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bitletsanddrabbles · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday: Things I Absolutely Did Not Want To Write, But My Brain Had Other Ideas

Me: Okay, brain! Ready to work on the thing we’ve been researching?

Brain: Naw.

Me: How about that new thing you’ve been talking about? Ready for that?

Brain: Mmmm, maybe another week.

Me: Right, then, another research day!

Brain: Nnnnnnnnnnnnnrgh, tired of reading!

Me: .....the Thomas/Mary wedding thing, since you dragged that up last week?

Brain: Pffff, last week’s news!

Me: So what do you want to do?

Brain: Oooooooooooo! BODY SWAP FIC!

Me: *groan* No, brain. Just no.

Brain: YES! YES YES YES YES YES! WE’VE NOT WORKED ON IT IN SO LONG! COME OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

Me: I hate that thing! That is hands down my least favorite trope ever!

Brain: But it’ll be fun! And new! And different! And we never do things like that!

Me: Yeah, BECAUSE I HATE IT!

Brain: I have new ideas for it! Shiny ideas! Character torture ideas!

Me: ...................you’re not going to shut up about this, are you?

Brain: N.O.P.E.!

Me: .............right then. But after this, we’re at least getting a paragraph of notes on something else, you hear?

“This is the last of it, Mr. Barrow,” Andrew announced, walking in and setting a medium sized box down on the boot room table. There were three there already, one opened with its contents spread over the table, and the other two tucked in a corner.

Thomas looked up from the rather large vase he was examining. “Thank you, Andrew. We’ll go through that one when we’ve finished these.”

“Do you really think anyone will want to buy these?” Albert asked, picking up a very old, very thread bare toy horse that had come out of the open box. God alone knew how long the box had been in the storage attic, tucked away in the back corners.

“Who can say?” Thomas shrugged, reaching for a soft cloth. “Toffs get funny about what they’ll blow money on, don’t they?” Glancing at the horse again, he admitted, “I can’t see that one fetching much, though. Its value seems entirely sentimental.”

Anna, who had come in to fetch some cleaning salts, closed the cupboard she was reaching into and came to examine the horse. She ran her fingers over one of the bare patches. “I might buy it, for Johnny, if no one with real money goes for it. It’s a bit ragged, admittedly, but the stitching’s all there.”

Thomas concentrated on the vase in front of him, not even glancing sideways at the woman and the toy. “Tell Lady Mary you want it, and she might well just give it to you,” he suggested, forcing his tone to be bright and cheerful. He started brushing the dust and cobwebs off the vase. Urn. Whatever you’d call it. The big clay pot with Greek pictures on it. It had to have been in the attic as long as the horse, and it hadn’t been in a box. It was covered in dust and he was fairly certain that when he tipped it over there would undoubtedly be dead spiders inside. At least, he hoped they were dead. They would be soon, if they weren’t already. After all, no matter how ancient your Greek pottery was, it wouldn’t fetch much at auction if it was full of spiders.

“She might,” Anna agreed, setting the toy aside. “But that’s hardly going to help fix (FIND A PROBLEM), now is it?”

“I suppose not,” Thomas allowed. It had been Mr. Branson’s idea, naturally, to auction off some of the family’s old knickknacks, abandoned in the attic for most of His Lordship’s lifetime, to raise money. The only surprise was how readily the family had agreed to it. Thomas had expected more of a fight, but he supposed with Lady Violet gone, there was less sentiment for the fifth Earl’s belongings. “Seems backwards, though, that we should pay our hard earned wages to keep our employer afloat.”

His grumbling earned him a sharp frown. “No one’s asking you to buy anything.”

Before Thomas could reply, Mrs. Hughes came around the corner, her eyes immediately taking in the well-organized chaos. “Goodness. Well, I should hope this should fetch a tidy sum. Enough to get the job done at any rate.” She looked between Andy and Thomas. “Is there anything more to come down?”

Despite the fact Andy and the hall boys had been doing all of the shifting, Thomas answered dutifully. “No, Mrs. Hughes. We’re most of the way through the first box.” Realizing that the piece he was working on had, very obviously, not been in a box, he added, “And I’ve been handling the big pieces.” There was a lamp standing behind him, not to mention an old clock that probably hadn’t walked since the fourth Earl was a boy. He’d probably have to order in parts for that.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. “At least they’ve agreed to a buffet for luncheon. Albert can keep the cold cuts ready well enough.” She turned to Anna. “And Nanny was planning a picnic for the upstairs children for the afternoon. She wanted to know if you could take Johnny for a couple of hours.”

Thomas scowled at the writing emerging under the layer of grime on the pottery. At least he assumed it was writing. He couldn’t read it, naturally, but it looked like the Greek writing he’d seen here and there in books and such. “Don’t know why the woman still bothers. She knows the answer is going to be ‘no’.” She also knew that Lady Mary would insist the picnic go on anyway, and that she take Johnny with her, servant’s son or not. Because somehow Nanny was the only one in the world, or at least the estate, who had a problem with the Bateses’ son being treated like a member of the family. Carson would probably have complained if he were still here, and probably did complain to Mrs. Hughes when she was at home, now that Thomas thought of it, but he had no say anymore. Lady Mary loved Anna and would do as much for her as her own sister, maybe more, and that was that.

Both women turned stern expressions on him and he wished he’d bitten his tongue. “What’s gotten into you today?” Anna asked.

He opened his mouth, but quickly shut it again. More writing and a bit of key patterning emerged under his administrations as he tried to come up with a believable answer. “Nothing, sorry,” he finally said, the words accompanied with a poor attempt at a smile. “Just a bit of a headache from all of this dust.”

Mrs. Hughes eyed him, equal parts stern and concerned. “Mm. Why don’t you take a break and step out for some air when you’re done with that?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hughes,” he agreed, eager to say anything that would keep her from asking any further questions. He turned his full attention to the task at hand, trying to shut out the women's’ conversation. Unfortunately, having the best hearing in the house had its drawbacks. It was impossible to ignore Anna’s assurance that Lady Mary wouldn’t mind Johnny tagging along with the rest, or that she thought some time outdoors would do the children good. He wished he could go and work on the books, something that would at least take attention and, perhaps, distract him from thinking about the fact that Richard was coming to York to visit his parents. He’d be there for two days and, as luck would have it, those days coincided perfectly with the damn auction. He didn’t even need to ask; the notion of the butler being absent for even part of the proceedings was lunacy.

If he’d been a lady’s maid, he’d have had a chance.

If he’d have been Anna, if Richard had been Bates, Lady Mary would have moved mountains to give him time off. His Lordship would have helped. If necessary, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson would probably have taken Johnny, or Daisy and Andy.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, pretending to ward off the headache he claimed to have. He was doing better. He was being kinder and people liked him, or at least they liked being able to have a wireless in the servant’s hall. Mrs. Hughes and Baxter cared, to a certain extent at least. Things were better. There was no reason to be jealous anymore, except…

“Um, Mr. Barrow?” Andy’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “What’s that light?”

“Hm?” Thomas opened his eyes. He had just enough time to realize that the letters he’d been clearing off were glowing, like something out of Arabian Nights, before the entire room filled with light. He thought he yelled, both in surprise and pain at the brightness, but it could have been someone else. Or all of them. Or his imagination.

The last thing he was aware of was the sense of falling, then everything went black.

In case anyone is looking at the description of that pottery and going “Erm, that sounds a bit culturally inaccurate....”, you are not wrong. That’s intentional and will be a plot point.................if I ever get to it.

(Heck, I’d suspect the writing was Arabic rather than Greek, but I can’t think of a single reason Thomas would have run across Arabic writing while Greek might show up in a philosophical something or other... That pottery really is off.)

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #thomas barrow #anna bates #mrs. hughes #wip wednesday #i really do super hate this trope #but my brain really will not give it a rest

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liquorisce · 4 years

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... tell me i’m beautiful?

pairing: royai, roy mustang x riza hawkeye

fandom: Full Metal Alchemist (Brotherhood/Manga)

summary: on some nights Riza is delicate. and Roy is possessive. (warning: unhealthy amounts of pining.) (also havoc is a good friend) 3677 words.

a/n: i saw on my tumblr feed that it’s fma day (3.10) (the day when the greatest angst of our generation was born), and i was hit with major feels for full metal alchemist. it truly is one of the greatest stories of our generation. anyway, here is some old royai from my wip notes that i had to dust the cobwebs off of (that my anxious ass never had the balls to post). my writing style has changed over the years, but my heart is still so full for these two, so it was fun to rewrite.

The buzz around the Eastern Headquarters is that one of the Top ranks is getting hitched and that it’s going to be a fancy affair, traditional with a masquerade ball.

When Roy sees an invite in his post, he’s rather surprised. But the wedding is in Central and it’s an excuse to see his best friend, so it doesn’t seem so bad after all.

“Lieutenant,” he asks, just as she is about to leave for the day, “what’s all this I hear about a ball at the General’s wedding?”

“It seems we must be accompanied with a date, Sir. You received the invitation four weeks ago.” He detects some annoyance in her words, but he lets it pass, because his brain has begun to imagine Hawkeye in a dress, especially one of those grand, frilly ones.

“Then you will accompany me.”

It was acceptable, the way he states it like it’s the obvious course of action, because he is her superior after all. But it also ticks her off, that he expects it, without even bothering to ask. She may be his subordinate but there are times when she wishes he would just see her as a woman.

“That won’t be possible, Sir.”

She is just as shocked with her own coldness as he is, his eyebrows twitching in question.

“I’m afraid I’ve already promised Havoc I would go as his date.”

His eyes narrow and she sees a flicker of emotion awash in the dark of his eyes and she almost feels as if she’s done something wrong.

But she hasn’t, and she will not apologise. She clenches her fist.

“Ah,” he drawls, not missing a beat, “have you decided what to wear yet?”

That wasn’t the question she was expecting and it throws her off balance.

“I,” she pauses for a moment, to regain her composure, “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

She doesn’t want to engage in his banter anymore, because there are feelings involved - mostly hers, and they are irrational, she thinks - and expectations, expectations that have no basis but are yet difficult to do away with. So she hastens to the door.

He’s quiet for a minute, but because he can’t help himself, he murmurs, “… You should wear green. It suits you."

…

She ends up wearing a dress, it’s slinky, tighter than the clothes she’s used to, slipping past her knees. Somehow she finds herself in heels, black strapped ones she’s borrowed from a friend that she clearly cannot walk in. It lacks the comfort of her boots but she deals with it, because apparently this is the price that comes along with looking pretty.

The dress is borrowed too, but she doesn’t miss the fact that out of all the dresses Rebecca paraded as options, she reached for the dark green one. … Apparently it suited her.

At least that is what she is assured of when Havoc comes to pick her up, his eyes popping in surprise when he sees her.

"Wow,” he let’s out a loose whistle, “you clean up real good, don’t you?"

She blushes and it’s another rare sight. "The Hawkeye blushing?” He teases, “I’ve got to be dreaming."

They make their way to the wedding and Havoc dives headfirst to the bar. She isn’t surprised. She looks around, her eyes seeking whom she had stubbornly decided not to care about and she sees him with a woman - obviously - hanging onto his every word.

An officer of sorts, she guesses, but not from their division, because Roy has unleashed his charm, his eyes twinkling flirtatiously.

She averts her eyes to the bar and to her date, who despite his melancholy has ordered an extra drink for her, a cocktail which he swears is the best he’s ever had. The thought of alcohol seems far more appealing than watching her superior with yet another woman.

…

"Did you want to dance, Lieutenant?"

She’s a few drinks down, he’s had even more and his words are beginning to slur.

"I’m sorry,” he says and he sounds genuinely remorseful. “I just… I can’t get her out of my head."

She pats his head comfortingly and he slumps a little on the counter. "You loved her that much?"

He nods gloomily and Riza pretends to ignore the glisten of his eyes. Havoc’s eyes rest on the newly married couple, a little envious of the ingenuity of their smiles.

"You know, I actually thought we would make it there."

He doesn’t have to say it but Riza knows he’s talking about the altar, of dreams of marriage that he harboured for his ex-girlfriend. He was painful to watch these past few weeks, ever since Rebecca ended things with him, and when he asked her to the wedding, she couldn’t help but agree.

Besides, she had made sure Roy had seen the invitation days ago and if he hadn’t asked her by then, it was quite likely he never would.

"I’m sure you’ll find someone else,” she says comfortingly. “Even we soldiers are allowed to be happy eventually.” She isn’t sure she believes it, but for someone as pure as Havoc, surely fate can be kinder.

