to eat them and taste the essence of Christmas cheer even though Christmas had passed.

“I love you Angel,” she mouthed, impressed by the refinement of the decor. It was polished without being pretentious, and soothing to behold. She didn't want to ever take it down. The holidays weren't over. In fact, what her family didn't know was that her earlier gifts? Pft. Nothing. They each had exactly 10 gifts from her, representative of the number of Stevens-Udakus in the compound. She'd collected the items over the course of the year unbeknownst to them, keeping them hidden in a super secret place! If she'd purchased a mountain of items in one day, they'd have been suspicious. Her cheeks rose with elvish glee as she considered how she'd spring their gifts on them. She had a brilliant idea.

“Alexa, play Silent Night by The Temptations.”

◇

“Wake up, beauties,” Charlie screamed standing over Homie and Erik in bed. She was dressed like Santa, swinging a pillow to smack the sleeping lovebirds in the face. "WAKE UP! Come downstairs!" Room by room she woke her sistervives. In Hennessy's room, she jumped on the bed. In Josephine's room, she exploded a confetti cannon. In Bastion's room, she rubbed carmex on the sleeping beauty's lips until she opened her eyes. And on and on. They needed to wake up!

“HO HO HO! IT'S THE WEEKEND AFTER CHRISTMAAAAS,” she sang skipping on her black buckled shoes as the fam came down the stairs wearily. Erik was the first see what Charlie had set up and he paused staring at her luxurious white beard and eyebrows, his face freezing with an interested expression. A large spread with stacked platters of breakfast favorites and baked sweets along with 10 hot cups of tea laid out before them. Lined up were 9 piles of gifts, each with a christmas card sitting on top addressed to a different Stevens-Udaku. "90 presents," Charlie exclaimed grinning at their confused but increasingly excited faces, "Find your stations!"

They went from pile to pile, looking for their name, the desire to rip into the piles coming through their expressions when they each found their name.

"Wait for it," Charlie teased.

"I heard something, what was that?" Aly'sha was alert.

"I have no idea. Whatsoever are you referring to," Charlie grinned and Kimora looked around.

"I definitely heard something," Bastion said and before anyone else could comment, there was a tiny "mew".

"Release them," Charlie screeched to the maids out of view, raising her arms high in the air as 10 cats ran into the room. Two small docile deer wandered in next and the confusion all through the room was priceless. "I rescued these kitties and the deer. They live here now.. in the backyard where they can wander. They're all friendly.. except for that one," she pointed to a cat who hissed loudly. "Now presents! Open!"

The sound of paper bags wrinkling, tissue paper crinkling, and wrapping paper ripping mixed with excited chatter made Charlie feel justified in creeping around for the entire year, their faces were worth it.

Gift #1: Everyone recieved a set of Dolce and Gabbana embellished headphones, each pair a different style or color. No one had the same one.

Gift #2: Everyone recieved a gold ring inscribed with a crown, the word king or queen, and their name. After much debate Queen Charlie and Queen Hennessy is what she went with for reasons of consistency.

Gift #3: A big box of candy because why not?

Gift #4: Liquor for all. Everyone got a bottle of something they liked. Hennessy for Erik.

Gift #5: A blown up and framed picture of the one and only. "You better hang it somewhere visible," she scolded Erik. "I'll hang it in my office," he chuckled.

Gift #6: Switchblades to pull out in moments of fuckery. Erik's was gold, but for her sisters, theirs were more creative.

Gift #7: A light-up umbrella simply because it looked dope.

Gift #8: A copy of her book, Polygamy and Family Values. (No pic included)

Gift #9: Swarovski pen sets to sign checks in style.

Gift #10: Fenty Beauty for everyone, full size. She'd matched them and went through their foundations without them even noticing. Erik got skincare items instead.

The Christmas music played as the house ate the breakfast and sweets, sipping the tea Erik had brought from Wakanda. It was a perfect second Christmas.

"So how are you going to outdo this next year," Bastion asked already wearing her headphones. Everyone had on their rings.

"No clue, but one more thing for this year. Come with me." They all followed Charlie, huddling outside and an explosion rang out on the sky. Colors spread like stars and rained down in precise patterns. 'Merry Christmas' the fireworks spelled out.

@poosypoosy @bastioncarterstevens-udaku @hennessychiron @itsangeludaku @alyshastevens-udaku @itskimorafireudaku @thehomiekillmonger @bidibidibombaclaat @blackpinup22 @destinio1 @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @leahnicole1219 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark

#fics #the kompound #charlie

52 notes · View notes