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summervale · 1 year

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「Crimson and Gold, Red and Blue: A Ghost in Harrenhal」

Third person reader-insert! Y/N is the middle daughter of Hoster Tully. This timeline is a little bit of the ASoIaF novels and a little bit of the Game of Thrones show. Follows Jaime’s POV. Shameless, self-indulgent bathhouse yearning fantasy.

Contains: Adult situations, no actual smut but very close, angst (more like yearning).

Words: 4,018

The fever had done strange things to his mind. For days—or had it been weeks?—now he had suffered brutally, slipping in and out of consciousness and often finding himself a prisoner in his own mind. His delirium was nearly as much a punishment as the physical agony where his sword hand should have been.

Jaime thought of Cersei. He thought of Tyrion. He thought of the girl Tyrion had loved, Tysha, and he thought of their father and mother, of the places he’d been as a boy, still as green as he was Lannister crimson and gold. Ghosts now, all of them. He’d remembered his days at Casterly Rock, with his grandfather’s lions deep in the keep in their cages. He’d remembered his days as a squire at Crakehall, where he learned much of what he knew.

But the oddest of all memories (memories, illusions, delusions; call them what you may) were those of his days at Riverrun. Jaime had spent a fortnight there while squire to Lord Sumner; he’d known at the time that this was because his lord father and Lord Hoster Tully had been considering betrothing Jaime to Hoster's youngest daughter, Lysa. Jaime had little interest in Lysa; she’d been much too fluttery of a thing, fawning and doting on him when they seated her next to him at dinner (which was every night). He preferred the company of Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, choosing to listen to the famous warrior recount his glory days in the War of the Ninepenny Kings.

There had been something else that interested him at Riverrun, too, Jaime remembered, try as he might to suppress it. Lord Hoster’s middle daughter of the three girls, Y/N Tully. She was a wild thing, fun and free and everything that a girl of her age and birth should not have been. She loved dancing and horseback riding as much as she loved to read, and though he’d caught her staring at him many a time (as almost all girls of an age with Jaime had—and who could blame them?) she’d never presented herself as a simpering little thing. He remembered a septa reprimanding her when Y/N was caught splashing about in the waters of the Red Fork with her skirts held up around her knees. He remembered her feeding apples to the horses in the yard, and later when she smiled at him across the hall as she tucked wildflowers into her hair, which would also later get her reprimanded by her septa.

Why Jaime remembered that girl so fondly in his state of infection-induced madness, he could not say.

Maybe it was because she was the only girl who ever could have swayed him from Cersei if he’d just given her the chance. Where Cersei was cruel and calculated and callous—something Jaime was aware of even from a young age—Lord Hoster’s daughter had been warm, kind, compassionate. She was a good-natured little thing through and through in spite of the indomitable spirit she wore so well. Y/N was far from the fairest maiden, this much was true, but she was kind, and she was good, and in her Jaime saw the things that Cersei was not.

The thirteen year old Lannister put these things from his mind.

There was only one exception that he would never be able to put from his mind. It had been late, and Riverrun as a keep was endlessly fascinating. Unable to sleep, Jaime had wandered the castle halls, meandering this way and that the same way the rivers flowed through Riverrun itself. It was by chance he’d stumbled on the keep’s library, which was really of no great interest to him, but it was as good a place as any to wander through in the dark of the night.

There, by all means, should have been no one in the library at such a late hour. At most there may have been a maester, but it was not a maester he found in the library. Indeed, it was of course Y/N Tully. She was sat by a lantern wrapped in a quilt of Tully red and blue, a small smattering of books around her. When she heard Jaime approach, she’d all but jumped out of her skin.

“What are you doing?” a young Jaime had asked her.

“Reading,” she’d said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world—and it was, as it had been a redundant question on Jaime’s behalf.

“Why? You should be asleep.”

“So should you.”

Jaime cocked his head and looked down at the book she’d been working her way through. Jaime was bad with letters and numbers. The maesters had no luck in teaching him, as the words all blurred together and became a jumble in his head. His father, Lord Tywin himself, had sat down and fiercely, relentlessly taught Jaime, working for hours a day until Jaime was all but in tears. That, no matter the state of delirium, was not a good memory. It was something Cersei had mocked him for, too, reminding him often that he was as stupid as he was handsome, that he was a lackwit as much as he was a knight.

“Short stories,” she said when she saw him studying the pages, squinting down at her. “Do you know of Jonquil and Florian?”

“Everyone knows of Jonquil and Florian.” You’d have to be twice a fool as Florian himself to not know the story of the famed fool and his lovely lady.

The girl had just smiled. “What about the Battle of the Redgrass Field?”

That had piqued Jaime’s interest. “What do you know of battles?” She’s a girl, he’d thought then, she knows nothing of battles.

But she had known. She’d lifted one of the books from her side and placed it in her lap. “It’s all here.” When Jaime knelt and looked over her shoulder, she said, “This one is accounts of the ten greatest battles in the history of Westeros.”

“And you read that?” Jaime, as much as he hated to admit it, was impressed.

“I read lots of things.” She’d traced her fingers along the pages then. “Do you read often?”

Jaime frowned. “No,” he admitted, “I prefer to listen.”

And listen he did. She read to him, without question, from the book of battles that night. First he knelt beside her, then he sat, then he laid down and propped his head up on one hand. He wasn’t sure how long he laid like that, but he laid that way until she began to yawn and both of their eyelids grew heavy with a need to sleep in spite of their fun. Together they made the decision that they’d had enough for the night.

They parted ways at the library door. “I have a terrible time sleeping. Nightmares and whatnot,” she’d told him. “I’m here most nights.”

Jaime had taken the hint. He returned the following night. Then the next night. He returned all six nights that had been left of his stay at Riverrun. Together they finished the big book of battles. Afterwards she read him a book about dragons, which was her second favorite book in all the library, and then a book about Asshai by the Shadow and the Shadowlands, her first favorite book in the library. She let him ask questions and even encouraged him, and on the rare occasion there was an illustration she turned the book to him to see. She gave him acts of compassion he had not seen in many years and may never see again, he knew.

On the last night, Jaime arrived at the library before Y/N. He wanted to pick the book. It took him the better half of an hour (too many titles to look through, it was dizzying), but he found it.

When she crept through the doors of the library for the evening with her quilt draped across one arm, Jaime was sitting on the floor by the hearth waiting for her. He placed the book in her hands, and from it she read him the story of Florian and Jonquil.

When the end of the two weeks came, Jaime Lannister was not betrothed to Lysa Tully. He was betrothed to none of the Tully sisters, who stood beside their father and watched him leave along with the rest of Lord Sumner’s host. He didn’t look back at them.

There were times over the next year or so that Jaime thought maybe he should have married one of the Tully girls. He would remind himself that he belonged to Cersei, his twin, his blood, his mirror image. He learned in time to put those thoughts from his mind, and soon the girls were nearly forgotten altogether. Those memories of Riverrun stayed forgotten for years until the fever so kindly reminded him.

He saw Lysa Tully enough with her being the wife of the Hand of the King, and did not regret not marrying her. She was Jon Arryn’s problem. By then Jaime was a changed man entirely, besides. No one but Cersei would do for him.

Y/N Tully had been meant to arrive at King’s Landing not long after Eddard Stark’s host was to arrive; she’d be there to meet with her brother by law and his daughters, her nieces, and to join in the ensuing tourneys and celebrations on behalf of Lord Hoster Tully, who was too sick to travel. Her own party had been delayed, though, and she’d never made it. Jaime was gone by the time she arrived, if she ever arrived at all. For that he was grateful; he had no interest in seeing her. If he saw her, he might remember the library. He might ask questions. Last he’d heard she was to marry some lord or another whose name he hadn’t remembered, but that lord had died before their marriage and no attempt to marry her off had been made again. It was not Jaime’s place to know; it never would be.

The fever tormented him this way the whole journey to Harrenhal. He was saved only by Roose Bolton’s desire to please Lord Tywin, Hand of the King and current key player in the game of thrones. Everything was a blur after their arrival to the monstrosity that was Harrenhal. The big wench, Brienne, was toted away. Locke scurried off too, under the hateful eye of Lord Bolton. Jaime was to be given clean clothes and a bath and a meal and a warm bed. Of this, Jaime was at least mildly grateful.

He was disgusting. A bath would be the first thing on his list, even if he was starving beyond all doubt and in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. The walls of Harrenhal seemed to swallow him whole as he shambled through them. The fever was still there, haunting him, and it felt like there really were ghosts in Harrenhal. Twice he thought he glimpsed someone just out of the corner of his eye, gone before he could turn, and he had a creeping suspicion that he was being watched that he was unable to shake.

The bathhouse, Jaime found, was a low-ceilinged room filled with great stone tubs large enough to hold six or seven, fashioned after those of the free cities of Essos. Brienne was on her way out as Jaime was on his way in, and she made begrudging eye contact with him as she pushed past. After all this time, she still hates me, Jaime thought. She thinks of me only as the Kingslayer and always will. Maybe that’s all anyone would ever think of him.

The water was hot and steam hung heavy in the room. Jaime sunk into the water and felt his aching muscles relax. His head was spinning. The water was almost too hot and did little to help his fever, but it was a welcome feeling after long, disgusting weeks on the road.

The door opened, but Jaime paid it little mind. The near-defeated lion was too busy trying to keep his head above water to concern himself with a serving girl. He was vaguely aware she took a few steps closer, but hovered mostly near the doorway, peeking at him over an armful of towels and linens. Another one that’s afraid of me. Another one come to gawk at the Kingslayer.

Jaime closed his eyes and rested his head back against the stone tub for a few long moments, or maybe for a lifetime, it all felt the same to Jaime. In his exhaustion, he may sleep comfortably this way, or maybe he’d slip beneath the water never to rise again. It mattered little either way.

This didn’t happen, though, because Jaime opened his eyes when he heard the maid’s footsteps coming closer and closer until they were at the edge of his tub. The maid was in a sordid dress of blue that upon closer inspection may have been quite a nice gown at one time before becoming stained and ripped and worn; this was not a girl of common birth. Her hair was loose and unstyled, and when she lowered the towels away and Jaime got a better look at her, he realized…

A ghost. Her familiar face from years ago was gaunt, the color gone from her cheeks. She was a woman grown now, far from the child he’d known, and she would have looked as defeated as he was had it not been for the shine that she still somehow carried in her eyes.

“You,” he said. He meant to continue, but no words came to him. This was no place for her.

“Me,” said Y/N Tully. She knelt at the edge of the tub, her skirts gathering around her knees as she placed the towels on the floor beside her. Looking into her eyes, they were the same eyes Jaime had looked into all those nights in the library. “And you.”

“And me,” murmured Jaime. “Are you a ghost?” He was still half-delirious, and this was not helping.

“I don’t think so.” She smoothed her skirts. “Sometimes I feel it, though.”

He stared at her for a long time. She was smiling a sad smile at him, and Jaime could not find it in himself to smile back. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

“A series of mistakes.”

“Must have been some grave mistakes.”

“The mistakes were not my own, nor my men’s. We were delayed to King’s Landing. Too much rain. We were nearly there when we received word of what was happening. We turned right back around.”

Jaime was not understanding. “So you came here? To Harrnehal?” He was puzzling over who had even held the seat of Harrenhal before Roose Bolton.

At this, she gave a cold half-laugh. “No choice of my own. Had we known what would have awaited us on the road, I would have had my host brave King’s Landing.”

It clicked. “The Mountain’s men.”

Y/N nodded. “They fell on us in the night. I have been here ever since.”

A hostage. They’d made a hostage of Hoster Tully’s daughter. He should have had no love for her; it was her sister who took him captive, then who freed him and sent him out into the world with that great beast Brienne of Tarth. She should have no love for me, either, he thought. It’s me who started all of this. “Have you come to drown the Kingslayer then?”

“I have come to bring you towels,” she said, her sad smile never fading. “And to see if it was really you.”

“It’s really me, I think. Though I’m missing the best part of me.” He held up the stump of his arm where his hand should have been.

“You’re still you,” she said, as if she knew his greatest fear.

I am nothing now, he wanted to say. He wanted to yell it. I am nothing if I cannot fight. I am nothing if not a knight, the Kingsguard, the Kingslayer. But he couldn’t yell. He couldn’t find it in himself to do anything. Suddenly the world was spinning, and Jaime felt as if he was falling.

A voice was crying, “Ser Jaime!” but he did not know where the voice was coming from; the world was warm and black and fading so, so quickly. There was a splash, then suddenly there were hands on him, on his sides, on his chest, on his face. A hand on his back. Someone was holding him. Cersei…

“Ser Jaime, wake up. Wake up! You’re okay, wake up.”

No, not Cersei. The world came into focus with the same sudden haziness that it had gone out of focus. Jaime blinked, half-conscious. “Your skirts will get wet,” he mumbled.

The Tully woman sighed in relief. He could see her now, smiling. “It’s a little late for that.”

Jaime was alert again (or at least as alert as he would be for a while) and realized what had happened. In a moment of panic, Y/N had leapt into the water to keep him, the Kingslayer, from slipping under. There hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation. Her skirt drifted about her thighs in the hot water.

“Are you okay? Do I need to get a maester?” She had one arm behind his back, holding him upright and against her. The other hand was cradling his face to hold his head up.

He had known passion with Cersei, but he had never known whatever this was.

“I’ll be okay.” Against all better judgment, he rested his head against her shoulder. “I just need a minute.”

A minute turned into five, and five turned into ten. He laid like that, drifting in and out of consciousness, while the Tully woman held him. When at last he’d found his strength again, he sat upright and apologized for the spectacle. As expected, she didn’t mind. Instead she just asked him again if he was alright. She looked at him with the same kindness and compassion and good faith she had in the library all those years ago. Whatever she had been through—which was no doubt quite a lot at the hands of the Mountain’s men—it had not changed who she was at the heart of it all. Or maybe it was just her shy fondness for him that had not changed, which Jaime considered.

“Your dress is ruined,” Jaime pointed out dumbly, not sure what else was appropriate to say.

“My dress was already ruined,” she said. “It’s seen worse.”

Jaime nodded. Grime dripped from his beard, falling onto his chest in a small muddy rivulet. The small woman splashed a bit of water at him, washing it away. The gesture, however small and innocent and meaningless it may have been, only served to bring more heat to Jaime’s face. Something in his body stirred and he found himself having to shift his thighs.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need any help with your hair?”

Jaime should have told her no, but instead he nodded his head ever so slightly. “My hair.”

She nodded back. When she pulled her arms from around him, Jaime almost wanted to lean back into her, to remain in her arms a moment longer, or maybe for her to never let him go at all. He didn’t, though, and sat upright as she shifted around behind him. She took a bar of soap from the raised ledge of the stone bathtub and began working at his hair. She ran her fingers through his hair twice, then three times, then a fourth, her nails scratching pleasantly at his scalp. She worked a handful of water into his hair before letting her hand rest on his bare shoulder for a moment. A shiver that Jaime was helpless to suppress wracked his body. He felt her chest rise and fall against his back as she obviously fought a laugh.