He tries his best to put on a smile, nodding with the optimism in her words. “Well hopefully I find happiness before my hair turns grey,” he jokes, making her giggle.

It feels nice, letting her hair down with a friend, even though she would rather let her hair and a lot of other things down with a certain someone else, but she tries not to think of it.

When she turns, the smile is wiped clean off her face, because her gaze catches the eyes of that same someone else, eyes dark as night, hair even darker, swept back to show off the handsome angles of his face. He is with someone else, a pretty brunette with her back bare and his hand splayed on it, and they are moving to the music but his eyes are on her, intense, questioning… reprimanding her almost.

For what? She thinks heatedly, he has no right to look at her like that, like he’s displeased with her, when she cannot even express just how unhappy she is with him.

“But seriously, Lieutenant,” Havoc says, hesitating for a moment, but choosing honesty, “you look amazing tonight. I must be the envy of every man in here."

She lets herself bask in his appreciative gaze and her cheeks heat up. "You really think so?"

He nods, smiling at her. "You sound surprised. A woman like you must be used to such compliments, isn’t it?”

She laughs ruefully. Compliments? She couldn’t remember the last time a man had ever called her pretty. At least not since she entered the military. “You’re the first, Havoc."

His mouth almost gaped open in surprise.

She went on, her frustration further driven by the alcohol in her blood. "No one’s ever even asked me out,” she says, helplessly. “Sure, there had been a few men who seemed interested, but even they never tried to take things further."

The Lieutenant didn’t date, everyone knew that. But listening to her open up about it, doubting herself, he felt for her.

Because he was one of those men too, a long, long time ago.

He remembers when he first joined the unit, newly assigned to Eastern, full of smiles.

The place really was swarming with beautiful women, just as he had heard. He figured he would get on here just fine.

And when he first entered the office of the Major Roy Mustang whom he was assigned to, he thought his heart was going to stop.

He had never seen anyone like her, young, strong, leaning over the table and giving the Major a piece of her mind. She scolded him like she had the authority to, and he listened, even though there was a formal apology attached to her rant in the end.

He was stunned, unable to do anything but watch when she turned around and stalked out of the room, because the view from the front was even better than behind, a round heart-shaped face framed in short blonde hair, deep brown eyes and a body that would make anyone’s thoughts stain the darkest shade of impurity.

Life, of course, had very different plans for them, even though they got closer, just like he wished. One afternoon, Rebecca walked into the office and threw her arms around Riza, and Havoc soon learnt that love was far more nuanced than admiration at first sight.

"At first I thought it was the uniform,” she confesses, “I thought maybe I was just scaring the men away."

You have no idea, he thinks, sighing. Riza Hawkeye was made of fire, and it turned men on even if they were afraid of being burnt by it.

"But my friend Jessica had absolutely no problem when it came to this sort of thing."

She casts her eyes lower, twirling the remnants of her whiskey. "Maybe there’s just something wrong with me."

Her lips lift up in a sardonic grin. "I’m a pretty pathetic Lieutenant, huh?” She rests her forehead against the counter. “I can’t believe I’m here at a wedding, crying over men.” Sighing, she murmurs, “I suppose these feelings are par for course when you have couples dancing all around you."

He rests his hand over the back of her head, ruffling the softness of her locks. "It isn’t pathetic,” he murmurs comfortingly, “You’re only human, after all. We’re all just idiots who want nothing more than to be loved."

He leaves out the part where he willingly offers himself up for the job, spurred a little by his already broken heart and embers of a decade-old attraction that never went away. He could make her feel special, take her out on all the dates she feels she missed out on, tell her she’s beautiful till she never doubts it ever again. It would be a selfish distraction, but Havoc is a romantic, and maybe, just maybe, it would lead them down a different path to happiness.

But he remembers what made him give up that mission in the first place, all those years ago, cold, blazing eyes that delivered a threat far worse than his words.

"There will be no fraternisation within this unit,” he had stated calmly before even Havoc had gotten a chance to admit to it himself. “If I find out you’ve laid a hand on her, I will have you transferred out of Eastern before you know it."

Back then he didn’t know if Major Roy Mustang even had that sort of power. But something else told him that if he didn’t listen it would be his burnt corpse they would be carrying out of Eastern.

Even now Havoc knows it’s useless, that he cannot even comfort her the way he really wants to, because he knows his eyes are here, they don’t leave her, always watching from the corner, staking claim.

"Thanks Havoc,” she says, trying for warm but still sounding miserable, lacing her fingers with his for a brief second in appreciation of his effort to make her feel better.

He sighs. “Would you mind if I went outside for a smoke?” They didn’t allow smoking in the ballroom, and his cravings had kicked in three drinks ago.

“Sure,” she says, “I’ll come with you."

He looks surprised because the Lieutenant has never approved of his smoking, but he thinks maybe she would prefer it to her own company tonight.

But when she tries to stand it’s like the blood has drained from her head, and she falters. Gingerly, she rubs a hand to her forehead.

"On second thought, I think I’ll stay here.” She gets back onto her seat, “I’ve had too much to drink."

"Will you be alright?” He asks, and it is more out of courtesy than anything else because he knows that if she isn’t, he will be by her side in seconds to take care of her.

She assures him she’s fine, that a drink of water will make everything better, even though fine is far from what she feels. Having let out her feelings, she doesn’t feel the light headedness that most claim, just empty and dejected because it is more than just never being told she’s pretty or going out on dates. If only her sorrows were as commonplace as wishing for love. If only she didn’t desire a very specific love. A love she will never have.

“Excuse me,” she mumbles to the waiter,“ could I have a glass of water please?"

He hurries away to get it and she rests her head against the counter. As she closes her eyes, she wonders how they do it, all those women he talks to, all the willing females he engages with. Is it all the giggling?

Does Roy like it if his women show a lot of skin? She remembers the woman from earlier, pale pink fabric shimmering off her dainty frame. Or maybe he likes the petite ones.

She sighs dejectedly. At 5'5”, she had curves that filled out every inch of her uniform and a full chest that had been a major cause of discomfort during military school. She was anything but petite.

In the end what bothers her most is that it probably doesn’t matter if she isn’t skinny or she doesn’t wear clothes that dip to the small of her back. Military rules state they couldn’t be together and it seems Roy wasn’t the least bit tempted to break them.

“I’m afraid all the dancing has made my head spin,” he tells her. “It was really lovely to have the pleasure of your company…” He pauses at the end, awkward because he just spent the last 40 minutes dancing her in circles but he can’t, for the love of God, remember her name.

“It’s Elizabeth,” she purrs, laughing, “You’re just like the rumours say, Colonel! So terrible with names."

She comes closer, her breath damp on the shell of his ear, "And so incredibly handsome."

"I’m flattered,” he says, untangling himself from her, smiling the way he knows is probably misleading, but in this situation it’s polite.

He can’t quite explain it but he is struck by this inexplicable urge to see his own Elizabeth, a sharp contrast to this one’s dark hair and light eyes, her beauty stemming from self-respect that is sorely lacking in most of the women that threw themselves at him.

He can’t pretend that he’s a saint and that there haven’t been a few that have followed him into bed, but there is nothing more than frustration at play here, a compromise of sorts where he can make believe that the girl in front of him is one with pale hair that shimmers and eyes that would always show him the light.

Where he can dream that the lips he kisses are the same bow shaped ones that admonish him at work.

Looking over at the bar counter, he sees that she’s still there, this time with Havoc nowhere to be seen. There’s a small, selfish part of him that rejoices in this fact, because their intimacy and hand-holding had him seeing red a little while ago.

It isn’t fair that he wants her like this, so irrationally and so selfishly, he knows it, but he can’t stop himself from this desire and he knows it often scares men away from her.

He knows there have been times when he has deliberately scared men off of her. He wonders how she would react if she learns of it. Would she have preferred their affections?

When he comes closer he sees that her head is resting on the counter, eyes closed. “Lieutenant,” he calls, but she doesn’t stir. Roy is known to be a little paranoid when it comes to his aide and the tension creeps onto his face, furrowing it’s way between his eyebrows.

He tries calling her again, this time placing his hand on her shoulder and shaking her gently. Her head turns to the side and he can see that her mouth is parted slightly and her breaths are even.

Has she… Passed out?! Laughing to himself, he occupies the seat beside her, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. He could happily stay like this forever, wrapped up in the softness of her hair and skin, watching her without interruption as she sleeps. There’s a mole just under her ear, a tiny black little thing and he wonders if he could reach down and kiss it. It would be quick, no one would ever know it.

He could press his lips to her skin, touch his tongue to her earlobe, take it between his teeth maybe, the way he’s always wanted to when they are alone in his office and he is tempted to misuse his rank.

He gives in to this sweet compulsion and bends down, lips pressing ever so lightly against the mark.

She smells sweet, of the lavender she’s been partial to ever since she was a teenager, wrapped in this very same fragrance when she would finish her shower.

Roy knows this because every time she would be anywhere nearby his attention as an apprentice would falter, often earning him rebukes from her father.

He had promised himself just one, but it’s a promise ill-kept because his lips inch further along her jawline, featherlight brushes of temptation going against everything he has worked for.

But what good is his ambition when all it brings him is turmoil, and this cruel deprivation of her? When all he feels every day when he looks at her is longing, immense and painful, to the point of desperation.

Reason loses it’s shine further when he can feel her pulse flutter, and the softest murmur of his name brushes his ear.

“Roy,” she mumbles and it’s so maddening, the effect his name on her lips has, he considers giving her orders to never address him Colonel ever again, “I wore green. Just like you told me to.”

His eyes widen, remembering the day he’d asked her to accompany him. She had this look in her eyes, disappointment, frustration - or was it disgust - and he dared to hope she’d go with it anyway, but she didn’t. And the feeling of rejection, of being rejected by Riza, isn’t one he can shake so easily.

“What?” She had asked confused, when the statement he hadn’t intended to say out loud - he liked her in green, and that was something he kept secret, it brought out her eyes - had clearly been heard. “It suits you,” he’d said simply, and her temper had flared. Narrowing her eyes, she had said, “What I choose to wear is none of your business, Sir."

She’d emphasized the last word with as much sarcasm as one could possibly fit into one syllable.

He had laughed that day… a frustrated laugh, but now seeing that she actually listened to him, he thinks maybe what he thought mattered much more than what she let on.

"I even wore heels,” she whispers, still drunk, slurring the s’s.

“You did,” he says slowly, because he noticed, just like he notices everything, the way it made her legs look endless, the way it made her hips sway when she walked in with Havoc. He runs an idle finger across her cheek.

“Do I look pretty, Colonel?"

When she speaks these words, he hears the uncertainty behind the pink lips that she licks, barely inches from his.

He could tell her that yes, she’s pretty, but he’d rather show her. With kisses sweeping all over her body, and caresses earning soft sighs from her full mouth.

He could.

And he almost does.

He almost kisses her, full on the mouth, tongue flicking across hers, telling her that pretty is an understatement and that the first time he saw her, he was already mesmerised.

But he is mindful of their surroundings, not wanting to cause her any further disrespect by acting out the increasingly lewd fantasies churning in his mind. Because he doubts a kiss would stay just that, a kiss and nothing more, not when it is Riza underneath him, lips pliant and sweet, testing his restraint.

"Havoc,” he says harshly when he comes to realise the looming figure behind him, keeping his distance but well within hearing radius. “Take her home."

He’s surprised at first, because he was sure he had witnessed something deeper, more intimate between those two tonight. Havoc had seen the Colonel flush, and stroke her skin tenderly, the Lieutenant’s eyes dazed and gazing at him with blatant desire.

"Sir, sh-shouldn’t you?” He stutters, clearly asking something inappropriate and out of turn but he can’t help it. There is no one in the entire hall who could have missed the palpable chemistry between the two of them.

But he doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head, his eyes dark and stormy, and tells him to make sure she has a glass of water before she’s put to bed.

When Havoc walks her out, one hand around her waist and the other firmly holding her arm around his shoulder he realises that he’s a bit irritated with this years-old game of hide-and-seek. His broken heart was urging him to slap some sense into the Colonel and yell, because people who’ve found love - the real kind - have no business denying it.

“I think it should be fairly clear by now why you so rarely get propositioned by men,” he says dryly.

She makes a noise, questioning, barely able to take in his sarcasm or even his words for that matter, as her eyes droop shut.

He takes in the rare sight of a defenseless Hawkeye clinging to his arm and his mouth turns up with the hint of a smile.

“… It isn’t that no one’s interested,” he whispers, “just that everybody knows they wouldn’t stand a chance. Not against him.”

