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mansions-maiden · 3 years

Note

Helloooww againnnnn xD

Thank you so much for taking my request before (arthur mc switch place). Sooo i wanna request again if you have timeeee xD

About young mc was a mischievous kid, problem child and often got spanked by her mom back then. So i wanna request the scenario of mc suddenly become a little girl and 12 of them will dealing with her shit*y mischievous behavior xD. Kinda wanna see they got tired and traumatic to have children xD

Thank you so much before and i love you so muchhhhh ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

this was so much fun to write! and sorry it was late! I was busy with school work and the first draft got deleted. so had to rewrite it from the scratch. T-T. wrote it long as a compensation! Enjoy the reading! And second request from the same person! Love you too❤💕

word count: 2K.

The sun rose in the east and dyed the streets of 19th century France in it’s orange hue. Sebastian went to wake MC up as she didn’t wake up yet.

*rap rap* “MC! wake up! It’s morning already!” , he knocked MC bedroom’s door for sometime and yet, there was no answer from the other side. Worried, he went to comte and grabbed the spare keys to MC’s room.

He went inside and searched for mc. But when she couldn’t be found anywhere, he called for comte and Leonardo. Hearing his calls, Leo and comte immediately came running into the room, only to find a small girl child, fast asleep amidst the silky bedsheets.

The three men looked at each other before Leonardo gently picked up the girl in his arms. A crescent smile crawled on to their lips at the sight of the little girl.

Comte took the girl from Leonardo's arms and put her on his hip, wrapping an arm around her little waist.

"who is this little girl? Where did MC go?" Comte asked looking around the room.

The girl woke up from her slumber due to all voices and movements. The three men stared at her. " Hey Leo, why do I get a feeling that this little girl is MC? her eyes look the same as our mc..ow!" Comte cried in pain while speaking as MC was pulling his blonde locks of hair painfully.

Leo laughed at Comte and Sebastian quietly snickered before composing himself and spoke" M.comte, I think we should explain the situation to residents too."

"You're right Sebastian. I shall inform them. " Comte said, finally freeing his hair from MC's grip.

MC was giggling to herself loudly.

(Aand mama Comte and papa Leonardo mode have been activated )

All the residents stared at the new arrivals in the dining hall.

" Goodness Comte! When did you become father? Congratulations on becoming father of 13 members!" Arthur spoke from one end of the table with a mischievous grin.

"stop it Arthur. I am no one's father. And this little girl here is our MC. Looks like she took something that changed her into her childhood self". Comte said with a little frown as he took his seat.

"oh really!? MC is so cute! Come here little girl!" Vincent aka the gentle angel took her from Comte and sat her on the table. "Do you want bread lil doll?" Vincent asked, giving her the baguette.

MC threw the baguette on the other side of the table ( I can hear the sound of Comte's breaking heart seeing his favorite dish being thrown away XD. )

The baguette smacked Mozart's face and a disappointed sigh was heard from him ." It's only morning and I have to deal with little MC's ruckus? She already causes enough trouble in original form.." Mozart said.

"Mama! Papa! Give me chocolates!" MC went to Comte and tugged at his cloak with her little hands.

"wait! Why the hell is she calling you mama and papa!?" Theo asked with a surprised tone to which Leonardo replied with a shrug and laugh.

“sebastian? can you buy her some chocolates? “ comte asked. Sebastian immediately went into the town.

"You're soo cute Toshiko- little mc! I want to squish you in my arms!" Dazai said as he poked her cheeks and suddenly, a shrill scream of pain escaped his mouth. " Ahh~! Why did you bite my hand !? " Dazai screamed again looking at the red bite mark appearing on his fingers.

"No one touches mc!" Mc squealed and jumped on to the floor and began running. "Catch me if you can!" Mc ran out of the dining room and disappeared into the gardens.

Arthur, Vincent and Napoleon were soon on their feet searching for mc. "Now, where did this sneaky little girl go?!" Arthur said, wiping the sweat beads on his forehead. That's when the three heard heard the adorable giggles of a child.

They saw mc, covered in mud from tip to toe and Arthur's and Theo's dogs running and playing with her.

"Gotcha!" "Ahh~ Arthur! Hehee!" Mc squealed and wriggled , trying to escape from Arthur's grasp.

"hey! W-what are you doing?!" Arthur exclaimed suddenly as he found himself getting covered in dirt by mc. " Wowee! Noe Arthur us dirty! Napoleon! Shoo him away and throw him in the bath"

"Go and freshen up Arthur. I'll take care of her" Napoleon told Arthur and sent him into the mansion.

" Napoleon! Bend down! Bend down! Gimme a piggy back ride! "

"wai- woah!!" Napoleon was surprisingly pulled down by MC by his Cape.

And that's how MC had a whole tour of mansion with Napoleon as her personal horse.

The sun rose further into the sky and soon it was afternoon. All the vampires gathered at the dining table including Shakespeare, who was invited for lunch by Vincent.

Shakespeare heard the giggles of a child. "Why doth I hear the giggles of a child in thy mansion Comte? " Shakespeare asked searching for the source of the voice.

"our MC has turned into a child Will. Those giggles are of our MC." Vincent explained what had happened from the morning.

" oh- looks like destiny has strange ways of entertaining herself.." Shakespeare murmured to no one and called out for MC.

"Shakespeare! You're here. I have some stories for you. Do you want to listen?" Mc asked running into the dining hall.

"what may those stories be little Angel?" Shakespeare asked, making her sit in the chair next to his.

" Do you know, Theo has sweet tooth secretly. He even fills his entire pancakes with sugar syrup! He dips everything he finds in sugar syrup.! And he wants Vincent to love only him!”

"oi little Hondje ! What do you think you're blabbering about?!" Theo rose from his seat, as he stopped eating his sugar syrup dipped pan cakes. XD .

"Vincent! Protect me from your darling brother!" MC said hiding behind Shakespeare and sticking her tongue out at Theo.

The mansion reverberated with the laughter of residents as she went on and on telling her stories , which had some of the most embarrassing stories of residents and had left residents with burning cheeks.

After lunch, Theo called little mc and took her out into the town along with his dog King. “ MC! come here! Don’t go wandering off!” Theo was having hard time catching mc and looking after his King at the same time.

“THEO! Come here! You must see this! It’s so cute!!” MC approached Theo and dragged him by his arm. Theo turned to stone as soon as he saw what had caught the sight of mc. “Theo! Theo? ...Hello..Theo!” MC shook Theo by his arm and Theo immediately looked down at her with a flustered gaze,” Why would you want to show me a cat?! You little rascal!” Theo bent down to reach mc’s height. “Oh.. Are you afraid of cats? I’m sorry! I didn’t know that.. but! OH! I gotta tell this to all the members!”

“Don’t you dare!” Theo now ran after MC as she sped off towards mansion. Her mischief kept all the residents on high alert their toes and they didn’t even realize it was evening.

When mc was roaming through the corridors, she found Leonardo fast asleep near the library doors again and a sudden idea popped in her mind. She woke up Leonardo and gave him a glass of water. “ Leo! I thought you might be thirsty. So I brought you a glass of water!”

Unable to resist her puppy dog eyes, he took a sip of water, only to spit it out the next instant .” What did you mix in this cara mia?!”

“uh-oh! I think I mixed the salt without my knowledge. Thank you for saving my tongue Leo!” mc said laughing and ran off into the corridors.

Sebastian was in kitchen, cooking dinner when he felt his waistcoat being tugged. “ Hey, peasant! Bow down to the queen! “ MC posed as a queen with crown stolen taken from comte’s room. “ Your lovely highness, I’m afraid you’re not a queen yet. But the princess of this mansion does deserve a treat. Here” Sebastian told as he kept a chocolate bar in her mouth. A sweet moan escaped her mouth as the chocolate melted in her mouth. “ Yours truly is satisfied peasant! You may continue your work!” MC said as she went off, still chewing off the chocolate in her mouth.

“It looks as if looking MC is much harder than all the 11 vampires combined together..” he sighed as he murmured to himself.

after sometime:

Isaac heard a soft knock on his door and he opened it, and found little mc with her hands behind her back and mischief dancing in her eyes. “I am here to give you this” MC said with a smile as she gave him a paper. A sour face was made by Isaac as soon as he saw the paper she gave. “What is this?! Not you too!” Isaac cried out as he saw the drawing of Isaac saying, “I love apples” and many more drawings related to apples.

“OH MC! COME HERE!” Isaac shouted as MC ran away, laughing loudly on her way. The residents heard the commotion and came outside, only to find Isaac with a flustered gaze and panting heavily. “Who told mc about apples and me?! Now even she joined in Arthur’s cult!” Isaac told everyone and everyone burst out laughing.

Comte called her into his room and sate her in the chair across him as he asked,” Cherie? Here you go , I bought this for you. “ Comte said as he gave her the new dresses and chocolates.

“ aah!! Comte! thank you so much!! You’re my mama!!” Mc squealed as she hugged comte’s knees. She stretched out her hand and told, “mama! say aah!” comte opened his mouth and soon found out that she had given him a chocolate. He took her into his arms and sat her on his lap, kissing her nose and forehead affectionately.

After dinner:

MC was on the couch yawning and scrunching her eyes when comte and Mozart found her. “Are you sleepy cherie? Would you like to sleep?” Comte asked, bending down. “Yes..” “ I shall play a lullaby then. Will you listen to it MC? “ . “yeah...” mc yawned again.

Mozart told comte to follow him into his music room with mc. Mozart began playing lullaby as soft as the wind chimes in the windy night on his piano. Comte ran his fingers through the hairs of mc as he watched her fall asleep, with her head in his lap with a smile on his face. ‘could this day get any better?’ he thought to himself as continued petting her head.

After MC fell asleep, he carried her gently in a princess carry into the hall where everyone is gathered.

“Is she asleep?” everyone looked at mc’s sleeping face with adoration as Napoleon asked. “ I can’t believe she has the nerve to sleep after keeping us on our feet the entire day.” Theo sighed .

“ I do agree..she’s such a handful kid.. But it is the most refreshing day and most adorable thing I’ve ever seen” Arthur said, stretching his hands above his head and laughed.

“I can’t believe one of the most feared emperor ended up becoming a personal horse for a little girl” napoleon said rubbing his still aching back and shoulders.

“Does anyone want to have a kid here in the mansion?” Sebastian asked with a curious gaze.

“No! Having mc already in her original form is enough to us. She’s just like a big grown up baby. “ Leonardo said with a smile.

“I’m so glad that everyone thinks of MC the same way” Comte said laughing.

“We all are tired today due to her. Let’s call it a day guys..” Everyone retired to their own rooms and comte put her to sleep in her room before going to his room.

Next day, mc was back in her own form with no memories of the previous day. But everyone kept their mouths sealed for they wanted to hide their smile whenever they saw her and were mesmerized by her innocence.

#im sorry for writing about comte so many times #but i can't help it #i love him too much #ikevamp fluff #ikemen vampire #ikevamp funny #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp comte #ikevamp leo #ikevamp theo #ikevamp shakespeare #ikemenvampire x mc #ikemenvampire hc #ikemenvampire xreader #ikevam napoleon #ikevamp hcs #ikevamp

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yeah-klave · 3 years

Text

Love Batter

Summary: Klaus comes home early and catches Dave up to something in the kitchen.

Genre: Pure, tooth rotting fluff.

A/N: This is set in a Dave Didn’t Die AU. He and Klaus made it back to 2019 (somehow) where they’re now living happily ever after.

Word length: 2.6k

Warning: Some light innuendo.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of The Umbrella Academy characters or settings.

*******************************************************

“Oh, umm.”

Klaus closed the front door quietly and stood for a second in the hallway, head on one side, listening.

“Umm… yes.”

Klaus frowned. He heard the smacking of lips, shortly followed by another low groan.

“Yes. That’s good. There we go…”

He could hear movement in the direction of the kitchen. Suddenly, the tone of the noise changed.

“Oh, no! Don’t do that! Oh dear. Oh, that’s not good.”

There was a clatter and then muffled grumbling.

“Oh, no. Why can’t you just…?” There was another clatter. “Oh, oops, oh no! Don’t...”

There was a dull thunk, and Klaus heard Dave say, “owch.”

Klaus dropped his keys in the bowl and walked down the hallway to their kitchen.

He pushed the door open and stopped in the entrance, his eyebrows shooting up.

Dave froze in place. He looked up guiltily, eyes wide, a finger in his mouth and his other hand clutching his foot. He was also wearing a frilly apron.

Dave brought the finger out of his mouth with a wet pop. “I… I… I thought you said you were going to be back late tonight?!” he spluttered.

“I did,” Klaus said bemused.

“But, but…” Still balancing on one foot, Dave waved his free arm wildly. Something gloopy flicked off a finger and landed somewhere near the toaster. “But this isn’t late at all!” he finally said, the tiniest hint of accusation behind the words.

“Allison had to cancel,” Klaus said evenly. “I did text you. But maybe you didn’t notice. I mean, it looks like you’ve been a little busy in here.” He looked around the kitchen, taking in the full scene. “Daaaaavve,” he said finally in a light, sing-song voice, the corner of his mouth curling upwards, a gleeful twinkle in his eyes, “whatcha doin’?”

Dave deflated a little. He let go of his foot and looked glumly at the chaos surrounding him.

“I was,” he started sheepishly, purposefully not catching Klaus’ eye. “I was trying to bake you a cake.”

Klaus’ face lit up even brighter. “Really?!”

“Yeah,” Dave nodded, twisting his face into a rueful grimace. “A surprise cake for your birthday tomorrow. I thought I could make it tonight while you were out and hide it in a cupboard overnight and surprise you in the morning.”

Klaus’ heart clenched and he looked at Dave fondly. “My darling, dearest Dave,” Klaus gently teased, “light of my life, fire of my loins,” he broke off and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Even if Allison hadn’t cancelled, I’d have been back in an hour or so anyway. Did you really think you could finish up and then get our kitchen looking normal again by the time I got back?”

They both looked around. Dirty bowls were strewn across the counters, along with various utensils, eggs shells and empty packets. Cake pans were discarded near the hob, a brown, baked-on crust coating the inside. There was a palette knife on the floor, gloopy icing dripping from the flat blade into a small puddle. Also, a layer of flour and icing sugar seemed to have settled over everything.

“Hmm,” Dave said in a mock solemn voice. “I take your point.”

Klaus laughed.

Dave bent down and picked up a cookery book that was splayed open, upside-down, by his bare feet. Dave’s fingers left sticky marks on the cover as he tried shuffling things around on the counter, looking for somewhere clean to lay it down.

Klaus stepped forwards and took the book from Dave. It was surprisingly heavy in Klaus’ hands. “Did this drop on your foot?” Klaus asked quietly.

“Um, yeah,” Dave reluctantly admitted.

Klaus looked down at the book. His nostrils flared and he suddenly felt an irrational wave of anger wash over him.

“Right,” he said with a hiss, baring his teeth, “well that settles it.” He held the book between a pinched finger and thumb and unceremoniously dropped it in the trash can.

“Klaus!” Dave said shocked.

“It hurt you,” Klaus said simply. “It has no place in our home anymore.”

Dave’s face softened in fond bemusement. Klaus watched his eyebrows crinkle together as he gave an exasperated little shake of his head.

“You know I’m just going to have to go digging though the trash to rescue that now?” His words had no bite.

“Don’t you dare!” Klaus looked scandalised. “It’s dead to me now. Goodbye evil instrument of pain…” He waved his Goodbye hand at the bin, but then looked back up at Dave and grinned.

“You really are something else,” Dave said fondly.

Klaus’ eyes twinkled and he reached out and traced a finger over Dave’s cheek, following a gloopy smear of pink icing.

“Well, sorry to break it to you, but right now, Mr Katz,” he said, “so are you.”

Klaus trailed his eyes down Dave’s body, taking in the floury handprints and unidentifiable smears that covered his clothes. Something pale brown and gloopy was drying in crusty matted clumps in his gloriously mussed curls.

Klaus reached up and tried to pull a bit of the stuff out of Dave’s hair. He raised a questioning eyebrow at his boyfriend.

“Oh, yeah,” Dave said. “I forgot about that.” He glanced up and Klaus followed his gaze to where splattered streaks of cake batter formed a modern art masterpiece on the white paint of their kitchen ceiling.

“How…?” Klaus started.

“I tried to use that mixer Vanya gave us,” Dave explained. “But I guess I didn’t fix the lid on properly.”

Klaus looked around the kitchen again. “What’s that?” he said, pointing at a couple of thin, dense-looking – vaguely cake-shaped – disks, half hidden under an empty bag of flour.

“Oh, that was my first attempt,” Dave grimaced again. “Back when I had high expectations. Apparently there is a difference between plain and self-raising flour.”

“Think the clue’s in the name, babe,” Klaus smiled.

Dave huffed. “I can follow a recipe,” he said indignantly, “but I just forgot about the flour thing.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wanted to get it right.”

“And did you?” Klaus asked.

“Yes!” Dave nodded vigorously, a little shower of flower falling onto his broad shoulders. But then he paused and pulled a face. “Well,” he clarified, “the cake worked okay… eventually.” He looked over his shoulder and then back to Klaus. “The decorating part, not so much though,” he admitted. He scrunched his nose, contorting his face into an expression of dejected disappointment. Klaus thought he looked positively adorable.

“Can I see?”

“Well, the surprise is ruined now, so might as well,” Dave sighed. He stepped away from the counter, revealing the thing behind him that had previously been shielded by his body.

Klaus looked down. “It’s brilliant,” he said automatically. Then, after a beat, he added gently, “what is it?”

Dave grimaced and scrubbed a hand over his face, but when he brought it down, he was smiling.

“That bad, huh?” he said.

“No,” Klaus corrected himself quickly. “I mean, it looks great! I can see you’ve clearly put a lot of effort into this. I was just wondering…” he paused, “well, it’s very... I was just wondering what the thinking behind it was?”

“I know you never had your own birthday cake,” Dave said slowly. “Because you and your siblings all had the same birthday. I remember you saying Grace used to make one big cake for you all to share. But it’s not like having your own cake, just for you, with your name on it.”