Unfortunately for him, he lost the battle against his body. He was helpless to fight against the stirring within him, and the more she touched him the stiffer his cock grew. Jaime tried to rationalize it away; surely he would have had the same reaction if it had been any pretty woman bathing him, not just her. Part of him wondered if this was true at all.

He stayed this way, silent as the grave as she took absolute care in washing his hair for him, and when she was done she mopped at the back of his neck and his shoulders with a rag as well even though he didn’t have to ask for it. Her fingers brushed softly against the sensitive skin of his neck, raising gooseprickles on his body. When she ran her hand along his throat, Jaime shuddered and held his breath.

It was sudden, almost instinctive, the way he wanted to turn to her. He imagined grabbing her and pulling her body to his, close as could be. He would look her in the eyes and see exactly what he wanted to see, and then he would kiss her. His hands would find her waist beneath the water’s surface; it would be nothing at all to pull the woman to his lap without ever breaking the kiss. To hold her the way someone should have been holding her all these years, and she would hold him the way he should have been held all along. She would kiss him back, he knew. His past wouldn’t matter. The Kingslayer would melt away in her arms. If there was anyone that could see past the Kingslayer, it was her. All that would matter to her would be him, and all that would matter to him would be her. It would be as it should have been from the start, he should finish what they’d started that night in the library when she looked him–a knight to be–in the eyes and asked if he knew the story of Florian and Jonquil. For a moment his head turned, and he made only the slightest of movements towards her.

If she didn’t get out soon, he would not leave this room the same man he had entered.

She did get out, though, and Jaime was not sure whether he was glad of this or not. “Is there anything else you need?” she’d asked from behind him, her lips inches from his ear. No doubt she had seen the way she’d made him shudder more than once.

“I’m okay now,” he told her, then before he knew what he was saying, he added the softest, “Thank you.” It was so wildly out of character for him that Jaime himself blinked in confusion.

She squeezed him lightly on the shoulder. “Of course.” She rose from the water behind him and Jaime was free to lean back against the tub once again, legs crossed awkwardly. She stood there at the edge, laughing as she wrung out her skirt.

Jaime looked her up and down, wondering what the stay at Harrenhal had done to her. “Do they make you a servant?”

She shook her head as she let go of her skirt, which fell sodden and heavy back around her ankles. “No, I’ve been mostly lucky. I think Riverrun’s might is too important for them to really hurt me. Things have gotten considerably better since Lord Bolton’s arrival, though.”

“Mostly?”

“They have not all been kind, especially when the lord is not looking.” She did not make eye contact with him when she said it. “I make myself scarce.”

Jaime looked at her. She was tired, so tired. She was a ghost of the girl in the library. It’s a blessing I did not marry Lysa, he thought, and it’s a curse I did not marry her sister.

This thought haunted him when he laid in the quarters Lord Bolton had provided him. When he had arrived at Harrenhal hours before, he had only one thought: he was so close to getting home to his sweet sister. Now there was a second thought, and it was what his life would have been like without that same not-so-sweet sister—what his life would have been like with a bride of Tully red and blue instead. He would not have joined the Kingsguard. He would not have gone to Winterfell, where he would not have pushed the Stark boy from a window. He would not be here now.

No, he wouldn’t be here now. He’d be home at the rock where he belonged, his lady wife beside him. He’d have children that would know him as their father, who he could call his sons and daughters of his own. They would have hair of Lannister gold or of Tully red. They would be fierce like their father and smart like their mother—good and kind like her, too.

Their mother. Their mother who would climb into bed beside him every night, happy to have him, wrapping her arms around him. Their mother who would never call him stupid and would instead sit by the hearth and read to him and the children. His wife who would hold his arm when they walked together and give him all the niceties of the world. His wife who, over dinner, would talk of dragons and Asshai by the Shadow, of fairy tales, who would be so proud of him. His wife.

Jaime closed his eyes and put her from his mind the same way he had all those many years ago. A dream, he thought, and nothing more. He lied in the grave he had dug.

#jaime lannister #jaime lannister x reader #reader insert #game of thrones fic #game of thrones jaime #harrenhal #game of thrones #asoiaf fic #writing

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papermoonloveslucy · 3 years

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INDOMINATABLE LIFESTYLE

July 16, 1972

HOLLYWOOD - Indomitable funny girl Lucille Ball, with a messy scoop hair the color of an orange popsicle, flashes on the scene in a sad predicament.

She's got a lame leg.

Lucy hobbled from her sleek silver Rolls Royce and into the yellow cubbyhole dressing room which is a sunny retreat near the Lucy set which Is crawling with rehearsal activity.

On the surface, everything's ha-ha-ha. But the fact is that surgeons have inserted pins into the shattered leg bone suffered last year in a Snowmass Peak, Colo., skiing accident. The leg brace is a semi-intolerable ball and chain. But, as always, crippling situations must be mastered. Lucy's inextinguishable spirit pulsates despite the physical handicap.

Lucy Is showing a smiling color photograph of herself in a flowing white hooded cape coat rimmed in fluffy fox. The picture, radiating exterior happiness, doesn't reflect the inner pain. Lucy's leg, in a hip cast, is disguised under a blanket.

You know the familiar Lucy grin? She's grinning it and saying hell no, baby, she's not ever going to ski again. She couldn't stomach another goddam ordeal like that. Besides, on the immediate horizon is an operation to remove the pins.

Lucy, being Lucy, bears the cross with humor: "Honey," she says, "skiing is just getting into those nice winter clothes and being a show off." The burdensome subject of broken bones is dismissed with frivolity.

Brainy Lucy, now 60 and president of a $30 million corporation, is an American institution.

But, like all super-successful females, she vibrates complex contradictions. The fashion plate - who initiated her career as a Hattie Carnegie hat model - is a winsome dumb broad on the tube. In reality she's tough executive who barks orders left and right. Staffers instantly do like the lady says. God has spoken. Lucy runs a tight ship, but she is more respected than feared.

Yet Lucy is softie with a heart of spun sugar. Trappings, which she has in predictable abundance, aren't a psychic crutch.

"Success is knowing that if everything were wiped away tomorrow, it wouldn't really matter. I wouldn't die if I lost my things," she says. Then the awesome simplicity: "Dear, I still go home and let the cat out"

Lucy has always run her home life with a liberal hand.

Desi Arnaz, Jr. is currently Involved in well-publicized liaison with Liza Minnelli. There was a previous Desi scandal regarding Patty Duke. People gossip a lot here because they live in a city where the major industry is make-believe and fact and fiction become blurred.

Lucy isn't deaf to the talk about her son's romances:

"What the hell, they're having a fine spree. I just hope it lasts for Desi and Liza. They don't have time to get married. Their scene is the world and they're swinging in there. I'm the one who talked marriage to them. One night I said: Look, kids, don't get married too soon. They were upset. Desi countered with the observation that you don't have to settle down when you get married. So I go - well, that's true son! The subject of marriage just never came up again. They're a nice couple. They present themselves well without becoming asses. I've told the kids to do as they wish."

Lucy, who was a good friend to Judy Garland, makes no bones about her affection for Liza. And once Lucy loves, the feeling lasts. After 20 years of marriage to Desi Arnaz, there was the divorce. Still Lucy looks people straight in the eyes and says the present Mrs. Desi Arnaz is a "wonderful woman." And she can see it in her heart to rent ex-husband Desi studio space on her lot so that he can work in the shadow of a success they initiated together.

When Liza Minnelli was a child, Lucy kept a scrapbook of Liza's activities at play, in ballet school, attending birthday parties. There, in a battered old photo album, are the precious pictures. Liza didn't know about the book until recently. Desi brought Liza home and Lucy accidentally-on-purpose left the book on a coffee table. "Oh! Wow!" exclaimed Liza through a flow of uncontrollable tears.

Lucy; "And I said to Liza, honey-baby, I told you I've known you for a long time. Didn't you believe me?" Lucille Ball speaks in an affectionate aside about Liza and the loyalty is simultaneously visible and audible:

"That kid is liable to explode any minute. I just hope I'm around to pick up the pieces. No one knows why she works so hard. She's made it her objective to clear her mother financially. Those b--- lawyers took her --- really took her. But she's paying back every damn cent herself."

Life is, of course, an inexplicable mixture of tears and laughter. Buoyant Lucy can see the funnies in everything. Love, she says, is looking beyond someone's minor faults and caring passionately despite the irritations. Lucy's 80-year-old mom, Dede (Desiree Ball) lives near Lucy's sprawling colonial house in Beverly Hills. Dede has a longstanding idiosyncrasy which used to drive Lucy wild but is now an amusement.

In that familiar screechy scratchy soprano voice oozing feigned stupidity, Lucy sing-songs the dialogue;

"I say to Dede: Hey Dede, I've got a pain in my elbow. Dede always says: 'stupid, it's because you're not eating right!" Honest to God, if you've got a pain in your big toe, it's not because someone stepped on it it's the food. Drives you nuts! Dede really has a thing about food. The other day I went home and cooked a batch of chicken. 'Chicken!!" says Dede, 'you know it's gonna make me sick.' Of course Dede eats more chicken than anybody. Next day I say: Dede you been up all night throwin', huh? Naw," says Dede, the chicken wasn't half bad.'"

The ridiculous story illustrates two things Dede taught Lucy early in life. One: That without good health you've got nothing. Two; That without a non-pliant, thoroughly independent attitude, you've got less than nothing because show business kills the weak.

Lucy is in constant awe of Dede. When Lucy built the five-story ski chalet 9,800 feet on the side of a Colorado mountain she was certain Dede couldn't take either the long trip or the altitude. Besides, once you get to Lucy's place, there are a million icy steps to climb before you make the front door. "Even the dogs stop to get their breath," says Lucy. "But when I start huffing, Dede looks over her shoulder and sorta snaps: Aw, Lucy, you're a sissy!' That woman is my challenge."

Does Lucy ever get down? Do the burdens of crushing disappointments halt her enthusiasm even temporarily? "Jesus," she says, "I cry. I cry a lot. Then anger sets in. When I'm angry, I become a fighter. And I always fight to win."

When Lucy talks to you, she taps your knee in a natural gesture of intimacy. Her gaze is through black fringed x-ray eyes that sear through trivia. She smokes her cigarette twirled ceremoniously between her thumb and forefinger. Lucy always spews gut honesty:

"Love is a great peace of mind. There's no panic in the relationship. It's never having to prove yourself. Love is not playing games. Baby, some women have to put up with mysterious absenteeism. That's always a sign of hanky panky-ism. Christ, I never have to worry where Gary is."

Gary is Gary Morton, Lucy's husband and executive producer. Suddenly he bursts into the dressing room and asks for the afternoon off. Lucy's going to work the full day. Her answer is affirmative, but she doesn't use the word "yes"; "Just don't forget to tell the cook to get out the steaks and have a big salad ready."

The show is all in the family. Lucy's sister, Cleo Smith, is another producer. Lucy is having the talk-about twosome of Desi Jr. and Liza written into a script. Little Lucy, who has been Mrs. Phil Vandervort for a year, is a regular. She, too, bursts into the dressing room to use the john. The jeans are already embarrassingly unzipped. As she whizzes by she comments only to her famous mama: "Jeez, I though you were alone!"

But an emergency is an emergency. Lucy, quick to seize the humor, quips: "Our togetherness is only occasionally splintered."

In retrospect, Lucy is pleased with her real-life mother role. "I've been one hell of a mom," she says. "I always knew where they were every minute." Lucille Ball is a profound woman who often uses great simplicities to get her points across.

Once, when the kids were small, a nurse observed to Lucy that Little Lucy was calling Desi Jr., "fatso," and jabbing him in the stomach-when no one was looking. Desi didn't hit back because mama had said never to hit defenseless little girls. Lucy relives the old conversation with her daughter, first announcing each "part" and changing voices to portray the back-and-forth swing of conversation:

Big Lucy: "Got a problem, Little Lucy?"

Little Lucy: "Me? No."

Big Lucy: "Let's talk. Whose fault is it? No, actually it doesn't matter whose fault it is. Next time one of you is hurt, I'm going to hit the one who is hurt."

Little Lucy: "What does that mean, ma?"

Big Lucy: "You'll see."

Soon there was another battle. As usual, Little Lucy elbowed Desi in the stomach and he howled, Lucy illogically whacked Desi hard on the rear and his screams got louder. Little Lucy immediately became hysterical: "Mom, don't hit him! For God's sake, why are you hitting HIM?"

Lucy delivered the punch line which is the credo of their life: "I hit Desi because you let things go too far. Never let things go too far. Someone innocent always suffers. Do you understand?"

That was the end of sibling squabbling. Forever.

Once, before her chorus girl days, New York-born Lucy worked as a fashion mannequin for various Seventh Ave. houses. She's still got a clotheshorse figure but she won't splurge on couture: "I'm just one of those normal working women who doesn't go in for hifalutin’ fashion."

Lucy haunts three fabric shops in Beverly Hills and has local movie set seamstresses make all her clothes. "I'm not the type who dresses and goes out," says Lucy who long ago graduated from the silly-but-necessary movie star game of being seen in the right places.

"Once when I was in Paris, I bought a designer dress grey flannel, I think and wore it out from the salon to my car. When I sat down the damn thing was so strictly constructed that the neckline popped up to my nose. I was on my way to Switzerland and I mumbled to my driver, God, did that designer expect me to stand up on the plane?" Lucy can afford emergencies. When she got to Orly, she bought a dress from an airport boutique and changed in the ladies room.

And, so, the sweet saga of Lucy continues, there are no plans to quit. The word - retirement - isn't in her vocabulary. "I can't imagine doing nothing," she says. "If you don't keep moving, you're buried."

The beauty is still there. The complexion is like alabaster. Lucy confesses that she washes her face with Ivory soap, colors her own hair and occasionally gives herself offbeat facials."

"Honey, the idiot who said to put honey on your face never explained that it has to be mixed with cream," she says. The face melts into that wonderful famous grin. "I put honey on straight from the goddamn jar and it closed my pores for a month."

That's lovable Lucy.

[Ed. Note: The original photographs were degraded by copying so similar shots were substituted as close to the originals as possible.]

# # #

#Lucille Ball #Desi Arnaz #Gary Morton #Wildcat #Dede Ball #Lucie Arnaz #Desi Arnaz Jr.#Liza Minnelli

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ivy-miranda-2390 · 4 years

Text

In Defense of Anakin Skywalker (and Hayden Christensen)

I grew up with Star Wars, my whole family loves Star Wars. I was 8 when I saw Episode I and afterwards, I was completely immersed in the Star Wars universe. Ewan McGregor's Obi-Wan Kenobi was probably my first fictional boyfriend and I'm unashamedly still in love with him too.

Episode II: The Attack of the Clones came out when I was 11 and so naturally I was excited to see the continuation of the Star Wars prequel universe. However, nothing could have prepared me for the absolute utter gorgeousness of Canadian actor, Hayden Christensen who was cast to play the adolescent Anakin Skywalker.

My memories of first seeing Episode II are fond because I got to see the movies with my older siblings while on vacation in Myrtle Beach. It was probably my first experience of being accepted among my older adult brothers and sisters or the feeling of 'grownupness' as I like to call it.