- fin -

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #full metal alchemist: brotherhood #full metal alchemist #liquorisce fanfiction #fmab

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ampleappleamble · 4 years

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Me? Tagged?? For WIP Wednesday????

It's more likely than you think. (Thanks @orime-stories! ♡♡♡)

---

"Wael's eyes, man, slow down. It's midmorning yet!"

Axa got up on the tips of her toes and leaned over to pluck the bottle from the old man's surprisingly strong grip, her headache intensifying as she caught a whiff of his rancid breath. She had been mostly joking when she ordered Kana to bring out the wine for their guest, but once she'd seen the delight in the poor old salt's face, the sparkle in his eyes when presented with a goblet and bottle-- well, how could she refuse?

She glared at the aumaua now, clutching her last bottle of pomegranate wine, barely a quarter full after the old man's assault. Kana winced apologetically at her, but the little woman only smiled wryly and shrugged. It was as much her own fault as it was his, and she knew it.

The old man laughed good-naturedly, revealing a mouth only half full of teeth, and toasted his hostess with his borrowed goblet. "Early it may be, m'lady," he rasped, a strange sailor's brogue coloring his Aedyran, "bu' this elt lad dosnae rest. An' Magran help us, nei'r dae th' thirst." The old man sloshed the wine in his cup as he spoke, slopping it over the lip and onto the dusty stone floor more than once, before smacking his lips and merrily sucking down what remained inside.

As she had predicted, the night had not gone easily for the newly minted Watcher of Caed Nua. What little sleep she'd managed to get had been plagued by nightmares about books and machines, promises and betrayals, adra and copper and blood. And when sleep had failed her, she'd squirmed in her bedroll, tossing and turning and sweating and groaning. And thinking-- lots of thinking. But in spite of it all-- perhaps, in fact, because of her sleeplessness-- her awareness felt bizarrely heightened. It reminded her of her all-night research sessions in her old college life: standing there practically vibrating from murkbrew and nervous energy, feeling simultaneously like she was strong enough to lift a horse over her head and like she was about to collapse. Scrutinizing the drunken old salt, she squinted resolutely against her headache, determined not to let anything escape her notice.

Axa saw the gnarled fingers, knotted with age, and she watched the unsteady, drunken gesticulations that spilled her favorite wine onto the cobwebs and mouse shit that decorated her Great Hall. But she also saw that the hand itself was steady: not tremulous, but strong and sure. The half-lidded, drink-addled eyes took a while to fully focus, but once he managed to fix his gaze on hers, she could see a remarkably fierce little twinkle in his mischievous eyes.

"Engrim, you said your name is?"

"Pretty much everyone calls him Eld Engrim," Edér drawled, leaning against a stone pillar while fiddling with his pipe. "He's from around here somewhere, but he tends t' spend most of his time on the sea. Or in whichever tavern's nearest. Probably came in from Anslog's Compass lookin' for a little shore leave, ended up owin' someone a favor and havin' to hoof it all the way out here for 'em." Despite the content of his introduction, the farmer spoke with fondness, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled warmly at the old man. "Ain't that right, Eld Engrim?"

The old sailor cackled and nodded, clutching his empty goblet with both hands like a talisman. "Aye, laddie, ye've got me fairly figured! Masons in yer Vale promised me a fine bottle o' spirits should I answer 'em this missive from oul' Caed Nua, abandoned all these long years. Although, ye did neglect t' address me Mistress, heathen that ye be, She whose spark 'n flame lit me way here!" He winked obnoxiously and wagged a crooked finger at the Eothasian, like a grandfather teasingly scolding his grandson.

Axa had not missed the telltale signs of a Magranite priest. The smell, in particular, of singed hair and arcane flame had tipped her off.

"You didn't think the priesthood of Ondra might suit you better?" Aloth's lip curled with disgust as he regarded the man, glaring at him over the edge of his grimoire. He had been quiet all morning, Axa noticed, and the elf seemed particularly bothered by the drunken old priest.

"Not if he's a cannoneer," Kana suggested. "I can see where you might get Ondra-- the sea, drink and forgetfulness, those common themes-- but many who work with munitions, and especially ships, keep a Magranite priest on their payroll for their beneficial healing magic as well as for their blessings on and expertise with explosives." He grinned at the elf, beaming with academic pride.

Aloth glared harder. "If that's the case," he droned, "why is he here running errands for stonemasons in Gilded Vale instead of mumbling over a double bronzer or something somewhere out on the sea?"

Axa turned her attention to her guest. "Good question, actually. Maybe you'd care to explain yourself a bit more while we make our way back to Gilded Vale, Engrim?"

The old man's eyes bugged out of his head, flicking back and forth between the orlan and his empty goblet. "Och, young miss, ye cannae mean t' be gettin' t' Gilded Vale now! 'Tis a day's sojourn, an' rovin' bands o' bandits roam o'er th' roads, Magran bash 'n burn 'em! An' 'ave only just arrived, me!" He looked around at her companions' faces, groping wildly for support, and found only pity and scorn for this man foolish enough to think to argue with her.

"He... does speak true, my lady." The Steward's voice rang out gently from the halls of the old keep. "No guard patrols have been dispatched along Caed Nua's surrounding roads since old Maerwald's decline into madness, and the paths surrounding the estate have been infested with brigands and monsters alike." As her voice faded, a soft little blanket of sadness settled over the gathered kith like a light dusting of snow.

Axa shuddered. "All the more reason, then, to get going. For better or worse, this keep is mine now, my responsibility." She paused as she felt the Steward's blush of surprise, followed closely by a soft, tentative bloom of gratitude. "The only people I can count on to restore my barbican are not, apparently, ready to take me seriously, so it seems I must issue my orders face to face. And I need this barbican restored. Unless, of course, Aedelwan Bridge is no longer flooded?"

Engrim shrugged, fiddled with the stem of his goblet, shuffled his feet. "Nae, no, 'tis... nae flooded..."

"It's destroyed," Kana chirped. "Ondra's mighty fist at work! I learned from a traveling hunter just the other day. The Dyrwood can't to seem to steer clear of the gods' wrath, can--"

"We're going to Gilded Vale, today. Right now." Axa paused, hand on her hip, and then downed the remainder of her wine. She almost flung the empty bottle to the floor in a fit of pique, but she remembered the Steward, and quickly tamped her anger down. "I want this barbican fixed. I want to get to Defiance Bay. By the Wheel, if the only way to get it done is to do it myself, I will."

No one could argue with that.

---

It was a satisfying sound, the scuffle of boots and the shouts of workers. Although she knew the work couldn't begin for another day or two, Axa still felt a distinct sense of accomplishment as she strode out of the Hound, listened to the masons hustle behind her.

"Well, considerin' how drunk they all were, I'm surprised that went so good." Edér clapped the little woman on the shoulder, grinning broadly and chewing gently on the stem of his pipe.

Aloth's voice drifted to her over her opposite shoulder. "Indeed, especially after the third time they addressed their questions to Edér and not to you, despite your repeated and... exponentially sonorous objections."

"Let it be known that the new Lady of Caed Nua does not suffer fools gladly," Kana proclaimed. "Although, speaking of fools... I can't help but notice the sun is setting, Caed Nua is almost a full day's hike away, and we're... leaving the inn?"

Axa smiled. "Remember we met Aufra on our way in? I offered to stay with her tonight, cook her some dinner, keep her company. I trust none of you object?"

No one did. She paused, and when she spoke again, she was much more subdued, almost somber.

"Last time I saw her, I was telling her her potion was horseshit and the fate of her unborn babe's soul was up to the caprices of the gods. Least I can do is put my money where my mouth is and be the good neighbor that girl needs right now."

They walked in silence for a short stretch.

"If I'm bein' honest-- and I actually am, sometimes-- I been noticin' a lotta changes around here since we got back. Lot more smilin' people in the streets." Edér's blond whiskers quirked and twitched with his grin. "Wasn't like that before you showed up. 'Course, there is still that tree fulla dead bodies in the center of town..."

Kana winced. "Yes, I was wondering about that--"

"It's a long and gruesome tale." The man in the green cloak stepped out into the road, and Axa stopped dead in her tracks, her companions following suit. "But I'd tell it, if you'd listen. You and the good Lady both."

"Kolsc." Edér whispered through his teeth, surprised, but not angry. Axa's gaze flicked up to the stranger's face as he limped closer.

---

#pillars of eternity #fanfiction #fanfic #poe anthem infinitum #wip wednesday #wip #this chapter is rough yall lmao

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katsukikitten · 4 years

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I'm shamelessly stealing an idea from @bakugotrashpanda about posing a piece of WIP so you know I'm not dead. Work has been hell as it's two people running a six man show but I digress. I swear I'm working on my master list as best I can so thanks yall for having an unlimited amount of patience with me.

Below is a snippet of my contactor au that was inspired by my imagine and the imagines I wrote out with @zbops please enjoy and comment on what you think so far 😊

Your brow furrows as you look down at the letter once more before looking back up at the old house thoroughly confused. For a moment you wonder if you're at the wrong address.

The grand, well once grand, house sits on what's considered a huge lot for being so close to the heart of downtown. The overgrown garden and backyard stand tall behind the falling fence. The massive porch covered in old ivy and thick cobwebs, windows boarded up from disuse or damage and the giant double door entrance that felt more like a mouth that could swallow you whole.

But you didn't see it as a haunted horror show made evil from neglect. No you saw opportunity, a chance to breathe life into the old bones of the house, to make it new again.

A sigh leaves your mouth, no way this letter was right, or real for that matter. Most likely a prank from someone in your close circle of best friends, maybe it was Sero or maybe it was Denki. Or maybe and most likely, it was the two of them working together on something elaborate as retaliation for helping Kirishima cover their entire 986sq foot studio apartment in sticky notes.

Still something about all this felt….off.

You weren't sure if anyone knew of your secret love affair with 305 Manor Dr, you don't ever remember mentioning it to any of them and the only time you would visit it was when you took the long way home. To your 800sq foot loft apartment that you were being evicted from. Not from a noise complaint or lack of funds, although rent was sky high anywhere within four blocks of downtown, but because the elderly landlady recently passed and her six kids wanted nothing to do with the "headache" of renting. Forget that it housed 20 people who relied so desperately on Obo Suzi.

Plus you definitely hadn't mentioned the eviction to anyone in your friend group either. You didn't want to worry them but most importantly you didn't want to intrude.

And this letter, this promise of 305 Manor was just too good to be true.

"A note slipped in the wrong door." You mumble to yourself as you turn your back

from what had been your dream home since you discovered it wholly by accident four years ago, leaving both it and the dream behind.

"Miss!" A woman's voice calls after a groan from the door, "Miss wait! I know it's a bit….neglected but…! But please at least come to the porch. We have much to discuss."

Hesitation glues your black converse to the concrete, suspicion keeping your muscles locked tight.

Would they go as far as hiring an actress for this stunt?

And who the hell was this "Great Uncle Kai"?

Laughable that his name even meant restoration and here you were in front of a home you were sure would be leveled before it ever got that chance. So this couldn't be serious right? Would Sero and Denki really go these lengths?

Most likely.

But then how did they get her inside and willingly at that? Was she unaware that she was trespassing?

You chew your lip, turning back towards the street to cross, attempting to think of an even more elaborate prank than this one. And you had to admit, this one was good but a little too close to home.

"Please, I know it's strange to get a letter out of the blue like this. But Kai was a relative of your mother's"

You chew your lip, they wouldn't go that far. Your five best friends would do anything to keep the thought of your late parents at bay. They would never use them as leverage for anything, especially not a joke. Your eyes cut steel as they fall upon the frantic looking woman in her pencil skirt and blouse.

"You're right. It is strange. But then again I don't have much family left." If any really. But you turn back towards the house trying so hard to keep the bite out of your tone and the scowl off of your face. Whether this was real or not she was an innocent bystander.

Walking past the little gate that hung open from neglect, walking up the weed riddled brick path and especially stepping up the large wide and low steps of the porch was surreal as any dream you had. As you marvel at the wood floor still in good shape, the curving nature of the banisters and the detail of the woodwork the woman grows that much more impatient.

"Come, come." She ushers you inside, dust plumes with every step of your converse and her heels.

Although that doesn't even phase you as your heart races. Having long dreamt of what the innards of this house would look like. There was wallpaper tattered and peeling from the wall, plaster swirling in intricate design on the waterlogged ceiling that threatened to fall overhead and natural wood floors throughout. A sweeping grand staircase to the right curling against the curve of the wall missing its banister and a few stairs set your skin ablaze.