Klaus’ eyes scanned Dave’s face. Dave was determinedly looking at the cake in front of him. Klaus reached over and took hold of his hand – his sticky, messy hand – and squeezed. The corner of Dave’s mouth twitched in a smile and he shook himself slightly.

“So that’s what I tried to do,” Dave carried on, “make you your own cake. Because you deserve a cake of your own, with only your name on it.”

“Is that what’s going on here?” Klaus pointed to an amorphous smear of blue icing that was bleeding into the runny pink icing underneath and then dribbling off the edges and pooling on the plate below.

“Yeah,” Dave sighed. “It was supposed to say Happy Birthday Klaus.”

“Thank you,” Klaus said, squeezing Dave’s hand again. “It’s perfect.”

Dave snorted. “Hardly!” he said. “In hindsight, I think I should have waited for the cake to cool down before trying to ice it. Plus, I think this icing is too runny.”

“No,” Klaus said firmly. “It’s perfect.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Klaus,” he said firmly, “you don’t need to humour me. I know it’s pants. I’ve seen how well your cakes turn out and this – most definitely – is nothing like them.”

Klaus frowned. “Firstly,” he said, “you grew up in the 50s! I hardly think it was part of the curriculum. Secondly, you’ve met my mom! There’s no way she wasn’t going to make sure all her kids could bake a mean sponge cake! And thirdly – now brace yourself, because this is going to be as corny as the corniest corn bread – Grace also taught us that the most important ingredient in any great bake is the love you stir in along the way.” Klaus looked down, ran a finger through the dribbled icing, brought it up to his mouth and then licked it off his finger, maintaining eye contact with Dave the whole time. “And it’s clear that this cake, Dave, is positively overflowing with that. So, on that logic, this is the best cake that’s ever been baked.”

Dave’s eyes got a little glossy and he pulled Klaus into his arms, burying his face into the crook of Klaus’ neck.

“I love you,” Dave said. It sounded thick and muffled.

“That’s because I’m so damn lovable,” Klaus joked, running his fingers through Dave’s hair. “At least, that’s the overwhelming feedback I’ve got so far from all the people in my life. Oh, no, wait…” Klaus trailed off, grinning.

Dave pulled back, his hands resting on Klaus’ hips. “Well, I find it exceedingly easy.”

Klaus smiled. He reached up, wiped another smear of icing from Dave’s cheek with his thumb then leaned forwards and kissed the tip of his nose.

Dave blinked and looked down at himself again, then at the flour and sticky streaks he had transferred to Klaus’ clothes during their hug.

“Oh dear,” he said, trying to pull away “I’m sorry, baby, I’ve messed up your outfit.”

“I don’t care,” Klaus replied, pulling him back fiercely. “Do you hear me? I don’t care.” He rested his hands on Dave’s chest, his fingers playing with the collar of his soft tee. “And for the record,” he added, “I never want to hear anyone calling my special, surprise birthday cake pants ever again. My boyfriend made me that and I love it,” he nuzzled the tips of their noses together. “I love every sticky inch of it.” He kissed the frown lines between Dave’s eyes, “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You still talking about the cake?” Dave asked, his thumbs gently stroking over the strip of exposed skin at Klaus’ waist, his mouth curling up in a smile.

“I can’t imagine what you mean!” Klaus’ eyes twinkled.

Dave grinned and caught Klaus’ mouth in a kiss, a sweet press of slightly parted lips.

Klaus let out a sigh and pressed forwards, their lips moving in a lazy slide. They broke apart, resting their foreheads together and took a moment, just holding each other and breathing the same air.

“Well,” Klaus said, his lips brushing Dave’s as he spoke. “I think we both know what we need to do now.”

“Umm,” Dave hummed his agreement. He paused, then added, “I’ll fill the sink.”

“Good idea,” Klaus grinned. “I’ll grab a tea-towel.”

Dave huffed a laugh and pulled back, grinning. Then he turned to start filling the washing-up bowl with hot soapy water.

Klaus reached up and, with practiced ease, twisted his hair into a loose bun on the top of his head, securing it with a black glittery scrunchie from his wrist. He flicked the radio on and the room was filled with the soft sound of something light and boppy. Klaus flashed a smile and started dancing around the room, collecting the dirty bowls and utensils between enthusiastic little shimmies and finally stacking them in a pile next to the sink.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, laughing and chatting – Dave elbow deep in sudsy water and Klaus drying the items and placing them on the draining board – they were the very picture of pure domestic bliss.

****************************************************************

“And you’re sure I can’t just use the mop?” Klaus squinted at the ceiling.

“Yes, sugarplum, I’m sure,” Dave looked over at him fondly from where he was putting the cutlery back in the drawer. “As is undoubtedly clear from the way I butchered that cake, I’m hardly a domestic goddess. But even I know you shouldn’t mop your ceiling. I’ll pick up some stepladders from the store tomorrow.”

“Or,” Klaus said, “I could just ask Luther to do it. What’s the point of having a giant for a brother if you can’t ask him to clean cake batter from your ceiling every now and again?”

“A completely normal sentence,” Dave said with a grin. Klaus rolled his eyes.

Dave wandered over to the counter and looked down at the cake.

“I’ll just bin this,” he said.

“What?! No!” Klaus said shocked, hopping down from the counter he’d been sitting on and trotting over to Dave. “Don’t throw away my cake!”

Dave suppressed a little smile, looking down at the sticky mess. “Don’t worry, pumpkin, the love-cake speech was very much appreciated. I got the message loud and clear. But you don’t actually have to eat this, you know.”

But when he looked up, Klaus was already holding out two plates and a knife.

“I’m selfish and impatient and can’t wait until tomorrow,” Klaus said.

Dave snorted, but moved aside.

“Make a wish,” Dave said, as Klaus cut two large slices. Klaus turned his face away slightly, smiling to himself. Dave wasn’t entirely sure, but he though he heard Klaus whisper, “No point, I already have him.”

They took their cake and a couple of forks into the living room and settled onto the sofa, their knees touching.

“Ummm,” Klaus hummed, his mouth full. “This is amazing.”

Dave took a careful bite, considering. “I guess it doesn’t taste too bad,” he said.

Klaus sprayed a mouthful of crumbs in his haste to reply, “It tastes so good!”

He swallowed and added with a grin, “One thing I still want to know, though, is why you decided to do all of this while wearing the apron from my sexy maid costume?”

Dave looked at Klaus and deadpanned, “Well, knowing what that costume’s been through, I didn’t think it would matter if I got a little more love batter on it.” Then he winked.

Klaus let out a cackle of laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Klaus looked over at Dave slumped next to him. Tired and dishevelled and warm and happy and alive. And his.

“Like I said before,” Klaus declared in the most dignified voice he could, while simultaneously trying to lick icing out of his beard. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dave looked back at Klaus fondly, a smile playing around the corner of his mouth, and replied, simply, “I wouldn’t have my cake any other way either.”

#klave #klaus hargreeves #dave katz #the umbrella academy #tua #klaus/dave #klaus x dave

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w1ngfanchu · 3 years

Text

Idk, enjoy this crackfic! Happy birthday Otto!!! Chusi don’t look, tw blood, caps, death, cursing, religion/god/heaven/hell mention, fire mention

Wing pulled his raven dark hair into a messy bun, and gazed at his dark brown orbs in the mirror. He could see them sparkle in the reflection. He heard a knock at the door.

“come in!” he cried, with a deep, husky voice. His father, cypher, walked in and sat on his bed.

“Hello son” he said, his voice grave and unfamiliar due to the years Wing had gone without hearing it, “I have some news.” Wing sat down beside his father. “Wing, I am eloping with your friend Nigel’s dad, Mr Darkdoom. I do not want him to see the family disappointment so I am sending you away to live with your aunt. Pack your things, you have 10 minutes.” With that he left, and wing could see his glassy orbs stained with tears that glistened like raindrops.

“HOW COULD YOU” he shouted at the closed door, but there was no response. Packing his things, he reflected on where he would go, as mother gothel, who shared his ebony black hair, lived in Italy. Nobody knew her real name, though some suspected it was Maria.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Wing ran downstairs, tears flying out of his dark sight balls. When it opened there she was, Mother Gothel.

“hello nephew, get in the car.” He listened and sat, his movements seemingly uncontrollable. The drive to the airport was silent. Wing could see a picture of God, and his inhuman face, on the window, and it felt as if it was staring into his dark soul. For Wing wasn’t like other people, as instead of makeup and talking about politics, he studied deities and myths. The car stopped. They got on a plane and flew to Italy.

When Wing woke up, he was in a strange room. He was scared. The door opened and Mother Gothel came inside. “Nephew dearest, I have…business to attend to. While I am gone I have sent for someone to keep you company. He is from another powerful family as I do not want you interacting with the wrong sort. Get changed and breakfast is downstairs.” She left, and he felt so small in such a big room.

Wing went downstairs after getting changed, and started spreading ruby or blood red jam with a surprisingly sharp knife that glistened like jewels on some snow white bread when the doorbell rang. He went to open it, and when he did, he dropped the knife in shock. The creature at the door had spiky white hair, beautiful in the light of the sun, and the face of a weasel on an otherwise human body, which was wearing a black jumpsuit. Lightning fast, Wing watched the creature snap his fingers and saw the knife now hovering just above his left foot.

“Hi. You must be Wing. I can already tell you are special, as you seem to be able to observe my true form.” His voice was beautiful, and the sound was heaven in Wing’s ears. “My name is Ottoious Britain Lucy Number One Weasel the third, but you may call me Otto Weasel.” Otto Weasel. The name was as beautiful as the boy himself.

“nice to meet you” wing stammered, feeling his cheeks grow hot. “thank you for saving me” Wing saw Otto smile and his cheeks grew hotter. Otto Weasel’s blue orbs twinkled like the sun reflecting in the sea, only prettier. Otto Weasel was walking inside and setting down a giant bat and a suitcase. Wing felt his heart beat faster at the thought of this amazing person-weasel? Person living in the same house as him. He felt blessed to even be in the same room as him now.

They spent the day in the mansion, Otto Weasel doing things no human should be able to do. He would summon snacks and riches seemingly out of nowhere, and would toss Wing up so high but catch him every time. He made flowers grow from the marble floors, thick vines filled with grapes, which tasted almost sweeter than the sound of Otto Weasel’s voice when he laughed. When Mother Gothel came home, they ate and went to bed.

The next day, Otto Weasel took Wing outside, barely pushing past the vines that covered the house, and they ran through the streets of Italy, hand in unlovable hand. It took wing a minute to realise that they had started floating, legs no longer pushing the ground but the air while they ran. Looking at Otto Weasel’s glorious weasel face, his sparkling ice blue seeing balls seemed familiar.

“Otto Weasel” Wing started “Otto Weasel, can I ask you something?” Wing stammered, his stomach twisting.

“Yes” came Otto Weasel’s response, “but first I will ask you a question” Otto Weasel continued, his pale cheeks redder than rubies. “Wing, will you be my human boyfriend?” he spluttered, squeezing Wing’s hand.

“Otto Weasel, I thought you would never ask!” wing replied, also blushing. “ Of course I will go out with you. You are my entire world. Where you go, I go” Seeing Otto Weasel’s smile made all of Wing’s worries melt away, despite the fact that they were floating very high off the ground.

“Love, you have not asked your question” Came Otto Weasel’s voice. Wing suddenly felt foolish but he had to ask now.

“Are you god?” Wing asked, before turning away.

“If you want me to be” Otto Weasel replied, as he started bringing them back down to the ground.

When they went back to the mansion, Mother Gothel looked furious. Her ebony hair was pulled into a bun and her eyes held the fury of hell. She sent them both up without dinner, but they had not told her about their new relationship or dinner would not be the only thing they lost that day.

When Wing woke up, he stretched his arms which felt as heavy as lead. He went downstairs to see Otto Weasel chanting quietly under his breath.

“Good morning Otto Weasel, what are you doing?” But Otto Weasel did not stop. Wing felt himself grow tired, and collapsed onto the ground. He was dreaming, he saw bright lights, and strangers. One had blood red hair and was speaking in a Scottish accent. Another was blonde and swinging on vines, though it looked like she was flying. There were two boys, holding hands and eating cake while the one with glasses, who looked extremely like Wing’s friend Nigel, was watering a plant with red liquid. There was also an old man, standing beside a woman with swords covered in heavenly fire, and they were speaking to a man, a familiar man. His father’s new husband.

“these were my friends” Otto Weasel’s voice appeared in his head. He could see them, standing on what seemed to be a cloud bathed in blue light, and Wing could vaguely see something bright and golden in the background-

Wing was jolted upright. Otto Weasel’s expression was blank, as if nothing had happened. Wing got up and they ate breakfast in silence, which was only broken once by Wing’s quiet gasp as Otto Weasel put his hand on top of his.

After breakfast they got up and Wing went to his room to study the schoolbooks Mother Gothel had left for him to revise. Wing opened his religion studies book and saw a face similar to Otto Weasel’s but older. Wing couldn’t focus on his books, not with Otto Weasels sharp Snow White hair, his beautiful pale face, and his laughter like the bells of heaven on his mind. So Wing went to find his beloved Otto Weasel.

When he did, Otto weasel took his hand and showed him around the mansion. His heart fluttering, he could do nothing but follow as Otto weasel led him to the cinema, where they sat under the dimmed lights to watch Wing’s favourite movie, Cars 2. During the movie, Wing gave Otto Weasel a blood red rose, and they were both silent apart from the sound of their beating hearts.

And just as Mater met Finn, Wing felt the gentle press of Otto Weasel’s romantically weaselly lips upon his. Wing felt sparks fly across his body, and felt the world melt away until it was only him, Otto Weasel and the talking cars. The kiss felt like hellfire, passionate and warm, but also like the springs of heaven, comforting and calm. They broke apart after a few short minutes and watched to the end of the movie. They left holding hands, and went upstairs to study together. When Mother Gothel came home, they ate then went to bed.

The next week passed similarly. Wing and Otto Weasel’s bond strengthened and things were almost perfect. But Wing was having nightmares. The people he had seen during breakfast, the people on the cloud were yelling terrible things. They were telling him to run, run far away while he still could. Wing decided to keep these from Otto Weasel as he had been looking stressed that day, and Wing felt bad to burden him with his own problems too.

A few more days passed, and mother Gothel still did not know about their relationship. And today, Otto Weasel looked more stressed than ever. Then at breakfast, just after Mother Gothel was leaving, Otto Weasel slipped Wing a note. It read “my love, you must escape. Leave and never look back”. He felt Otto Weasels soft, once gentle hands push him towards the door, panic in Otto Weasel’s ocean blue orbs. But there was a problem. Mother Gothel was still there and had a good reason. The vibes Otto Weasel had made so long ago were now blocking the door completely, not a hint of outside could be seen.

Mother Gothel snatched the note and read it. Her face twisted into a frown, and she stared at them. She was about to speak when suddenly blue light radiated from the roof.

They heard a voice booming across the mansion “OTTOIOUS BRITAIN LUCY NUMBER ONE WEASEL THE THIRD” It cried, shaking the ground, “YOU HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE” Otto Weasel’s eyes flashed, a dangerous look on his face. “MARIA” the voice continued, “YOU KNOW WHAT YOU MUST DO”

Mother Gothel turned to Otto Weasel. “Wing. Who is he really?” She asked, not taking her eyes off Otto Weasel.

“God?” Wing whispered, flinching at the pain on Otto Weasel’s face.

“GOD?” Mother Gothel yelled “YOU THINK HE IS GOD?” Her face was contorted and she looked to be in pain. “Tell him” she cried at Otto Weasel “let him know what you really are”

Otto Weasel walked slowly towards his boyfriend. Standing on his tiptoes, he held Wing’s chin to point it down at him. “Wing I have not fully been honest with you” he started, voice cracking, “I’ve betrayed the ones I live, I’ve betrayed you.” Otto Weasel pushed a loose strand of Wing’s hair behind his ears. “I was told to do one thing. And I failed. Because I was selfish. I wanted to keep you safe, safe from Him, but in doing so, I’ve damned us all” Otto Weasel’s orbs were glistening with bushes tears, dewdrops on his rosy cheeks..

“Otto Weasel, what are you talking about?” Wing’s question came out in a fast rush of emotion. He hated the pain on his lovers face.

“Your stepfather. You may not know it, but he is an angel. He was coming to visit, but he was bringing along someone i knew would hurt you. He brought your dad. So I’ve kept them trapped in this very house, in a room you couldn’t see, to keep you safe. But now they’re free. And they want revenge.” Just as he finished Wing aww two people walk in. Darkdoom, and his father, armed with a gun. Pointed right at him.

Otto Weasel raised his arm at Cypher. Mother Gothel started towards him then stopped “Otto Weasel, you know what will happen if you hurt gods son in law”

“I do. And I don’t care. If Anyone hurts wing I will stop at nothing to get my revenge. His love is worth more than the lives of anyone in this planet and I will fuck your up if you hurt him” Wing felt himself blush, but was unable to move. He still couldn’t move when he saw his father’s hand squeeze the trigger. He couldn’t move as he saw the bullet flying at him. But he could move to look down to see red stains on his white shirt.

Otto Weasel screamed a bloodcurdling scream. The ground shook as Wing fell to the floor, helpless as the world started to burn, flames pouring from Otto Weasel’s hand, heading towards Cypher. Wing felt Otto Weasel fall next to him and cradle his face, as a portal of fire and screams opened up next to him. Mother Gothels last words came “hell is your home now Otto Weasel but I shall share it with you” with that she lunged at cypher and threw his gun at Wing.

Otto Weasel’s beautiful voice, dampened by the curse of sadness reached his ears “Wing you know what will happen if you do this” he said, as wing drowsily turned the gun upon the man who used to be his father. “I know, my love” he said, finger on the trigger, and he quietly gasped as he felt Otto Weasel’s hand cover his for the last time on Earth. “Otto Weasel I-“

“I know what I’m doing Wing. Of course I will go out with you. You are my entire world. Where you go, I go. And if that is hell, then j will gladly accept my fate, as long as you are there with me”

Together they pulled the trigger and watched as Cypher fell. The portal came closer as wing felt the world fading away, his love’s face getting farther and farther away. The red of hellfire matching the red of Otto Weasel’s blush, and Wing knew that existence without Otto Weasel was a fate worse than death.