So Attack of the Clones has always been an special film to me because I saw it at a time when I was no longer being viewed as a child, but as a growing teenager.

It's also why I've always been rather defensive of the film too. While the film was titled Attack of the Clones, it may as well have been re-titled, "Attack of Anakin Skywalker (and subsequently, Hayden Christensen)". For over 20 years, there has been an absolute and indescribable hatred of Anakin Skywalker and many people blamed both Jake Lloyd and Hayden Christensen's supposed poor acting as the result of a badly done Anakin.

And to be honest even though I had a massive crush on Hayden Christensen and was hardly a movie critic at the time, I felt that at times that Anakin could have been better acted. However, I was young and didn't care about the script or the acting. Yet, for years I constantly defended, Attack of the Clones, Anakin Skywalker and Hayden Christensen. Partly due to nostalgia, partly to being a teenage girl and most of all partly to do with understanding the character of Anakin as being misunderstood, misinterpreted and not being treated as an adult by the elders in his life.

Did Anakin have problems? Yes.

Were most of these problems his fault? No.

Did Anakin ever try to fix these problems and better himself? Everyday of his life.

He had nothing, but he gave everything

The prequels were written as a timeline of a boy's journey from goodness into darkness. Anakin's life is a story arch of sacrifice and redemption. Life has not always been good to Anakin. He was born a slave with no father. He was raised in the strong love of wonderful mother Shmi Skywalker. While Shmi may have been scared and confused as to how she conceived a child without a man, she raised her son in love and simple contentment.

Chances are Anakin and his mother probably faced terrible abuse in their time as slaves and more than once, Anakin may have been separated from Shmi as leverage for greedy slave owners. Although a slave, Anakin was never a victim. He may have been physically owned, but his heart and mind were free. He was his own person, always thinking outside of the box, building, creating, questioning everything and everyone. Not to mention a little wild and rather reckless.

Even as a child Anakin was a little strange to people. For a slave to have such a hopeful and positive attitude may have seemed bizarre to outsiders, but that was just the norm for him. Shmi once remarked that her son knew nothing of greed. For a boy raised with nothing, all he had were his talents as an inventor and growing pilot. And he used his talents for other people. He built C-3PO to help his mom, he entered the podrace to help Qui-Gon Jinn, he always gave without any expectation of being thanked.

A spirit that refused to surrender

After Anakin is freed and sent to train as a Jedi, that wild spirit was still intact. Much to his by-the-book master's dismay. Anakin didn't have the opportunity to grow up in the strict Jedi Temple that was built on order, rules and tradition. As a child, Anakin was use to being himself and not fitting into anyone's mold. His original dream was to be a pilot, not a Jedi. No one asked him if he wanted to be a Jedi, no one asked him if he wanted to be trained by Obi-Wan Kenobi.

While Anakin may have been grateful for both opportunities presented to him, overtime he may have seen this new life as not to different from the one he left. A life run by others. Telling him what to do, where to go, how to dress, how to behave. He survived as a slave because he dared to dream and imagine and refused to be defined by others.

Now he's thrown into a culture where individuality is looked down upon. He lived through the stifling Jedi order because he still held onto those qualities. He was going to be himself on his terms. He would nod his head and say yes when he needed to, but off the clock he would live by his own rules. Something that Obi-Wan and the Jedi order could not understand. And Anakin is getting frustrated by this.

So now we get to Attack of the Clones (and the Attack of Hayden Christensen). Critics came down hard on both Anakin and Hayden. Constantly complaining about Anakin's constant complaining, his tantrums, broodiness and being a crybaby about everything. Critics blamed the disaster of Anakin Skywalker on the terrible miscasting of Hayden Christensen. The only redeeming quality Hayden Christensen had that saved him was the fact he was so easy to look at.

For years, fans were desperate to know who Anakin Skywalker was. And so the pressure to deliver a good character that could measure up to the icon of Darth Vader may have seemed insurmountable. And so when people got this confused, overemotional 19 year old, who has no experience in love or sex, but is madly in love with a beautiful young women; and who wants to be respected in a highly established culture, without losing himself or conforming, well people were just disappointed. The disappointment can be explained in one of Anakin's most famous lines.

"HE'S HOLDING ME BACK!"

He, being George Lucas who was holding back Hayden's actual talent to create a good three dimensional character. Plus his bad script writing. Poor Hayden was just made to read lines on a page and somehow make this sad character somebody that people can root for. Unfortunately fans and critics ate him alive. It's only in recent years that people have begun to realize that they were blaming the wrong person. And by blaming Hayden, they were completely misunderstanding Anakin as a character.

His most beautiful gift, his most fatal flaw

Of all of Anakin's gifts, his ability to love deeply was probably his most profound and his most dangerous. The Jedi Temple forbade romantic attachments to others and for good reason. When you become attached to or love someone beyond the boundaries of platonic friendship you become afraid of losing them. The end of my review for the Star Wars prequels sums it up the best:

In The Phantom Menace, Yoda warns Anakin about the dangers of being afraid. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering. Anakin's most beautiful attribute is also his most fatal flaw. His ability to love deeply. Yet, if you love someone you will always live in fear of losing them. Anakin was created by darkness, but raised in the light of his mother's love. His own love was made manifest by Padme and then by their unborn child/children. However, Love no matter how strong can be weakened and even be destroyed by the evil of fear. If the prequels taught anything about life, it taught how fear (even in its smallest form) can be be our most detrimental enemy. Living alone in fear and not seeking help is a signing of our own death warrants. What might have happened if Anakin had gone to Obi-Wan and seek his help? Would things have been different? The prequels were not meant to tell a happy story. They were written as a timeline of a boy's journey from goodness into darkness. No, they don't have the silliness or humor of the Originals, because there is nothing humorous about someone's self-destruction. Yet, the story of Anakin Skywalker's transformation had to be told in a way that was real and heartbreaking. To take Darth Vader and make him a human who could feel and understand and love could be an insurmountable task. Yet, you only need to watch his death scene at the end of Return of The Jedi to see that the humane part of Anakin Skywalker had always been there. The prequels were made to be built on that final scene of redemption and human love. A husband's love to save his wife became a father's love that could overcome darkness and hate. An extreme love that defied fear and held on to hope. That was the love of Anakin Skywalker.

Anakin could be a bratty and immature young adult. However, to only base a character by his few annoying flaws is overlooking the bigger and better picture. Anakin was an outsider his whole life and yet that never seemed to bother him. He never cared about fitting in. He was content being himself and he refused to let Obi-Wan or the Jedi Order or even Padme change him. He held onto who he was for as long as he was able to. Then the tragedy of losing his wife changed that. The indomitable spirit wasn't broken, it was destroyed. Anakin re-entered a life of slavery for over 20 years.

And he was ultimately freed by one person. An orphan who once had nothing but a talent as an inventor and dreams of being a pilot. A young Jedi with an unbreakable spirit that refused to surrender to evil or fear or pain or loss. A son who loved his father so deeply that he would fight to the death to free Anakin Skywalker forever.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen

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pilyarquitect · 4 years

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Asterix - Getafix’s mistake - Chapter 1. The confusion

Hello everyone! Here in this day October 12th, I bring you a new story. Actually, is a translation of another story I wrote. I really hope you’ll like it!

Well, I’d like to give a special thanks to @drummergirl231-2 . She’s amazing! Without knowing anything about Asterix, she accepted to edit the translated story so I could bring you the best possible version. I’m really, really, really grateful to her, she’s awesome!

Okay after say all this, here you have the first chapter of this story, I hope you all will like it!

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The year is 50 BC. Gaul is entirely occupied by the Romans. Well, not entirely…

The sun rose in the east as every morning. Its rays gradually illuminated a small village that was on the shores of the ocean while a soft wind carried with it the final remains of the mist that always formed at dawn. The village was populated by indomitable Gauls who still held out against the invaders. This small village was surrounded by four Roman camps, Totorum, Aquarium, Laudanum and Compendium. Behind the walls of this small population, there lived people who weren’t willing to join Roman Empire, or submit to Julius Caesar.

What was the secret of that resistance? How could simple villagers so masterfully resist such a great opponent? The answer was found in a magic potion – a potion that gave superhuman strength to anyone who drank it. The hamlet druid prepared it for its inhabitants, and over the years had endowed that town with the fame it now so well deserved. But it wasn’t only the potion that made the village famous. Some of its inhabitants, specifically two of them, were known for the many adventures they had experienced over the years. Naturally if someone asked for them, their names are: Asterix and Obelix.

These two men have always been friends, from the moment they were born – because in them there was the unusual case that, despite belonging to different families, they were born on the same day and at the same moment. That generated in them a strong bond of friendship that to date has never been broken. It was true that sometimes they argued, but deep down they both knew whatever the other said, he was never serious.

The same was true of the rest of the villagers. They were all friends, although many times there were discussions… especially about how fresh the fish Unhygienix sold were. These discussions were normally initiated by the hamlet blacksmith, Fulliautomatix and the already named fishmonger. Their discussions used to grow into fights that ended up involving the entire village. But contrary to what anyone could think, for the villagers, these fights were pure fun, and after each one, they always reconciled and went about their routines as if nothing had happened. The chief Vitalstatistix, despite having that title, was one more inhabitant of the town, and everyone considered him a friend, although, of course, they showed him loyalty and submitted to him as ruler of the hamlet.

On the other hand, there was the bard, Cacofonix, who seemed to live slightly apart from the rest of the village; not because the others despised him, but rather because none of the inhabitants seemed to share his musical liking. For this reason, the man lived in a cabin on top of a tree – a place in which, as he said, it was easier for him to be inspired to compose his odes and songs.

These were the main inhabitants of the hamlet, all of them with their routines and their chores. Everything seemed to be as it always was. It seemed that nothing was going to truncate that peace and tranquility that the village enjoyed. Little did they know what was going to happen…

That morning, the druid Getafix was in his cabin experimenting with new potions. In his last meeting with other druids to celebrate their periodic contest at Carnutes – the druid’s forest – Getafix had presented his famous magic potion, a potion that led him to victory. The druid thought that, for the next time, he wanted to bring a new spell or potion. To do so, he thought of something that might be useful. One of the druids that took part on the contest presented a potion that allowed him to take food from boiling water without burning. Ingenious! It was a simple potion, but truly useful for everyday life.

Getafix thought that he, too, wanted to do something useful for everyday life. He thought about it for a long time until finally an idea came to mind: make a variant of his magic potion. While it was true the potion provides superhuman strength, it is also true the drinker didn’t feel the potion had any effect on his being. Realizing this, the old druid began to think about the possibility of making a potion that would make the person feel more rejuvenated and able to endure the work of the day.

That would certainly be of great help, especially to people who considered themselves more of a hindrance than a help since they tire so easily. If his potion produced the effect he hoped for, that could be one of the greatest achievements ever.

With this idea in mind, Getafix had inadvertently spent the whole night working in an attempt to achieve this goal, although he still hadn’t obtained the expected results. When the man realized that it was already dawn, he also found the villagers slowly beginning their daily work routine.

Getafix smiled to himself. At this point he couldn’t remember how long he had lived in the hamlet, but he did remember that he had seen almost all of its inhabitants grow. He had taught them… had educated them… shared his knowledge with them… opened their young minds to the world around them. And he had helped them defend themselves against the Romans with his magic potion…

Thinking about the magic potion, Getafix checked his supplies of the potion ingredients and saw that some of them were starting to run out. It was time to go for more. Fortunately, he always kept a spare pot for emergencies, as well as a canteen for Asterix since the warrior, given his adventurous spirit, had become accustomed to always carrying his personal supply of magic potion.

Getafix also knew it wouldn’t be long before the blond Gaul came to him to ask him for a new consignment of the liquid that had freed them from so many dangers to date. He prepared a green canteen for when Asterix arrived and also put the remains of the potion he had been working on in another canteen, this one brown. Later, he would carefully study the ingredients he used – the quantities of these elements – and would test to see if the effects were what he expected or not. He hung both containers together near the fireplace and while waiting for the warrior's arrival, he prepared what was necessary to collect the ingredients he needed to make more magic potion.

"Good morning, Getafix! Oh druid, how has your night been?" The village warrior suddenly greeted from the door of the hut. The druid looked at him with a smile and replied:

"Good morning Asterix, the truth is that, thanks to Belenos, I’ve advanced a lot in my new potion."

"Really? By Tutatis, don't tell me you've spent the whole night working.” said the little Gaul with genuine concern for his druid.

Getafix looked at Asterix. The Gaul was not very tall. He was actually quite short for his age, but the old druid considered him one of the greatest men he had ever met.

"Asterix, you don’t have to worry about me. You know druids can handle more than the others." the older tried to reassure him.

"It may be so, but you are still human. And you too should rest, oh druid."

“I’m close to success. As soon as I succeed, then I will rest, Asterix. I promise you. Now, I’m sure you’re here for the magic potion, aren’t you?” Getafix said trying to change the subject of their conversation.

"That's right. Obelix says that he has to deliver a couple of menhirs this morning, so we’ve agreed that I’ll go for breakfast and we’ll eat it together in my cabin. But as you know, against Romans, it’s best to take all precautions."

"Certainly, Asterix," the druid replied as he unhooked the brown canteen and handed it to the warrior. “But remember that the potion is only an aid in the fight against the Romans. In my opinion, the most important thing is what we have in our hearts and minds – that is, courage and intelligence, and you have both, my friend.”

"Thank you, Getafix." replied the blond Gaul as he tied the canteen on his belt. Then he said goodbye to the druid and went to the forest to hunt a couple of wild boars for breakfast.

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

When Asterix reached the forest, the warrior inhaled the pure air. He had always found the forest very pleasant. As a child, he had gone loads of times with his friends and played there while his parents fought… or rather, crushed the Romans. The forest was always a pleasant place to go, except when Cacofonix decided to compose new songs. On those occasions, the forest was the least advisable place to be.

Asterix walked among the trees looking for his breakfast when a Roman patrol appeared before his eyes. Oh well, I'll be able to have some extra fun, the Gaul thought. The patrol spotted the blond warrior and their faces immediately blanched until they almost looked like corpses. Instantly they took a desperate flight while the Gaul in turn took chase. In the process, he grabbed the canteen and took a drink from it.

What happened next was totally unexpected for both the Romans and Asterix himself. First, as soon as the warrior took a sip of the drink, he immediately realized that the taste was quite different from what he was used to. Strange, he thought, but almost immediately he realized it wasn’t so strange. He came to the terrible conclusion that what he had just drunk wasn’t magic potion, but was probably the new potion that Getafix had been working on. Asterix didn’t know what that potion would do exactly. He only knew if the Romans realized that it wasn’t magic potion what he had taken, he would be in big trouble…

Before he could make a decision, Asterix noticed a sudden pain in his chest. That pain made him stop, and when he stopped, the Romans also stopped, surprised that the little warrior hadn’t reached them yet. Then the legionaries witnessed something incredible: the Gaul was on his knees, with one hand resting on the grass and the other clutching his chest tightly. His face had taken on an expression of what seemed like deep agony. It was surprising to see one of the most feared Gauls – Obelix undoubtedly ranked first – in that position. Suddenly, Romans watched in amazement as the warrior's body began to decrease in size, his mustache disappearing as Asterix was getting smaller and smaller. Also, the clothes that the man wore didn’t change, so they were increasingly larger for the warrior's body.