But you did not see as something that needed to be torn down. No, you saw it as it was in its hay day. The wooden floors were clean and shining in your mind's eye, the wallpaper back to its original color and the stairs returned to being the showpiece of the foyer. And you could see the new too. The foyer opening up to be a bit more open concept, the old parlor through the archway beneath the stairs could be a cozy den or family room. The walls painted in tones of soft gray so paintings, pictures, and knickknacks had the chance to stand out.

Oh what did the kitchen look like, would it be big enough for a breakfast nook? Would the sink still be original? You had to see, black converse carrying you before the woman's voice pulls you from your daydream. The vision shatters around you and you're brought back to reality, to the stench of dank mildew and must.

"Miss?" She taps a folder she had clutched to her slim body, "If I could I'd like to read the last will and testament."

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panoramicvacuum · 4 years

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first line meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 15 stories. See if there are any patterns. Then tag your favorite authors!

Well, I definitely don’t have 15 stories, so right off the bat I’ll be cheating and pulling from WIPs and multi-chapter collections to flesh this list out. I’ve definitely noticed a pattern in my published stories: You’ll always know 1. Who is the character, and 2. What they are doing. If not the first line, then immediately after. But I found in the WIPs, and especially first person POV, opening lines got a bit more interesting. Perhaps I should break out of my shell and post some of these one day... As always, these are all for the Pokemon fandom (but not exclusively Hoenn for once!)

1. I always hated birthday parties. Not because I didn’t like getting gifts. I just hated having to explain why I didn’t need a new hat for the sixth year in a row.

2. His hands are shaking so badly it takes him three tries to pen the letter’s opening.

To May,

3. Six days. It had been six days since Phoebe last slept. Eight-year-olds should not be going six days without sleep. Then again, most eight-year-olds didn’t have spirits keeping them up at night.

4. Steven was cold. Not the "just threw the covers off in the morning" kind of cold. Nor the "zip your jacket up all the way" kind of cold. No. This was the kind of cold that couldn’t be fixed with a blanket and a hot cup of coffee. The kind that seeped into your bones and settled there like something foul.

5. The day Lear met Sawyer was the day the latter split the former’s glasses with one punch.

6. Kabu’s eyes must have been the size of dinner plates when he first stepped through Motostoke’s gates. The rolling Galar countryside behind him vanished in an instant, swallowed in walls of brick and steel. Green became the familiar rusty red of Mt. Chimney, but instead of rocky ledges and crumbling slopes, hand-sculpted clay towers topped with shingles and stone rose from the land, crowned in the same clouds of swirling, hissing, steam.

7. As long as I can remember, I always wanted to fly.

8. “Mega evolution?” Steven Stone found himself repeating the old man’s words just to be sure he heard them correctly. It was tough to decipher through the man’s thick Kalosian accent.

9. The ringing of the telephone interrupted the staring contest I was having with the stack of papers that had appeared on my desk that morning. I blinked, and with a silent promise that they may have won this battle, but not the war, I answered.

10. The rain is hammering against the window, and outside, the sky is dark. The rest of Sootopolis is dark too, evacuated at the eleventh hour by the League's efforts. Elite and Gym Leader alike had gathered at the volcano crater city to clear the path of the Legendary's rampage, and now only a few remain behind. Outside, Kyogre's wrath threatens to drown not only Sootopolis, but Hoenn itself. Inside, a decision is about to be made.

11. As someone who preferred to spend his time primarily on or within the earth, Steven never thought he'd utter such words about flight, but the view of the ocean from Skarmory's back truly was exhilarating.

12. Dragons. Long touted as the strongest pokemon type, it was no surprise that the reigning Champion in not one, but two regions was a dragon-type master.

13. There’s no other place like it, Sootopolis City; my hometown. You’d be hard pressed to even begin to compare its beauty to another city out there, in Hoenn or elsewhere. Go ahead, I dare you to name somewhere as wondrous as the volcanic crater turned cozy metropolis that I call home.

14. No one ever wanted to take a little girl like me seriously.

15. The first time Guzma and Kahili met, they held only the barest of presuppositions about the other. Kahili’s disdainful gaze flicked over the gangly boy in baggy pants that followed Kukui around like a lost puppy. Guzma scowled up at the prim and proper girl who looked like she’d evaporate if even a speck of dust got on her pristine visor. It was no surprise that they both instantly decided they did not like each other.

This was a fun exploration and deep-dive into my WIP folder. Dusting off the cobwebs on a few of these opening lines has made me want to work on a few of them. If @helloquotemyfoot, @alparlaboratories, @basicallyanidiot, and @izzyaro wouldn’t mind joining in, I’d love to see their version of this list :)

(And big thanks to @chromatic-lamina for the initial tag)

#fic ask meme #opening lines #ask the author #pokemon fanfiction

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wanderingnork · 4 years

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I’ve been QUADRUPLE-TAGGED to share a WIP/last line by @lesetoilesfous, @factorykat (twice!), and @pinkfadespirit. So y’all get four separate pieces from four separate WIPs! :D

As-yet-untitled F!Trevelyan/Iron Bull fic (hinting at bedroom activities):

“Why are you letting me…lead?” May asks.

Bull leans back in his chair. “Because you’re the Inquisitor,” he says at length, “but you don’t lead, out there in the field.”

May flinches. “I…”

“Don’t deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” May sighs and toys absently with the button on the collar of her robe. “I expected you to…take charge. Tie me up. All that.”

“Normally I would. But you…that’s not what you need.”

Next upcoming fenders fic:

The stone corridors echo with the sound of their footsteps as Anders walks side by side with Fenris through the hall. Thick cobwebs brush their faces. Dust and grime lies thickly on the floor, leaving smudges on Fenris’ feet and ankles. Crumbled mortar crunches under Anders’ boots. Through arrow slits in the walls, narrow shafts of golden light illuminate rusting sconces on the wall, weathered doors half-hanging from cracked leather hinges, and a few scattered objects—a rusted dagger here, an old bottle there—half buried in dirt.

“This,” Fenris says, breaking the silence, “still somehow manages to be better than your sewer.”

A tentative story exploring the potential for friendship between my Adaar and Vivienne:

“You offered the rebel mages a full alliance,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “I wonder if you realize the risk. Magic is dangerous, just as fire is dangerous. Anyone who forgets this truth gets burned.”

“I have not forgotten,” Kubide says. She leans back as well, mirroring Madame de Fer’s posture. “I would be a fool to forget. I do see, though, that Templars cannot provide us the solution to closing the Breach that mages can offer.”

“Then why not conscript the mages, Inquisitor?”

Ah: there it is. The bite in the words says that this is the point of this whole meeting. Kubide meets Madame de Fer’s eyes. “The Inquisition needs allies, Madame,” she says softly. “Not dissent within its ranks. These mages were willing to wage war on all of Thedas for their freedom from the Circles. If I had forced their hand and chained them to the Inquisition, it wouldn’t have been long before they turned their anger on us, too. And we are too few to withstand infighting.”

Aaaaand last but certainly not least, the fic I’m affectionately calling “Two Mercenaries With Gender Troubles Take a Hike Together.” Translation: Krem (trans) and my Adaar (genderqueer/aqun-athlok) get separated from their friends and have to hike all the way back to Skyhold. Bonding over the mercenary life, gender, and a shared enjoyment of the game of draughts ensues.

As if on cue, a chill breeze ripples through the trees. Krem absently pulls his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders. “I miss Tevinter summers, sometimes,” he says. “So hot, you can see heat rising off the roads. It just bakes. I never minded...didn’t like the lighter clothes much, but the sun was good.”

“Mama used to talk about the wonderful summers in Par Vollen,” Kubide says, a little wistful. How odd, to hear a warrior like him to speak fondly of childhood. Everyone has hidden depths, Krem supposes, but this one’s particularly unexpected. “And Da always reminded her that summers in the Marches were plenty hot when he and I would come home from the field with sunburns.”

“I never did field work,” Krem says. He smiles at the thought of his younger self. “Not with a tailor for a father. But when it got hot, I jumped in plenty of fountains and scared plenty of fish.”

“I swam in the creek,” Kubide says, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Came home with mud in my hair and frog eggs to show off...”

Tagging anyone who wants to share something they’re working on!!!

#nork writes #i have too many stories on the go rn

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theprodigypenguin · 4 years

Note

👀

This is an excerpt from a WIP called “Yes Man” that I wanted to write a little after finishing “Moon Sick”. It’s a blend of Jeddy and Scorbus (and I almost never write Scorbus so this was supposed to help me get used to then yeet). It also had a bunch of really fun bits with Albus and James being bros, James having an oblivious crush on Teddy and not realizing it, also James being so stupid in love he’d say yes to anything Teddy asked, even if it meant helping him get together with a girl:

“Alright! Now this should be an excellent day!” was the first thing James said as he stepped onto the cobbled path down Diagon Alley, “Albus, let me see your book list.”

“What for? Do you not remember what you had to buy for your sixth year?”

“That was ages ago, Al,” James said, snatching the envelope from his brothers hand and opening it, “Can’t expect me to remember everything.”

“James this is only your first year out of school, stop acting like you’re Merlin.”

James just ignored him, “The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6; Advanced Potion-Making; Confronting the Faceless, that’s the text for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Dad also said I had to take you to get you new robes, because you just had to get taller didn’t you?”

“Why do I have to do this with you in the first place?” Albus asked, “I’m sixteen now, I should be allowed to shop for school supplies by myself without you. Hey why doesn’t Lily have to come with us?”

“Dad and mum both have work, Al, and Lily went with Rose and Hugo.”

“Why the hell does Rose get to go off on her own and I can’t?! She’s sixteen too!”

“Albus you know exactly why.”

“This is bloody unfair…”

“Ah come on, Al, you really hate spending time with me that much? I thought we had an understanding. We’re brothers, remember!” he threw an arm around Albus, “Besides, I love spending time with you!”

“Ugh…”

“That should be your motto, etched in stone on your grave. Ugh.”

“Can you shut up? Let’s just fucking get what I need and go home.”

“Hey, try a bit harder to be happy about this. We might run into Scorpius while we’re here.”

James felt Albus tense under his arm, but there was no more protest, so he released his younger brother and they headed for the closest shop to get Albus sized for new robes.

Maybe it was a bit unfair to use Scorpius against Albus like that, but it was so fun to do, to see his face change when the young Malfoy’s name was brought up.

Albus and Scorpius, inseparable friends since the instant they met eyes on the Hogwarts Express leading to their first year, had been dating for the past few months. James figured it started sometime during their fifth year, towards the end of it perhaps.

He didn’t pick up on it for the longest time, and Lily felt no shame in calling him an utterly dense airhead whenever he noted his confusion (“Didn’t even realize they were an item now.” “James, your head is full of Billywiggs.”).

The first time it occurred to him that they might have been something more than friends was during a trip to Hogsmeade, where he saw Albus and Scorpius over the heads of other students, leaning into each other, seemingly no personal space between the two of them and not at all caring. James had no idea what they were talking about, but Albus was grinning so big there were dimples in his cheeks that James never noticed he had before, and there was a flush of red across Scorpius’ nose that definitely could have been mistaken as caused by the cold.

They always stood that close, though, so it wasn’t until James saw them later entering The Hog’s Head that his interest piqued, following them into the dingy pub and sitting in the furthest corner to watch them from a distance and not be spotted. You didn’t go into The Hog’s Head unless you didn’t want to be bothered or seen doing something you shouldn’t have been doing. None of the other students went in there, normally preferring to take up at The Three Broomsticks (which was a cleaner and better kept establishment).

That was probably exactly why they went into The Hog’s Head, though. Even after five years, the rest of the school didn’t seem too fond of Albus or Scorpius, so they probably wouldn’t have had much fun in the crowded Three Broomsticks where so many of the students could be found.

While The Hog’s Head had definitely been refurbished and tidied up a bit since the death of Voldemort, it was still quite a mess, and not nearly what The Three Broomsticks was. The lights were low, though the dust had been cleaned from the floor at some point, the glasses cleaner than they ever were before and likely ever would be again. There was still a lingering scent of grass and mud and goats, but it also smelt of malt liquor, chocolate, and incense, as if the old owner was trying to “spice things up”.

The pubs owner and operator, Aberforth Dumbledore, acted like he knew Albus and Scorpius, greeting them and waving them to a table in the far corner just across from James. It was hidden from most of the windows so no classmates would be able to spot the Slytherin boys if they happened to pass and glance inside (as if they would be able to see anything through the cloudy windows anyway). They didn’t even have to order, as Aberforth had returned minutes later with two tankards that were hopefully clean.