But when Wing woke up, he was bathed in blue light, so alone in the void that is eternity.

And when Otto Weasel woke up, bathed in red light, he knew it was all for nothing. Wing was gone and he was alone, so alone in the void that is eternity.

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kdramachitchat · 3 years

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Hometown Cha Cha Cha episode 2 recap: Hye-jin tries to be more sincere to her new neighbors. Her clinic ended up being a success, thanks to Dusik. Looks like they met before in the past too.

The episode begins with a surrounding view of the ocean closing to night time. Then the morning comes with Hwa-Jung being busy with what looks like accounting matters. She then opens a folded paper that states her divorce mutual consent with her husband. Those are some of the moments she said that she regrets.

Another Gongjin resident Oh Chunjae is also going through his recorded tapes. Seems that he used to be a recording artist back at the 90s as he was reminiscing with his 2nd album casset demo. I wonder how he never made it. We were then shown with Dusik getting something out of closet, a black suit and he's looking at it pensively with a sigh. Minah finally opens her clinic but ended up sighing. Goes to show no matter what decisions you decided to take, you can never turn back the clock.

We go back to 2 weeks ago, Dusik enters the Chongho Scuba Diving shop with Hyejin in toe. They were checking out the possible office spaces. Dusik showed her a office space that has a nice view of the ocean. Hyejin though is not satisfied as she has requirements for her office, not just for a nice view. Despite not being satisfied she is running out of options. Dusik showed her a better option with a bigger space but the style is old fashion as its more ecofriendly. The interior isnt style. She wants a more antique european style. I dont think you could find that in Gongjin. Dusik offered her offwhite wallpaper isntead that is the simplest thing he could offer trhat's close to her taste. Hyejin is worried though in hoping that Dusik and Hwajung may end up scamming her because she's not from the countryside. Hwajung reassures her by saying that everyone knows the both of them. They could never scam anyone. She revealed her card and states that she's a zone chief. They show more proof and the office space that she just saw is the unit that Hwajung planned to save if ever she opens up her 2nd restaurant. Although, with the goodness of her heart she offered it to Hyejin because she thinks that the whole town needs a dental clinic and its much more valuable. Dusik tried to leave but Hyejin stops him by stepping on his foot. They officially signed the contract as landlady and tenant. Hwajung then pays Dusik for 4 hours worth of work. Dusik ended up following her back. She owes him 17k won worth. Dusik offers services for renovating and shows her all his certified liscences. Hyejin ended up in shock and thinks he's weird. She's back in Seoul packing her things and showing her friend where she's moving.

Hyejin finally travels back to Gongjin looking content and satisfied while driving. The locals are curious as to who is moving in. Someone is moving into Ms Seo's house. The locals thought its a joke that she's a dentist although she really is one. She finally settles in and calls her parents updating them about her moving status. She even puts up her family portrtait. Dusik then visits her late at night to verify her registration. Dusik tells her the neighborhood rules and things she should know. Since Dusik was the one who set up the house, he sets up the door lock code too which ended up being his birthday. We now know that he's a year older than her and she accidentally calls him 'oppa' she instantly feels weird about it after Dusik asking if its a hint of affection. He says that he doesnt want any of it. She then asked him where the nearest coffee place is. In order to work she needs coffee to start her day and the only one nearby is the 4000won coffee stop, HAHAHA. She feels traumatized already and refuses to come back there. Dusik says let bygones be bygones as they're her new neighbors now, she has to get used to them despite the wrong introductories. She said she doesnt mind but the coffee is awful. The word has spread of a new dentist in town, the elderly talks about going for a visit. While running, Dusik finally renovated her dentist office and Hyejin complimented his work on a job well done. The villagers saw her running with the joggings but since they live in the village so long they do not know that its workout gear in the modern era. they ended up in shock. Hwajung stops by at Hyejin's to check up on her and is impressed by the renovation.

She then invites her to a party for the elderly the next day. Hyejin looks uncomfortable and tells her that she'll check her schedule, although Hwajung tells her to stop by even if she's busy. Its a way to introduce herself as a neighbor and to promote her clinic. Hyejin then sits with the elderly ladies, Gamri offers her bread wrapped with kimchi by the hand but Hyejin declines it, that's a wrong impression right away for someone who wants to promote her clinic. It comes off as rude. Hwajung comes to her aid and tells her if she needs any help to let her know because she rented 2 of her properties. Hyejin starts complaining about the minor details of her office space and Hwajung looks at her with a stunned expression. The rest of the village people started introducing themselves and offers help. They all stood up and she's left alone with the cafe owner Chunjae. He continues to promote his failed 1993 song to her as well as his life story on how he ended up in Gongjin. She starts to get annoyed and lose appetite and left. She starts complaining on how they're eating out in the open and its unsanitary. Being a dentist makes her become OC with the cleanliness but she doesn't have to be rude about the food either. The village people were trying to be nice to her. Dusik tells her she's fussy and picky. Tells her why cant she see the good things around her. Good point. Dusik trying to show her the good things about Gyongjin but she isnt listening to him.

The speaker ended up with a sound issue and Chunjae stopped singing. Hyejin was ended up exposed on loud speaker complaining that she should've stayed in Seoul. Uh oh. This is so embarassing. The mic at the office she's in is open. I'd be so embarassed to show my face infront of them after badmouthing them behind their backs. They may be annoying but dont be rude. Hyejin realized what happened quickly and Dusik was the most disappointed person in the room. Dusik defends her that she's just doing is ignorant blabbing, tells Chunjae not to take it seriously. She then decides to open applications for new employee recruitment for her clinci. She then receives a delivery from Dusik. Tells him that he does everything for the village. Dusik tells her that she thinks she knows everything just because she got good grades and has a good paying job. Just because she was able to get through the small bumbs she decides to act bigger than everybody else. Just because she freely judges the village people's lives but when its her life she's offended especially when she's being assessed. Dusik stating facts, life isnt fair for everybody. Dont judge on people's shortcomings just because you passed yours. Someone ran the doorbell and her best friend Miseon surprisingly visits her. It was revealed that her partner ended up cheating on her. Miseon tells her to take down the classified ad and offers herself to work for Hyejin. Her first day at the dentist finally started and nobody has visited. They're bored out of their minds, went out and tried to think of ways to promote the dentist. The village ended up ignoring her whenever she's trying to greet them. She deserves this and Miseon notices that everyone else is ignoring her. Dusik observes her from afar looking worried and she finally tells Miseon what happened. Her friend immediately tells her to move out to avoid the red expenses and not to end up like her dad. Dusik then sees her jogging at night. Dusik advices her to at least meet with the village's expectations halfway. Be part of them. She needs to get acustomed and Dusik tells her that people make mistakes. She didnt know that the mic was turned on. He tells her not to worry as they all badmouth other people once in a while. He also tells her that since both sides are even she can move forward from this incident and start fresh. She then offers the rice cakes to the neighborhood as a way of apology. Not every delivery ended up smoothly. She ended up meeting the 2 kids from the last time. They asked for a favor to take care of their pet as they couldnt but Hyejin declined politely. She recommended Chief Hong but even Hong declined. She thought why would he ignore a child's request if he's acting high and mighty. The word has spread around even to children, they talk about how she's a cold-hearted person and this hurt Hyejin. She has no choice but to take care of the pet.

Dusik visits Chunjae and sees that he threw away his 2nd album demo casset. Dusik pays Hyejin a visit. Tells her off thinking that handing out rice cakes is enough for the village to forget about what she's done. She has to do more and be more sincere. Dusik offers his help and doesnt want her business to tank. She cant avoid them forever and Dusik invites her to a neighbor meeting. Hyejin tells him that they're all strangers and asks for support but Dusik sends her off and for her to do it alone with courage. Theyre still offended that Hyejin's standards are not met and they're surprised that she even attended. Dusik saves her by bringing snacks which were made by her. Dusik makes an excuse for her that she was edgy on moving and wants to apologize by preparing some food. The meeting is about a cleaning project they have to do and thanked Hyejin for her snacks. After the meeting Hyejin thanked him and is surprised that he ended up caring so much. Dusik gives her the bill with the snacks he bought and tells her to wire him the money. Hwajung shows up to her home and tells her to attend the weekly cleanup, she says that she just moved and as an excuse it was satisfying. But then Dusik ended up bothering her by his constant door knocking and bell ringing. She even faked her sickness but Dusik is not having it. He's acting like a strict father and forces her to join the cleaning.

A first visitor finally visited the clinic and its Euncheol. Then more visitors started coming in. Looks like a new leaf has turned. Euncheol reported back to Dusik about her treatment and the cost saying that its reasonable. Dusik visits Chunjae and tells him that his song has been imported digitally. Chunjae tells him that he shouldnt focus on the past anymore and move forward to the future. Chunjae asks for a favor from Dusik to teach him how to properly make coffee. We then see that the clinic is becoming more busy and it looks like its gearing towards sucess. They ended up with a satisfying and exhausting day. Although they suddenly thought how overnight their dentist clinic became a success and for sure Hyejin believes it's all thanks to Dusik. Hyejin bumps into Chunjae and tells him that the title track isnt her favorite but favors another and apologizes with his story. She asked where Chief Hong is and looks like his mood suddenly cheered up with her truthful compliment. Chunjae went back and listened to the track Hyejin liked. Hyejin gave him the confidence. She then finally has found Dusik sitting at the top of a small hill nearby the water.

Hyejin thanks Dusik for the many patients she received today. The ep ended up with her climbing the small rock hill but ended slipping and Dusik saved her from falling. A flashback of Dusik spending time with his grandfather. They spot a family and the father asked a favor to take a picture of them. Dusik tries to cheer up Hyejin and she ended up smiling for the photo. Is this why Dusik likes spending time with the elderly? Its because of the memories he has with his grandfather? They met before.

Du Sik is really Chief Hong. While everyone was shunning Hyejin and talking behind her back, he was the only one who became a leader and guide for her. He pointed out her mistake and encouraged her to do better, be more sincere to others.

#2021 #Hometown Cha Cha Cha

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j-hawthorn · 3 years

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A Pleasant Day Off

(Cheeky little VetVimes. Mildly hot and heavy! It’s also posted over on AO3 here!)

---

There was something about dried cranberries that really rubbed Sam Vimes the wrong way. Why take a perfectly average berry, and make it a smaller, sadder version of itself? The ones in the bowl in front of him were sour.

Peeling an orange, Vimes leaned back in his chair, and rubbed sleep from his eyes with his sleeve. It was a surprisingly quiet day. He had woken at around mid-morning to Sybil kissing him awake. After a delightful forty minutes of enjoying his large, soft wife, (mostly between those glorious thighs of hers), he had been pushed out of bed and went to shave.

Technically this was his day off. But Sam couldn't help feel like it was more of a house arrest. He was under strict instructions not to leave the grounds. It was drilled into him before she left, that if Sybil caught the slightest whiff of his leaving, he would be in for a world of disappointed looks and extremely pointed sighs. He couldn't bear the thought.

Wiping orange juice from his chin, Sam yawned, crossing his legs at the ankles. The sun had made its way through the murk of the city. It was, he thought, a good day to have a smoke in the garden.

Nipping through the kitchens, Vimes nabbed himself a freshly baked bread roll that he slathered in butter and jam, grinning to himself at the simple pleasure.

The years of food scarcity he (and pretty much everyone else he knew) had endured never really left him, and instead meant that he still relished the simple joys of a good piece of warm bread. You could always trust warm bread. He was glad he'd kept that part of himself. The one that knew to take what he could get and hold on. It came from a harder life. Now in theory he could snap his fingers and have anything he wanted, yet Vimes clung to the memories of what it was like. He needed to remember. He owed it to his past self. And to those who it was their every day.

Vimes found a bench at the base of a large tree. He sat with his back against the trunk, legs stretched out, arms folded and chin resting on his chest. In the warm he almost nodded off. Vimes fell into that half waking doze, where he could still hear everything around him, but was pleasantly fuzzy.

To his left a twig very pointedly snapped. He huffed, not moving, 'So, what brings you here, then?'

There was a soft laugh, and the light swish of robes. Vimes felt someone sit beside him. 'Perhaps,' said the visitor. 'I have come to visit the Duke on his day off, or to bring him some documents worthy of his attention.'

Sam cracked an eye open, 'You got something?'

Havelock Vetinari smirked, 'Goodness me, no. I wouldn't dare go against Lady Sybil like that.'

Vimes huffed, closing his eye and shifting into an even more slouched position, 'So, a social visit then.'

'Is that so odd?'

'Depends on who you ask, I suppose.'

Their shoulders brushed, 'As you're the only one here, commander, it's obvious I'm asking you.'

Sam was quiet for a moment. He sat up, fishing his cigar case and lighter from his pockets. 'I haven't seen you for a while,' he said finally. He leaned forward, arms braced on his knees and sent a puff of smoke up into the breeze. 'Outside of work, that is.'

Birds chirped overhead. There was a soft sigh beside him, followed by the light tapping of a single fingernail on a cane. 'And that is...regrettable.'

Vimes chuckled, shaking his head. He stood, hands on his hips and leaned back, joints cracking. 'Come on,' he said, gently nudging Havelock's foot with his own. 'I'll pop the kettle on -' he paused to scratch his chin, 'Actually, I think Sybil got some of those little cakes you're so fond of stashed away somewhere.'

'Capital.'

The men sat in the drawing room, a pot of tea steaming between them. Sam puffed on his cigar; arm folded beneath his head. Fingertips brushed his lips. He cocked a brow, letting Havelock steal the cigar from him. His tall companion stretched his legs out, and slouched, sending his own cloud of smoke into the room.

One hand resting on his stomach, Havelock turned, and caught Sam’s eye. Vimes gave a half smile, turning his attention to the long fingers that held his cigar. Vetinari’s sleeve had slipped down, exposing his pale wrist. Sam swallowed, reaching over to lightly touch the back of his hand, pulling it towards himself.

‘Really, Vimes, if you wanted your cigar back, you could simply have said so -’ Sam pressed his lips to the underside of that wrist and Havelock stopped speaking. He took the cigar from him, stubbing it out in his empty teacup, not once releasing his hold of Vetinari’s hand. He shifted closer, their knees bumping.

'You always are a surprise, Sam,' Havelock whispered. Vimes looked up to catch his eye and smiled at the pleasing pinkness that rose on his cheeks. Vetinari moved. Settling on Sam's lap, an arm snaked around his shoulders, he pressed himself close, forehead resting against Sam's.

He wouldn't say it out loud, but Sam had missed him. Missed this. He let one hand trail down Havelock's spine, the other resting on his hip. He kissed his neck, eliciting a stifled moan from him. Thin fingers bunched the fabric on his shoulders. Sam tightened his arm around the small of Havelock's back, his other hand reaching up to cup his cheek. Teeth grazed his thumb, and Sam grunted in approval.

'How's your leg?' Vimes asked, nipping playfully at Vetinari's earlobe.

'...Not great,' Came the quiet reply.

Sam sighed, resting his chin on his shoulder. He clapped Havelock on the back, 'Rightio then, come on.' With as much care as he could muster, Sam scooped him into his arms, carrying him out of the room.

Havelock frowned, 'Oh, honestly, do you really think this is necessary?'

'Yup!'

Vimes carried him easily upstairs, ignoring his huffs and grumbles. He nudged open the bedroom door, kicking it shut behind them. Carefully, He placed Havelock on the bed and sat beside him, working on the laces of his shoes. He eased them off, tossing them to the floor.

'Right, what's something that'll help? Sybil's got some ointments for...Well, everything, in the bathroom -'

'Sam-'

'I think there's a hot water bottle in there too, actually -'

'Shut up and get over here.'

Vimes, for once, did as he was told. He lay down beside Havelock, chin resting on folded arms. Vetinari rolled onto his side, palm on Sam's cheek. His touch was warm, and Vimes found himself turning his head to press a kiss to his palm.

'I didn't come here for you to fuss,' Havelock said. 'I came here to see you -'

'Yeah, I gathered that-'

'I missed you.'

Brows notched, Vimes leaned in, kissing him softly. 'Yeah,' He muttered against his lips. 'I uh...Yeah,' he sighed, looking into Vetinari's eyes. His companion smiled softly and stroked his cheek before carefully pulling Vimes on top of himself. The commander chuckled, and while he was mindful of his bad leg, he didn't hesitate to grab Havelock's other thigh.

Vetinari dragged his nails up under Sam's shirt, making him shiver. Sam shifted to straddle his hips, keeping his weight on his knees. He pulled his shirt off, and Vetinari ran his calculating fingers over the planes of his chest.

'That's new,' He tutted, finger tips tracing a fresh scar along Sam's ribs.

Vimes just shrugged his shoulder. He fumbled with the tiny buttons on Havelock's top, frowning. The bastard simply smiled, watching Sam struggle and was no bloody help at all.

Sam huffed, 'Seriously, what is with all this?'

'Do you have a problem with my fashion choices?' Vetinari chuckled, running a hand through Sam's hair.

'I do when you're bloody done up tighter than a ducks ars-'

A hand clamped over his mouth, 'I'm going to stop you right there, Sir Samuel. None of that, now.'

Sam smirked under his hand, and nipped at his skin. Vetinari rolled his eyes, nimbly undoing his own buttons in a matter of seconds. Vimes watched as his layers were removed. He leaned in, kissing along Havelock's now exposed chest.

Hands combed through his hair and soon the pair were lost in one another. They both shed the rest of their clothing. Strong, sword calloused hands roamed while delicate, long fingers pressed and pulled. Moans were muffled by hard kisses, open mouthed and urging.

By the time they eventually eased themselves apart, Sam's back was covered with scratches and Havelock's neck and shoulders were red with bites. Vimes panted, his entire body fizzing as he gently guided his lover to lay among the plethora of pillows. He pulled the heavy quilt over them both, pulling Havelock close. He settled against him, chin on his shoulder, Havelock's hand in his hair.