"By Jupiter! Does anyone know what is going on here?” one of the legionaries asked.

"Well, the truth is that I have no idea, what about you?" another replied.

"No, no idea."

"I don’t know either."

"What do we do now?"

The patrol was stunned at the spectacle they were watching. When it was all over, Asterix passed out because of pain and what the Romans saw before their eyes was a three-year-old boy.

This image is a picture made by @zeragii

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Well, here ends the first chapter. What do you think about it? Asterix will be in a big trouble, won’t he? Or maybe the Romans – knowing how dangerous the Gauls are – won’t do anything to him so this way they surely won’t pay the consequences? What do you think they’ll do?

Also, what do you think of this potion? Do you think it have more effects than just change body’s size? Is it temporary or permanently? We’ll find out in next chapters! Have a nice day!

#asterix and obelix #Getafix's mistake #Asterix #Getafix #Romans #an encounter in the forest with unexpected ending #art from Zeragii

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c-atm · 5 years

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Flirty Fighting: Flawless Victory

Score: Biscuit 2 Berry 2

Steven couldn't think as Connie impishly closed the door to her room, telling him to wait for her downstairs. Steven nodded in dumbfounded agreement before turning towards the stairs, a simple thing.

Problem was he couldn't get a footing on the floor. He had to push wall to wall to move forward and even then..he literally couldn't get down stairs..So he floated in contemplation at the fact that Connie Maheswaran....Made him float instinctively.

"That little minx...That was sooo."

Steven growled and quiver, a rose quartz blush on his face as he licked his lips as the memory of what just happened pass through.

"Unfairly exciting."

*6 minutes ago.*

Steven had just pulled up in the Dondai into the Maheswarens driveway. Doug and Priyanka was gone for the month celebrating their wedding anniversary(’20 years strong’), so Connie had the place to herself...meaning more time to hang out alone....Meaning more time to tease her...He must admit he was on a kick since the blackout,

Seeing the indomitable Connie Maheswaren squirm so. The look in her eyes..those dazzling eyes..that bit lip, that seductive innocence. It was a rush for the usual nice guy to be dominant..especially to her, his strong willed and stubborn berry. His impish tease of a best friend. His super smart and usually cool Connie.

As he stood up he heard music playing from her room on the top floor, Connie’s room and recognized the song instantly as an english cover of ‘Love Dramatic.’

Oh love me Mister, Oh Mister

Let me hear how you feel, show that you're for real

Hey Mister, c'mon Mister

Stop the tease, make believe there's no need to be mean

The second thing he noticed with a smile was Connie was singing along..

‘She’s such a weeb..a sweet one though’

He chuckled as a plan formed with the thought..This was a perfect opportunity to start the visit with a tease...it was only right.

So with a slightly sinister smile The young man whipped out his smart phone and leapt to her window silently, ready to catch her...He set his phone to record.

and his face reddened..his mouth dried... his jaw dropped and lip quivered.

You won't know and won't tell how you drive me wild

(Your) Piercing gaze, charming smile is enough to tell

In this game played by two, I for sure will not lose

Love is war! Love is war! Love is war!

Connie Maheswaren, dressed in a forest string tee with a sea-foam frills across the chest that stopped just above her naval and baby blue mid thigh overalls that fit her like a glove, wasn’t just singing...She was giving a performance.

What a performance it was.

Let's dance til dawn hits and

Feel the heat of love and ecstasy

This ain't just a "thing"

Shivers go down your spine imagening

He watched as she twirled with her partner, a giant pink stuffed lion which she somehow got into one of his old red shirts, her hair flowing with each spin, each step she took, her voice in perfect tone with the song. It shook him through his heart and gem.

You'd be mine

Thinking ahead of time

That our future's looking bright, interwined in mind

How she dipped and tossed the toy around as she serenaded it. Each sway of her waist; rhythmic. Each twitch of her hips; mesmerizing. Her freed wild passion mixed with her natural body control,all in motion.

Eight whole words I want to hear from you

"I love you with all of my heart" ("I love you with all of my heart")

and I'll assure you that we won't fall apart

"You're unbelievable, Ni'."

His eyes widen as she looked straight at him and vice versa, the chorus playing in the background. His face grew even darker as he moved from his eyes from the phone.. and looked at the real thing..

He expected her to freeze, scream even.. or at least blush…

Once again Connie proved to be more than expected. Her eyes..those dazzling black eyes, were now burning not with anger, but with another feeling..one that sent shockwaves of excitement throughout his body, half-lidded as they were.

With teasing lick of her lips and a dangerous smirk, she stepped slowly one foot slightly crossing the other, accentuating her tone, strong, curves with each step, like a lioness in her den.

Mislead by interest, your charming act won't be enough pretend.

(It's) Both players intend: Getting their way 'til one of them will break

All while singing along, never missing a beat.

She got close enough to gently place the phone on her desk near her bed, pointing the camera towards the center of the room; catching the whole area.

There's no need, writing a "happy end"

'cus our love is so much more, and I wouldn't want it to end

She led him to the room center, her melodic voice and gentle movements putting him in a trance like state. Stroking his temple and chin as she lead him to the center of the room, in the camera sight.

I'll take all - even your deepest lies

Embrace me and hold me tight (Embrace me and hold me tight)

She hooked her left leg behind his thigh and his right hand at the curve of her back before leaned back pulling him down with her, their faces only a centimeter apart.

While I make sure your facade's breaking tonight

Oh love me Mister, Oh Mister

As the chorus began again she moved closer, to sing it straight in his ear. That plus the smell of lily and chai...Her scent...made his knees buckle for a second.

"YYYesss"

When I see you give in, I know that I could win

Hey Mister, c'mon Mister

There's much more 'hind this smile, yet I can't make out why

He didn't mean to say yes outloud, to answer the question so eagerly and readily, but he did. Luckily, it seemed that the music drowned out his submission.

You won't know and won't tell that I know you too well

Handsome face, blue-ish eyes, is your bulletproof disguise

She bit her lip and he was second from tasting her as well, before she released herself from his grasp and untangled him from her making a show of her long and well built her legs are. He actually whimpered just a bit as she turned away from him though was gulped when he found himself being led to the wall.

Draw me in, bet away let's see who's gonna win

Love is war! Love is war! Love is war!

"It's heartshaped. "

He blushed red as realize what he just said and what he was referring to. He moved his eyes upwards and saw her grinning mischievously before placing him between said wall and her back.

He trembled, trying to catch his breath and stop the heart attack he felt he was going on a she placed his hands between her waist and upper thigh, making him tap to the beat of the song. Her right foot on the wall keeping them in place.

When will you ever let me see

that you're feeling the same as me

Hear me out, I can't take it anymore

I'm begging you

She on the other hand swayed her hips, waved her body, slightly rubbing against him with her movements..but enough to realize she melted..and harden him. As she sang the bridge with a breathy almost purr like tone in his ear, emitting a snarl from her beastly Biscuit. as she played with his locks a bit, she gave him a slight nerve tingling blow upon his neck making him growl and pressing her against himself.

"Woo.. can I just live here.You,me and this wall behind us?"

His delirious request made her giggle heartedly and it was the perfect signal to end the performance on.

Please love me~

Oh love me Mister, Oh Mister

Let me hear how you feel, show that you're for real

Hey Mister, c'mon Mister

Tell me please, make believe, show me we're meant to be

She turned towards him and stared guiding him to the floor, sitting him down before straddling his lap. arms around shoulders, lips just an inch a part.

I'll give in just for you - I won't hold back this time

(Your) Gentle lips, teasing eyes make me weak for a while

In this game played by two, I doubt that you would lose

Love is war! Love is war! Love is war!

As she sang the song seductively and adorably, Steven found him hands resting on to her thighs and nothing else. He was entranced by her to do nothing but follow her lead..

Love is war! Love is war! Love is war!

When she kissed his forehead, he smiled.

Love is war! Love is war! Love is war!

His nose..He smiled..

Oh Mister~ Oh Mister~

When she moved to his lips giving him a hungry look, he parted his and closed his eyes in anticipation… only to feel her fingertips.

"Songs over."

Steven mind shutdown as she removed her fingers from his lips..and kissed them. She slowly and teasingly stood up before helping her bae-friend to his feet and holding his hands downward as she gave him his phone(after tinkering with a bit) and lead him out of her room as gently as possible. Steven, finally getting his motor function back, turned around only to meet her finger tips.

"I'll be with you soon, try to handle that...You've been floating since verse two."

Steven looked down and realized that he indeed wasn't on solid ground.. He was about to say something, when she did something unexpected. .. she gave him a quick peck on his lips and a teasing lick, getting a reaction out of him..floating a bit higher..

"We can discuss living arrangements some other time, 'Mister'. Now go wait downstairs. let me freshen up."

With that she closed the door on him."

*Present*

" Sheesh, She definitely beat me, flawlessly. I couldn't even mount a defense. "

He floated as a smile cane his face. He lost but damn it feel good to lose. That when he heard his phone vibrate. He opened his phone and almost hit the ceiling...literally.

Two photos: One with her blowing on his neck..which looked more like she was necking with the tagline: love you too mister😄

The second one was a picture she took of herself still in her outfit her back to the mirror slightly bent over looking over her shoulder with the tagline: Officially Heart Shaped(for your eyes only Biscut)😉😘😎

Steven snarled as he saved the pictures before a smirking. He floated in thought as he tried to think of a plan to get her back...but all he could think about is what happened..and if he was honest. his he loved it. Soon those thoughts went from making Connie melt and squirm to making Connie his, Indefinitely.

Score Biscuit: 2 Berry:3

Bonus:

As she closed the door on her Jam bud, she slowly slumped to the floor..a brilliant smile on her red face.. She was in love and she loved it.

She love it. All of it.

She love dancing with him, always did even when they were more innocent and he was less bold and she loved her body less...but that..

That...having him all to herself like that. Having him touch her like that, look at her like that it was too much if he took control for a second...She would have slumped, given in fully. She will never forget this...the mixture of wanting and loving in his eyes...The beach sand smell of his sweat...the feel of his hands, his body on hers…

“Oh my stars, I did THAT to him.”

She couldn’t help but feel proud..and a little worry that maybe she took it to far.

Until she heard him call her a minx...Which meant that despite everything..He was still all in. She stood up and pulled down her overall straps when she saw herself in the mirror, her stance and the seats of the overalls

“Heart shaped.”

That what Steven called it..Her butt. Her face flared at the thought but so did her mischievous side as she got her phone and took the picture.

“Extra points.”

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bapydemonprincess · 4 years

Text

Meet the Parents

HELLO EVERYONE! Hope you’re having a happy last day of 2019, cause I sure am!! The past couple days me and @grelleswife have been working together on this story! >w<

It’s about my dear gloomy boi Ambrose and his new companion Eddie that we’ve developed together.

This story takes place months after Ambrose forming the contract with the demon, and when he finally decided it was time to try and fix this mess, for the little corvus found himself regretting this at every turn.. as his bond with the demon grew.

It was time to seek out help from higher powers, thus throwing caution to the wind and heading back to his family’s home to introduce Eddie to the other demon in his life: His Mother.

Hope you all enjoy this!!! Because @grelleswife and I had a LOT of fun making it!! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Ambrose was constantly shouting at himself in his mind as he drove himself and his companion across country to his family’s home.

“You’ve gone mad, haven’t you?” It went on. “First you contacted a demon, contracted the demon, and now that you’ve known the demon for- what, a couple months, you want to take the demon home to your family. TO YOUR HALF DEMONIC FAMILY.”

But Ambrose kept driving, already knowing they were nearing the family’s property, and recognizing every little detail and tree and just slowly spiralling into a little panic attack.’

“Hey, now..” Came a voice from the side, quiet and understanding as always. “I can practically smell your sweat, you know. It’s okay, Ambrose. I’m sure things won’t go as bad as you may think they will..” A brief chuckle. “I mean, I’ve gotten used to acting human and living like a human, so I’m sure I can pull off a visit with your family.”

Ambrose didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. He knew he had dug his own grave, now. He knew he’d likely dug Eddie’s grave too. This.. this poor young demon, who merely thought this was just going to be a “meet the parents” scenario like any other time in any media you can imagine, had no idea the dumb mortal he’d made a dumb contract with was actually bringing him to likely get insta- killed by an even more POWERFUL demon.

Mum had explained “demon ranks” years ago one time. The memory was very vague, but there was definitely a lot hanging on a demon’s power as well as some kind of title.

And if his Demon Mother could commit feats like stopping a train with just one hand, or put a dent in a heavily armored tank with just one finely dressed shoe, then Ambrose was most certain he/she was a goddamn powerhouse in their own right. And the chances of said powerhouse even KNOWING about his current predicament with this other demon, who likely could NOT do anything like what they could, made surviving this whole day very, very unlikely.

Ambrose almost wished he could fast forward to the “getting killed by Mum” part and just go on with his afterlife..

Oh, but here they were, at the driveway. Nothing looked any different than it had the many million times he’d come back.

And it wasn’t the first time he’d even brought someone new home, either.

It was just.. a few minor differences, like say this one was gonna.. y'know, take his soul at one point (again, if he survived this) and all because he wanted some goddamn demon powers.

His foot slammed on the break halfway through the driveway. There was only a few meters left.. but SOMETHING finally spoke up in his brain and body and did the “hopefully” smart thing!

Eddie slightly jolted in the passenger seat, eyes widening in shock at the sudden halt, when they could tell themselves that they were so close!

“Um, what was that for?”

“We can’t go in.”

“… Why not?”

“Eddie, just trust me. We cannot go in.” Ambrose’s words were coming out sharper, faster. He wasn’t able to move; not even just his eyes to look over at the demon.

“Then why did we even come here, Ambrose?”

“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY, I just- I made a dumb choice. I came up with a dumb idea! I do it all the time, Eddie!”

“Ah, Ambrose-”

“I know, I know this looks bad, but listen, you have NO IDEA how bad it REALLY, REALLY IS, EDDIE!”

“Ambrose..”

“I mean it’s SO BAD, I know for a fact that the minute we go up to that door, BEFORE we can EVEN knock on it–”

“AMBROSE!”

“WHAT, EDDIE??”

Ambrose finally snapped his head around to glare at the demon while he seethed and panicked, feeling like this one time his panic was justified in every sense of the word, when.. he finally managed to focus on Eddie, who was staring ahead at something, and merely lifting a hand to point at it. And Eddie himself looked like he now had something to fear, too.

And as Ambrose turned his head again to look up ahead at whatever it was, his brain kind of had already began realizing.

What he’d predicted in his ramble that would happen.. was already beginning before they’d even stepped outside the vehicle itself.

Up ahead and at the end of the fresh, bright green lawn, standing on the front steps in front of the front door, was none other than Sebastian Michaelis.