When he wandered over to James, who was slouching with his hood up (not at all unusual in the Hog’s Head), Aberforth just stared blankly.

“What can I get you, Potter?”

“What? I’m not- I’m just a humble traveler my good sir.”

“I can see the Gryffindor crest on your chest.”

“Bloody hell-” James tried to fold his cloak over himself to hide the red crest as Aberforth gave a snort. “I’m just-”

“I don’t care,” Aberforth interrupted. “Spy on your brother in a shadowed cobwebbed corner in a shady Hogsmeade pub, won’t make any left or right to me. What do you want to drink?”

“Just a warm Butterbeer please.”

“Fine.”

James eyed the old wizard as he shuffled away before looking back over at Albus and Scorpius. They’d pulled their seats together, leaning into each other with one hand on their drinks and grins at their mouths and a flush to their cheeks, though James didn’t think they’d even taken a sip of what they’d ordered (and they were only fifteen, James definitely hoped they weren’t drinking Firewhiskey).

“Pst, are they drinking alcohol?” James asked under his breath when Aberforth came and set down a steaming cup.

“I don’t sell to minors.”

“Right…”

It was then that it happened, when Aberforth started back towards the bar and James picked up his steaming mug, hugging it to his chest so the scent could waft into his face, warming his hands and raising the tankard up, watching his brother and the young Malfoy leaning closer while laughing about something, a joke or something stupid that one of them did, or saw someone else do; James wished he could hear them.

Their foreheads were touching now, laughing at their private joke, both tilting their chins until their noses were brushing, then their lips, interrupted quite suddenly when a rag smacked Albus in the back of the head, making him jerk back and spin in his seat to glare at Aberforth.

“What the bloody-”

“No snogging in my pub, Potter, you’ll chase all my customers away.”

“What?! We’re the only ones in here!” James sunk down in his seat. “We’re the only ones who ever come here!”

“Sorry, Mister Dumbledore,” Scorpius quickly said, grinning, and Aberforth gave another grunt as he walked away.

“Your father had to curse you with that name, boy, just like the original, snogging trouble makers in dark corners.”

“What was that?”

“I said you’re as gay as my brother.”

“Wow, what an honor.”

It was clear that they were trying hard to keep their relationship a secret, so of course everyone eventually found out. Maybe it was because James told Lily he saw them snogging, maybe it was because Lily already knew, but by the end of the year, Fred, Roxanne, Rose, Louis, Lily, and Hugo, all of their family still in school, knew about their relationship, either because they heard from James, saw the boys snogging for themselves (despite their attempts to hide it), or had already known about it.

Even Dominique and Victoire didn’t seem all that surprised when Fred and James told them. In fact, Victoire actually scolded James for spying on them, as if he’d never done that before.

Over the summer break, Scorpius had visited a few times, and Albus had even been allowed over to Malfoy Manor a few times, and somehow no one ever suspected. Maybe because the two of them always acted the way they did. Leaning into each other, sitting on opposite ends of the couch with their legs tangled together, Albus falling asleep on Scorpius’ shoulder at the table during breakfast; it was all stuff they’d been doing since they met.

The only difference that separated their long time friendship and their newly discovered romantic relationship was the occasional snogging in dark corners.

So yea, bringing Scorpius up was bound to get Albus to silently go along with James through Diagon Alley. The concept of bumping into his boyfriend was too good to pass up. James struggled to hide his snickers as they dropped into seats in front of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour with wrapped parcels and bags of newly acquired school supplies.

Albus kept pivoting his head back and forth, glancing over one shoulder then the other, clearly searching for someone. Someone who just happened to have platinum blond hair and grey eyes.

“Well, he could be busy. Maybe he already picked up supplies, or intends to get his things later,” James tried to lift Albus’ spirits, but his little brother just slumped in his seat exhaling heavily through his nose. “Or you could just sit there sulking into your banana split like the Millennial you are, that’s also a fine option. Well done, Albus.”

“Piss off.”

“Wow.”

#end of the year wip game #scorbus #jeddy #scorpius hyperion malfoy #albus severus potter #james sirius potter #teddy lupin #edward remus lupin #nico answers anons #nico answers asks #nico writes

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etjwrites · 5 years

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OC Backstory Week 7 - Free/Secrets:

Here we are at the last week – thanks so much to @yourocsbackstory for hosting, I've had a blast! As always I've discovered a couple new WIPS I'm eager to learn more about, and I've had the best time digging into Bo's past and uncovering what goes into his prickly and standoffish yet unexpectedly delightful personality.

Bo is a viewpoint character from my current WIP Thorunn, which will be my second young adult novel, and my first published sci-fi tale, and I can hardly wait to share his further adventures with everybody in 2020. But without further ado, the last backstory! (Yes, I wrote my own questions.)

What secrets does your OC have? Is it something innocent, or something that would be their downfall if discovered? To what lengths will they go to protect their secret?

Haven't you wrung enough secrets from me already? Fine I'll bite. No, not literally. Tch. You people. Anyway, growing up I didn't really have much of a filter – still don't, much to certain people's, whats the word, consternations – so me and secrets didn't mix much. But uh, there's a couple things I can think of that were big enough for me to keep quiet about. (Hey, Ken, remember that time the Innah's ceremonial spinner-floss robes mysteriously vanished?)

Bo hadn't meant to take them, he really hadn't.

What he'd wanted, just a for moment, were for things to go back to the way they used to be. When P'rraa wasn't gone, and Bo would help him piece together the exquisite robes worn by the Tribe Elders on special occasions. He'd been little, but his father had had him fetch spools and tie knots and snip dangling threads. Together, they'd created delicate, shimmering garments that seemed spun of flowers and wind and sunlight. P'rraa had always squinched his eyes tightly together and purred deeply whenever he caught sight of an Elder wearing one of his creations, embroidered with scenes telling the wearer's personal history – their battles, their losses, their accomplishments – and Bo couldn't help but bask in his happiness. He'd always been happy when P'rraa was happy. He hadn't touched anything related to the craft since that awful day five years ago. And then he'd seen it. While playing hunters and prey with Ken and Seri at the Innah's loft Bo had discovered a hidden compartment cleverly disguised to appear as part of the wall. He'd slipped inside, grinning wide at his success; Ken and Seri wouldn't find him this time! He'd quickly grown bored of the waiting however, certain in his imminent win, and started quietly exploring. The space he'd concealed himself within was cramped but smelled pleasant, like fragrant flowers after a morning mist. Clothes hung all around him, and he felt his ears prick with embarrassment at realising he'd chosen a hiding spot inside the Innah's personal closet. But he'd wanted to win, so he stayed put and occupied himself by trying to read the histories writ in pictures on her many colourful robes. The very last spinner-floss garment he'd taken into his hands had forced tears to well up. He knew the cut of the cloth, the style of the embroidery, the peculiar placement of the buttons. Afterall, Bo watched Nyss slip on a similar set of robes before hurrying to his work every day, spent hours sitting amongst the forever unfinished projects hanging in his father's long neglected workshop. Why hadn't P'rraa stuck to stitching? Why did he have to call upon his dusty Igis training and go out to Ethaba with everybody else? The thoughts overtook Bo like the Laika river dragging storm-broken branches downstream, and he heard the rip before he saw the unwitting damage he'd caused. Eyes wide, he'd stared at the leaf thin garment irreparably shredded between his claws – but no, no it wasn't. He could fix it, P'rraa had shown him how to make them, and he remembered the process. And so that was how Bo had ended up in his current predicament, feigning a sudden cough to beg off playing, the priceless robe stuffed under his vest while he stole back to the cobwebbed space that was at once comforting and unfamiliar. He laid the ruined material on a dusty workbench and stared at it, close to tears at the extent of the damage. Hours, days worth of work, and he'd destroyed his father's most prized handiwork in a matter of moments. Slash marks tore right through the scene depicting the Innah being anointed Elder, and long trailing threads had pulled away from the fraying edges. But he could mend it, Bo knew he could, so he blew off the dust and cleared away the cobwebs and set to work. His first attempt was an utter disaster, wherein he made the problem that much worse, and lost several buttons which rolled away and refused to be found, no matter how hard he looked. He learned then, to test-sew on scrap pieces of fabric first. His second and third and fourth attempts were hardly any better, and he quickly learned to wear gloves to stop his claws piercing and damaging the flimsy bolts of cloth he worked with. But bit by bit, Bo improved, dashing into P'rraa's workshop every day after school before Nyss could return and ask what he was up to, and taking a sudden, avid interest in spinner-floss production. The ruined parts of the robes he replaced entirely, carefully cutting together pieces from what parts of his father's half-finished garments hadn't been moth eaten. Some of the Innah's story ended up missing, but he carefully drew it as best as he could remember, before following his dark lines with bright coloured threads. The better he grew, the faster he worked, driven by guilt and the memory of the night the robes had been discovered missing. They'd questioned everybody on the garment's whereabouts, as the Innah used them for all her most important ceremonies, and was not pleased to have lost them, and Bo had almost fainted after squeaking out that he knew nothing of the missing garments. Nyss had thrown a rather sideways look at him, but never thought to look in P'rraa's workshop. Afterall, Bo was known for destroying things, not trying to fix them. He started begging off playing at the loft, electing instead to take their adventures to the river and the mines, unable to sit still for an afternoon in the Tree of Elders knowing the Innah's jaggedly stitched robes sat stuffed into a box in the corner of his workshop. But the day finally came when Bo could do no more, and he climbed out of his window one night, trying to return the repaired mass of fabric before anyone could see him and discover his awful secret.

“I've been wondering when this day would arrive.” Bo froze, a dark shadow between the beams of moonlight slanting soft across the floor of the Innah's loft. “It's alright, child, come closer.” The Innah melted out of the darkness, a pipe in one hand and beckoning with the other. Terrified, and already caught, Bo did as instructed, almost shifting to s'hinoian form half a dozen times in his fright. “It was you. I thought so. May I see?” “It, it was an accident!” Bo stammered out, unwilling to part with his precious bundle right away. The Innah only waited, patience written in every crinkle of her smiling eyes. Bo gathered up what little composure he had left and shook out the cloth in his arms. Even as he offered it to the Innah, he could tell his best efforts hadn't been enough. The parts he'd added weren't the same colours, and where P'rraa had originally made the scenes life-like and vivid, Bo's attempts looked like a kit who'd just learned to glyph. “It was an accident,” he said again, trembling, his fur rising puffy from his skin. “I didn't mean to, I'm sorry.” The Innah took the garment from him, smoothing it over and inspecting every inch. Bo screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the loathing in hers when she discovered how badly he'd destroyed his fathers' handiwork, and what a poor job he'd done in repairing it. “You've worked hard haven't you?” Bo cracked open an eye to see the Innah still smiling at him, the robes now draped over the soft sleep-tunic she wore. “I do wish you'd come to me straightaway – the sooner one confesses their misdeeds, the less one has to live with guilt. But I forgive you, child. You've done your best to make amends, even if you don't quite have the touch with stitchery that your father did. Now go home and sleep, and come back and play with Ken and Seri in the morning.”

(Yes. It was me. Surprise!) I quit sewing again after that, but I never forgot how kind she was to a scared little kit who was convinced she'd throw him out of the tribe on account of his destroying and rather badly repairing her favourite robes. She never told anyone either, despite the looks she got the next time she wore her obviously altered robes to the next important tribal affair, and I was always honest with her after that. We're done now, right? It's been an. . . a not entirely awful experience, and I'm looking forward to coming back never. Jolene, Matt, Brett – thanks. You've not been terrible hosts, and if this whole thing helps humans be less afraid of klia'ans, I guess it was worth it. But next time, ask Seri?

@igotablankpage @musicofglassandwords @elaynab-writing @sheabutterskyes @alcego-writes @valdifarniente @writeanapocalae

#thorunn #writeblr #am writing #wip #yourocsbackstory #a bit longer today for the last one!#seriously this has been so much fun!#I very much enjoyed myself you do wonderful work Cirianne #I'm hoping to clean these up a bit and throw them up on wattpad at some point.#writblr #Bo #etjwrites #writers on tumblr #scifi #scifi writeblr

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emotten · 6 years

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Exclusive Sneak Peek!