Vimes yawned, eyes half closed. He chuckled softly to himself, nuzzling into both Havelock and the pillows. He sunk into the bedding with a small smile.

A kiss was pressed to the top of his head. 'What are you giggling about?' Vetinari asked.

Sam snorted, blinking up at him, 'So, two questions. One: When did you and Sybil concoct this little plan? And two: Has it gone how you hoped?'

'...Last week. And the plan isn't over yet,' Vetinari chuckled. He wrapped his arms around Sam, chin on top of his head. 'I lost track of time while you were doing that thing with your tongue, but, at some point, Sybil is joining us.'

'...But she went shopping.'

'Yes, and I believe it was to Mr. Scrope's... Establishment.'

'...Oh...'

Havelock chuckled, kissing the top of his head again, 'I hear he has a new line of leather pieces that are quite delicate, yet durable.'

Sam sunk further under the blankets; his forehead now pressed against Havelock's chest. 'Well then...' He muttered, cheeks burning red at the thought of his wife, and leather, and whatever interesting little trinkets and toys she'd no doubt bring home to experiment with.

He smiled, hugging Havelock, eyes closing. This really was going to be a damn fine day off.

#Crafty sybil pulling strings #getting her lads together #My writing #discworld #vetvimes #havelock vetinari #Sam Vimes #fanfiction #also on ao3 #discworld fanfiction

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 4 years

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Hey, Little Songbird

Chapter 3 - AO3

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The place Dupain-Cheng took him to was a small bakery not far from the school. Stepping inside, the smell of fresh baked bread assaulted his nose. In the display case, dozens of macaroons in all colors lined parchment paper next to croissants and cream-stuffed pastries. Felix expected Dupain-Cheng to get in line to order; instead, the girl skipped the line, approaching the woman at the register directly. "Hi, Maman," Dupain-Cheng greeted.

Felix wanted to scoff as he watched mother and daughter hug. Of course, she'd take him to her family bakery! She wouldn't be able to afford any of the places his pallet was used to. But... despite his first instinct, the establishment did have a rather... warm feel to it, further embellished y the downpour outside. And the food did look impeccable. Not his usual fare, certainly, but one day off his diet wouldn't hurt him.

"Welcome home, Marinette," her mother greeted. Her eyes met his and furrowed with confusion before her expression smoothed out. "Who's your friend? He's never dropped by before."

So she could tell him and Adrien apart. Good.

"Ah! Maman, this is -"

"Felix Graham de Vanily," Felix cut in smoothly, smiling charmingly. "I'm new in class and your daughter has been kind enough to help me gain my barrings at Fransis-Depoint. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mme. Cheng." He bowed at the waist, eyes lowered. He wanted to make a good impression -

"It's nice to to meet you too, Felix," Mme. Cheng nodded, seemingly amused. "Why don't you two grab something from the back and eat upstairs." She glanced at the line, which had only grown in number since they arrived. "It seems like it's about to get full down here."

"Thanks, Maman." Dupain-Cheng pressed a kiss to her mother's cheek. "Come on, back here."

Felix followed her behind the counter and into the kitchen beyond where an extremely large man, presumably her father, was icing a particularly tall wedding cake. "Hey, Dad! Felix and I are just grabbing some food before going upstairs."

The father smiled, surprisingly calm about his daughter arriving with a strange boy in his shop. "Go right ahead! There's some fresh chicken salad and cold cuts in the fridge if either of you want them."

They each loaded up their plates, but when Dupain-Cheng started to ascend the stairs, Felix hesitated. He looked back at M. Dupain. "Sir... Forgive me, but how do I pay for this?" Father and daughter exchanged a shocked glance. "I didn't get a chance to properly observe the menu, so otherwise I'd-"

"Don't worry about it!" M. Dupain laughed. "No friend of Marinette has to pay! Consider it the 'friends and family' discount."

Felix frowned. He didn't really consider them friends yet; acquaintances, yes, but not friends. Though, if the quality of his classmates refused to improve, she might end up being the only person he could stand talking to on a regular basis. "Sir, I must insist-"

"They're not going to let you pay, trust me," Dupain-Cheng said. "You're not the first person to try, nor are you going to be the last. Just come on." She went upstairs and Felix reluctantly followed. He wasn't used to other people doing favors for him. Usually people wanted favors, thinking he'd be naive enough to allow them to ride off the Graham de Vanily family coat tails. Felix never allowed that mentality to stick around him long; no one had ever been stupid enough to try more than once.

The familial part of the home looked nothing like the elegant, cold entry hall of his family's manor, nor did the connecting living room resemble any parlor or sitting room that he's ever been in. It looked well-used, lacking the meticulous housekeeping that the maids kept, with a blanket crumpled up on the couch and a video game console pushed to the side, like someone had finished playing in a hurry. He could see into the open kitchen from the living room and noticed that although it looked clean, there were dishes stacked in the skin. Was this how commoners lived? Clearly despite their beloved establishment, the Dupain-Chengs weren't nearly as well off as some of the other members of their school, like himself, Adrien, and Chloe. So how did they attend? The tuition was rather costly; did she get in on scholarship?

Of course, Felix had enough sense not to ask her about her family's financial status. Things simply weren't done in polite society, and while Felix often didn't feel the need to follow those unspoken rules, there was no need to insult someone in their own home.

Dupain-Cheng sat on the couch while Felix took the love seat nearby, sitting gingerly upon it as though it could bite him. Despite the home being so banal, Felix found himself... liking it. It was warm, much like how the bakery below was warm, with a lingering sense of comfort radiating from every square centimeter of the home. He found himself sinking into the plush of the chair without meaning to.

To distract his mind, he tucked into lunch, only to find his meal delicious. He paused after a single mouthful. Somehow, the simple meal was able to rival those made by the professional chefs in his family's employ. Good work deserves to be complimented, so Felix told Dupain-Cheng so and she flushed. "T-Thanks. I'm sure my parents appreciate it," she said with a cough, having swallowed some of her food wrong. "Would you like to go over where we are in the curriculum now?"

"Yes, that would be quite useful."

She showed him her notes for their classes and just as he thought, he was already ahead in most subjects. The only exception was literature, but only because his school had focused more on British authors than French. Still, it wouldn't take for him to catch up. But there was still one thing about the day that bothered him and since Dupain-Cheng volunteered her service, he asked, "I am unsure if this falls under you assisting me around the school, but could you explain what that Lila girl was trying to do today?"

Dupain-Cheng set down her utensils and exhaled heavily. "What has she lied about this time?"

"Apparently I pushed her after a greeting. Which is odd because I had no idea she existed before class." Not that Felix really cared. But saying he pushed her was a step too far; he has far more subtly than direct physical assault. At least be clever when you try to slander him!

"Huh, so she's directly attacking you already? That's weird, I could have sworn she'd make up some lie about forgiving you and promising to help you meet your favorite celebrity if you promised to be nice."

He scoffed, but Dupain-Cheng made no similar noise. Like... she was serious. Oh God, she was serious. "Are you telling me people actually believe that swill?"

"Most of our class, Mme Bustier, and our principal. Fortunately she hasn't started working on making the people in other classes believe her yet, but there are a handful there too." It seemed as though speaking about it unleashed a dam inside the girl. "And it doesn't make any sense because most of her lies can be disproven with either an internet search or a phone call! She claimed that she saved Jagged Stone's cat from an airplane, but was there any media coverage from it? None at all! She claims to go on all these expensive vacations, but either her photos got damaged on the way back or she just shows the class stock images of generic tourist stuff. And the volunteer work! Sure, I can understand charities not advertising who their workers are, but all you'd have to do is call them and every charity she's mentioned ends up saying that a Lila Rossi never worked with their organization. I just... I don't understand how they can keep falling for this stuff! None of them even bother to consider that she could be lying!" Her chest heaved after her rant, but she looked relieved, like she'd finally been able to get it off her chest. "They... none of them even think that I'm telling the truth," she continued in a small voice. "They all think that poorly of me."

Their... classmates, as much as Felix hated to admit any relation to those morons, had really done a number on her. He found empathy to be distasteful, especially with his plan to become a ruthless business man later in life, but he could help but pity her. Not that he'd ever admit it. Perhaps he could change the subject? Or at least lighten the mood.

"I'm going to be surrounded by idiots then. Lovely." She shot him a hurt look. "Well, not you. Obviously. Though seeing past such a clear liar isn't really a point towards you as it is a negative three against the others."

"You rate people on a point scale?" Her eyes were starting to lighten, brighten.

"Only when I need to inform others of how lowly I consider them." He sniffed haughtily.

"Does that mean you think better of me than them?" she teased, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

"No need to get a big head now; it's not that you're better, but rather that you're less awful." He smirked in return, hopefully letting her know that he was returning her tease. At least, he thought that's what he was doing. He never really understood how to communicate with his peers in a fashion that reflected well on him.

"I'm pretty sure that's the definition of better though."

"Well, if you're so desperate to claim the title, you could always prove it." Felix folded his hands under his chin. "Prove that you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, are worthy of my time."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not sure if I want it now."

He frowned in disappointment, but inside he was triumphant. "Truly a shame; and here I wanted to get to know the real Dupain-Cheng... But alas I fear that knowledge will forever be out of reach."

"Who says 'alas' anymore?"

"Well!" he huffed, "Just because you're unused to refined vocabulary doesn't mean you have to insult me, Mademoiselle!"

The verbal sparring went back and forth for a while and as rapier wit battled rapier wit, Felix found it hard to keep a smile off his face.

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#felinette #canon felinette #canon felix #felix graham de vanily #marinette dupain cheng #tom dupain #sabine cheng #ml fic #ml au #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #lila salt #class salt #ao3 feed #hey little songbird

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arrogvnces · 4 years

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“please, don’t ask me what my favorite color is.”

the restaurant they’re sitting in is small, but as fancy as business in a village in the swiss alps can be. outside, the sun has set for a while, and sinclair sips his water gingerly as mina chuckles, cracking the bread in her delicate hands as they wait for their food to arrive. he’s not uncomfortable, or annoyed, but for the hundredth time since they got here fifteen minutes ago, he wonders what he’s doing. where exactly is he hoping to go? and for the one hundredth time, he comes up blank.

“i wasn’t going to,” she says, dabbing at the corner of her lips with the white napkin. her blonde hair falls around her in waves, soft pink lips turning into an easy grin. she’s dressed casually, which was a relief to him, fearing he might’ve led to believe her this is a date. it’s not. it has all the makings of one, but it’s not. “especially since i know it’s blue. light blue.” he stares at her, as her eyes widen a fraction, laughing again. “really? i was going to make a joke about all those bruises you’re always sporting, but it seems i got it right.”

“lucky guess,” he mutters, leaning back against his chair. they’re the only ones in this corner of the establishment, two more couples across the room, whispering and holding hands to candle light. “well, it’s my turn. what’s your favorite book?”

“it’s not but it’s okay. mine would be and then there were none.”

“you like thrillers?”

“don’t you? i like the whodunit, the racing against the clock, then the final revelation as all the pieces come together to unmask the villain.” he nods, and despite himself, he can’t help but make the comparison. from the girl in front of him, to. . . he shakes his head, refusing to even form the thought fully. luckily, the food arrives and they’re distracted for a few minutes, savoring the appetizing meals in silence as the twinkling lights of the village shine bright outside the window.

“what are you going to do, when you graduate?” she asks, setting her fork on her plate with all the delicacy in the world. he swallows a mouthful of his pasta, taking his time chewing before he answers.

“work for my father, i guess,” he answers, and it’s the simple truth. he doesn’t mention it’s only because he has no dream of his own. no ambitions, no talents that might take him into a life he actually wants to live. instead, he pretends the question doesn’t stir something unspeakable in him. “and you?”

“oh, i can’t wait to graduate.” she sits forward in her chair, brown eyes glinting as she lays down her plans. work for her mother’s fashion brand, gain experience, travel the world, and hopefully start her own fashion house, one day. her voice gets higher as she speaks, excited at the prospects waiting for her, at a future she has already figured out. he listens, nodding at the right places, startled by how easily she laughs. it dawns on him, that he has never once seen mina kang without a smile on her face. as if she’s perpetually stuck on a state of nirvana. it bothers him enough, that he doesn’t realize he’s still staring long after she’s ended her passionate speech.

she clears her throat, two blotches of red on her cheeks, as she glances down at her plate. “sorry, i talk a lot, right? henri usually calls me out, but without her, i have no restraint.”

“no, it’s not it. you just. . . you smile easily.”

she looks up again, surprised, but not offended. “i. . .i was told not to cry, when i was a kid. my dad thought it was too upsetting to hear my cries, so he told me if i wanted to be a good girl, i needed to smile. even if i was upset, i should smile so no one else would feel the same way. so now, i do it without thinking.”

“that’s fucked up,” sinclair blurts out, and she chuckles again, though it sounds more nervous than amused. “if you’re upset, cry. if you’re angry, punch. who cares what other people think? you’re not responsible for anyone else’s feelings.”

mina gawks at him, then, long enough that the back of his neck begins burning. when he clears his throat, she follows suit, resuming eating her food that’s likely gone cold. but she doesn’t say anything. when sinclair looks at her again, she’s smiling at her plate.

-----

as he walks her back to her dorm room, he’s inclined to believe her, then, about being friends. with the exception of certain bodily functions she can’t control, their dinner was kept purely platonic. they talked, and though mina talked more, it wasn’t uncomfortable. he. . . liked it, if he’s honest with himself. she’s surprisingly honest, humorous, with a penchant for chocolate cake and a carefreeness he hasn’t seen in a while. after they were done eating, she took him on a walk around the village, and he shared a story about the time luna walked in on simon peeing against that exact frozen tree, and mina found it funny enough to give him a real smile. not her overexaggerated laughs, which she promptly stopped after her admission, but something true. and though he didn’t mean to, he found himself grinning along.

the hardest part, however, was realizing that although there is nothing wrong with mina --- he knows with certainty, that he won’t fall for her. because every time she mentioned her best friend, the girl he told himself to forget, his heart beat just a little faster. even now, as they approach her room, his mind is filled with memories of the last time he walked these same steps, hand bleeding and someone else at his side. it’s infuriating, and the more he tries to fight it, the less he succeeds.

“well, thank you for walking me home,” mina says, coming to a stop in front of her door. he nods, but she doesn’t move, and neither does he. he winces, internally, because he knows already what she will do, before she even moves. and he should step back, and tell her that while she is a very nice girl, nothing ought to happen between them because he will disappoint her. he’s about to do it, but the doorknob turns behind her and impulse takes over.

he kisses her cheek, at the same time as she gets on her tippy toes, and the door opens wide.

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thebluelemontree · 5 years

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Why do you think Sandor wanted that song so much? What did it mean to him? Clearly the idea of her singing to him was on his mind for awhile. The song obviously carries symbolic meanings for the reader. But what was its in-universe significance to the man who demanded it? Why was it so important to him that she sing specifically?

It’s part of his childhood idealism and the knight he wanted to be. The kind that saves fair maidens among other heroic deeds. The day he saved her in the bread riot was a song come alive for him. For the first time in his life, Sandor wasn’t just doing his job guarding and carrying out the commands of terrible people. He was protecting an honest-to-goodness innocent person in need of saving, and Sansa is straight out of central casting as a fair maiden. From Sansa’s recollection:

The Hound leapt at them, his sword a blur of steel that trailed a red mist as it swung. When they broke and ran before him he had laughed, his terrible burned face for a moment transformed. – Sansa IV, ACOK.

You could read this as nothing more than bloodlust; however, it seems to me his expression was “transformed” from his normal anger into something else. It’s the presence of anger that Sansa admits is what makes his burned face “terrible,” not so much the scars. Now that Sansa has a chance to really think about it after some time has passed from the harrowing event, his face was different when he saved her. I see it as Sandor having a brief moment of elation and pride. This is what it feels like to be a hero. This is what his grandfather did for Tytos Lannister. It’s not all bullshit and children’s stories. It also tells us Sandor is capable of romanticizing a terrible event, just as Sansa. He will later fudge the retelling of events to make it seem like the song came as a result of saving Sansa’s life in the riot:

“… I saved your sister’s life too. The day the mob pulled her off her horse, I cut through them and brought her back to the castle, else she would have gotten what Lollys Stokeworth got. And she sang for me. You didn’t know that, did you? Your sister sang me a sweet little song.“ – Arya IX, ASOS.

Then later at his death, he will damn himself as no true hero because he failed to protect her from Joffrey. He botched his own rescue attempt by scaring the daylights out of her. Because of his frailty and fuck-ups, in his mind, he abandoned her to an even worse fate with Tyrion. He is the “gutless fraud” he is talking about. He never deserved that song after all and the way he actually got it shames him to the point he wants to die:

“I hate liars. I hate gutless frauds even worse. Go on, do it.” When Arya did not move, he said, “I killed your butcher’s boy. I cut him near in half, and laughed about it after.” He made a queer sound, and it took her a moment to realize he was sobbing. “And the little bird, your pretty sister, I stood there in my white cloak and let them beat her. I took the bloody song, she never gave it…”

Sandor tying Sansa’s song to the riot is important, but let’s back up a bit because the seed for the song idea was planted before that.

. . . ah, you’re still a stupid little bird, aren’t you? Singing all the songs they taught you … sing me a song, why don’t you? Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids. You like knights, don’t you?“

He was scaring her. "T-true knights, my lord.”

“True knights,” he mocked. “And I’m no lord, no more than I’m a knight. Do I need to beat that into you?" Clegane reeled and almost fell. "Gods,” he swore, “too much wine.” – Sansa II, ACOK. [Real smooth there, Sandor]

The dot-dot-dots usually mean a character just had a gear-shifting thought. This is from their meeting on the serpentine steps. He’s just noticed she’s “almost a woman” then had to remind himself that no, she’s still too young and immature for that. Sandor’s drunken, less-inhibited brain is bouncing around like a ping-pong ball between his just-awakened attraction and frantically trying to stomp it out. He’s over-correcting by calling her a “stupid little bird” because (as reflected in his swaying) how off-balance he is thrown by interacting with her. Not surprisingly, it’s Sandor who is actually showing his immaturity. Those ellipses indicate a little light bulb has just turned on and it will become an idea that he really latches on to. Oh, but he can’t just straight up ask for a song. No way. Better frame it as a halfhearted dare instead so she doesn’t think he’s actually interested in something so lame, stupid, and the antithesis of everything he’s preached at her. She reminds him that it’s true knights that she likes, which he must then beat into his own head that he isn’t even a knight, let alone a true one at this point. He couldn’t be further from the heroes she looks up to. The song was a dumb idea anyway, right? So why can’t he let it go?