Standing there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Both youths in the vehicle remained seated, staring back, frozen in place like two little wild creatures that knew, above all else, that a predator was right before them, and it would only take one single movement for the predator to be on them.

The threatening personage standing before them outwardly resembled a mortal man, but Eddie knew the truth that lay beneath the deadly beauty of his exterior. That aura…he hoped in vain that he was mistaken, but there no denying the grim reality. This was another demon, far older and more powerful than he, with a commanding presence that could readily hold sway over lesser spirits. Such indomitable strength…by the nine circles, that demon must be one of the Diabolical Gentry!

“W-why didn’t you tell me that one of your parents belonged to hell’s nobility?” Eddie squeaked out, barely forcing the words from his trembling lips. Ambrose didn’t possess a scrap of demonic power—that was why Eddie had been summoned by his irascible master to begin with. Still, Eddie couldn’t believe that he’d failed to pick up on Ambrose’s heritage. Was he that weak and naïve? Why hadn’t Ambrose trusted him with this secret? However, any hurt and shame that Eddie normally would have felt were promptly supplanted by an overpowering terror. Like all demons, Eddie well knew the taste of fear, the delicious tang it lent to cursed souls, but he’d never truly experienced it himself. This was akin to torture, every fiber of his human body screaming Danger! Danger! even while his consciousness grappled with the fact that there was no escape.

“My family’s too damn complicated,” Ambrose stuttered. His face had gone chalk-white, far exceeding his usual pallor.

The next thing they knew, the car doors were ripped off the automobile, and black tentacles snaked around the two youths. Eddie screamed like a wounded hare as he was hoisted aloft. The other demon’s tentacles tightened around his waist and encircled his arms and legs like manacles before making their way to his throat, choking the young demon with merciless brutality.

The elder demon snarled, flashing their sharp white fangs. “I’ll only ask this once, scum. What the hell is your business with my child?”

Tears of pain sprang to Eddie’s eyes as he glanced furtively at Ambrose, whom the demon had drawn close to himself like a mother hen sheltering her chicks. Wouldn’t revealing their contract be considered a betrayal of his master? Though his false lungs screamed for air, Eddie clenched his teeth and remained silent. If this is to be my final hour, I won’t defile our covenant with my cowardice.

The other demon’s eyes blazed crimson in their fury, and he bent Eddie’s limbs until the bones creaked dangerously. A little more effort on his part, and they’d snap like twigs. “Answer me!”

“J-just t-t-tell him, Eddie!” Ambrose cried, whirling around to face the captive demon. For the first time since he’d made Ambrose’s acquaintance, the white-haired corvus looked panic-stricken. “Don’t hurt him, Mum! Please!!!”

“Mas…ter…” Eddie croaked, grimacing in agony.

The other demon stiffened, and his gaze darted to the white seal on Eddie’s left hand.

“You…contracted…with my son?” he whispered. Somehow, the softness was more far frightening than his earlier roar. Incredulity, horror, anguish, and grief raced across his face in rapid succession.

The demon swiveled his head to look at Ambrose, who shook uncontrollably. “Show it to me.”

Ambrose stood rooted in place.

“SHOW IT TO ME!!!” the demon roared, his expression contorted in agony. Despite his current predicament, Eddie couldn’t help but feel a measure of sympathy. After all, what parent would want their child to sell their soul to a devil?

Meekly, Ambrose pulled off his right glove and showed the back of his hand to his demonic parent, displaying the seal emblazoned thereon. The boy hung his head, but the demon grabbed him by the chin, staring into those gray eyes as if trying to divine the secrets of a lost language.

“What have you done, kitten?!”

Wheeling around to face Eddie, the demon growled, “Contracts be damned. While I still live, no one will lay a hand on my children. You are vermin, less than nothing, compared to one such as I, and I will end this here and now.”

“NO!!! Leave Eddie alone!!!” Ambrose screamed, struggling helplessly against the tentacles that still bound him.

Just at that moment, two people burst out of the house, presumably summoned by the present commotion. Their attire and dark skin reminded Eddie of the mortals who hailed from East India. One of them was a tall, vigorous man with white hair and a hand swathed in bandages. Eddie instinctively flinched at the power emanating from him…divine power. The other person appeared somewhat younger, closer to Ambrose’s age, with black hair and gentle, carmine eyes. They also sported dark, feathered wings, a little tail, and a small pair of horns, and their aura baffled Eddie. He immediately sensed their demonic energy, but they also bore the same heavenly light as the man did. He’d never met anyone like this. Of course, Eddie’s mind was largely preoccupied with his imminent demise.

“Sebastian, what’s the meaning of this?” the man gasped, staring at the flailing Eddie.

“Mama, please let that demon go!” the younger one begged, clutching at Sebastian’s arm. “We should discuss this peacefully!”

“There is nothing to discuss now except how I will destroy this insignificant little imp of a demon and sever their sorry attempt to steal Ambrose’s soul!”

“MUM, DON’T! PLEASE DON’T!!!” Ambrose found himself shrieking at the top of his lungs, even as he felt his throat burning, his panic rising to levels so high, he was barely aware of what he was doing when he managed to somehow rip through his mother’s grip on him, and practically tackled the tentacle covered young demon.

“Ambrose’s soul?” Agni repeated quietly, still staring and trying to put everything together, but not having enough time before seeing his youngest son grapple the younger demon along with Sebastian’s tentacles. “By the Gods! Ambrose!” He immediately shouted in alarm, knowing for sure what his husband had been about to do with those tentacles; It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them in action, after all.

Aarushi was covering their mouth in horror, but unable to look away, eyes shrinking to tiny beady red dots.

And Sebastian was snarling even more, looming in on the two now in one spot, his whole form almost all inky black, except for his bared long fangs and his glowing, seething eyes…

“Get off the little wastrel at once, Ambrose.” He commanded in a mildly low simmer, but his voice warping to a deep growl all the same. “We will discuss your idiocy in this in a minute, but for now I have to remove the source.”

Ambrose lifted his head from keeping it resting- no shielding Eddie, and his dark stormy eyes glared up at the elder demon hanging over him, filled with a familiar anger.. a feeling almost close to hatred itself, but not quite. He felt the little demon in his grasp and under the dark inked tentacles start shaking violently. He recalled Eddie bringing up briefly something about sensing others emotions, especially certain ones that stood out the most.. Perhaps like say, whatever the hell it was he was feeling currently.

“No.” He simply snapped out. “I- I will not move until you BACK OFF and let me actually EXPLAIN, Mother! So- So if you wanna rip someone up, you’ll have to take me as well!”

This response immediately had the demon physically jerking back, another snarl leaving his mouth.

Sebastian didn’t speak again for even longer, slit pupils just taking in the entire scene before him of his precious kitten SHIELDING a demon whom he’d agreed to a contract to, thus giving away his SOUL. His LIFE.

It was catching up to him now.. however long Ambrose had known this demon, had been contracted with this demon, their bond had CLEARLY grown in that small window, and now… now….

Ambrose noticed even more tentacles rising, and even the entire front lawn growing dim.. the sun itself had entirely vanished…

Fuck, I’m DEAD. He immediately thought, but all he could do was squeeze the lump he’d been clinging to the past few minutes, wishing he could say something to the demon. Something like “I’m here, I’ve got you” or “I’m so sorry” or maybe something like “It’s been actually nice getting to know you for the past few months… Eddie..”

“Am… brose..?” He heard Eddie hiss out, and cracked open his eyes. Wait.. had he said that last part out loud?? Shit.. WAIT! Ambrose finally noticed the tentacles were GONE and.. he was just hugging EDDIE!!

Ambrose peeked back up at his Mum and the others, and saw once again his mother had returned to his human male form, not just a black inky silhouette anymore.

But that didn’t mean he was any less scary right now.. Oh no, Sebastian was absolutely livid as he still remained in that spot, but with his shoulders up, and his hands curled into such tight fists. His teeth had shrank a bit, but he still bared them all the same, and those eyes… oh nothing had changed about those.

“You wanted to explain, then explain, Ambrose.” Sebastian uttered, voice still quite low.

Now they all stood there on the front steps expectantly; Mum, Dad, and even Goddamned Aarushi, who Ambrose shoulda KNOWN would be visiting here by some fluke as well. After all, Aarushi had no qualms with returning to their family a lot more often than Ambrose…

“Alright.. okay..” Ambrose finally breathed out, and slowly, gradually, pulled away from Eddie, who he was also surprised hadn’t passed out by now.

“Look, a.. couple months ago, after um, having a really.. pretty bad day, I went to a local old book store that had popped up in the area, and just thought of looking around and finding anything to help feel better! That’s all… Then- then I happened upon a book that went like “Various Rituals for Everyday Use” and, I thought- I dunno, I’d just read it for the hell of it!”

As he took a pause, he noticed the various changes in his family’s face… Both Father and Aarushi having looks of surprise and almost fascination, though Aarushi kept that constant look on of concern for their younger sibling in place as well. And Mum was… well, obviously he needed to keep going or else things would just go back to the doom and tentacles again.

“So after going through most of it, I came upon apparently what was some kind of easy, “modern” way to contact a demon with no mess! Y-you know, like with a ritual sacrifice or something..” Ambrose trailed off, losing steam as he recalled certain stories that had similar situations.. BUT he REALLY didn’t want to dwell on that yet! NOT YET!! “All it took was a piece of paper, and writing out why I wanted a demon, and what I wanted from them, and to sign my name in my blood before putting the paper in an open, natural spot. So I went a bit outside town to a nature reserve forest I liked going to, and just put it on a tree stump and waited..”

“A piece of paper.. on a tree stump.. in a forest.” Sebastian was repeating now, eyes trailing off to look out into space while he processed this.

“Ye- Yeah.” Ambrose got out, sort of starting to slouch where he stood as realization took hold on how utterly stupid this all sounded. He then noticed Eddie at his side turn more towards him, looking like he wanted to reach out and touch Ambrose, comfort him while he tried to tell this totally unbelievable story…Just don’t, He tried to telepathically tell him. Just don’t bother, Eddie. I know I’m a dumbass. I’m just trying here.

Seeing his master look so frail and pitiful—so alone—made Eddie want to wrap him up in that human gesture called a “hug.” However, Ambrose’s demeanor and the amalgamation of fear, embarrassment, and anger brewing inside him suggested that this might not be the best strategy. Instead, Eddie shyly moved his left hand toward Ambrose’s right until they were almost (though not quite) touching, and decided to jump in to spare his master further humiliation.

“A-and that’s how I was summoned!” he squeaked, trembling as three pairs of eyes turned towards him. The elder demon (Ambrose’s “mum”) glowered balefully, but the other two (Ambrose’s father and sibling?) looked curious, albeit concerned. “The ritual wasn’t especially potent, but I’m…well, rather weak, so it was enough to help me make the crossing over to the mortal world,” Eddie continued haltingly. “I hadn’t contracted since Queen Victoria’s reign, and I was curious about how much time had passed and what changes had occurred since then. Then I met Ambrose, and he said that he’d brought me here because he wanted demonic power.”

“Oh no, Ambrose!” his sibling cried, bringing their hands to their mouth, tears glistening in their eyes. While visibly distressed, Ambrose’s parents didn’t seem surprised. “Not this again, kitten,” the demon muttered in despair. Eddie blinked, taken aback. It was almost like they’d expected his master to make this specific wish. Ambrose slouched lower, his eyes downcast. Unable to resist the impulse any longer, Eddie grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The corvus shot him a startled look, but he didn’t reprimand Eddie or jerk his hand away. His curmudgeonly tendencies had been subdued by the frightening experience they’d just endured.

“S-so when Ambrose told me his wish, I offered to serve him for as long as he desired,” the young demon stumbled on.

Ambrose’s mother scoffed. “You expect me to believe that there were no other stipulations to this contract of yours?” he spat.

“W-well…um…not really,” Eddie said bashfully. “I haven’t had many contracts, and I want to learn as much I can, experience as much as I can! And serve my master to the best of my abilities and…just have someone to talk to. As I said earlier, I’m not terribly strong, so other demons either pass me by or treat me cruelly.”

The older demon stared at him and shook his head in disbelief. “You truly are an amateur.”

Eddie blushed, and Ambrose scowled. “It’s not his fault, Mum. Eddie’s made some mistakes, but he tries his best!”

Eddie brightened. His master could be dour and gloomy, which made the demon fret that he wasn’t doing a good enough job. But now Ambrose was praising him!

“It’s because he deserves my best!” Eddie blurted out. “My other masters treated me like a thing that they could torment and kick around at whim, or a mindless tool to achieve their wicked goals, but Ambrose made me feel like a person. We’ve watched movies and browsed antiques shops together. He can be cross with me at times, but he’s never laid a hand on me. I love reading to him or just talking to him—he’s awfully clever, I’m sure you know that, bloody brilliant! A-and he gave me presents of my very own! My glasses…and this pocketwatch.”

Fumbling for a moment (as he was still holding on tight to Ambrose’s hand), Eddie removed what had become his most prized possession from his front pocket. The other demon drew in a sharp intake of breath, pain flickering for a moment in those ruby-red eyes.

Oh no. Maybe Eddie shouldn’t have done that. Had he unwittingly accepted a family heirloom from his master?

“Am-ambrose is the best master I’ve ever had,” Eddie plunged ahead, feeling overwhelmed by his devotion to the pale, sad youth and the maelstrom of emotions raging within Ambrose’s soul. “I’d do anything for him, even die for him. It hurts me when I how lost and angry he is, and…and I just want to make him smile!” To Eddie’s bewilderment, his eyes burned with tears. He still wasn’t completely used to inhabiting a human body, and he supposed mortal forms more readily reflected the inner workings of the heart. Ambrose had flushed pink, while the rest of his family gazed at Eddie in silence.

“I know I’ll have to eat his soul whenever he’s finished with me, b-but I don’t want to,” Eddie whispered brokenly. He thought about how Ambrose had tried to shield him from his mother’s wrath. ‘If you wanna rip someone up, you’ll have to take me as well!’ The little demon put his head on Ambrose’s shoulder, shaking uncontrollably. “He’s precious to me.”

“Enough!” the other demon cried, with the same pained, haunted look in his eyes as when he’d seen the pocketwatch.

You didn’t grow attached to your prey. That was one of the cardinal rules by which all demons abided. What point was there in caring for a soul that you would devour? But, against his better judgement, and without being aware of it until it was too late, Sebastian had gotten attached to the deeply wounded but indomitable Earl of Phantomhive. The watch this “Eddie” now had in his possession was a poignant reminder of the vanished past, of the child to whom Sebastian had been not merely butler, but sword, shield, teacher…father.

In a different way, the feeble, naïve imp had apparently bonded with Ambrose, who sat in stunned silence while Eddie wept against his shoulder. Sebastian still wanted to obliterate this demon from existence, but his heart was torn by the grief of which Eddie had gotten a foretaste—the unbearable pain of destroying what you have come to love.