I have decided to post the first chapter of my WIP (in its roughest form) because I’m dying to share this story with everyone. I am so excited to be writing it after dreaming of it for so long, and I cannot wait to see how it turns out in the end. Keep reading for The Lesser Courts, Book 1, Chapter 1... “The Faerie Ring.” And please ignore any typos and grammatical errors you might see. As I said, she is rough! Enjoy. :)

It rained the day they buried Sadie’s mother. The sky was all black and gray, and it poured down buckets of fat, cold drops, as if walking through a cemetery with a bunch of estranged acquaintances wasn’t bad enough already. They moved like a mob of penguins, dressed all in black and shuffling through the mud toward the rectangular hole in the ground where Melissa Parker’s body would rest forever.

The funeral had felt agonizingly slow, though they hadn’t spent much time there in reality. Now, time moved in pieces, like the broken shards of a mirror shifting at the bottom of a shimmering pool. Sadie couldn’t feel her feet, and only knew they were carrying her because every time she blinked, her surroundings had changed. She felt a warm arm linked through hers and looked; of course, it was Nobu. Probably the only reason she was still on her feet at that moment.

Her best friend turned and gave her a sad smile, and a wink. The rain had flattened his dark hair against his forehead, and she could see the scar above his eyebrow, which he’d gotten falling off of the monkey bars when they were young. He’d gone up there to help Sadie down, and ended up hurting himself. Every time Sadie saw that scar, she was reminded of all the things Nobu had done for her, and how he had always been there for her when she needed someone. That very moment, for example.

As she watched her mother’s casket drift lower into the ground, Sadie tightened her grip on Nobu’s arm and glanced around at the unfamiliar faces of the few people who had come to mourn her mother.

The only face she knew was that of her mother’s older sister, Ira. Aunt Ira was a woman Sadie had rarely seen, but could never forget, with her blackened teeth and foggy left eye. Aunt Ira walked with a limp and grew long hairs out of the mole on her chin. Usually, Sadie wouldn’t judge a person by the way they looked. But not only was Aunt Ira terrible to look at, she had a heart as black as her teeth and a soul as sour as her socks. The worst part about Aunt Ira was that she had become Sadie’s legal guardian.

“Amen,” said the priest. He’d been talking, Sadie supposed, but she hadn’t heard him until now, as he addressed her. “I believe Miss Sadie Parker wanted to say a word about her mother before we conclude our ceremony this afternoon.”

Sadie blinked around at the people huddled under five or six black umbrellas, and Aunt Ira with her big black hat. Carefully, she pulled her arm away from Nobu and tiptoed through the mud to stand next to the priest. She had been told his name once or twice, but it never seemed to stick.

“Thank you,” Sadie squeaked. She cleared her throat and pulled a crumpled wad of paper from her pocket and unfolded it noisily. Rain drops smudged the handwritten blue words like watercolors. “My mom – Melissa – was really into poetry. She used to read poems to me all the time when I was little.” Sadie felt her eyes and throat burning and swallowed. “This was one of her favorites and, when she got sick, she asked me to—to read it—” Her throat was closing up. The memory of her mother washed over her like a wave of nausea. She glanced out at Nobu who looked back, his dark eyes narrowed in concern, and nodded toward her. You can do this, she thought. That’s what he’s telling me. Reminding me. I’m strong, I can read this stupid poem.

She took a deep breath, focused on a bleach stain in Aunt Ira’s jacket, and recited the poem from memory, though the damp page was clutched tightly in her hand.

“Fortunate are those, who seek the Faerie Ring; who step into the circle; who dance, and laugh, and sing.” Sadie smiled, remembering the sound of her mother’s voice when she would chant this poem as she skipped through the house on certain mornings, throwing open all the windows as she went. “The Faeries, then, will take you to a magical place, with plenty to see, and plenty to do, plenty to feel and taste. After your last breath, do not go toward the light. Instead, look down, dig underground, and speak the Faerie Rite.”

Sadie imagined her mother clawing at the muddy ground inside a deep dark tunnel, her golden hair snarled and falling over her face. She could almost hear Melissa’s voice, sobbing as she dug, chanting through her shaking breaths.

“By the wisdom of this ancient soil,” Sadie continued, her voice strong, “the powers of earth, air, fire, and oil. Water and metal and mineral ore, the power of spirit, of sand and shore. By the name of Godric, Faerie King, I command you open this Faerie Ring.”

Thunder clapped in the distance, and there were quiet gasps throughout the small crowd. Sadie frowned as the rain came down harder, heavier. She was almost finished; she continued to read.

“Allow me passage into the lands and gifts I will place into your hands.” From her pocket, Sadie pulled a long, heavy necklace. The silver chain held a large, bright green stone that seemed to shimmer in a ray of sunlight that wasn’t there. She stared down at it for a moment; a pendant she had seen every day for her entire life, which her mother had always worn, even in her bathing suit. No matter where they went, no matter what she was wearing, Melissa Parker never went anywhere without that big green rock around her neck. And Sadie would be damned if she was going to pass into the afterlife without it.

She stepped forward toward her mother’s grave, just as a bolt of lightning sliced across the sky, and she dropped the necklace to land on top of the casket with a thud. Then, she stepped back and finished the poem.

“Secret Country, now unveil, open the door to Ironvale.” As Sadie finished, the sky flashed and thunder rumbled again. It was a coincidence, of course, but she shivered at the warning bell ringing in the back of her intuitive mind. She walked over to stand next to Nobu, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

“Thanks for the poem,” she said. “Mom loved that one.”

“I know,” Nobu replied.

Soon, all the other penguins had disappeared, except for Aunt Ira. She waited impatiently in the car while Sadie hugged Nobu goodbye, promising to call as soon as she got settled at Ira’s house.

As they pulled away from the dreary, rainy cemetery, Sadie gazed out the window toward the gaping wound in the earth that was her mother’s final resting place, which very closely resembled the gaping wound in Sadie’s heart. But something else caught her eye on the edge of the woods along the opposite side of the cemetery that struck her even harder; a red-haired young man perched high up in the treetops, staring right back at her. It wasn’t the staring that struck Sadie as odd or intriguing or maybe even a little terrifying, nor was it the red hair, or the fact that he was in a tree. It was the fact that she could swear she had seen him somewhere before.

Aunt Ira’s house stood at the end of a long, twisting driveway that wove through a forest of bare trees. It was early spring and, though it would be a few weeks before things began to blossom, Sadie was pretty sure these trees hadn’t grown a single bud in ages. The house itself was tall; too tall and large for only one woman to live inside.

Ira used to have a husband, and he had a few kids from a previous marriage. But Sadie hadn’t seen her pseudo-cousins since Ira’s divorce. She was a lonely, wretched woman, and the interior of her house reflected that.

Inside, the lights were dim, the walls painted in deep, ashy, earth tones. The floors were dark, scuffed wood, and tall, dusty bookcases lined the main entrance hall, as well as the living room and the study. Sadie followed Ira upstairs, the air thick with dust and the stinging scent of moth balls, to find her new bedroom.

“Here you are,” Ira said. She pushed open a creaking door to a small room with a slanted roof and an aluminum-framed twin bed. There was one small window in the wall opposite the door, and it was a small, round window, like the type you might find in the lower parts of a ship. Sadie doubted that it opened at all as she glanced around the tiny space at the cracks in the floor, the stained wallpaper, and the thick cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling. There was no light switch, no light fixture at all, and only one socket.

“Aren’t there any other rooms?” Sadie asked. “One with a window that might open, maybe?” She looked up at her aunt with her round, teal eyes – the puppy dog expression worked on everyone – and batted her lashes.

Aunt Ira snorted. “This is the only empty room I’ve got, Princess. Dinner is at seven. I hope not to see you until then.” She turned and limped down the hallway without another word.

Sadie sighed as she entered her room, dragging her bags behind her, and shut the door. For the next few hours, she cleaned as well as she could and started to unpack, trying her best to make the room feel like home. But it was cold and dark and unfamiliar, and all of her efforts seemed completely pointless.

Later that night, at seven o’clock, Sadie found her way through the drafty, candle-lit house to the dining room, where Aunt Ira had placed a microwaved dinner and a can of Coca-Cola in front of an empty seat for her.

“Before you ask,” said Aunt Ira, sitting on the other side of the table, “this is all there is. I’ve got no fancy cakes or anything for you.” She chuckled at herself and began sawing at the slab of brown in front of her that was probably supposed to be meat.

Sadie sat without a word and decided that the corn looked like the most edible part of the dish. She began picking at it until she realized that some of the kernels were still frozen. After about fifteen minutes of pushing the “food” around her plastic plate and listening to Aunt Ira chew and swallow, chasing each bite with a swig of rum and Coke, Sadie took care of her dishes and went back up to her room.

The next morning, she woke up shivering, with the rising sun blasting right through her tiny, circular window and directly into her eyes. It was only six o’clock in the morning but going back to sleep was out of the question. So, Sadie got up, got dressed, and went downstairs to browse the books that lined Aunt Ira’s walls. They were the only part about the house that didn’t totally suck.

In the hall, Sadie found a cordless phone and called Nobu, speaking softly so as not to wake Aunt Ira while her eyes skimmed the cracking spines of the old books in the study.

“How was your first night?” Nobu asked.

Sadie shrugged, though he couldn’t see her, and said, “Not awful. But not awesome, either. You should see my room. I think it’s a actually closet.”

“At least you only have to live with her for a few months.”

“Yep,” Sadie replied. “As soon as I turn seventeen, I’m out of here. No idea where I’ll go, but I can’t stay here forever. This isn’t my home.”

“Want me to come over today?” asked Nobu.

Sadie’s big, round eyes fell on a book that seemed oddly familiar to her. She reached for it, and slid the small, green, canvas-bound tome from the shelf.

“Yeah,” she said, slowly. “I just found something you might be interested in.” She opened the book, titled How to Catch a Faerie, and ran her finger over the name scribbled in the corner of the inside cover; Melissa Parker.

It took Nobu forty-five minutes to drive his mom’s van across town to Aunt Ira’s house, and the woman was up and making a pot of smelly tea when Sadie saw the van pulling down the long driveway.

“I’m going to hang out with a friend for a little while,” Sadie said. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Oh, yes,” Aunt Ira replied, an air of sarcasm in her voice. “Come and go as you please, Your Highness, but don’t forget; dinner is at seven, and I lock the doors at nine.”

“I remember,” said Sadie.

She slipped out the door and ran to hop into the passenger seat of the van. Nobu greeted her with a smile, and she pulled the small, green book from her pocket.

“It’s my mom’s,” she said. “We should bring it to her. To her grave, I mean.”

Nobu nodded. “Okay.”

They drove up the drive of the cemetery, just beginning to dry in the weak sun after the previous days of heavy rain. The clouds above them were breaking apart as Sadie and Nobu walked across the green grass, weaving between headstones. They looked ridiculous walking together, with Nobu towering over tiny Sadie, and yet walking somehow lighter and less clumsy than her. His black hair was straight and bodiless, while hers was long and golden brown and full of bounce. He was dark and strong and silent, like a statue made of stone, and she was delicate and soft as the petals of a tulip.

Sadie gripped the Faerie book tightly as they walked, until they reached the damp, churned soil of Melissa Parker’s recent grave. Sadie sat down in the cold grass and Nobu knelt next to her as she opened up the book and thumbed through the pages.

“Which one should I read?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly as she looked to her friend for any kind of support he could give.

He reached out and took the book from her. “Let me see.” And Sadie watched his eyes move quickly across the pages as he skimmed and flipped and turned and chewed his bottom lip. Then, Nobu frowned and Sadie looked down at the book in his hands. He had turned to the very back, where a poem had been handwritten in unfamiliar, gorgeous, scrawling cursive.

“How about this one?” he said, passing to book to her.

As she gazed down at the page, she could practically feel the atmosphere around her changing, becoming heavier and somehow lighter all at once. She took a deep breath and began to read the handwritten poem aloud.

“A maiden, there, came dancing, into the Faerie ring. Her eyes squeezed tight against the light, she had not seen the thing.” Sadie thought of all the stories her mother had once told her, of Faerie Rings and Magick and a world beneath Earth’s surface where it all exists. They were just stories, Sadie had always thought, but her mother was so passionate about them, that they had begun to feel real over the years.

“The maiden, there, went prancing, around the Faerie Ring. Her hair blew round and came unbound and she began to sing.” Sadie couldn’t help but picture her mother, with her golden waves flowing around her like oil floating through water, singing, as always. “The maiden began chanting, across the Faerie Ring. The song was old, a tale it told, about the death of Spring.”

Sadie stopped. The air around her had gone impossibly still and silent, not even a bird was chirping anymore. She knew that song, The Death of Spring. She had heard her mother singing it at least a thousand times. It was a real song. She swallowed and read the final verse of the poem.