I would point out just before Sandor brings up the song again, it’s Sansa that has coaxed a poetic “song” about a hero out of Sandor first without him realizing it (whether he willed it or no):

As they were winding their way up the steps, she said, "Why do you let people call you a dog? You won’t let anyone call you a knight.”

“I like dogs better than knights. My father’s father was kennelmaster at the Rock. One autumn year, Lord Tytos came between a lioness and her prey. The lioness didn’t give a shit that she was Lannister’s own sigil. Bitch tore into my lord’s horse and would have done for my lord too, but my grandfather came up with the hounds. Three of his dogs died running her off. My grandfather lost a leg, so Lannister paid him for it with lands and a towerhouse, and took his son to squire. The three dogs on our banner are the three that died, in the yellow of autumn grass. A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he’ll look you straight in the face." He cupped her under the jaw, raising her chin, his fingers pinching her painfully. "And that’s more than little birds can do, isn’t it? I never got my song.”

“I … I know a song about Florian and Jonquil.“

"Florian and Jonquil? A fool and his cunt. Spare me. But one day I’ll have a song from you, whether you will it or no.”

“I will sing it for you gladly.”

Sandor Clegane snorted. “Pretty thing, and such a bad liar…”

Dot-dot-dot!!! Sansa doesn’t offer to sing about just any knight saving a maiden. He never asked for a specific song. It was her choice. She offers to sing her favorite song, which makes it a deeply personal gift. So this scene was actually about an exchange of songs, where Sandor gave one that was personal to him as well. Sansa’s song is also a romantic one, specifically about a maiden who falls in love with an unconventional knight. He wasn’t prepared for that, nor can he believe it, and as usual, reacts with knee-jerk cynicism. She’s so pretty that she has to be lying that she’d ever “gladly” sing a song like that for him. You might want to follow up with this post on those other connotations of the song too because Sansa dreaming of Sandor in her marriage bed gives another ironic twist on having a song from her whether she “wills it or no.” Even without the sexual innuendo meaning, singing a song for a man is an intimate act which they are both aware of. It’s a piece of herself that she would give gladly to him “one day” in the future.

The problem that will prevent Sansa from being able to give the song gladly lies in Sandor’s immaturity, neediness, cynicism, and untreated PTSD. Fast forward to the bread riot when he’s high on feeling like one of those true knights she holds in high regard. He wanted that validation from her but feels deflated when he doesn’t get it in the way he hoped.

"The little bird still can’t bear to look at me, can she?” The Hound released her. “You were glad enough to see my face when the mob had you, though. Remember?”

…

“I … I should have come to you after,” she said haltingly. “To thank you, for … for saving me … you were so brave.”

“Brave?” His laugh was half a snarl. “A dog doesn’t need courage to chase off rats. They had me thirty to one, and not a man of them dared face me.”

So roughly two months have passed (according to the ASOIAF timeline) since the riot and this conversation. Sansa never even attempted to thank Sandor for saving her, which she acknowledges after some thought that she should have. For Sandor, it’s a twofold dud. Not only does he have to remind her, but the thanks she gives is lukewarm and rote. To be entirely fair, the riot was not a song for Sansa. She was traumatized by it. Even the manner in which she was rescued was rife with graphic violence that Sandor doesn’t seem to fully appreciate; however, I’m not sure Sansa would have been so negligent in thanking her rescuer if it had been Ser Loras. In fact, her nightmare about the riot is an acknowledgment that it wasn’t one of her preferred heroes that saved her. No one else put themselves between her and the mob. She would not be alive if it weren’t for the rude asshole with the terrible face standing before her. A little more gratitude was in order, but Sandor doesn’t make that easy either. He can’t let on that he cared that much about being her hero or that he was hurt and disappointed by her oversight. Again, he overcompensates by drastically downplaying it, acting like it’s dumb to make a big deal out of it, and just being an insufferable jerk about everything. We can see from the way Sandor framed the story to Arya he had fantasized about Sansa reaching out to him post-riot to thank him with a song. Florian and Jonquil, just like she promised. It was supposed to be the icing on the cake for his very song-like heroic deed. And maybe, just maybe, there was a little smidgeon of hope that she reciprocated his romantic feelings thrown in there as well.

So that leads us to the Blackwater. It’s always important to keep in mind that Sandor demanded the literal song. He was never using the word as a euphemism. He is also in the throes of a major PTSD episode and is not able to comprehend why his behavior is frightening to Sansa. So why did he have to demand the song at knifepoint? Why did he demand it at all? Why was it that important to him at that moment?

“Why did you come here?”

“You promised me a song, little bird. Have you forgotten?”

She didn’t know what he meant. She couldn’t sing for him now, here, with the sky aswirl with fire and men dying in their hundreds and their thousands. “I can’t,” she said. “Let me go, you’re scaring me.”

…

“I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.” He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. “Still can’t bear to look, can you?” she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. “I’ll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said.” His dagger was out, poised at her throat. “Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life." – Sansa VII, ACOK.

Sandor has deserted during the battle after he could no longer go on fighting surrounded by wildfire. He’s been labeled a craven and desertion is a crime that can be punishable by death. When he says he’s lost “all,” he means he’s lost his entire sense of self. Sandor Clegane doesn’t know who he is anymore. The fearsome Hound has been (in his eyes) unmanned by a half-man without any real martial ability. His military career and reputation have been torpedoed. He has no home or position anymore. Gregor already took everything else. Everything is crashing down around him, and he’s self-medicating the tidal wave of panic and humiliation with alcohol. The one person he can go to for comfort and validation is Sansa. If he can pledge himself to her, abscond from the city with her, be her hero again, then he still has an identity as a warrior and a man.

Sandor had been waiting for her in her room, lying on her bed like a scared little boy seeking some maternal solace. The way he says “Little Bird, I knew you’d come” sounds more like he had been silently praying for her to rescue him from this place rather than the other way around. To Sansa, the song is not only an inappropriate thing to ask for at this moment with all the chaos, violence, and uncertainty. It sounds downright crazy. He’s covered in blood, drunk, smelling of vomit, skulking around in the dark and grabbing her, but he accuses Sansa of being irrationally afraid as if she has no cause. He thinks she’s carelessly forgotten the promised song as if that was an obvious and sane answer to her question of why he’s there. All this suggests how greatly Sandor is disassociating from reality at this moment.

Offering to protect her and kill anyone that tries to hurt her is as close as Sandor can come to articulating his feelings for her. Some call it a declaration of love, which I agree that it is, albeit it’s a very misguided expression of love entwined with violence. He interprets her response to that declaration as her still not being able to look at his disfigurement, even after all that he has done for her and still trying to do. It makes him furious. This is where Sandor’s severe PTSD, his desperation to reclaim a sense of self, and his perceived wrongful rejection by her cause him to take a sharp nosedive into his darkest and most cynical beliefs: that Sansa has finally shown her true colors and she’s proven herself to be just another highborn brat. All he wanted was just listen to a soft, dulcet voice spinning some beautiful imagery to drown out the sounds of all those screaming, burning men. All he demanded asked for was to hear her sing about her favorite knight and recall a day when he felt brave and on top of the world. But damn it, she denied him this one small thing that would help him feel better right now. Even then he offers up everything he has to take her north, and she spurns it. No real fair maiden of the songs would ever be so ungrateful and impossible to please. When she said she’d sing for him gladly, she lied. She’s a liar. She saves her songs for handsome faces. She never intended to keep her promise. But fuck it, that song is owed to him. Might as well just take it.

Sandor is, of course, completely wrong and in the wrong here. A fact that will dawn on him as soon as the Mother’s Hymn registers in his brain and he can see himself with clarity. He came to her like a monster, not a hero. Sansa was right to be afraid of him and to refuse him. By Sansa touching his face, she is saying he did have her compassion and willingness to comfort him all along. She even has the grace in her to give it to him now when he least deserves it, which makes her even more of a true lady than she was before. It was the Hound she rejected, not him. His anger, fear, and cynicism caused him to see fault in her when there was none. He hurt the person he cared for most in the world and for that he tears off his white cloak, leaving disgusted and ashamed. The song then becomes a haunting reminder of his worst self rather than his greatest glory. This is why he finds it so necessary to confess taking the song along with his other failures and bad acts. To him, it was just as bad as letting Sansa be beaten if that gives you any indication of how seriously Sandor actually takes the meaning of the song. It was a piece of her that he didn’t have a right to and wasn’t worthy of. Songs from fair maidens are for heroes and true knights. Not for a gutless fraud like himself.

#valyrianscrolls #sandor clegane meta #sansa stark meta #sansan meta #i'll have a song from you #the battle of the blackwater #trippyl0ngstocking #good thing Sansa understood and already forgave him #but he still owes her a sincere apology #and he must find a way to forgive himself

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skz-bangchan · 5 years

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First meeting // Bang Chan

Word count: 1670 Warnings: none A/N: Hi guys! This is my first little fic for SKZ, it’s based on a cliché prompt “They cover the small amount of change you are short on for a purchase”. Enjoy!

This unplanned visit to the grocery store was gonna be more expensive than I had initially thought. The little basket I had picked up at the entrance was almost full. All I needed, really, were some tampons and pads but the sight of beautiful fruit had made me remember that I barely ever ate fruit, the smell of fresh bread had been too strong, and the temptation of the Black Forest cake had been too much.

I was now in the feminine hygiene aisle, moving my head to the beat of the song blasting in my headphones (my eardrums will probably make me pay in a few years) and picking up packs and packs of normal pads, tampons and panty liners in my arms. Better to stock up on all of that so I don’t have to think about it for the next few months. I managed to put a couple of packs in the basket, but it clearly was too small to carry everything, so I carefully started to stack the pads in one arm, resting my chin on top of the pile. Once that was done, I bent slowly and carefully to pick up the basket, trying to keep everything in balance in my arms.

Checking the aisle one last time, making sure I didn’t need anything else, I made a step back and turned, but as I did, I violently bumped into a strong chest, making me bounce back and almost trip, barely catching myself. Which couldn’t be said of the stack of pads I previously had in my arms.

“I’m so sorry,” a male voice apologised as I bent down to quickly pick up my things.

Without looking at him I started stacking the pads again, shaking my head. “No, it’s my fault, I wasn’t watching were I was going,” I said.

He held me a couple packs and as I was reaching for them I looked up with a polite smile on my face. “Thank y-,” the words got stuck in my throat when my eyes met his handsome face.

His golden hair was braided on one side of his head, showing a pierced ear, while it was down and slightly wavy on the other side, bangs almost covering his left eye. A kind smile was stretching his full lips and gentle dark eyes were staring at me. It felt like the world had paused for a couple minutes, allowing me to take in the beauty of an angel. In reality, I probably just froze for a couple seconds too much.

Blinking my stupor away, I grabbed the pack he was handing me and scrambled to my feet. “Thank you.”

The young man stood up after me and smirked. “You’re preparing for a war?” he teased, eyebrow cocked, pointing at my provisions of pads and tampons.

I felt heat warm up my cheeks as I laughed, a bit embarrassed. “No, I just like to stock up so I don’t need to worry about it for a few months,” I explained.

He nodded. We stared at each other for a bit, none of us saying anything. Cute dimples carved his smiley face and I felt shy being under the gaze of such a pretty boy. He was dressed all in black, jeans ripped at the knees and plain hoodie. My heart was beating strongly in my chest, the pulsations vibrating through my whole body. Oh my, I rarely ever felt like this for a stranger. Was this man some kind of sorcerer?

“Do you need help carrying things?”

If it wasn’t for his plump lips moving, I don’t think I would have noticed him talk. Shaking my head in hopes to get my thoughts straight, I declined. “I’m practically done but thanks for asking.”

“Ok,” he nodded.

“I-I better get going,” I stammered. “I apologize again for bumping into you.”

“Don’t worry,” he shrugged and smiled at me. I smiled back and started walking backwards towards the register. “You should look where you’re going,” the pretty stranger teased with a smirk when I kept walking backwards, not able to tear my eyes off him.

My face burned in embarrassment and I quickly turned around, thankfully not running into anyone. I heard him chuckle as I walked away, and I grimaced. Why did I have to be so awkward? I hate myself. But is it really a surprise that I embarrassed myself in front of a cute boy? Not really, I should be used to it by now. On my way to the register, I picked up more cake, because I needed it to recover from that shame. I patiently waited in line for my turn and when I finally reached the cashier, the young man didn’t even greet me or smile.

“Bag?” he asked gruffly.

Ok, this dude definitely woke up on the wrong foot. “No, I have one, thank you,” I said politely taking out a tote bag from my purse. As he scanned my product, I progressively put them in the bag.

“Cash or card?”

“Card,” I said automatically, but when I looked into my wallet, I didn’t find it. Actually, I had no cards at all in it and I remembered it was because I had taken them all out to sort them and had forgotten to put them back. I smile awkwardly to the rude cashier. “Hmm, actually it’s gonna be cash.”

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, but I ignored him. I was too preoccupied with hoping to have enough cash on me to pay for all of this. I gave him all my notes and all my change, quickly doing the math and thanking the gods for having enough money.

The cashier did the math too but instead of putting the money in the register he held his free hand to me. “You’re missing some change.”

I started at him in disbelief. “But I counted-.”

“You counted wrong,” he interrupted, counting out loud to prove it and, indeed, I didn’t give him enough.

Shit. I sighed and rubbed my eyes in frustration. For just small change, he could have been nice and let me go, but nice wasn’t in this man’s vocabulary. I was about to grab something from my tote bag to give back when someone stepped next to me and gave money to the cashier.

“I’ll pay what’s missing, just add this please.”

It was the cute boy.

I stared at him wide-eyed and mouth slightly opened. What was he doing here? Was he just behind me all this time? When my brain finally registered what he was doing I tried to stop him, but the transaction was done and he was saying bye to the cashier, gently grabbing my shoulders and pushing me towards the exit. Still not believing what just happened, I let myself be guided by him.

When the late spring sun kissed our skins outside of the store, he let go of me. He smiled and was about to leave, but I grabbed his sleeve. “Wait,” I said. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He smiled wide at me, the vision of his cute dimples accelerating the beating of my heart. “It’s ok, it was just some change.”

“Thank you, you were my savior today,” I smiled. “How can I repay you?”

He stared at me intently and cocked his head to the left. “You could have coffee with me,” he replied.

I raised an eyebrow. “You seem to forget I don’t have any money on me.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s on me,” he shrugged.

“Shouldn’t I be the one buying you coffee?” I laughed.

“You’ll pay next time,” he said with a wink.

I blushed. Was he asking me out? And did he just wink at me? Could this man be any more attractive, I’m was about to melt. Should I accept? A sudden breeze of wind flew in my hair, putting it in my face, but before I made a gesture to sweep it off, the beautiful young man brushed it out delicately. Our eyes met and I noticed his dilated pupils. His fingers lingered on my cheek and my gaze fell on his lips. They were full and seemed soft, perfectly kissable.

“What do you say?” he asked in a low voice, almost in a whisper, the warmth of his hand leaving my face.

Without hesitating I nodded slowly. “Ok,” I smiled.

He smiled back. “Perfect! I know a nice coffee shop not far from here,” he said, starting to walk in its direction.

I followed him, giggling because he seemed excited like a child and because I couldn’t believe I was going on a date with a stranger. A very good-looking and nice stranger at that.

He suddenly stretched his hand to me. “I’m Chan by the way.”

It’s true that we hadn’t introduced ourselves. “y/n,” I said, shaking his hand. Which was surprisingly soft compared to mine who probably was drier than the Sahara Desert.

“Do you need help with your bag?” he asked, pointing to the tote bag on my shoulder.

“No I’m fine, thanks,” I smiled. An idea suddenly came to my mind. “Oh I bought tons of cake, we could share if you want?” I proposed.

He smirked. “Are you trying to buy me so we don’t go out for coffee a second time?”

“Would you be disappointed?” I teased.

He dramatically brought his hand to his chest, sighing desperately. “It would break my heart.”

I laughed at that. What a dork. “Don’t worry, I’ll buy you coffee next time,” I promised, hand solemnly up, making him laugh.

As we made our way to the coffee shop, talking about our favourite desserts, my mind was still trying to process this meeting. I thought things like that only happened in movies and novels, but guess life always has a way of surprising us.

As I listened to Chan’s voice and admired his contagiously happy smile, I hoped that this would be the start of something beautiful.

I hope you liked it! Please do tell me what you thought :), also I already have a few other ideas lmao, I hope to write them soon!

#stray kids #bang chan #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #kpop #fanfiction #stray kids chan #stray kids bang chan #fluff #kpop fanfic #skz #skz chan #mypost #myfic

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xazz · 5 years

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Summery: Malik is in southern Turkey researching the former practice of white smithing, a now dead practice involving “magic” white rock. He’s got a lead and more than he could hope for in there being a still intact white rock forge that’s since been forgotten and neglected over the generations as the world moved away from magic.

Then he finds an old sword in the decrepit forge and brings it back home with him.

This chapter is NSFW but you're only able to read that part on my patreon.

*Vibrates excitedly*

Modern person having to deal with someone from the past is a favorite trope lols

Chapter 2: Sword of the Eagle

Come the fresh morning Malik had two tasks once he got back from mosque with the Tazim men. One was to start cleaning the sword and the other was to start digitizing his notes. He still didn't think the sword was very old or valuable so he wasn't super worried about the restoration process. But at the least he could clean it up and make it a display piece for back home. Which was why the first thing he did was fill up a bucket with water and baking soda and let one end soak in it. It wouldn't damage the sword beyond making it wet and the baking soda would start to break down the grime, dirt, and hopefullly what Malik thought was blood.