“Moonlight,” Agni’s voice broke the silence eloquently, stepping up to be near his husband again as he enveloped the demon’s clenched fist in his own hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it right there as he looked into his husband’s pained expression, and knew without a doubt exactly what Sebastian was feeling after he too had seen that familiar pocketwatch. “Please, let’s go inside and sit down. We can all discuss this further once we’ve all settled in.” He looked over at the two young men across the way (though the former khansama had an inkling the demon was not always a man), and smiled warmly to them, trying to show as much as he could in the little time he had that he himself welcomed them here no matter what was going on currently. “Perhaps we can serve up some tea as well. You still love my chai tea, right Ambrose? Does your friend drink any as well?”

Ambrose ran a hand back through his hair, taking a deep breath in and then out, trying to will his face to cool down from going so red! “Um, well he usually just makes me the tea and uh, drinks whatever I’m drinking, so.. Eddie?” He asked the other by his side, and after a pause, slightly twitched his shoulder to get the demon’s attention too. He knew Eddie was still aware, but he’d likely become a little overwhelmed after that bout of crying.. And as awkward as it was currently to just stand there and let the demon weep on him, especially after he’d.. basically poured whatever kind of heart he had out in front of Ambrose’s family, Ambrose didn’t want to turn harsh or let his discomfort get to him. No, not this time. He staved it off in favor of just trying to pep the demon up gently.

They were not out of this yet, after all.

Meanwhile, across the way, Aarushi had taken a loud breath out. A sigh of deep relief that their brother was still intact, as well as their new companion. They’d only just MET, after all, and despite the predicament their brother had gotten into, Aarushi wanted to get acquainted with this young demon! It was rare to meet another demon, after all. From all of Aarushi’s knowledge, they were always dangerous, no matter who you were, and it was best to just stay away!

But to meet one around their age or even younger maybe?? That certainly sounded like fun! If… Mama would allow it.. hopefully..

—

While Agni busied himself with preparing the tea, Eddie and the rest of the family seated themselves around the dining room table. Sebastian noted that Eddie was still holding Ambrose’s hand and was tempted to make an acerbic comment, but he decided to let that pass…for now. Ambrose himself looked exhausted to the point of collapse. Parental instinct took over, and Sebastian reached out to smooth his mussed-up hair.

“Mum, you’re embarrassing me,” Ambrose hissed, his face turning blotchy red.

“Sorry, kitten,” Sebastian sighed. It always pained him when his child spurned displays of affection, but the realization that Ambrose’s days might be numbered rubbed salt in the wound.

“Ambrose, you know Mama’s just like that,” Aarushi chided gently. Ambrose rolled his eyes but said no more. In spite of his present anxiety, Sebastian smiled. Ever the peace-maker, little Aaru, truly their father’s child.

Turning to Eddie, Aarushi asked, “What kind of demon are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t mind,” Eddie stammered, huddling closer to Ambrose. “Um…I suppose I’m what you’d call an imp. One of the lowest ranks. N-no title, or anything of that sort.” The little demon’s gaze darted timidly to Sebastian. Both demons were aware that Eddie was hopelessly outclassed. A few gruesome seconds, and Sebastian could easily remove that contract seal from his kitten’s right hand…

“That’s okay! Titles aren’t everything,” Aarushi said reassuringly. “What really matters is who you choose to be.” Eddie blinked and stared at them—a common reaction to Aarushi’s kindness. Sebastian himself still marveled at having brought such a softhearted child into the world.

Their black wings flapped cheerfully. “Oh! I’ve been so rude! I never actually introduced myself to you. I’m Ambrose’s older sibling, Aarushi,” they chirped. “Father’s human, but the goddess Kali blessed him with her power. Mama’s a demon, as…as I’m sure you figured out by now.” Their bright red eyes fixed Sebastian in a sad, reproachful look. Aarushi abhorred violence, and Sebastian reflected ruefully that they might scold him for his behavior when they were in private.

“Mama and Father met and fell in love while Mama was on contract. Later, they got married and settled down here to raise a family!” Eddie’s mouth formed a surprised little “o.” Such unions were practically unheard of in hell.

“I had no idea!” Eddie exclaimed. “It’s just…Ambrose is mortal, so I naturally assumed…”

Sebastian glanced over and saw a dark scowl twist his younger child’s face. “It’s complicated,” Sebastian interjected smoothly. The story of how Hannah had stripped an infant Ambrose of his demonic powers to save his life remained a painful one, and they had enough troubles with which to contend. Right on cue, Agni emerged, bearing five steaming cups of chai.

In an attempt to change the subject, the demon brought the chitchat to a close. “But enough of that. We need to concentrate on the matter at hand—what to do about this contract.” Agni seated himself next to Sebastian and placed a hand over his. Just having his husband present made the demon relax. They would fix this. He’d been one hell of a butler in his day, and they would fix this.

Sipping his tea, Sebastian’s mind raced through centuries of knowledge on diabolical covenants. “There are a limited number of outcomes that a contract may have, the most common of which involves the demon devouring the contractee’s soul,” he began slowly. His throat closed up on the last words, and pictures of Ambrose’s dismembered, bloodied corpse rose unbidden to his mind. Agni squeezed his hand comfortingly. Have courage. I’m here, the gesture seemed to say. Not wanting the younger demon to sense his distress, Sebastian continued resolutely. “However, Eddie has indicated that he no longer wants Ambrose’s soul for this purpose.”

“No! Never!” the demon shook their head emphatically, gazing at Ambrose with an open adoration that made the young man blush.

“One means of forestalling this outcome is to kill the demon or demons involved, which renders the contract null and void.”

Ambrose’s eyes flashed fire. “Mum…” he growled. At the same time, Agni pleaded, “Now, moonlight…” and Aarushi begged, “But Eddie’s nice, Mama!”

Sebastian leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Calm yourselves. I could do so if I wished, but it appears I am outnumbered.”

After a brief silence, Eddie plaintively asked, “What else can be done?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed pensively. “That depends on the phrasing of this particular contract. Do you recall exactly what you and Ambrose said when you formed the covenant?”

“That Eddie would lend me his power for as long as I desired, that he would serve me faithfully to the fullest extent of his abilities, and that he could claim my soul when our contract came to an end,” Ambrose jumped in. Eddie nodded. “Yes, that’s right!”

Relief rushed through Sebastian. He could work with this. Cocking an eyebrow, he remarked, “Kitten, it’s fortunate that you summoned an inexperienced imp. Most of us would never agree to such vague terms. ‘For as long as I desire!’ You could stretch the contract out for the duration of your lifespan!”

Both Eddie and Ambrose looked mortified. “Sheesh. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. Like I said earlier, I’d had a bad day,” Ambrose grumbled. “And how was Eddie supposed to know this stuff?”

“In this case, your blunders might literally be your salvation. We can find a few loopholes, I think,” Sebastian winked. An idea—admittedly, an outlandish one—began to piece itself together.

“Eddie, are you quite sure that you said you would claim Ambrose’s soul when the contract ended? You didn’t include any words that specifically alluded to eating?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Eddie replied.

“You’ve thought of something!” Aarushi exclaimed happily, eyes shining. “I know you have, Mama!”

“It’s risky, but I might have a solution. When demons speak of claiming a soul, it’s generally understood to refer to the act of soul-eating. However, an ancient, much less common use of this phrase describes a ritual in which a human soul is transformed into a demonic entity.”

Everyone around the table froze.

“That’s impossible, Mum,” Ambrose whispered.

“Exceedingly difficult and fraught with risk. Not impossible, kitten,” Sebastian corrected him. “It can be done, but only if various conditions have been met. The human must be allowed to reach the end of their life peacefully, dying of natural causes. Otherwise, the trauma of having the soul ripped from the body will doom the ritual to failure. The human in question must agree to be changed of their own free will. Ideally, their soul should also have some prior connection to us. This is certainly true in Ambrose’s case. In addition to being a contractee, he’s my son, and one of the Matriarchs already had to alter his soul in his infancy.”

“It’s a long story,” he added after seeing the look of curiosity on Eddie’s face.

“I-I don’t think I’m strong enough to complete a ritual like that…” the young demon said apprehensively.

“You don’t have to be. Our family is on good terms with that particular Matriarch, and she’d lend you her power. In fact, a Matriarch’s presence is required for this type of ceremony. They’re the founders of our race, after all, and their brand of magic is crucial. Even then, success won’t be guaranteed, I fear. We’d be interfering with the natural order of things, and there are always consequences to that. Not to mention that other demons might try to foil our efforts if they caught wind of it.”

Sebastian’s eyes burned scarlet with determination. “But I will go to any lengths to save my child, even desperate ones.”

The surprise and awe around the table lingered a little further, only small noises coming forth, such as Aarushi’s audible choked gasp and the soft noise of Agni kissing his husband’s hand once again as he looked only at him with such pride and relief. A look that clearly said “I knew you would think of something.”

And then Ambrose was lifting his head, his chest noticeably rising and falling as well as he took in this plan, and all it implied.

“M… Mum..” He was only able to get out, before a choked sob made it through, and a tear finally visibly rolled down his left cheek. “You… you would… you would l-let me..?”

“Ambrose…” Aarushi was squeaking out now, seeing their brother in such a state immediately affecting them. And instantly Aarushi was getting up to to go to his other side, wrapping arms around him and holding on tight.

And for once the young man didn’t struggle from the sudden hold, his mind and body still locked down as he stared on at his mother, whom he’d stubbornly rebelled against for years, whom he’d run away from within a moment’s notice. A part of him simply wanted to deny it. After all, there WAS so much time between then and now. An entire lifetime of waiting.. an entire lifetime for something else to come up. For his mother to change their mind and hunt them down and sever Eddie to pieces, if the mood hit them.

But across the way, in this strange and rare moment, Ambrose saw and actually felt his demon mother’s tender gaze on him.. Telling him all that the ancient demon felt, and had always felt since his birth.

And once again another sob came out, and Ambrose’s head sunk again, his long white hair coming around to cover his face the lower it dipped.

“Thank you… Mum…” He managed to choke out, “… th-thank you.. so much.”

And then he felt a hand cupping the side of his head, he looked up a little, and saw through his hair a tearful Eddie, as the demon tried to get their beloved master and friend to rest his weary head against them this time.

And Ambrose went without complaint, as the tears and sobs kept coming.

And while that happened, Eddie looked back up at his master’s mother and father over the table, and nodded in agreement with what Ambrose had said. There were no other words, truly, for how grateful he was for getting to stay with his master after all this, and get the chance to change the mistakes they had made, to change fate itself for Ambrose.

—

Ambrose eventually calmed down enough for them to all finish their tea, and Agni suggested that he and Eddie stay the night. “It’s been an eventful day, and you two especially need to rest,” he’d urged. Not to mention the matter of Ambrose’s badly damaged car, but Mum could repair that easily enough. Eddie fetched their suitcases, and Ambrose pointed him in the direction of his room. Turning in the hallway, Ambrose nearly ran into his mother. For a moment, the two stood awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. Ambrose was still trying to process what had happened over the past hour. But he suddenly knew that what he needed more than anything right now was to be held. So he did what he’d refused to do for years on end—hug Sebastian and rest his head against his chest. His mother’s arms were around him in an instant, loving and secure. Ambrose found himself crying again, body wracked with quiet sobs. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, not only for today and the whole muddled business with the contract, but for all the years of anger, bitterness, and resentment he’d put his long-suffering mother through.

“There, there,” his mum replied soothingly, stroking his hair with a trembling hand. Impulsively, he clutched Ambrose tighter. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have been that vicious, but you scared the hell out of me, Ambrose. When I saw that seal, the only thing I could think of was that I was going to lose you—"

He broke off, burying his face in Ambrose’s hair. “Watching one of my kittens suffer such a fate is more than I can bear,” his mother whispered.

“But all I’ve ever done is b-be mean and ungrateful…and push you away.”

“You’re still my child, kitten. I’ll always love you, no matter how much you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you!” Looking up with tearful eyes, Ambrose stammered, “I-I love you too, Mum.” His mother’s eyes widened (normally, Ambrose would rather die a slow and painful death than say anything of this sort) before the demon started to purr and gently kissed the top of his head.

Eddie’s voice drifted down the hall. “Ambrose! Are you coming?”

“Just a minute!” Ambrose yelled over his shoulder, sniffling and wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

“I’d best let you go before your demon gets worried,” Mum smiled, smoothing Ambrose’s hair back into place. This time, Ambrose let him.

“You’re sure you’re all right, dear?” Mum asked fretfully as Ambrose turned to go to his room.

“Yeah,” Ambrose replied. To his shock, he found himself smiling, and he felt more content than he had in years or…ever, really. “I think I am.”

#kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuj oc #my writing #others writing #collab #Ambrose #Eddie the demon #Aarushi #tiger cub #little raven #sebastian michaelis #agni #sebagni #submission

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Indomitable; Flickering Light Through The Darkness (Trixya) - Dymphna

CHAPTER TWO!

Here’s chapter two! I’m gonna put some trigger warnings here but also in the tags so just be careful sweets! tw: blood, fighting, demons, someone’s in a coma for a while (idk if the last two are really tw but better to be safe than sorry!)

With heavy eyes, Trixie continued to scroll down her phone, the brunette humming softly next to her ear, so soft and melodic it was lulling Trixie to sleep. With a low sigh, she rested her head against Shangela’s shoulder. It was uncomfortable, almost. Shangela was smaller, yet delicate and warm. So warm.

Trixie was rather unaware of everything, except the soft humming and the fact that it was really dark in the hotel room. Aquaria had gone to bed two hours ago, but Shangela had refused. She had been out for a whole day, and said she had a lot to catch up to. Trixie, proving once again she was an amazing person, volunteered to stay with her, reading some more about the case. Staying awake was a difficult task, though.

“So who’s coming again and why are they taking so damn long?” Trixie suppressed a yawn, failing slightly and earning a low laugh from Shangela.

“My girl Adore is coming,” Shangela rubbed her eye, and Trixie used that time to glance up at the girl. She was beautiful, really. Her long hair was resting on her head in a messy bun that suited her. Flecks of glittery eyeshadow were resting under her eyes, her mascara beginning to smudge. It looked so human, so normal. As if she was just a regular girl, working long days and barely sleeping. “I don’t know why, all I know is that she had a setback.” They both knew they weren’t normal. They never were, and never would be.

“Oh,” Trixie yawned again, and Shangela wrapped an arm around the woman. “Not that I mind working longer with you, though.” She wasn’t sure if it was the glasses of wine talking or her sleep-deprived self, but her flirting was shameless.

“That’s nice of you to say,” She told herself Shangela was probably too tired to notice. “We should go to sleep, though.”

“Do you mind if I stay over?” Her tone was painfully pathetic. “I’ll crash on the couch.”

“Are you kidding?” Shangela shoved the taller girl with a soft laugh. “My bed is large enough, just join me.” Shangela didn’t have to say that twice.

In just her underwear and her t-shirt, Trixie crawled in the soft bed. She hadn’t thought about bringing pj’s, and she wouldn’t want to sleep in clothes she was going to wear the day after. She felt Shangela’s eyes on her when she was shimmying out of her clothes, which gave her a confidence boost. Trixie knew she was beautiful; her body was right, even though a little jiggly. Trixie liked her body, though. She was confident, and felt beautiful in whatever she wore.