“The maiden could do nothing, within the Faerie Ring. An icy breeze, and the maiden was seized, by the savage Faerie King.”

Sadie blinked. She and Nobu sat quietly, staring down at the words written on the worn paper before them, the silence around them deafening.

“Well,” Nobu said, finally. “I’ve never heard that one before. Just goes to show, you can study something for years and years, and still find something new here and there.”

Sadie couldn’t shake the strange feeling that had fallen over her as she’d read the poem. She had read tons of Faerie poems in her life; her mother was a believer and her best friend was an Occultist who studied Faeries. But nothing she had ever found or seen or read or learned had ever caused her to feel the way she did now.

“Looks like it’s going to rain again,” Nobu said.

Sadie glanced up at the sky, gray clouds rolling quickly across the sheet of blue overhead. “Huh? It’s supposed to be clear skies all day.”

“Surprise,” Nobu replied, hopping to his feet. “The weatherman is not always right, Parker.” He extended his hand and helped Sadie to her feet. “You gonna leave that book here for her?”

Sadie stood and glanced between the book in her hand and the grave at her feet. She shook her head. “No. Not if it’s going to rain. I don’t want it to get ruined.”

They walked away arm in arm as the sky darkened above them and a chill breeze rolled through, as if it were following them out of the cemetery. When they reached the van, Nobu got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Sadie opened the passenger side door and dropped the book in, but before she could climb into the van, she felt a strange compulsion to look behind her. She could feel, like a stab of heat, a pair of eyes on her from somewhere in the distance.

Sadie glanced over her shoulder, saw a streak of orange in her peripheral vision, and spun around. Her eyes narrowed as they skimmed the cemetery, left and right, and all the way back toward the woods on the other side. Her heart stopped cold for a solid second when she saw him; the boy with the red hair, perched in the tree. And without a second thought, she darted across the cemetery toward him.

“Sadie!”

She could hear Nobu’s voice calling to her, but she kept on running. He would chase her, she knew, and he would probably catch up. But she couldn’t stop now. She had her eyes locked on the redhead in the tree and she wasn’t stopping until she reached him. Then, should would ask him who he was and why he was following her and why the hell he looked so familiar, even though she couldn’t see his face.

Sadie and Nobu were both stars on their high school track team, but Nobu was much faster. His long legs could carry him the length of Sadie’s entire body in one stride. He caught up quick and stopped her when she was just a few yards from the edge of the woods. She turned to him, trying to catch her breath.

“I have to know who he is,” she said between gasps of air. “I’ve seen him here twice now, and I want to know who he is.”

“What are you talking about?” Nobu asked.

“Him!” Sadie pointed toward the trees, and they both looked. But he was gone.

That night, Sadie could not sleep. Nobu didn’t seem to have the same problem, snoring softly on her bedroom floor. He’d parked his van down the street and snuck in while Aunt Ira was in the shower, after Sadie had told him she didn’t want to be alone.

She couldn’t get the image of the familiar red-haired figure in the tree out of her mind, and something in her heart was telling her that there was more to it; more to him; more to the odd connection she felt to him.

“Nobu?” she whispered.

He didn’t budge.

Sadie slipped out from under her covers and tiptoed past her sleeping friend. She was small and slight and made no noise, even on the old, swollen floorboards. She grabbed her robe off of the door and slipped it on over her silk sleep shorts and camisole. Her bare, bony feet carried her silently downstairs and into the study, where she lit a candle and skimmed the rows of books, searching for something useful. Her skin tingled; she could feel that she was onto something, she just wasn’t sure what.

A book caught her eye as the candlelight glimmered across the golden letters stamped down the spine. Sadie looked closer at the dark red leather volume and read the title: Call of the Fae. There was no author listed. Sadie pulled the book from the shelf and set her candle into a holder on the desk.

She set the heavy book down and just stared at the cover for a moment. Then, she reached forward and opened it blindly to a random page in the center. The top of the page was titled The Faerie Ring and there was an old black and white drawing of a circle of mushrooms in the grass. Sadie’s eyes began to skim the pages, until she heard footsteps descending the stairs. She read faster, trying to absorb as much of the page as she could, knowing that, somehow, she was meant to see it.

Sadie slid the book back onto the shelf when she heard the footsteps reach the ground floor. She grabbed her candle and spun around to find herself suddenly face to face with Nobu. He rubbed his eyes, frowning at her.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Sadie sighed. “I thought you were Aunt Ira.”

Nobu scoffed. “Ew. Rude.”

Sadie rolled her eyes.

“What are you doing in here?” Nobu asked again.

“Reading,” said Sadie. “I couldn’t sleep. And… Nobu, I think we should go back to the cemetery.”

“Right now?”

Sadie nodded. “Right now.”

“Why?”

She shrugged, her wide, watery eyes sparkling up at him in the candlelight.

Nobu yawned, stretched, and glanced toward the window. The sun would peak over the horizon soon, and then Aunt Ira would be up and he would have to leave anyway.

“Okay,” he said.

Not knowing particularly why, Sadie urged Nobu to run with her to the van, and to drive as fast as he could. He didn’t ask any questions, just did as he was asked, as always. He saw no harm in returning to the cemetery if Sadie wanted to be close to her mother.

The rain had stopped and it was a warm, breezy spring morning. Sadie felt the humidity on her skin for the first time since the previous summer and sighed with relief at the long-awaited return of sunshine and warm weather. She and Nobu walked briskly across the cemetery, right past Sadie’s mother’s grave, and toward the woods.

Sadie’s eyes were locked on the tree where she had seen the strangely familiar boy twice before, expecting him to simply appear at the blink of an eye. But he didn’t. They continued into the trees, the ground damp and covered in last year’s decaying foliage. Sadie practically glided through the trees while Nobu slipped along behind her, clumsily dodging tree branches and nearly falling every few steps when his sneakers sunk into the muddy leaves. He was tall and long-limbed and not necessarily coordinated. He was fast, though; one of the fastest runners on Sadie’s high school track team.

As they came to a small clearing in the woods, Sadie’s heart raced. She gripped Nobu’s wrist and could see his giant grin from the corner of her eye. The early morning sunlight beamed down through the opening in the trees to shine on a perfect circle of bright green grass. Around the edge of it were mushrooms, like little gray stools surrounding a big, circular stage. Sadie patted her pocket; she’d changed into black jeans and a purple tank top before leaving, her light blue sweatshirt tied around her waist. From her pocket, she procured what she’d been looking for; the small green canvas-bound book that used to belong to her mother.

“Okay,” said Nobu, “hang on a second. If this is real, you need to be very careful—we both need to be very careful about what we do next.”

Sadie didn’t move. She stood inches from the edge of the ring of mushrooms, her skin tingling, unable to blink or speak or think. Could it be? Could this possibly be an actual Faerie Ring, a portal into another world?

“Sadie.” Nobu’s voice was a bit louder now, insistent. “I think you should back away from the Ring.” He reached out and brushed her shoulder, and she turned to look at him, her eyes wide with wonder.

“We have to,” she said. “We have to go in.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Absolutely not, Parker, we are going to turn around and leave, right now. This isn’t safe.”

“Are you kidding me? You’ve been studying the Fae since you learned how to read. You should be jumping at the chance, this once in a lifetime opportunity to explore the world you think you know so much about.”

Nobu narrowed his eyes, crossed his arms. “If any of what I’ve learned about Faerie is true, then it is a very dangerous place. People like us are not welcome there.”

“If we weren’t welcome there,” said Sadie, “then why was I led to this Ring? Why would they bring us here if we weren’t meant to accept the invitation? You, of all people, should understand what it means to say no to an invitation from the Fae.”

That was it, Sadie thought. She had to appeal to his existing knowledge. She herself knew a little, and it was enough to pique her interest. If this Ring was just a natural coincidence, then so be it. But she would hate herself forever if she never even tried. She would wonder, for the rest of her life, and always regret not taking the chance.

“I’m doing this,” she said. “You don’t have to come with me, Nobu, but I refuse to turn my back. I’m stepping into that ring and, if all the lore is true and I get sucked into Faerie, well… then you’ll know, won’t you? You’ll know once and for all, for sure, one-hundred percent.”

He sighed. “I know it won’t matter what I say but I have to ask you not to do this, Sadie. Please. If Faerie is real, and you do open a door into that world, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. You could get trapped in between the two worlds – in Limbo – and never see me or anyone else ever again.”

They stared intently at each other for a moment and then, from the trees on the other side of the Ring, there came a voice that said, “He has a point, you know.”

Sadie and Nobu both turned to look, squinting through the beam of hot yellow sunlight that cut the air between them and whoever had spoken. The voice came again. “You really should not pass into Faerie without a proper guide, my lady. I would hate to have to travel into Limbo to rescue you.”

Sadie stood still and watched as the figure on the other side of the Ring began to move toward her, cutting straight across the patch of grass. Bars of golden sunlight poured down all around the tall, lean, figure, igniting his unruly hair like a rust red fire and dancing like fragments of diamond in his pale blue eyes.

It was like a moment in a movie; the wind blew gently through the trees, shaking branches together like nature’s wind chimes; time itself felt as though it had slowed down; in the distance, Sadie swore she could hear a beautiful bird song. Her chest ached for a moment as if her heart had swelled and threatened to burst. A sensation she had never known in her life washed over her, from head to toe, like a heat stroke. Her palms were sweating and her knees trembled, threatening to knock together and carry her crashing toward the ground at any moment.

She looked up. He stood before her, towering above her the way Nobu always had. He looked down at her with a sideways grin, and then bowed dramatically with one arm behind his back, the other extended toward her.

“It pleases me greatly to be once again in your presence, Miss Parker.”

Nobu snickered behind her and Sadie blushed. “Huh?”

“Forgive me,” said the mysterious red-haired boy. “I was told that you may not remember me. Let me introduce myself.” He took her hand, his skin soft and dotted here and there with faint freckles. His fingernails were painted gold. “My name is Quentin DeCroi, Soldier of the Solstice Army and Right Arm of the Daylight Prince. I have been looking for you a long, long time.”

#TLC #the lesser courts #emotten #dark path #faerie #faeries #fae #fantasy #fiction #writeblr #amwriting #writer #writing #read more fiction #amwritingfantasy #camp nanowrimo #camp nano 2018 #sneak peek #chapter one

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taco-night-frenzy · 7 years

Text

Moon River chapter 2 WIP

Notes: Very rough chapter. Lots is subject to change. Beginning and end are missing, but I have the main meat and potatoes of the chapter done, the important stuff. Things will be edited, and like 99% chance the cussing will be taken out. How much time has passed since the first chapter? Don’t know right now, frankly doesn’t matter. It’s mostly unconnected non-serious space adventures similar in style to lets say Space Dandy. Quick Summary: First chapter here if you’re interested in context. Undyne is an ex-space pirate wanted across the galaxy. She travels the stars with her best friend Papyrus, new girlfriend/mechanic Alphys, and Sans in their spaceship the Moon River. (not sure if I’ll keep that name.) Muffet is a bounty hunter looking to make some money. She finds Undyne and wants to collect the bounty on her head, dead or alive.

Characters: Undyne, Sans, Muffet. Musical Inspiration: This for some reason.

The teleporter wasn’t working.

A cold clammy hand clamped her claw. At first, the sensation was normal. Alphys was trying to get her attention. But wait, why was this hand so rough? At the same time, it was brittle, like a breeze could break the bones with ease. Oh, god.

“What the fuck!?” Undyne screeched, ripping her hand out of his cold phalanges. “What are you doing, you creep?!”

Sans shrugged, his smile strained now, as if painful to hold up. “needed a hand, i guess.”

There were so very few times in her life that Undyne had ever felt violated. This was one of them. Just the mere touch utterly disgusted her. His entire being burned into her scales, that lazy smile, that worthless sense of dread, his useless nihilistic outlook, ready to give up at the first sign of trouble.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch me again,” Undyne growled, wondering why Alphys wasn’t fussing over her right now.

Sans made the ‘ok’ sign with his fingers, like she wasn’t worth the breath to voice a single word.

Her blood boiled. A spear was already in her claws, even she had realized it. Undyne wanted to continue to berate the puny little bag of bones, but noticed something else wasn’t right. The Moon River was certainly a lot darker. Seriously, where did Alphys and Papyrus go? Were there always cobwebs?

“Ahuhuhu,” laughed a lofty voice. That. Was not Alphys. “And here I thought the Space Pirate Undyne would have put up a fight! Instead she throws herself right into my parlor. A bit disappointing, but delightful regardless!”