While the sword was soaking Malik was using his lap desk sitting right in front of the old window unit and working on his notes. He copied the notes he'd taken yesterday to his notes on his computer while downloading the five hundred pictures he'd taken yesterday. Once they'd downloaded he started going through them, finding the best ones.

Unfortunately, the lighting hadn't been that good yesterday. He'd known that but hoped it wouldn't have mattered. He had some good pictures closer to the flash light but a lot of them were dark and while Malik’s eye had been able to see it pretty well the digital camera had failed to do so. Only about a quarter of his photos were usable and none of the ones of the white rock pit were useable at all.

Malik was disheartened at first before realizing that since they were bad that meant he could just go back and take more! He wrote in his field notes book which areas of the room he needed pictures of still.

After lunch he took the sword out of the bucket and wiped it off. “Huh, you’re kinda pretty,” he said as he cleaned the baking soda off the hilt. There was still nasty dirt all over it but he could see the metal of the hilt now. It looked like a gilt metal of some sort. He wiggled the sword in the scabbard to try and pull it all the way out.

With a few grunts and thanks to some water getting into the scabbard he managed to yank the sword out of the scabbard. “Yeah, just a mameluke,” he said, disappointed. “Sorry bud, wish you were something cooler,” he put the sword blade first and the scabbard into the bucket along with some more baking soda. He'd check on it in a while.

When it wasn't so ungodly hot out Malik finally ventured out of his room and went out to just wander the city a little. It was a nice place and the people friendly even with his horrendous American accent all over his Turkish. He'd gotten a lot better in the past two weeks thanks to speaking it exclusively at his home stay since Yusuf only spoke some English and his parents no English.

He ended up finding a bar and getting food and drink for dinner. A live band played and he made some bar friends who were talkative drunks and got him to drink probably too much raki.

Far later than he intended he stumbled out of the bar. It took him three times to correctly dial Yusuf’s number and about fifteen minutes to get around to asking for a ride. Mostly because Malik kept just talking about random shit and was just sort of gay over the phone and making Yusuf laugh. Malik was out at home but didn't talk about it here in Turkey. He hadn't said anything too obscene, just told Yusuf he was handsome and had pretty blue eyes and was funny and had a nice beard. He'd just said all those things about twelve times.

Yusuf arrived with his moped and all Malik had to do was hold on. He ended up with his face pressed into the back of his shoulder because the movement of the moped made him nauseous. Yusuf smelled nice.

Before he knew it they were home and Yusuf just found Malik’s drunkenness amusing and helped him into his room. Malik just took off his shoes before face planting into the bed.

When Yusuf knocked early for dawn prayer Malik was still fast asleep. “Whatttt?” he groaned from the bed.

“You coming to mosque?” Yusuf called.

Malik blinked. “No,” and he rolled over, “hung over.” He said it loud enough for Yusuf to hear and heard him laugh through the door. Malik went back to sleep soundly.

He only woke when the heat became unbearable and he had to get up and turn on the AC. He tore his shirt off and stood in front of the cold air to help dry his sweaty skin. Blinking in the bright light he grabbed around for his sunglasses, found them, and glued them to his eyeballs. Then he put on some new clothes and went to beg Jawna for some food because he was starving and had missed breakfast. She just tutted him gently and gave him a carby meal with rice and, of course, some delicious bread and cheese.

Once Malik was fed and feeling not so hung over with a belly full of food he went back to his room and picked up the sword out of the bucket. He wiped the baking soda and water off but it was still nasty. He'd change the water out later. In the meantime he just threw the water out the window. He ended up taking a shower and laying in bed most of the day watching American cartoons on a pirate site before it was time for dinner.

Thankfully the next day he was over his hangover and could get back to work. That was mostly research of other whitesmith forges and cross referencing pictures from there to the Tazim forge. He made more notes and wrote about his day yesterday in his journal.

After lunch he turned his attention to the sword while watching something on his laptop. He got out his tools for careful cleaning of historically significant relics and more water and baking soda. It was some busy work to do he stopped every few minutes to watch his show before going back it.

The hilt was a real mess. Just caked in dried dirt and disgusting grease and grime and some blood that had solidified into something nearly like stone while it had been in the white rock pit. He just carefully chipped it away and used a toothbrush and fine tooth picker comb to scrap it clean.

Around dinner time he’d cleaned half of the hilt and only then did he really look at it. “Wow,” he said. The hilt had really good craftsmanship to it and surprisingly the pommel was made of some sort of porous stone like pumice but it glittered like white rock. The metal part was gilt, probably iron or steel, but with actually several large faceted gemstones imbedded in the metal. The facets just made Malik think it was a newer sword all the more and the gaudiness of it meant it was probably some sort of ceremonial sword. He rubbed the grime off one last time on this side of the hilt, the gilt gleaming in the light of the ceiling light. And it had a slight shimmering quality like the white rock in the pit. He was sure it was because powdered white rock had the consistency of fine glitter and was thus difficult to remove completely without multiple washes.

“You’re actually real pretty,” he said to the sword in English. “Dunno how you ended up in that pit but,” he shrugged. “You'll be a good souvenir. Kadar is going to lose his mind when he sees you. He'll be so jealous,” he laughed a little. Then he got up from the floor, put the sword aside, and went to go have dinner with the Tazims.

The next day Malik planned to visit the forge the following morning. He went out and bought some equipment he might need. Mostly a bigger backpack and a high luminosity flashlight with a removable battery he bought a spare of. He got all his equipment in order and spent the rest of the day watching football with Yusuf and Ubaid between two Turkish teams. Once he could finally get away he returned to his room and started cleaning the other side of the hilt. He removed about half the dirt before going to bed.

The trek up to the white rock forge was even worse that day. Yusuf had work so it was just Malik and Ubaid so Malik had to carry most of everything. Ubaid carried their food and half their water but Malik had to carry the rest plus his equipment. It took them two hours to reach the forge that time and Malik needed about half an hour to recover before he could actually start to work.

He set up his tripod with his camera and directed the flashlight to points of interest. It was as bright as natural sunlight with the flashlight on what he pointed it at and could take good pictures of the forge. He spent most of the day taking pictures and rubbings in the forge. In the afternoon he started emptying the pit in the room so he could see the entire thing without the white rock dust obscuring it.

Malik opted to leave any undrunk water and some of his heavier equipment in the oven. No one came up here and if someone did steal it tripods and big flashlights weren't super expensive. That would also be less weight to carry up the next time.

Upon arriving back home Malik attempted to wash off the white rock dust all over him. He managed it but like the sword, there was still residue all over his clothes, skin, and boots. He'd be like a sparkly vampire for a few days because of that. He slept good that night.

In the morning he immediately set to work on his notes and research. He worked furiously all morning and in the afternoon Yusuf came and dragged him west out to a beach to hang out with some friends. Malik ended up getting a mild sunburn for his troubles. After dinner back home he worked a bit more on cleaning the sword.

Over the next week, the pattern continued. Malik would get up, spend the morning working and after lunch do something else, either cleaning the sword and going and doing something in the city. He and Ubaid went up to the forge two more times that week. Malik also made significant headway on the sword, cleaning the entire hilt and most of the scabbard. Cleaning the inside of the scabbard was easier said than done thanks to its curved shape but he just worked on it a bit at a time.

The next week was much the same except Malik turned his attention to the forge’s entrance and the fresco murals painted so beautifully across it. He also started trying to clean the blade itself. But the damn thing was stubborn and no matter how much he scrubbed or rubbed the rust wouldn't come up. It was frustrating.

One day he was so furiously trying to clean off the rust that his hand slipped. He let out a yell as it sliced his hand and he dropped the sword. He rushed out of the room to find Jawna to help him clean the wound and let her coo over him as he blubbered at the cut on his hand.

He also went and got a tetanus booster.

When he came back from the clinic he found the sword where he’d left it. “Huh,” he picked it up. He’d cut himself on the backside of the curve. Normally mamelukes were single-edged, like most sabers and scimitars, but this one had an edge on both sides, not unlike a more traditional wedge-shaped sword. “Who made you like that, huh? And why? That’s so weird. Who makes a curved sword with two edges?” There was, of course, no answer. He put the sword back in its scabbard. He'd work on it again later. His hand hurt still and he should probably clean up the blood on the floor.

Except there was no blood on the floor. He knew for sure he’d bled on the floor. Maybe he’d exaggerated. Being cut made him think he'd bled more than he actually had.

The next few days he worked to clean the rust off the sword blade when he had some downtime. He was rewarded for his effort with several more cuts on the hand and one on the top of his arm. Nothing too serious beyond a yelp of pain and running to Jawna for sympathy and her to bandage him up and give him some mother's attention for his slips.

But it was weird because sometimes he wasn't even sure how the sword cut him. A few he absolutely deserved by handling it stupidly. But several it was like the sword moved to knick his finger. He knew that was impossible but still.

The rust still didn't come off no matter how much he cleaned it and he was starting to get frustrated with it. So he just started keeping it sheathed and cleaning the hilt and scabbard because at least that he could clean.

The sword itself was beautiful honestly. Under all the dirt and caked-on grime the scabbard was lacquered red with a white stripe and studded with what could have been round polished jewels or colored glass. The end was capped with gold and it had a golden spine shaped like a flowering vine. The hilt was equally ornate, pretty and gilt with several faceted gems or colored glass. The pommel ended in a hooked claw shaped like an eagle’s head, the beak perfectly shaped for ripping and tearing. Malik didn't know what an ornamental sword like this one needed a pommel claw for. But it made it all the prettier since the eagle was done in a lifelike cast and like the rest of the sword gilt in brilliant gold.

The craftsmanship put into it was insane and unlike anything he’d ever seen except in ancient epics. It looked almost like how Odysseus’ sword was described in the Iliad save for the shape. Or like the sword in the epic of Gilgamesh but it had the eagle hook at the pommel. Whoever had made this sword had put a lot of time into it. He also didn't know where something like this would come from other than a prop maker or something like that for how extravagant it was. It wasn't old enough to be anything but. That didn't explain what the hell it was or why it was a double-edged saber.

After a few days of getting over his annoyance about not be able to get the rust off, he decided to take another stab at it.

When he unsheathed the sword the blade was clean.

There wasn't a speck of rust on the steel. It was shiny and new and when Malik gently tested the blade it was so sharp it gave him a paper cut just from touching it. “What the actual fuck?” He just looked at the sword in confusion. The last time he'd drawn the sword it had been a rusted mess.

He left the scabbard and went out to find Yusuf who was leaning close to the TV watching a football game. “Yusuf,” he said.

“Huh?” Yusuf looked up but was distracted by the game playing. Then his eyes darted to the sword. “Oh! You finally got the rust off! Awesome! Knew you could do it. Just took some elbow grease, yeah?”

Malik blinked, “I… so the sword has no rust to you too?”

“Uh, yeah Malik. You okay?”

Malik blinked some more, “Yeah. I guess I’m just in so much shock I finally got it clean I couldn't think straight,” he said. No way he could tell Yusuf that the sword had just untrusted itself. That would sound insane. “It’s nice right?”

“Yeah. It's cool. Did you need something?” He motioned with his head back to the football game.

“Oh. No, I just wanted to show you. Go ahead,” and he stepped back. Yusuf immediately returned his attention to the TV and Malik slowly went back to his room.

He held the sword gently across his palms, aware of how deathly sharp it was. “What happened to you? How did you unrust?” The sword just sat there across his palms. He shifted his hands a bit and cried out when the sword cut him, so clean was the cut he didn't even feel it at first. He tossed the sword onto the bed and left. “Jawnaaaa,” he called as he entered the kitchen where she was making dinner.

“Malik— did you cut yourself on that rusty sword again?” she scolded him and he just whined pathetically. She scolded him and then cooed over him, helping to clean his wound and like the grandma she was also gave some bread, jam, and nut butter. He thanked her before going back to his room.

“Stupid ass sword,” he muttered in English as he opened the door. He closed the door whining over the fresh cut on his hand. He needed to just keep it in its sheath. It was way too sharp to keep it out. He went back to the bed to do so but when he looked up… his sword was gone. “…. Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

Lying belly down on his bed with one of the GQ magazines open was.. a man. A naked man. Bronze skin and dark brown hair that curled around his ears. They looked over at Malik casually and his eyes were nearly golden they were so amber. “Welcome back, Malik,” he said in Arabic in a shockingly polite voice.

Malik stared and looked around to make sure he wasn't being punked. There was a naked guy in his room. A hot naked guy! A really hot naked guy. Oh fuck. Oh no oh fuck. This was so bad. He didn't even want to think about how bad this was. On a scale of shitty to manageable this was get arrested and deported level. “W-what?” Malik managed to get out.

The man held up the magazine open to him. It had some well-dressed men on it. “Buy me this,” he said.

“What? No! What the fuck!” Only then did he realize he needed to lower his voice. “Who are you? What are you doing in my room?” he whisper yelled.

“You left me here,” he said and put the magazine back on the bed. He sat up. “It isn't my fault you left before I’d finished. Is your hand alright?”

“My hand— how do you know I cut my hand? Who are you? Where is my sword?”

The man blinked at him in annoyance. “I am your sword. I’m a sentient weapon.”

Malik gaped at him. Just full-on jaw on the floor. “You’re what?” he squeaked. A sentient weapon!? Those were just things in stories. Odysseus had had a sentient weapon in the stories. So had Gilgamesh. It was said Julius Cesare had one and even Ghengis Khan. They appeared everywhere in mythos. Every legendary warrior had a sentient weapon and every evil in those stories wanted to possess it. Mythical weapons imbued with great ‘magical’ power infused with the soul of a sublime warrior giving the wielder superhuman abilities.

It was all stories. Everything about sentient weapons was a myth. There had never ever been a confirmed sentient weapon since the contemporary when people turned away from mysticism for morality based religion and science. They weren't real.

The man cocked his head at Malik. “Malik?” he asked.

“I need to sit down,” he said and there was no chair in the room so he just slowly lowered himself onto the floor feeling dazed.

A moment passed and he looked up and saw the man had gotten up and was leaning down in front of him, a concerned look on his face. “Are you alright?”

“Y-you’re actually a living weapon?” his voice felt small.

“I am.” Malik just stared at him and oh no he was even prettier up close with smooth skin and long lashes, his dark hair curling around his face prettily. This wasn't at all fair. “My name is Altair by the way,” he added.

Malik rubbed his face. “What?” he felt so lost. So utterly confused and like he didn't know anything.

“My name. It’s Altair,” he said, slowly getting more annoyed with Malik for acting like a fool.

“Oh— okay. I— living weapon? Shit- oh shit,” he rubbed his face with both hands. Then he looked up at Altair and realized he was very naked. “You’re naked.”

“Well I was a sword until approximately three moments ago,” Altair said.

Malik pushed himself up numbly and shuffled over to his dresser. He pulled out a thobe he’d bought when he’d first come to Dörtyol to fit in a bit better with the local populace. “Put this on,” he said to the naked human-shaped living sword holy shit that sounded so out of this world.

Altair reached out, touched it but didn't take it. “No,” he said.

“What? Yes. Put it on.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Malik demanded.

“It feels cheap,” he folded his arms and turned away, nose up snootily. “I’m better than that.”

Malik’s eye twitched. “You’re putting this on. You’re fucking naked in my room and I can’t have that.”

“I’m not wearing that cheap trash,” Altair said dismissively.

Malik scowled at him. “Yes you are you dumb ass hunk of metal,” and Malik attempted to wrestle it onto him. Altair was scrappy and batted at him which just freed up his hands for Malik to shove through the garment.

“Get off,” he said, trying to push Malik off. “I’m not wearing that.”

“Yes you are,” Malik snapped and they ended up scuffling a bit on the floor. Malik managed to yank his limbs through the sleeves and his head through the hole when he froze as someone knocked on the door.

“Malik? You okay in there? Mom said she heard some noises in here,” Yusuf asked, voice heavy with concern and it took Malik a moment for his brain to switch back over to Turkish.

“Ah- yeah, I’m fine,” he called back. “Just moving some stuff around.”

“You need help?”

“No!” he hoped it didn't sound panicked because he felt a bit panicked.

“… Okay,” Yusuf said slowly. “Dinner is going to be ready soon.”

“Okay! I’ll be out in a minute,” Malik called and was glad when he heard Yusuf’s footsteps walk away. “Don’t get me into trouble, brat,” Malik hissed in Arabic and yanked the thobe the rest of the way down Altair’s body.

“Then get some class,” Altair glared back.

Malik frowned. “Enough. What the fuck? What did you do? What are you? Actually, hold that thought. I need to go have dinner. Keep your damn clothes on.”

“Or what?” Altair growled.

“Or I’ll be pissed off,” Malik snapped. Altair folded his arms moodily as Malik climbed to his feet to go get ready for dinner.

“Everything alright, Malik?” Yusuf asked when he joined them at the table.

“Yes. Everything's fine,” he said shortly. He didn't really talk during dinner and just ate quickly in silence excusing himself as soon as it was socially appropriate. He didn't imagine the Tazims looking after him in concern as he quickly washed his dish in the sink and went back to his room.

Altair was sitting on the bed, naked, looking at the GQ magazine again. “Where are your clothes?” Malik asked. Altair just looked up at him and rose an eyebrow. Malik looked around and found the thobe on the floor by the bed. He picked it up. “Put it on,” he said sternly. Altair just looked at the thobe and then Malik like he was crazy. “Put the thobe on.”

“I can’t understand you,” Altair said in Arabic.

Malik blinked. Right. He just naturally switched to his shitty Turkish when talking with the Tazims. “You know damn well what I'm saying even when I talk Turkish,” and he motioned with the thobe again.

“It’s uncomfortable.”

“Stop being so fucking annoying. You want to get in trouble huh? Because that's what’s going to happen if you don't put this on.”

“Trouble with who?”

“The government. You're a naked man, in my room. Put on some damn clothes before I get arrested.” To say nothing for the fact that he was beautiful and that was a distraction for Malik who didn't need to be distracted when he was having a bit of a freak out over his sword turning into a sexy naked man! Who apparently was a sentient weapon!