The duvet was warm and soft and felt nice against Trixie’s cold skin. When Shangela turned around, she didn’t feel tired anymore, not when that sleepy but bright grin was focussed on her.

“So,” Trixie wanted to remove a loose curl from her face, but stopped herself. She had to be appropriate. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“You’ve asked me that like twelve times since I woke up,” The young woman giggled. She was a few years younger than Trixie, even though she looked mature. Even now that her face was completely makeup-less, Trixie had a hard time believing that one woman could be so beautiful. And yet, women like Shangela weren’t necessarily her type. Too soft and beautiful to be touched by the dirt of her life. “And yes, Aquaria’s great at runes, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Trixie smiled. She remembered when she rushed back to the hotel the day after the incident. Shangela was awake and the first thing Trixie heard was a loud laugh, echoing through the room as an indicator that the previous silence was done.

Peppermint had been sitting at the table, talked a bit to Trixie. She was a witch, apparently. Trixie had worked with a few, they were usually portrayed as bad, yet it was hard to imagine Peppermint do something bad. Everything screamed soft and sweet.

When she entered the bedroom, Aquaria was drawing on Shangela’s stomach with a see-through stick. Sometimes the girl twitched or hissed, and Trixie didn’t know what to do.

“Trixie, you’re earlier than I expected,” Aquaria briefly glanced up at her, before placing the stick back to Shangela’s skin, who moaned in pain when she continued drawing. “I’m sorry, you were almost dead, of course this is gonna hurt.”

“What are you doing to her?” Trixie felt uncomfortable, looking at the girl who was obviously in pain, who would be squirming it Aquaria’s grip wasn’t iron.

“A rune, don’t worry, it’s usually not that painful,” Aquaria finished the last curl and placed a soft kiss on Shangela’s cheek. “You did well, I’m sorry, baby.”

“You’re Trixie, huh? My savior?” Shangela’s breathing was heavy, yet the twinkle in her eye was bright and warm. “Thank you.”

“Thank-“ Trixie frowned, crossing her arms. “Why?”

“For bring me back here,” Shangela shrugged, reaching for her glass of water. “And helping with everything, I suppose.”

Trixie hated the word everything. It never seemed specific enough. Never held enough to be genuine. “You’re welcome,” She gently rubbed her own arms, unsure what to do now. “So, are you okay?”

Shangela had just laughed, gesturing around her and joking that she was being tortured. Her tone had been light, and happy. Trixie had found the tone weird, not suiting the situation that was their life.

It was wild to believe that had only been a day ago. And now Trixie was in her bed, had held her hand when she got a new rune, and put the smelly cream Peppermint had given them on Shangela’s head. Both girls were amazing, funny and warm. Trixie felt comfortable around them, mostly because they understood her life.

“Are you okay?” Shangela probably was smart enough to know Trixie wasn’t, even though she had never seen Trixie when she was okay. Coming to think of it, Trixie wasn’t sure if she had ever been okay.

“Yes,” Trixie smiled. She was shaken when she first properly met the girl. The small wounds on her hands and lower legs a reminder of how she had lost her temper in her motel room. With the memories brought back, it was hard to forget, hard to let go again. She had never really let her go, after all. “Just tired.”

“Okay,” Shangela wasn’t convinced, but she just smiled. “It’ll be light in a few hours, so we better go to sleep.”

“Stop talking, then,” Trixie snorted, maybe a little too loud, since she was hit by a pillow from the other bed.

“God, go to sleep or fucking die, let me sleep.” The two girls giggled as Aquaria turned back around, mumbling a little under her breath. Trixie really began to regret traveling alone. Having friends was nice, and blocked a lot of negativity out. She didn’t know how she had survived.

“Good night, Trixie.”

“Good night, Shangela,” Trixie mocked, lightly smacking her arm, earning another soft giggle.

The sun was climbing over the walls, to the ceiling, tickling it with light and warmth, yet not giving it. It was a feeling Trixie was way too familiar with. The other side of the bed was cold, but the soft snoring of Aquaria was all too present, making Trixie feel less alone, as if she had something to fall back on.

Pushing the duvet off, Trixie stepped out of bed, feeling soft and warm carpet instead of cold, hard wood. Trixie could get used to that. To all of what Aquaria and Shangela had shown her. More money, new clothes, clean weapons. She wanted it all.

She quickly got dressed, being as quiet as possible to not wake Aquaria up. As if staying over in a fancy hotel with warm and soft floors wasn’t enough, when she entered the main area, the smell of actual coffee hit her, a kind that didn’t take hours to warm up, still tasting like swamp water. It was even better, seeing Shangela still in her pajama’s, leaning against the counter with a grin, taking a sip from her mug. “Want some?”

“Yes please,” Trixie swallowed, taking a moment before she felt comfortable enough to walk again. Shangela handed her a mug, warmth immediately spreading through her hands and warming her fingertips up. Even though Trixie had held a lot of hot coffee cups in her life, that one felt warmer than any she had had in a long time. Not since she was a teen. Not since she had felt the soft and comforting touch from a friend.

“Had a good night sleep?” Trixie almost choked on her sip of too hot coffee, couching awkwardly before she smiled with a red face.

“Oh, my God,” Trixie wiped a drop of coffee from her chin. “Literally the best, I always sleep in crappy motels, so this is a nice change.”

Shangela raised a teasing eyebrow, smiling into her own cup. “Hopefully it’ll be for more than once, then.” It was soft, a mumble, a whisper. Maybe Trixie hadn’t heard it correctly, but she hoped she had. She hoped she’d read the way Shangela grinned correctly.

With her only answer being a crooked smile that was too bright to be flattering, she brought the cup back to her face, content. Socializing wasn’t her strongest suit, but she was charming, which was something no one could deny. Trixie Mattel was one charming bitch.

Aquaria woke up a little while later, mostly because Shangela decided to loudly play a Beyconcé song, and Trixie went back to her own motel room, changing and doing her makeup. There were still plenty of demons to take care off.

When she entered the motel, it felt lonelier than she remembered. The coffee maker wasn’t on, one of the lights broke and the worse part was how there was no one there.

She always felt lonely after a night of fun, but somehow it was worse. She had actually talked to Aquaria and Shangela. It was a good thing she was only there to get changed. Trixie had spent so much time in silence that it felt like the loudest yell, a scream of desperation.

Trixie was driving with Shangela navigating them. Aquaria was looking rather bored on the backseat, twirling with a knife. It looked so… weird. There were never people in Trixie’s car, especially not people who casually played with knives.

“Left,” Shangela said, pulling a pink bag that said ‘Aquaria’ on the side, on her lap. Seeing it filled with weapons was the strangest, uncomfortable thing Trixie had ever witnessed. It held a promise of a childhood that was ripped away, stolen, exchanged for weapons, danger, and fear, simply because she was born in a certain family.

Trixie turned left.

The lake was abandoned, no living soul near. When Trixie opened the trunk, she was glad no one was near. Her coat was already filled with knives, but she took a few guns with her to be sure, as she did with a large bottle of holy water.

Aquaria took a manchette, which glowed up under her touch. Shangela picked a few smaller knives and a large gun. “Devil Trap bullets are quite big, as you should know.”

“Devil Trap bullets?”

Shangela nearly dropped the gun, mouth agape. “Literally, how are you alive,” Aquaria said, gently shoving Shangela. “She’s like a lost lamb.”

“Hey, look-”

“No,” Shangela smiled, reaching in her pocket. “Here, this is a Devil’s Trap bullet. It basically takes demon powers away, and traps them.”

“Y’all just…” She vaguely moved her arms. “Make that?”

“Adore does with the help of witches and warlocks, sometimes others,” Aquaria said, loading her gun with the golden bullets, handling the gun with roughness, one that no one would give her credit for, just looking at her. “She’s no hunter, but she’s smart.”

“Wait, wait,” Trixie stopped checking her weapons. “You work with a non-hunter? A regular human?”

Shangela and Aquaria exchanges a look, Shangela raising a neatly drawn eyebrow. “Well, you’re a regular human in our book.”

“I had training!” Trixie argued. “I worked my ass off, learned how to hear and see demons, I’ve been doing this since I was fourteen!”

“And yet you haven’t heard of or created a Devils Trap bullet.”

Trixie had nothing else to say. It was true, after all. With a glare, she snatched a few of the bullets Shangela was holding, pressing them into her gun before aggressively cocking it. “Shut up.”

Shangela and Aquaria laughed, rolling their eyes at the girl. Trixie, still annoyed, closed her trunk a little tougher than necessary, turning her back to the girls. “So, where do we need to be?”

“Girl,” Shangela picked up a sword that was almost taller than she was, the light casting a soft glow on her face, making her cheekbones pop even more. “All I heard was a complaint about un-natural sounds after witch hour,”

“Did you just quote the news?” Aquaria snorted, tucking the last knife under her dress. Trixie still wondered why Aquaria had decided to wear a dress. A freaking dress. Whatever the reason behind it was, she did look amazing in it.

“I did,” Shangela hummed, stepping away from the car. “You went to sleep early and drunk, it’s not like I had much to do.”

It wasn’t too warm, even though the sun was still setting, casting a bit of light, still. Trixie shivered in her thin sweater, the material not warm or thick enough to stop the chill from settling in her body.

“Come on, it’ll be dark soon. We should get going.”

“Scared of the dark?” Aquaria poked Trixie’s side with a laugh, joining the other girls with a short sprint.

“I’m not,” Trixie rolled her eyes, hand resting on her gun, the other held the holy water. “I just want to get this over with. We have another case to look into, remember?”

“Another case?”

“Did you literally not pay attention?” Shangela sighed. “This is typical you, sleep long, fight and eat. That’s it.”

“You’re forgetting alcohol.”

“Yeah, Aquaria. I would definitely brag about being an alcoholic. We all know how that ended with Raja.”

Trixie felt like she was invading their privacy, crossing an invisible and not explained boundary as the two girls were bickering.

“First of all,” Aquaria began. “I’m not bragging about being an alcoholic. I’m not even addicted second of all, how dare you talk about Raja like that? She wasn’t an alcoholic.”

“What’s she gonna do?” Shangela spat. “Kill me from the grave? Girl, I have bigger things to worry about.”

“Shangela, Sometimes you’re just too horrible-“

“Okay!” Trixie clapped her hands once, not wanting the bickering to get out of hand. “If y’all really feel this strongly, I think you need to talk about it when I’m not near.”

“No, let her-“ Shangela began, but Trixie’s glare stopped her.

“No,” She breathed out. “We have one, maybe more, demons to take care of right now. For fuck’s sake, focus.”

Trixie picked up her pace, even though the other two matched hers soon, she felt like she made a statement. Even if she didn’t, they weren’t talking anymore, seemingly more focused on the case, which was all Trixie could wish for.

She finds herself getting used to having someone by her side. It was strange, she’d been alone for years, yet there she was, growing comfortable around two women she barely even knew.

Trixie, who had expected a smaller cabin, was surprised by how big the place was. Two floors and a seemingly large garden. It probably would be empty if it had been standing anywhere else but in the empty void that happened to lay around the lake.

Trixie opened the door, welcomed by silence, darkness, and dust flying everywhere. There were footprints in the dust, and Aquaria pulled out a flashlight, as Shangela reached for her sword. Trixie, knowing her little throwing knives would only slow it down but not kill the demon, opted for the gun, loaded with Devils Trap bullets.

Just like before every fight, her heartbeat sped up, her breathing becoming low yet uneven. The nervous twitch in her fingers too familiar. “Split up?” Shangela whispered, and Trixie nodded.

She took her own flashlight as she took the first floor, Shangela the second and Aquaria the garden. Trixie could only make up one pair of footprints on the ground, but she knew that not all demons traveled in vessels.

With careful and silent steps, she went to the kitchen, a few blown out candles standing on the counter, yet nothing else. The living room was empty, as was the hall. The last room was the bathroom, but before she could even open that door, she heard Aquaria yelp.

Turning on her heels, Trixie turned around, sprinting to the garden. The garden was pretty open, the last rays of sun vanishing over a pool smelled so awful, Trixie wanted to stuff her nose in rotten eggs.

Aquaria was cornered by two demons, one in a vessel, the other not. She continued running, seeing Shangela jump out of a window in front of her with an elegant roll before sprinting off. Damn those runes. It wasn’t the best moment to be jealous, though.

Aquaria stabbed the human vessel with her fancy knife before turning and kicking the demon in the stomach with her heel. The flesh made an awful sound, a gassy smell soon surrounding the place. Aquaria pulled her gun, and Shangela had her sword ready. She sliced at the regular demon, Aquaria pushing the vessel to the ground, her tiny bracelets lighting up, doing… something.

Shangela cut the head off of the demon as Trixie reached the scene. She was late. As fast as she could, she threw holy water on the demon, Shangela getting where she was going to, started drawing with her rune stick.

The vessel yelled, nasty burns bubbling on his face and neck, wherever the water hit him. “We’re good.” Shangela panted, and Aquaria got up, the demon trapped and in pain.

“Exorcism?” Aquaria was short of breath, cleaning her hands on her dress and brushing a few strands away from her face.

“Obviously,” Shangela stated.

“Why? He won’t survive, you stabbed him and he was already weakened.” Trixie argued. It’d be easier to just cut him open.

“We have to try,” Shangela didn’t look at Trixie. “We always do.”

Trixie, who knew that it was pretty useless to try, didn’t fight it. She knew that if there was anything she could do to soften the hurting they’d feel after the vessel, who had been a man, died, she’d do it.

“Okay, go ahead.” Aquaria had already taken a few steps back, after squeezing Shangela’s hand. Trixie followed, listened to the brunette speak the Latin words carefully. She saw the man squirm, scream, arch his back. There was a reason why Trixie preferred to just kill. She closed her eyes.

The demon left his vessel in a cloud of dust and with a low, deep sigh.

Shangela lunged to the man, checking his pulse. “Dead.”

Much to Aquaria’s delight, the group decided to go to the one bar the little town had. Surely, if a demon were to cause any trouble, that’d be a good place to start.

After a few drinks, Aquaria seemed to see someone she liked, and headed to the pool table. Shangela had darted away to chat with one of the employe’s who was on a break, Trixie heard her asking about strange activities lately. Always professional.

Trixie slowly traced the edge of her glass, the ice in the pink cocktail slowly melting, the drink warming up in the damp bar.

When she glanced at Aquaria, she noticed a new tattoo, a new rune. It was fading, and Trixie guessed it was one for health, a speedy recovery. She couldn’t care less, if she was being honest. It couldn’t help her, and it hadn’t helped the people from her past.

Her mind wandered back to the fight. To how Shangela had jumped out of a window while Trixie couldn’t get to the younger girl in time.

It wasn’t often she felt useless, or as if she had never felt like she had disappointed everyone, it was just never quite like that. She wasn’t fast enough, not smart enough.

“Hey, pretty lady,” Trixie had expected a man, a cheeky grin or something like that, but when she looked up, she saw a lady. A pretty lady in a purple dress, hair in a high updo, and perfect eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’re here alone.”

She could have been. “No, no,” Trixie smiled, taking a sip from her awfully sweet and room temperature drink before smiling at the lady. “But, they’ve ditched me.”