“How?!” Undyne asked dumbly. “Our teleporter was broken, how did…” she looked over to Sans, regretting it instantly. He just shrugged of course. This was hilarious to him, wasn’t it.

Muffet’s space suit hugged her slender frame. Her ribbons bounced as delicately as her laughter, teacups and teapot in one of her many hands. “I appreciate your playing coy little fishy,”

Sans stifled a laugh in his ribs. Undyne glared.

“But it’s clear your so called friends just handed you over to save their own skins!” Muffet stepped forward through her pitch black ship, tiny spiders skittering away from her feet, acting almost as cute shadows. She held a hand over her fanged mouth, as if to also hide her laughter, but doing a terrible job.

For a moment, that idea screeched through her mind. Alphys, Papyrus, would they really hand her over? Sans, sure. He was staying conveniently quiet for this. But no, there was no way. They must have gotten the teleporter to work.

“Fat chance!” Undyne roared. “I sent myself here to kick your disgusting spider butt!”

The insult landed squarely on her face. Disgusting!? Her grin faltered and she frowned. “Ahuhu,” she laughed again, strainted this time. “You’re even more a fool I thought!” She waved one of her hands absent-mindedly. “And here I was just about to cease firing on your little friends!” Her eyes narrowed, and her fangs gleamed. “You know, those skeletons may be tasteless, but that pale yellow lizard girl would make such a juicy donut.”

Undyne grit her teeth. “I’m the only one allowed to eat her!” Instant regret. Sans snorted. Undyne’s battle strengths lied in her spears and weapons, not pen and paper. “Ah, whatever, forget it! Let’s get this over with!”

She ignored the cute little spiders beneath her and charged forward. Luckily, they appeared to narrowly avoid her stomps, much to Muffet’s worry. Sans, of course, stood back, hands in his pockets. Worthless as always. She didn’t need him.

“Ahuhuhu,” Muffet cooed. “You must be green with envy of my ship and my quips! I think a nice royal purple will soothe those blues.” In the next instant, her eight hands pulsed with a purple glow, highlighting the skittering webbed walls. There was no time to dodge, it seemed to surround her at every angle.

Soft silky webbing wrapped around her scales delicately, slowing her movement to a stop just before Muffet. Soon, her entire body felt as if it were in a soothing warm embrace of a thousand blankets, yet a strong force kept her still. She struggled against the light fluffy magic, but its warmth stopped her, cooled her boiling rage. Her muscles felt weak, her eyelids heavy.

“Ngaah!” Undyne could only move her head now, her entire body wrapped tightly in this marshmallow fabric. Desperate, she looked back to Sans. He was sleeping! How!? How could he be so useless!? “Are you just gonna stand there and let her kill us!?”

His body jolted and a muffled sleep groan escaped his bony teeth. “you got this.”

She felt the webs rip and tear around her claws as she imagined crushing his pathetic skull in her claws. He’d shatter into a million pieces, and she’d be glad there’d be no chance at putting him back together.

Another soft laugh. Muffet sipped her tea with one hand, the others still glowing with power. “Your friend is smarter than I thought. Maybe I will spare them after all! Ahuhu, I will regret not biting into that juicy little lizard, but I won’t regret making you into a delicious sushi roll for my cute pet!”

Before anyone could object that a sushi roll doesn’t exactly fit a bakery sale, one of the ship doors opened with a groaning metal screech. The dark scuttled away, as a gross hairy leg stomped into the dim light. Undyne grit her teeth. She didn’t fear it. It was pretty disgusting, though. The giant spider lumbered in, its giant gaping mouth drooling with an endless hunger. It stared at Undyne, wrapped comfortably in her royal silks, realizing its master had brought it another tasty treat.

It moved closer, rancid breath melting her nostrils, the smell drifting through a dry throat. Undyne suppressed a gag, and looked back at Sans who apparently was content with letting her die a gruesome death. She felt no anger towards the monster, not even any rage toward Muffet who was willing to kill her own kind. At least her motivation made sense. She’d be getting a hefty reward. Sans, however?

“You worthless sack of shit!” Undyne screamed at the skeleton, her claws ripping the webbing still uselessly. “I should have known you’d let me die!” He kept his eye sockets closed, lost in that fake slumber of his. “At least have the decency to watch me die if you’re going to let me, coward!”

Muffet’s monster opened its gaping chasm of a mouth, the shadowy void of its insides beginning to envelop Undyne. This wasn’t her ideal death. Devoured by a spider. She’d hoped she’d have gone down fighting the demon lord of space. At least Alphys and Papyrus would be all right.

“guess i’ll throw ya a bone,” a voice sighed. Sans?! She must have died. No way in hell he was helping. Undyne heard the distinct specific sound of a bone bonking a creature’s head. It clearly struck with the force of a pillow filled with marshmallows, but it got the creature’s attention. The mouth left Undyne harmlessly, other than a bit of thick rancid drool here and there. Her vision back, she witnessed the lone bone Sans had lobbed pathetically bounce off the creature and just narrowly miss a surprised Muffet.

To their surprise, it struck the ships console and hit a button at complete random. Whirrrrrr. Speakers on the corner of the ship suddenly blasted music into existence, the beat drumming into her skull and her very being. The spiders all throughout the ship began swaying their cute little bodies to the tune, Muffet’s hip swaying in unison as well. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, how thoughtful of you deary! Dinner with a song! This meal will be all the more delicious now!”

Undyne’s eye witnessed the giant spider creature vaguely curve its mouth into a wicked, disgusting smile. Its abdomen also shook sluggishly with the music, and it began making its way towards Undyne again, mouth agape, happier than ever before.

Sans simply shrugged and scratched the back of his skull. “huh. done all i can do.”

Undyne couldn’t believe it. That stupid skeleton saved her, just to let her die three seconds later! He gave her the hope she might live, only to swipe it away again! What kind of sick freak?... How could he be so useless?! How!? Her mind reeled, her veins nearly popped out of her scales in rage. She tasted her own blood on her lips, finding she had bit down too hard. Her vision turned red, and soon she couldn’t even feel the soft silk holding her in place.

“You lazy little shit!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, the webbing near her shredded to pieces as if it were nothing but a stuffed doll. She forgot everything. She knew nothing anymore. She wanted only to kill the little skeleton, see his bones break and burst. She charged forward, spear in hand, dodging Muffet’s creature absentmindedly, much to her vocal dismay.

Sans was right in her grasp now. She used every ounce of her being, every bit of magic to thrust her weapon into him, her eye desperate to see his bones dissolve into dust, his soul shatter and fade away. She felt her weapon strike directly into hard metal, piercing the stuff like hot butter. Somehow, her attack had missed. Wires sparked and writhed from the wall, explosions rocked the entire ship, but the music still blared. The spiders didn’t care.

Muffet shrieked, somehow the only one able to comprehend what happened. Her arms still swayed in tune as she shouted. “Our shields! Come on! Come on, stop her!”

Where did he go!?

“looks like you tuff’d it out,” Sans said through a low chuckle. “ya know, like tuffet? since muffet and tuffet and … ah, well, you get it.” How did he get over there?! It didn’t matter! Undyne would still kill him. She’d fucking do it! The beat pounded in her chest, her boots pounded against metal in sync, as she charged forward toward him again, her rage unquenchable.

A hulking form got between her and Sans. She didn’t bother even looking its way. In a swift motion, she suplexed the thing, tossing it to the side like it were a mere pebble. There, Sans was back in her sight, his stupid grinning face just waiting to be punched.

“M-my pretty!” Muffet screamed as the ship rocked again from another explosion. Though her once pretty forehead began to sweat into her many eyes, she still danced, however her arms were now preoccupied. Each hand desperately tapped and clacked away at some sort of holographic keyboard, red exclamation marks blaring before her face, steam hissing at every angle. The other spiders seemed to love the smoke and light show, though.

Undyne ignored the chaos, still focused on that lazy blue in a sea of red. His hands stayed in his pockets, but a single slippered foot tapped along to the music silently, his grin wide and clearly mocking her. “nothin’ seems to get to you, eh fish face? your moves are silky smooth. if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re carapissed. ya know, like carapaces. like a spider.” He sighed. “these puns aint easy.”

Undyne wanted to tear her ear fins out. “Will you shut the hell up!?” Why wouldn’t the music drown him out!? Why was he everywhere she looked?! Why wouldn’t he leave her alone!? What seemed like a hundred bright green spears fizzed into existence, pointed directly at Sans’ thick skull. He couldn’t dodge all these! The next moment a shower of green shot forward like glowing lasers at a concert, piercing the ships hill with ease yet again. The spiders were in absolute awe.

Another bright red exclamation mark blared in Muffet’s many eyes. “Now weapons are down!?” Before she could continue working, a small explosion blew her back on her butt, her legs still trying to fight the music’s beat but failing.

Undyne’s mind was in a frenzy. He was dead now! He was dead! Surely! Finally! He’d be dead! She’d be dead soon too, of course, but at least he’d die with her, like he deserved! Her chest heaved as webs, debris, dust and dancing spiders cluttered the now thinning air. When everything cleared, she saw him. Sleeping. Standing up. Not a single scratch on him.

“I know there is no way you actually fell asleep!” Undyne howled, her voice nearly mad with rage. He mocked her, still! After all this! Still he mocked her! She couldn’t believe it! Would it take some kind of ultimate death laser to finish this guy!?

Undyne wasn’t quite sure if she really had succumbed to madness aboard this exploding ship of dancing and raving spiders, because in the next instant, that is exactly what happened. A blue blast of energy shot through the ship, cutting it in half with the heat of a thousand suns. The ship really rocked this time, it nearly flipped upside down, gravity finally lost completely.

Whatever just hit them knocked her back into her senses. The ship was falling apart. It’d be a heap of scrap metal soon, and the vacuum of space would suck her and everyone else out into oblivion. The spiders floated happily still, their limbs dancing forever. It was over. Muffet was through. But it looked like Undyne and Sans were through, too.

Thinking quick, Undyne pushed herself off whatever floor or wall she was near and swam through the sea of cute dancing spiders, noticing Muffet’s little pet struggling uselessly in the gravity-less environment. In the chaos, she found her way to this ship’s teleporter, hoping somehow, it might still be intact.

“God damnit!” Undyne roared, pounding her fists into the buttons and into the teleporter platform in a desperate attempt to get it working. The oxygen was leaking, and clearly the ship was not getting anymore. “Sans!” She cried out over the blaring of sirens and music.

“need somethin’, fishy?” he replied almost instantly, floating lazily in front of her with his arms behind his back.

She didn’t have time to kill him now, he was going to do that to himself in a second anyway. “Get the teleporter working again, quick!”

He didn’t even shrug this time. “nah.”

“Are you kidding me!?” She huffed, wheezing for air already as the ship creaked and distorted around them, soon to fall apart. “We’ll both die!”

“maybe you will.” He pointed to his skull. “bonehead, remember?”

“You…. you!...” Her vision was getting blurry again, she couldn’t think of anymore insults, and the music began to get distorted.

“tell ya what,” he interrupted, his sockets finally staring at her for once. “promise me something.”

“Sure, whatever!” Undyne coughed.

“promise me ya won’t ever hurt Papyrus.”

That was an easy promise! She’d never hurt him! Not that it’d matter, anyway, there was no way she was getting out of this one. “Of course, I’d never hurt him, you idiot! He’s the best friend I’ve ever had!”

Sans grinned at that, wider than usual. The music drifted away. Everything was exploding. “shake on it.” He held out his bony hand.

Whatever! She was dead anyway! Nothing mattered at this point. Might as well die proving she cared for Papyrus! No longer able to speak, she grabbed his sweaty phalanges and made to shake. Instead, she heard something over the explosions.

Pffffrrrrrbbbbbtt!!! A whoopee cushion. Mother fucker.

The ship exploded in a brilliant flash of light, bits and pieces of metal scattering out into the inky dark black of space, never to be heard from again.

Last Dumb Notes: A smart person would probably imagine Tuffet’s theme as the music playing here, but I am not a smart person. Music imagined was Splatoon 2 music for whatever reason, but I guess gotta take inspiration when I can get it. Also, I know the music is probably jarring and weird, but eh, that’s the only way I could have finally written something. We’ll see what happens, hopefully I’ll feel confident enough in what I wrote to give it some more polish it and give it a legit post.

#Undertale #fanfiction #Undyne #Sans #Muffet #Space #WIP #I know it's Sans/Undyne-ish #fairly intentional but don't expect much out of it

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