Huffing Altair took the thobe and pulled it on. “Happy?”

“Yes, actually,” Malik said sternly. Altair’s lips twitched in something like a smile. “Now what are you doing?”

“Could you be more vague?”

“This,” Malik motioned sharply to Altair's form. “This body thing. You’re a sword.”

“You just took such good care of me after I’d been abandoned I wanted to see what you looked like and not just what your hands felt like, or your voice sounded like,” Altair said, surprisingly soft spoken and kind about it. Malik bristled in a flush high in his ears and across his face. That was the gayest thing he'd heard in months unless he was on a call with his brother.

“Ah— oh— well— can you change back?”

“No.”

“No? What? Why not?”

“I don't have the energy to do so. It took me all the energy I had just to get here from my reserves and from you.”

“Well, then what? You need food?”

“No.”

“That isn't an answer,” Malik said sternly.

Altair frowned at him in annoyance. “You were much nicer to me before. If I knew you were an asshole I would have stayed rusted,” he said.

“Excuse me for being freaked out my sword turned into a man. Which, by the way, WHAT!? And second: HOW?”

“Magic,” Altair said.

“Magic isn't real,” Malik scowled at him.

Malik looked at him, rose his eyebrow and then motioned to himself. “Like you said, your sword turned into a man. Or rather, a man was turned into a sword and he turned back into a man. How do you think that happened?”

“Sentient weapons are myths and not real.”

“And yet here I am,” Altair stood up and Malik flustered when he stepped over to him and got real close, looking up at him. He was pretty short all things considered and the top of his head only came up to Malik’s chin. “You should be grateful.”

Malik bristled. Being mad was better than being turned on by the weird guy in his room. “Oh really now? How you figure that?”

“Because I’m a magic weapon. And judging by your reaction they don't make things like me anymore. I didn't understand you every time you spoke around me but I do know you're a man of history. You should be thrilled I exist.”

Malik frowned at him, annoyed he made sense and annoyed he should have been too. “Okay, look,” he gently pushed Altair back and away. “Magic isn't a thing. Sentient swords are a thing in stories. And this country is super against homosexuality so you showing up naked in my bed like nothing is wrong freaks me out because if anyone found you here I’d be in a lot of trouble.”

“Oh,” Altair said slowly. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are they like that?”

“Because they're stupid.”

“They are,” Altair nodded.

“So you need to not be naked. I don't want to be thrown in jail or deported.”

“I don't want you to either,” Altair said and Malik hated he got all flustered when Altair put his hand on Malik’s chest, worry written across his face.

“So you’ll not try to take your clothes off all the time?”

“I guess,” Altair sighed. “Buy me nicer ones.”

“Sure, whatever. Now can you turn back into a sword?”

“No.”

“Right, energy thing. So what do you need to get more energy?”

“I need to feed.” The way he said it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end.

“I can get you food.”

“No. I don't eat,” he said.

“But you just said-

“My sustenance is no longer food.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “Okay, then what do you eat you picky asshole?”

“Blood,” Altair said with a straight face.

Malik blanched. “So you’re a vampire?”

“A what?”

“You know, a vampire,” Malik said again.

Altair blinked in confusion. “I don't know what that word means. What is a vampire?”

“Uh— it’s a monster that drinks blood for food.”

“Oh, you mean an ekkimu? Those are still around?”

“Wha- actually you know what, no. I don't want to know. We’ll just go with yeah, like that.”

“And I’m not quite like that. I don't have to bite someone like they do. And I don't need much to return to my natural state. It takes much more energy to become this altered state,” Altair said.

“But you can't turn back into a sword without blood?” Malik clarified.

“No.”

Malik sighed. “Does it matter what sort?”

“No.”

Malik sighed again. There was nowhere to get blood this time of night. All the butchers were closed for the night and Jawna had used the last blood she’d bought for blood pudding last week. “So that means… you need my blood.”

“If you don't want me here… yes.”

Malik rubbed his face. “Okay. How about this. I’ll get you some blood tomorrow but you absolutely cannot just turn into a person whenever you want.” Altair made an annoyed face but nodded. “Wait here,” he ordered and left his room quietly, went into the bathroom and found the medical kit Jawna used to patch him up from Altair cutting him several times. In it there was some roll bandages, some medical tape, and some antiseptic. He grabbed all of those and went back into his room, closing the door as softly as he could.

Altair was waiting for him when he came back and his eyes brightened with interest as Malik sat everything down and rolled up his sleeve to over his bicep. He used some of the bandages to wipe part of his skin with the antiseptic. “What’s that?” Altair asked as Malik opened his bedside drawer and pulled out his pocket knife. “Oh!” he cried in delight when Malik pushed the button on the side and the knife unfolded. “Magic,” he declared.

“Not magic, just some springs,” Malik said and wiped down the blade with antiseptic too, letting it air dry.

“Springs? How do you fit all that water in there?”

“… Nevermind,” Malik sighed. Then he clenched his jaw and put the knife against the skin of his bicep. He felt the touch of the cool steel but his hand hesitated. He just needed to get it over with.

His hand wouldn't move.

He hissed in annoyance when he lowered his hand. He couldn't just maim himself like that. “Malik?” Altair asked and sat on the bed next to him.

“Just a second. It isn't easy to just cut yourself,” Malik said. Unless you were a cutter, he supposed. Malik had never done that sort of self-destructive behavior. He lifted the knife back up to try again and again his hand wouldn't move even when he tried to will it. He sighed heavily and dropped his hand again.

“Do you want me to do it?” Altair asked him.

Malik didn't totally trust him. “You drink blood and you’re a sword. How do I know you won’t just cut me up?”

“If I wanted to do that I would have done it already,” Altair said. “No one touches me unless I allow them to.” Malik couldn't dispute that. “I am very precise and light. You won't even feel it.”

“I doubt that,” but Malik still handed him the knife. “Don’t touch the blade and cut where I wiped,” he instructed.

Altair took the knife with a serious face, nodding. He held the little pocket knife with what looked like great reverence. He put his hand on the front of Malik’s arm and very carefully put the knife against his skin. Malik looked away. “Do you want me to warn you?” Altair asked him.

“No, just do it,” Malik said and squeezed his eyes shut. Altair didn't respond there was at once just a faint searing sensation on Malik’s left arm as Altair cut a wide mark across his bicep. He hadn't even felt the cut. The skin around the cut hurt but it had been shockingly painless. He looked back and saw Altair draw the knife back. Malik stared when he licked the blade, his tongue against the sharp edge, leaving no trace of his own blood on the knife and carefully folded it back up.

Malik swallowed when Altair leaned over and licked up his arm to catch where the blood was starting to trickle out and seep down the curve of his arm. Malik was very aware of Altair’s tongue on his skin and the way his arm never actually got bloody. He was also very aware of how oddly reverent Altair seemed about the entire thing. It reminded Malik of his Catholic friends telling him about taking communion at church. A holy act of taking something into their body.

Malik was getting the weirdest and most awkward boner in existence about the entire thing. It was making him really uncomfortable.

After a minute Malik cleared his throat. “You— ah, you done?” he didn't know why he was so flustered by this. Why would he be flustered? This was weird and he really didn't like this at all. Altair looked up at him, tongue splayed against his arm. Was this why people had vampire fetishes? Shit, this was why people had vampire fetishes.

“Almost,” Altair said softly and looked away from him. Thank god.

Another awkward (at least for Malik) minute passed. The bleeding had subsided quite a bit to his surprise when Altair pulled away and licked his lips, making sure he got every drop. Malik quietly had a chub now too and wow he hated that so much. “Done now?”

“Yes,” Altair said, his eyes lidded in content. “A good snack if nothing else.”

Malik refrained from saying the actual first thing on his mind. Instead, he said, “Good, don't get used to it.” And he quickly applied more antiseptic, cursing at the stinging pain of it and wrapped his arm in the bandages. “Now you going to change back into a sword?”

“I suppose. I did say I would,” Altair sighed. “I did rather miss being human,” he said and stretched out his arm in front of him to look at his hand. “It’s nice to be able to see what’s going on and not rely solely on touch or vibrations to understand the world.”

“Yeah— well- later, when the family isn't home.”

“Finnne,” he said as a complaint and leaned back on one arm on the bed. Malik hated it was a distracting motion. “I suppose you aren't that bad of a master,” and Malik was sure he blacked out for a second because the next second Altair was gone. In his place was the sword, resting innocently on the sheet, in its vibrant, jewel-studded, red scabbard.

Malik stared at where he’d been. “What the actual fuck?” he asked the room in English. He just could not deal. He ended up putting the sword in his dresser and closing the drawer.

He poked his head out of the room. He heard the TV on in the living room. Now and then he heard the Tazims laugh at some show on it. Okay good. They were none the wiser. That was how he wanted it.

Malik ended up pacing back and forth in his room for a while, stressed beyond belief by the fact that his sword could just, at will, become a naked man. What was he going to do about this? He’d told Altair he would get him blood. How would he do that? Could he just have him around in the room? A thousand other questions raced through his mind as he calmed down a bit now that his initial panic was over. Like how old was he? What sort of first-hand experiences did he have?

Malik stopped pacing at that thought. Altair could potentially be a mother lode. First-hand accounts of whatever time he was from. Deep insight on whatever time he was from that might be lost to them. But it was a long time ago. Would he remember? Did he have memories as a sword? Had he forgotten thanks to the time between then and now?

By the time it was bedtime Malik was beyond curious and less stressed about the naked man thing. He just had to get Altair a nicer set of clothes and bam, problem fixed. He could do that.

He brushed his teeth, said goodnight to the Tazims, and got into bed. But he ended up staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. His mind was abuzz with a thousand questions and what this could mean for his research. What this could mean for his career. If he had real, tangible proof, of what he’d come out here to study and not just pissing in the wind they’d have to take him seriously. They’d realize his ideas were right.

#altmal #Altair Ibn La'Ahad #malik al sayf #Assassin's Creed #worship

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noisykate · 5 years

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Azores to Falmouth - or nearly

The Azores are lovely, and deserve much more than the few days we gave them. Another time, perhaps.

Horta is the main port of arrival, the marina full of boats which have had big adventures. The social atmosphere is very relaxed; everybody here has ‘been there, done it’ to a significant degree, and the normal tensions arising from watching new arrivals – do they know what they’re doing, can they handle their boat – simply don’t apply. It is difficult to explain – the nearest I can get is that when you pull in to a service station on the M1, there are no learner drivers. It’s a bit like that. A bit.

It is truly wonderful to get back to sensibly priced groceries, decent bread and cheese, and restaurants which don’t hustle you out at 9pm and expect huge tips regardless of the food, because the staff don’t get paid.

The Azores are volcanic: the centre of this island (Faial) is a huge caldera, which we drove up to in our little hire car, with John and Sue, and Carl. We circumnavigated the island, stopping to walk around the area of the 1950’s eruption, which inundated the old lighthouse and a small whaling village on the western end. Stopping for a great lunch of mussels, which Carl thought he didn’t like – disguised with prodigious amounts of garlic, they were a huge hit. Surprisingly green and rural, the island is charming, cattle everywhere. The architecture is Portuguese in style, but mitigated with a more subtle use of the highly patterned tiles we saw in the mainland.

We left Horta on Monday – 17th- after waiting for a predicted blow to pass through. It was a bit of a non-event in Horta, but we weren’t the only ones to play it cautious. Stopping at the fuel dock was a bit of a game, with three boats already in place, and a wind sufficient to pop fenders on the inside boat, a crippled French boat with a broken stay – and, it has to be said, rubbish fenders. Still, the weight of three other boats pressing him into the dock under the influence of 20 knots was a bit much. The marina seemed blithely unconcerned; this is clearly quite normal.

We are now 400 miles out, about 1/3 of the way to Falmouth. The weather has been all over the place, with some flat calm, some fog, and now some windy, rolly conditions, with winds gusting up to 30 knots, and seas up to 4m. The boat is behaving very well, the hydrovane (mechanical wind-driven steering system) coping with most of what gets thrown at it, although you have to be ready to take over for the squalls. Thankfully, these mostly lie in wait for Carl’s watch, to the extent that he is the only one who preps for his watch by putting full oilies on.

Sleep deprivation has taken its toll on tempers - mine particularly. Doing 4 hour shifts nominally gives each person two eight-hour periods off-watch, which should be plenty, but when the boat is rolling hard, it is difficult to get to sleep and then stay asleep long enough to clear the deficit. Fitting in communal eating times also cuts into it.

The food has generally worked out ok, if I say so myself. Homemade bread and cakes (all right, the cake was from just-add-an-egg packets) most days, and cooked-from-scratch dinners most days. The Omnia (stovetop oven) has been brilliant, as has the pressure cooker. The boat oven has hardly been used.

Overall, though, I am done with long passage-making. The magical milky-way star-lit nights with phosphoresce sparkling in the wake as we bob along in a gentle breeze are an absolute delight, but sleep deprivation, uncertainties over the weather, and the physical challenge of cooking and doing the normal stuff of life while being thrown about are the norm – glad I’ve done it, but don’t need to do it again.

Really, really looking forward to getting to Falmouth; family and friends, a long list of jobs, and the prospect of some paid work for both of us; me in acoustics, while Mike will be looking for something boat-related. Berthing master at a handy south-coast marina, with a free berth thrown in, would suit. Not holding our breath, but no chance if you don’t ask!

26 June 2019

We’ve turned towards A Coruna, in the face of persistent north-easterly winds, and the threat of a full gale in the Falmouth area a few days ahead. Now making slow but steady progress, hard on the wind. Winds 20-25 knots, occasionally up to 30, from just north of east.

We were getting advice to divert from Falmouth to either (a) a point south of Ireland, then east, or (b) head direct to Camaret (Brittany, near Brest). In the event, neither option was really tenable – (a) put us in the path of a still unknown quantity, which at times threatened to be quite nasty, and (b) simply did not work – we could not make a course which put us anywhere close. All thoroughly fed up, some more than others; Coruna was the nearest available and attainable land. Carl can fly to London from there, and we will regroup and sort ourselves out before continuing home. So very, very ready to be not on the boat for a while.

27 June 2019

Motoring the last few miles into Coruna. Boring. And a slightly anticlimactic end to our Atlantic odyssey. We expect to arrive in the very early morning, perhaps 4am, and will probably anchor until daylight.

28 June 2019

So we got here, eventually. Marina Coruna, north-west Spain. Tintin got in first, and were anchored just outside the marina when we arrived at about 6am local time. No dramas, apart from the night of no sleep for Mike, as the 50-mile (=10-hour) band around this corner of Spain is very busy with large shipping, and the alarm kept tripping every few minutes, all night. No danger, plenty of warning, but little chance of proper sleep. I got off best, lying down at 11pm, getting up for a few short-lived non-events, then up properly at about 5am to help get in to the marina.

We crawled into the first appropriate berth, had breakfast, and bodged around, all very grumpy and sleep-deprived, until it was time to check in, which -as usual- took ages.

Carl and I set about sorting the inside of the boat; laundry, damp cushions and mattresses, grime everywhere. Mike got back eventually, and bodged about some more, in a foul mood, before conceding that the problem was lack of sleep. Carl went off on his own to explore, his one-and-only chance to check out this part of Spain, and, with luck, pick up some of the special fids (rope-splicing tools) he had been coveting since Mike showed him ours.

Partly revived by about 3-hours on the saloon sofa, Mike and I had a beer and a light lunch in the marina bar, while the first of several loads of washing did its thing. We bumped into Carl, on his way back to the boat for his passport so he could check in to his flight – he looks pretty dreadful – almost as if he’d had no sleep.

We were delighted to find Barbara and Simon (Cartagena friends) in situ in the marina, and I was able to have a coffee and a catch-up of sorts, promising to make a better go of it sometime in the UK – their boat is destined for a mooring off West Mersea! They fly home tomorrow, having decided that the current (wrong for sailing north) weather is set to last for at least a week. We shall see.

And phoning home, of course – got hold of everybody to some degree or another, only to find that Rachel and David had planned a big surprise arrival party in Falmouth, which we have utterly harpooned by not going there at the appointed hour. So very disappointing, but deeply touched that they wanted to make the effort.

So – we’ve been stuck in the Bahamas, stuck in Puerto Rico, St Thomas, the Azores, and now Spain. So far, Spain is by far and away the most amenable.

1 July 2019

Weather here is cloudy, and it has been quite cold today, with blustery winds from the north. Still no sign of any change in the conditions which would allow us to head out.

Have wasted most of the day watching films on TV, disheartened after finding all my stored-away warm clothes damp and covered in mildew. Some may be revived by a wash, but some are clearly trashed. Nothing valuable, just really, really annoying.

We had a lovely evening with Jacquie and Kevin off Tintin last night; good food, good company, lively conversation.

Intensely frustrated to be here, and not back in the UK – things to do, people to see… spending time each day on weather sites, but still failing to find anything useful.

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kim-isnt-seaweed · 6 years

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Busan, day one.

day two

On the morning of the third day of our trip, we woke up a bit late and leisurely got ready, so we ended up taking the bus at around 11 Am and arrived at Busan around 1 pm. Everyone i imagine has their own individual feeling when experiencing a place for the first time, and for me the moment i stepped out of the bus and saw the city before me it reminded me of Miami, in a way it looks different from Miami but its as if Seoul and Miami had had a baby, that’s what Busan felt to me that first second.