“Well, allow me to entertain you,” She took Trixie’s hand, kissing it. “The name’s Violet.”

“Trixie.”

Talking to Violet was… an experience. She was a little snobby, though she could laugh with Trixie’s sometimes horrible jokes. She casually threw around terms like “to be completely candor”, “as one has informed me”, and so on. But she bought Trixie drinks, and the more pink Barbie drinks Trixie drank, the less she cared.

Until she heard Shangela’s loud, slightly over the top laugh, Trixie had forgotten they were at the bar for a case. “So, you’re from near here, I heard that they found a body, yesterday.”

“I heard something too,” Violet dipped her finger in her glass of champagne, still as full as if had been when they began talking. “Jaw broken open, burns over his body.”

“Do things like that…” Trixie wanted to sound as if she wasn’t fishing for information. “Happen often?”

Violet glanced up at Trixie, a short chuckle followed before she finally took a sip of her drink. “Let’s just say that you better stay away from the woods. Everyone knows that, here.”

Trixie hummed, finishing her drink. She had stopped counting at four. “Let’s not talk about something that dark and twisted,” Violet leaned forwards, placing a hand on Trixie’s thigh, her eyes focussing on Trixie’s. They were almost purple. Violet. But then again, Trixie was tipsy, and the funky lighting probably wasn’t helping. “Let’s get out of here.”

Turning Violet down seemed unthinkable. She was beautiful, graceful, and looked so soft and beautiful. Violet leaned in, and Trixie couldn’t help but be enchanted by the way her lips twitched slightly, hovering before her face. “What do you say?”

Trixie wanted to say yes, do anything to please Violet and keep her close. Anything, anything, anything.

“Trixie,” Shangela’s arm was wrapped about her neck, pulling her back and out of the trance that was Violet and everything about her. “Girl, what are you doing?” She laughed freely, yet limited.

“What do you mean?” Trixie felt dizzy, unstable. She blamed the drinks.

Violet scoffed, and Shangela glared at her. “C’mon, you look like you need some fresh air.”

“But I’m talking to-”

“She’ll be here when you’re feeling better, come on.” And Trixie didn’t fight anymore. All willpower seemed to have left her body, a drunken warmth falling over her when she left Violet behind. A tension slipped off her body as soon as she felt the fresh air on her skin. She sighed with content.

“Jealous?” Trixie raised an eyebrow, giggling like a little girl as she leaned against the brick wall, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.

“Are you literally that stupid?” There was a harshness to Shangela’s normally playful, warm voice. “How the hell are you still alive, girl?”

“What do you mean?” Trixie let go of her hair, frowning as she pushed herself up. She was probably too drunk to understand anything serious.

“That woman!” Shangela snapped, pointing a finger to the door. She took a deep breath, running a hand over her face. “That woman is a vampire. She charmed you. She’d kill you.”

“What?”

“God, do I fucking need to spell it out?” Shangela took a step closer to Trixie. “You could have died! Violet would have killed you! How-”

It wasn’t like Trixie to hug someone. But drunken, and apparently enchanted, Trixie was another story. She was warmer and actually dealt with her emotions. So, she hugged Shangela, who was about a head shorter than Trixie, and also very surprised.

“I’m not dead yet. I promise.” It felt good, being cared for. Having someone who looked out for her. She knew she wasn’t alone, at least not anymore.

After being frozen for a hot second, Shangela wrapped her arms around Trixie as well. “Let’s keep it like that, honey.”

#rpdr fanfiction #trixie mattel #trixya #peppermint #aquaria #indomitable #dymphna #submission #shangela laquifa wadley #lesbian au

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penguinbooksireland-blog · 5 years

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Irish writers on the importance of The Handmaid’s Tale

Liz Nugent, author of Skin Deep

I think The Handmaid’s Tale spoke to Irish women in a particular way. In 1985, when it was published and I left school, women could not get divorced, could not avail of contraception or abortion. ‘Fallen’ women (pregnant and unmarried) were still being kept in Magdalen laundries, used as slave labour. Their babies were taken from them and adopted without their mother’s consent. Rape within marriage was not a crime and homosexuality was. Clerical abuse was rife and taboo. We did not talk about our bodies and we certainly did not talk about our sexuality.

Margaret Atwood grabbed us by the throat and opened doors in our hearts and minds. I have no doubt that without her seminal book, we might still be trapped in a metaphorical 1985. She gave us the courage to fight for all of the freedoms we now enjoy. She is a writer to be celebrated. We know that there are women around the world who are still being treated like Offred, and thanks to Ms Atwood, we continue the fight for them.

Una Mullally, editor of Repeal the 8th

The Handmaid's Tale still scares me because Atwood's depiction of a particular dystopia is worryingly close to the surface of so many societies, past and present. The politicisation and control of women's bodies in Ireland, how women are defined and categorised in proximity to men, the pursuit of religious fundamentalism, and general misogyny, is an echo that reverberates 360 degrees around Irish society.

Sinéad Moriarty, author of Seven Letters

I think the current resonance of the story and themes in The Handmaid’s Tale is what alarms us and grips our attention. When I first read it in my late teens it seemed like a wild world full of extremists and misogynists. Now - older, wiser and more informed - I look around and see how disturbingly prescient it was. Here we are living in a world where the greatest democracy is being led by a man with authoritarian tendencies and a vice president who is anti-gay and anti-abortion. As the world currently leans to the far right with racism, intolerance and prejudice on the rise, the book seems a lot less like fiction.

Jan Carson, author of The Fire Starters

I was in my first year of a literature degree at Queen's when I encountered The Handmaid's Tale. I was living away from home for the first time. The Good Friday Agreement was about six months old and everything felt both fragile and charged with possibility. The Handmaid's Tale was amongst a handful of books I devoured that year which opened my eyes to the way literature could both critique flaws in society and provoke the reader to action. It felt timely to be reading such a powerful counter-cultural text as I watched the country I'd grown up in go through a period of rapid change and reconfiguration. I remember being particularly drawn to the way Atwood used symbolism and allegory in order to highlight contemporary issues. This idea of analysing reality through exaggerated metaphors and symbols is something I've played with in my own writing about Northern Irish culture and politics. I'm pretty sure The Handmaid's Tale played a huge role in shaping the way I write.

Niamh Boyce, author of Her Kind

Atwood’s work affected me deeply when I read it in the 1980s - the brilliance, yes, but most of all the attention to power, gender and voice - in particular the female voice; the testimony of those whose words were usually swallowed. That was new, that was so powerful to read as a young woman in 1980s Ireland, which was quite the regime in its own way.

Rosita Boland, author of Elsewhere

The one thing I cannot get out of my head about The Handmaid’s Tale is that Margaret Atwood has said everything recorded in it has actually happened somewhere, at some time in history. In 1985, she wove these factual events into a terrifying, compelling, dystopian story. It’s 2019 now, and I suspect there will be a collective shiver when we recognise some of the more dreadful events recounted in The Testaments as belonging to our very recent and very relevant world history, in what will be an essential read this year.

Caelainn Hogan, author of Republic of Shame

Atwood lays bare the insidious ways that a surreal system of control and persecution can quickly become normalised. An indomitable voice, warning us against inaction and complicity. Many people who spoke to me about Ireland's institutions for "fallen women" wondered why they themselves never spoke out at the time.

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sirwaddlesesquire · 7 years

Text

Loved the Stars

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

- Sarah Williams

Dipper Pines knows what it is to be in love. It’s a shooting star across the pitch black sky.

It’s the sudden explosion of light, illuminating in its radiance. It’s the streak of brilliance, spinning and twirling as it makes its journey, incandescent beams trailing behind and touching all that it passes. It’s the new capability of vision presenting the opportunity to drink in sights previously unknown. It’s the captivation caused by flash-point intensity.

It’s her.

In back-alley bars, old men and rough men, their clothes and their prospects as faded and tattered as their stories, warn him of his folly. They caution him, that he is too young to know of love, that his naiveté and his dreamer’s whimsy have led him down a fanciful path. They tell him tales of going steady and drive-in movie theaters, of sweethearts and summers spent at the beach, of beaus and of letters home from the war. This, they cajole, is how you love. This, they remonstrate, is how you know it is love. This, they exhort, is how love is properly done. He listens and he thanks them and he pays for their drinks. And he knows that they are wrong. It may not be how things were done, but there was a world of difference between how things were done and how things just simply … were.

She had appeared so abruptly. She had always been there, of course. A perk, or maybe a quirk, of being born five minutes apart. But one day, she was there. Like a sudden blaze of fire across an empty canvas, she grabbed his attention and he could not look away. She was everything. Her presence was intense and total, dominating his every waking moment and the entirety of his sleeping as well. She lit up his entire world.

She was a force of nature, a swift bolt of wild color that improved on anything, no matter how dim or bleak it might be and he was no exception. She was a pagan goddess, resplendent and savage, noble and free, and he was an eager worshiper. She was a celestial being and he was happy to be caught up in her tail, basking in the white hot sparks she left like puddles after a storm.

In mid-town coffee shops, lawyers and capitalists, their suits pressed and their ties crisp, pause in their industry and mock him for his folly. There are exchanges of barbs and taunts, the presumption that a jovial grin and a jabbed elbow may soften the invective contained within. They inform him of the locations of topless bars and nameless backrooms, of street corners and hourly hotels, of unfettered dance clubs and liberal-thinking coeds. And if he is too timid to visit any of those, they smirk, he could at least have the balls to tell her. He joins in on the banter, even giving some of his own, knowing all the while that only he is privy to the cruelest joke of them all.

He tells her all the time.

Sometimes it is in line with the propriety of a moment and sometimes it is by finding an opportunity to espouse it. But he will often look her in the eyes and pronounce that he loves her. The words, which when within him are a melody of exultation and ardency, sound hollow, course, and foreign when exposed to the space around them. She will reply that she loves him too, and he knows that she means it as well.

But there is a chasm of disparity between what they each say and what they each mean. With each exchange of those three little words, this crevasse grows deeper, even as it already leaves him shuddering at its expanse and its treachery. Because while she helped create it, at least her assistance was inadvertent. His was purposeful. She stands upon the edge of the precipice and she does not know it, unaware of the looming fall which threatens to swallow her whole at a single misstep; be it a misstep of hers, or a misstep of his. She remains on the escarpment where he has placed her, heedless and oblivious of its danger, as he remains in the ravine where he has placed himself, conscious and embracing of its safety.

Betimes a call of warning will well up inside of him, imperative and demanding, and he can feel himself begin to shout, only for the cry to die on his lips.

For as he stares up at her from this abyss of his own creation, she is apparent, discernible, unmistakable, and he cannot bring himself to disrupt, fearful that this may be his final chance to observe it all. Her beauty, composed not of the odist’s limpid eyes or pallid face, but rather of the blaze of self-assurance and the gleam of irrepressibility. Her nature, one of bubbles and glitter, of midnight coffee and comforting talks, of helpless exuberance and thoughtful chagrin. Her character, unabashedly frank and unapologetically extravagant, freely given without question and without regard for what might be taken. Her stance, her smile, her poise, her laugh, her intellect, her allure, and a thousand other things that are uniquely hers. Most of all, her gaze, forever on the horizon, sweeping and seeking as it searches for what comes next.

There are times when her gaze falls upon him, and he is breathless in the sensation of being stripped to the core, of being laid bare, of being utterly exposed. He is certain that everything inside of him, all of it, must be freely discernible; written in his face and in his eyes. In these moments, he is afraid. For even when he is sure that it is all revealed, he cannot bring himself to hope. Instead, in these moments, he feels only fear; the fear that now she must see and the fear of what exactly it is that she now sees.

But her gaze moves on. And he is left to wonder.

Does she know him, as he knows her? Knows the gentle swaying of her movements, knows the soft shadow which a midsummer sun creates by playing across her dimpled cheeks, knows the sound of her thousand and one sighs and their thousand and one causes?

Does she think of him, as he thinks of her? In the reflections of the bitter dregs of last night’s dream, the vestigial remnants of exquisite bliss interrupted by morning’s routine? In the idle musings of a second’s pause, a respite of warmth snatched from the otherwise apathetic day? In the deep hours of the night, when shame takes a backseat to desperation and ruminations on lips and skin and touch and breath and heat will no longer be ignored?

Does she view him, as he views her? She is consistency: vivacity and indomitability, glamor and charm. She is contradiction: eminence and indiscretion, havoc and harmony. She is felicity itself, an axiom independent of all else. She is the source, wondrous in its possibilities, and she is the conclusion, absolute in its finality.

He is not sure. Maybe he does not wish to be sure. If he’s honest, maybe he does not care, in the treacherous manner that is the wanton abandonment of good sense. For here there is a touch of beauty and perfection. So long as he imagines himself content instead of complacent, considerate instead of cautious, commiserate instead of contemptable, then he can create for himself an ethereal eternity. Because if it never truly begins, then it can never actually end.

So he is left wondering. And so her gaze continues moving on.

It always moves on. Even after it returns to him for a time, it never lingers long. With each successive departure, her gaze moves further and further away. It is the ellipses of an empyrean that was never truly bound by gravity to any object it orbits. He knows there will come a time when that orbit ceases all together. He dreads that day. He welcomes it.

And he does nothing.

In late-night sushi haunts, colleagues and peers, their eyes bleary and their spirits buoyant, try to convince him of his folly. Outwardly educated but inwardly timid, their bookshelves full but their suitcases empty, they quote tragic poets and golden-age starlets, tweed clad professors and insightful sitcoms, weary philosophers and folksy country musicians. He laughs at each one, raising his cup before slamming it back. And each time, as even the liquor, undiluted and acrid, fails to dull the sharp burn of the yearning inside of him, he is made certain that their confidence is ignorance. Ignorance that they will dismantle his delusion, ignorance that they will at last unmask him, ignorance that one man’s practiced wit is comparable to another man’s artless and persistent being.

Where others might aspire for her to hear the songs of his heart or to see the affection rife in his words, he does not. To have even allowed himself the smallest of wishes would be to create obligation upon her. And what he gives her, he gives freely; a devotion as unequivocal as it is unavailing. He knows that it is not wasted.

As he stumbles out into the street, he looks up. The canopy of night above him is bejeweled with a million tiny stars. Their twinkling existence is enough to make any man notice and revel in the beauty of such a sight. He is no exception, for the sight of this dusky tableau moves him dearly. Not because of the spread of numerous stars, vast and incomprehensible, but because of the knowledge that one star, the only star that ever really mattered, is not there.

And so…

The shooting star continues on its journey, that sudden flare of illumination rapidly receding as it passes over the horizon, leaving behind only the now unfamiliar inky black sky.

His soul sets in darkness.

The sense of abandonment and of singular solitude is so pure as to be nearly heaven itself, and it can only be embraced anew each and every day.

He will rise in perfect light

He closes his eyes, breathes in the stillness of the moment, reflects on the all-encompassing nature of the void above and within. There is futility and indignity in attempting to keep that light in his life, and he will indulge in neither. He is at peace.

He smiles.

He has loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

#pinecest #loved the stars

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