We felt our things at the hotel and immediately went to seek out our lunch, Dwaeji gukbab. Dwaeji Gukbab or pork soup with rice is apparently one of the most popular dishes in Busan. I’m a picky eater, so I’ve had a hard time getting used to Korean food, i have a hard time with food, in general, it’s hard for me to try new foods or more specifically certain types of food, i have a really complicated relationship with food that deserves a whole post. That’s why i wasn’t very excited about trying it since i tend to avoid soups, especially soups. I like noodle soups like ramen, pho, and cold noodles, i also like tofu stew and kamjatang (potato and rib stew) but other soups aren’t so easy for me especially anything that has seafood or, for lack of a better term, “weird” pieces of meat. So when my husband said it was a soup with boiled pork and rice i wasn’t very excited but alas, he really wanted to try it and even found the most popular restaurant of this dish. When we got there he ordered and to my surprise, there are two ways you can order the same dish, the original which is the soup with everything inside, the one he ate, and the soup with the meat prepared and served separately, which he ordered for me. I tried it since i had promised him, and i even surprised myself with how much i liked it, the soup is just clear broth with spring onions, it was a little bland for my taste but nothing some salt or pepper paste can’t fix and the meat was just delicious. I ate almost everything something very rare for me.

Taejeongdae

After getting our tummies full and heavy we set off to our first place, Taejeongdae even though its fairly far from downtown it’s surprisingly easy to get there, you can just get on a normal city bus the one that has the right route, of course, pay the normal fee and it will take you all the way to the entrance of Taejeongdae. There you can walk up to the main building and buy a ticket for a little train that takes you up to all the different stops along the park, or you could just walk there but its a bit of a hike i must say.

The view going up is beautiful, but mostly covered by trees which is fantastic and it’s not long before we reach the first stop, the observatory. There are three floors, i can’t remember what’s in the lowermost floor, on the second floor there’s a convenience store, tables and the balcony where you have a beautiful view of the sea, dotted with ships passing by and sadly a bit of trash from passing tour boats. nonetheless, the view is amazing, we stayed a while taking pictures and looking through … i forgot what those are called …telescopes, yes looking through the coin telescopes. we didn’t bother going to the third floor because it’s a restaurant and we weren’t hungry.

From the observatory, we walked to the lighthouse. To get there you have to go down forest stairs, where there are different landings, one is a memorial for important Sae men along Korean History and much more things to see along the way until you get to the lighthouse, sadly everything seemed to be closed but we could still see around the grounds, taking in the beautiful view of the sea, the boats and the cliffs descending from the forested mountain and the faraway city.

From the lighthouse, far below to the right there these beautiful cliffs where you can actually walk to but again they seemed closed.

To the left, even father below at sea level, you will see some tarps, those are actually what i would call restaurants, these little food stalls are run by grandmother’s and they sell seafood, i believe if you like fresh seafood (i don’t) this is the place for you. These grandmothers, dive every day to catch the fish and whatever sea delicacy and the prepare it right there for you. we were tempted to go down for a look but it was so far below the climb back up would be so tiring and besides it was getting a bit late.

We took the train and we debated whether to stop at Taejeongdae temple or just go back to the entrance since it was late and it was the last train that was passing by. We weren’t going to stop but i felt like it would be a shame not to see everything there was to see. We got off at the Temple, but i have to admit i actually walked along and took quick pictures because it was dark and lonely and it was giving me the chills. We looked around quickly and then headed back to the entrance by foot, it was dark and a little cold but walking it was a nice walk with fresh crisp air.

If you ever visit Busan it must be a place you visit, it is said to be one of King Taejeong [king muyeol] used to spend time in this place practicing archery and training his troops, there are different theories but it is said he loved the place because of its natural beauty, that thankfully hasn’t changed much since then and he also performed a rain ritual.

Apeach cafe.

We took the bus back to the downtown area, and we went to the Jung-gu area, it’s a trendy area full of shops and restaurants a bit like Myeongdong or Hongdae in Seoul. We went there for two reasons, one of the was the Apeach cafe. If you know anything about Korea you know that the number one messaging app in Korea is Kakaotalk, it’s like WhatsApp on steroids with cute emojis and stickers, games and it’s own line of characters and it actually has it’s own bank, like an actual bank, an online bank but a bank nonetheless. it’s so popular that they have stores full of merchandise.

So Muzi is a radish and not a rabbit?

And that’s precisely where we went, in Busan’s Kakaofriends store on the highest floor they have a cafe dedicated to possibly one of the cutest characters among them, Apeach. Before you get there you have to go through floors full of merchandise, the cutest things ever in my opinion. If it were up to me i would buy everything, the things are just so cute and adorable but thankfully my husband is a bit less tempted by cute things and marketing so he wouldn’t let me buy anything because he says everything is overpriced which is a bit true.

After looking at all the things, me secretly wishing to buy them and my husband complaining he’s a bit sick of Kakaofriends we finally got up to the cafe. His first reaction to it was “it’s so pink!” and he was right, it was completely and utterly covered in pink, pink walls, pink sofas, pink lights and pink statues of Apeach because obviously, he is a pink peach. I for one loved it, it was my favorite shade of pink and it was my favorite amount of cute…very cute. I took a lot of pictures with the cute little a peach statues around the place.

All the food in the place is Kakaofriends themed, we ordered a strawberry frappuccino and chocolate cupcake.

The cupcake wasn’t much of a cupcake but rather a literal cake in a cup, the cake itself was yummy but the frosting although cute because it was the face of Ryan, it wasn’t that good it tasted a lot like food coloring.

The Frappuccino, on the other hand, was absolutely delicious, nothing much to say about it other than it was cute and delicious but i was too cold to drink much so to the delight of my husband he got to drink most of it, it was so good that despite how much he complained about the prices he said he would order it again if we ever went back.

Nampo Market and Gwangalli Beach.

After leaving the cafe, we walked around the area, got free pens from a group of very pretty Zombies (they’re apparently students at MBC’s makeup academy) and then got close to Busan’s very popular Jagalchi fish market but i honestly can’t stand the smell of fish or sea creatures so i begged not to go there, i know it’s an important sight in Busan but i just can’t deal with the smell. We then went to Nampo Market, during the day i imagine, it’s a traditional market where they sell everyday products needed for everyday food, but during the night the stalls are closed and the food carts are open for business.

The first thing we tried was soup in one of those bread bowls because my husband loves it i don’t know why. You pay for the bread bowl basically because they will give you free soup refills. The soup instant soups, but i am not complaining because it was yummy and on a cold day like that it was a treat.

The second thing we ate was veggies wrapped in pork belly, you have an option to chose it with spicy sauce or normal soy sauce. you really can’t go wrong with pork belly and veggies so it was undoubtedly delicious. However, for some odd reason, maybe i was just too excited or hungry i ended up forgetting to take a picture of it and only ended up with a bad shot of the stall.

We then ate something i was excited about but was sadly disappointed. The dish was potato and melted cheese, i don’t know what i was expecting(maybe like cheese fries ?) but it wasn’t what i got. The potato was a full potato but fried, like a full potato croquet, it was terribly bland on its own, then the cheese was also bland for some reason not salty enough, not enough taste at all. It also came with onions, ham bits, pineapple, and a quail egg. The dish has potential but it needs perfecting, all i could taste was the onions and bland fried potato.

The last thing we ate was just stir-fried meat with veggies and it was the best we had there. It really doesn’t need no explanation, it was just delicious.

There was much more food to chose from like: hot dogs, kebabs, chicken or steak skewers, Vietnamese street food, etc but these were the only ones we were able to eat before we got full.

Later that night, we went to the beach. Gwanalli Beach to be precise, it’s a modern looking beach, with a bridge crossing right in front of it just a few ways off the shore. My husband said this beach is popular because it is one of, if not the only beach in Korea where the stores and restaurants are directly behind and visible from the beach, it didn’t really seem like anything special to me since this place reminded me a lot of Miami Beach, or at least of what I’ve seen the few times my family drove by.

We took some pictures and we asked some girls to take a few pictures of us, and let me just tell you, that you can’t ask better people to take a picture of you than a group of Korean girls. They take their pictures very seriously, they have no shyness when it comes to taking the cutest and most unique pictures they can think of, they don’t care if people are looking at them, they will take that picture no matter what. this also translates when they take pictures of you, they won’t just take a picture and be done with it, they will actually tell you what they think will look better, what has a better mood, and their friends will be saying comments like “oh that looks nice!!” or “no no, not like that, do this!” it’s just so nice and sweet. I honestly believe no one takes better pictures than Korean girls.

However because of the Cold we didn’t stay long, we waited for the bus and went back to the hotel were a sleepless night awaited me, who would’ve thought that sleeping near Haeundae beach, with its restaurants and bars, was going to be noisy? certainly not my husband haha.

To the south, third day! Busan, day one. day two On the morning of the third day of our trip, we woke up a bit late and leisurely got ready, so we ended up taking the bus at around 11 Am and arrived at Busan around 1 pm.

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hellocortney100 · 4 years

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Day 14- Healthy Eating

02/05/20 Start 6:40 am

Today I woke up wanting to be healthy. I decided I would make a super healthy breakfast and lunch. I started by frying 2 eggs and eating whole wheat bread with peanut butter. The meal was good but I still felt like I could eat more after. For my lunch, I packed a container of carrots with ranch, a container of strawberries, a pear, three rice cakes, a banana, and a bag of salted almonds. Although this seems like a lot of food I start my day with an 8:30 am class and end at 5 with a web design class so I need all the energy I can get. I wanted to make a sandwich today but I was still attempting to do this not sugar cleanse with my friends so I decided to skip it because of the jelly I usually put on my bread. After I did my morning routine and found a quick outfit I was headed out the door in no time. In typography class, it was a workday so we were slaving away on Adobe Illustrator creating monograms. I finished early so I started working on other homework. Eventually, it was time to go to a portfolio review information meeting. I don't know why I decided to go because I already went to one last semester so I already knew a lot of the information we were being told. I still appreciated the overview as I like to be prepared and not run into any surprises when the inevitable portfolio review happens. After the review, my friend and I went to buy the foam core board to mount our typography project where I proceeded to botch the cutting and had to start all over again. I was so angry because I was hungry and frustrated with messing up. After I reprinted I finally got a good final result and headed to the student center for some lunch. I ate my lunch but not soon after I got a really bad stomach ache. My friends told me that sometimes happens if you eat too much fiber from fruits and vegetables at once. After I finished photographing my friend's hands for my photography project I started to feel ill. The pain was almost unbearable but somehow I powered through it till web design. Surprisingly today I was understanding all the exercises we were doing. I was so invested in the work that I almost completely forgot about my stomach problems. My friend came and picked me up after the class and drove me home. When I got into the room I immediately proceeded to make noodles. I waited a few minutes to make them and soon enough I was digging into the largest bowl of noodles I ever had. So much for eating super healthy and light today. I don't know how people do the healthy eating lifestyle. I know a lot of it is gradually weaning yourself into eating fruits and vegetables but I didn't know that switching one's diet could have such a painful effect on your body. I learned that there's a lot about my body I didn't know and I should be more mindful of what I consume and how much of it in the future. I ended up eating like half a bag of hi chews as well which went completely against my goal of eating healthy for the day. The collection of rappers I had after was shocking and made me feel bad about losing all my healthy eating progress today. I was kind of disappointed in myself for not going the day with eating better but at that point, I just didn't care because of how much my stomach hurt. I mean I felt like I deserved the treat considering what I went through. It's safe to say I probably won't be doing that sugar cleanse again but I would like to start tracking my sugar or carb intake for a future collection.

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aliesteem · 4 years

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The Wonderful World of Focaccia

Great original photos were lost in the making of this writing piece. I’ve googled the best photos I could in replacement!

In the world of baking and pastry, there are thousands and thousands of unique foods rooted as cultural staples. Focaccia is one of them. A flavorful and traditional Italian bread. There is, surprisingly rich history behind the cloud-textured bread. I’m exploring it as well as a review of the focaccia I’ve eaten at bakeries La Focaccia of Eataly and Amy’s Bakery from taste, texture, composition to appearance.

First off, we must know what focaccia is exactly. As we know focaccia is a flat Italian bread but also known as the Roman words “panis focacius” literally meaning bread. It is a truly easy bread to create. All Recipes Magazines tells its readers “This may be the fastest yeast bread you make; it takes only one hour from conception to completion” It only consists of the simple ingredients of flour, water, dry yeast, salt, and olive oil. Historians believe that this basic recipe originated either in Northern Italy, ancient Greece or Rome before the growth of its empire. In the early years of focaccia, its dough was dimpled lightly with oil and baked on a piping hot tile on the face of a fire. These dimples can also be called dotting. The History of Focaccia Bread by Abigail’s Bakery describes dotting, “this creates multiple wells in the bready by using a finger or the handle of the utensils to poke the unbaked dough.” Within the process of baking the bread would be punctured to release steam from the bubbles that would accumulate on the surface of the bread. After, moisture is preserved by wetting the bread with more generous amounts of olive oil in these wells. According to The History of Things, focaccia wasn’t always meant to have risen during cooking. Their article states “Historically focaccia was unleavened, the recipe rises naturally in the right climate” over time yeast was added to give height to the bread in quicker time.

There are other changes of focaccia that altered over time. The focaccia was once associated with Christmas Eve and Epiphany and only be eaten at that specific time of year. Since then Italian cuisine has branched out. Focaccia is now eaten all year round. New flavors have been incorporated “They can contain olive oil, rosemary, sage, garlic, cheeses, and onion. There are also sweet recipes of focaccia containing eggs, honey, raisins, anise, sugar, and lemon or orange peel.” Cultures in around the world such as Burgundy, Argentina, and Spain have their own versions of focaccia called fouaisse, fugazza and hogaza.

There is also the continuous misconception that focaccia is merely pizza. “Focaccia is not pizza; it is not even a Sicilian deep dish pizza. Focaccia doesn’t have cheese on it; it’s actually flatbread … it is generally not as fluffy as focaccia” says It’s Not Pizza … its Focaccia article by 2gourmaniacs. In Italy pizza and focaccia are seen as two widely different foods. It is often foreigners or those unfamiliar to the cultures that confuse the two. Pizza is its own full meal whereas focaccia is considered a light snack or accompanying a dish such as soups, cooked meats, and salads or as sandwiches.

I made a phone call to Amy’s Bakery of Chelsea Market on Manhattan’s 9th Ave and W. 16th street. I told them I was doing my own research of focaccia for a blog. The lady over the phone was thrilled and agreed to give me free focaccia to taste and assess. When I arrived there the next day with my friend. I love Chelsea Market. I’ve been there in the past, the colorful, unique shops is stimulating and exciting every time I go there. As I walked into Amy’s Breads I went to the cashier and gave my name. They were incredibly friendly and immediately knew who I was. An employee went in the back room and came back with cute, small paper folded neatly at the top with a note with my name and a smiling face stapled to the top. It was so adorable and kind. The employee asked me to go to the side of the store where she gave the paper bag and explained the flavored focaccia. I was given fragrant rosemary focaccia that also smelled of sweet vinegar. I gave a piece to my friend and then took a big bite. I was immediately disappointed. The focaccia was crusty but not in a good way. It tasted super dry, stale as if it was left out for a long period of time. Looking past the texture, the flavor wasn’t redeeming. The tangy, overbearing, vinegar taste took over the entire bread leaving my mouth sour. I felt as if I was forcing myself to chomp it down. I put the remaining bread back in the paper bag, rolled it up and stuffed it in my purse to give to my family members later on if they wanted it. I appreciated the great hospitality of Amy’s Breads but I didn’t enjoy their actual food. I went to go buy a bottle of juice to wash out the tang from my mouth. My friend did like it a bit more, however; consuming the entire big piece she had in her hand. She told me it could be the delight of free food that altered her perception of the focaccia and honestly I think that’s exactly what it was.

The same day I arrived at my second bakery, La Focaccia. La Focaccia is a bakery specializing in breads in the famous Eataly market located on 5th Ave and 23 street in Manhattan, New York City. I didn’t call beforehand plus I was in a rush this time around so I had to hurry up and buy. The atmosphere of Eataly was just as fast-paced as I was and La Focaccia itself was packed with a long line. The employees were quick to serve customers but did not have any hospitality as in connecting with the customers. There was barely any eye contact but I’m sure it was because of how congested the area was. Luckily, I was tended in a matter of minutes and purchased a thick slice of focaccia bread topped with ham, basil, and mozzarella cheese for about $5. At very first taste I was impressed. The focaccia bread had a nice golden, brown color. It had a soft texture to the tongue and the flavor was simplistic, the ham added the perfect touch of saltiness. The mozzarella added pleasant moisture and the strong kick of the basil herb came in and brought it all together. I liked this focaccia so much I gobbled it down. I thoroughly enjoyed La Focaccia’s bread and would definitely go back again. Amy’s Breads and La Focaccia are both bakeries that focus on breads specifically. Experiencing the hospitality of their stores and the focaccia product itself I grasp just how dissimilar they are from each other. Amy’s Bread’s for one has inviting employees. They smiled, laughed and remembered customer’s names automatically. Whereas in La Focaccia, workers seemed much disassociated with no time to engage with customers other than to sell. When it comes to pure hospitality and quality of communication between buyer and seller Amy’s Bread wins with no argument at all.

On the reverse, La Focaccia’s focaccia was delicious and well-made. The focaccia was so tender with a soft chew. The flavors were powerful but did not overwhelm me like the rosemary and vinegar at Amy’s Breads. I could tell that La Focaccia makes their breads fresh often where I sense that Amy’s Bread bakes focaccia themselves but may store batches for the following days and it’s easy to detect in the dry cardboard feel. When I look into what these bakeries advertise I have a better understanding on why the results of their focaccia bread are the way they are. Amy’s Bread’s website elaborates what they provide in-store, “We offer a full selection of morning pastries, sandwiches, and salads, cookies, bars, cupcakes, layer cakes, coffee and espresso beverages” From this I see Amy’s Breads has a wide focus on what they serve and what I found out from the manager the focaccia there is only made seasonally. Focaccia is not Amy’s Bread’s specialty where it is at La Focaccia. On La Focaccia’s website, they immediately state on their main page, “Eataly's bakery (La Focaccia) offers an abundant selection of focaccia, an Italian flatbread topped with high-quality ingredients.” Visitor’s come mainly to La Focaccia for the Italian flatbread. It would make sense that this bakery would have perfected their focaccia recipes and procedures more so than Amy’s Breads. Evaluating texture, taste, and appearance La Focaccia has the better bread product easily. If a bakery had the hospitality of Amy’s Breads paired with La Focaccia’s quality of product it would create an all-round excellent experience.

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