#also his nose seems slightly too similar to how i draw Law's | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-hate-keeps-me-warm · 3 years

Text

kisses and cuddles

wooooooooo time for some more fluffy shit yall i loved making this so much this sorta relted to my weed garden fic but you dont need to read it (be cool tho)

Ruby was sitting in the cafeteria with Oscar and penny she was too tired to pay attention to what the two were talking about penny sitting across from her and Oscar was excitedly talking about something while Oscar liens looking interested she’s unsure how he’s so put together they were both up late hanging out dreading comics and it’s only 7 am she leaned on Oscar and closed her eyes hoping to get a little more sleep before She had to do missions she had a relatively short one today only a search and destroy so maybe she could get home fast and take a nap Oscar nudged her shoulder and she lifted her head “hey don’t fall asleep if you don’t eat you’ll be grumpy” he says she fakes a pout and starts eating the gross cafeteria food she assumed that atlas food would be good sense it’s so many rich folks but no she’s actually had better tasting mres or maybe she was just getting spoiled eating Oscar and rens cooking “ruby why are you so tired did you have trouble sleeping” penny says drawing circles on the table with her finger “no me and Oscar were up late last night and I only slept like three hours“ penny frowns “while I am happy you and Oscar are spending time together you require at least 6 hours of sleep for maximum field efficiency” ruby just nods “so why don’t you seem tired Oscar you couldn’t of slept anymore than I did” she says with a yawn he shrugs and says “I guess I’m used to it I had to wake up early back home so I always didn’t get a bunch of sleep” penny raises a finger “actually according to my scans Oscars brain is only running at 89% efficiency and his hear rate is faster from his normal 48 beats per minute to to 51 it is likely that he simply better at hiding his tiredness” Oscar slumps “penny do have everyone’s heart rates memorized” he says exasperated “yes I also have all of your medical charts on file and criminal records why” he raises a brow “criminal record?” Penny nods “yes several of your team have criminal records qrow having the longest with 22 counts of public intoxication as well as 3 of public indecency and” ruby raises her hands “trust me you don’t wanna know the rest they had to make a new law for one of the things he did but who else has charges?” she tries to wake herself with conversation and it sorta works she also learns some new and unsettling things about her friends but eventually breakfast ends and she starts to get her gear ready she’s loading rounds into one of crescent roses magazine when someone knocks on the door to her locker room “it’s open” she calls out and incomes Oscar he’s holding a small Tupperware box and a small metal tumbler “hey I wanted to give this to you before you go” he says with a sheepish grin he sets the box next to her and hands her the tumbler it’s warm and smells good “it’s coffee, don’t worry I added way too much sugar for you and the other thing is a surprise you said you don’t eat a lot on missions so I made it for you it’s a bit of an experiment so tell me if it’s bad” she’s grinning ear to ear and stands up from her weapon bench and hugs him “you are the best and I’m sure it’ll be great” she gives him a kiss on the cheek she’s been slowly trying to work her way up to kissing him on the lips but nose and cheek kisses were enough for her he smiles and his cheeks get all rosey and he hugs her back and says “be careful ok sorry I know you can take care of yourself but just you know“ she squeezes him a little “yeah don’t worry I know I’ll be careful and when I get back we are so taking a nap mister I’m not that tired” he giggles and looks up at her with a smile “you won’t hear me complain and uh before you go could I uh kiss you like um on the lips” he says nervously she leans down pressing her forehead to his and smiles she smells his breath it smells like chocolate and coffee she feels her cheeks heat up to match his and says “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now are you sure you want to ” he nods his head wordlessly she takes his hand and gently presses her lips to his its short and maybe a little clumsy but it makes her heart soar when she breaks the kiss Oscars breath shakes slightly and a little panic starts to fill her did she mess it up did he hate it and then he smiles and it all fades away “that was really nice” he says rubbing her knuckle with his thumb then there’s a knock on the door frame she looks up and weiss and Blake are standing there weiss looks annoyed and Blake is grinning “time to go ruby morning Oscar” wiess says already turning to walk away ruby quickly gathers crescent rose and Oscars gifts and says “bye Oscar I’ll be careful byeee” and dashed out the door behind the others Blake nudges her shoulder “your lucky I made weiss wait ,god you two are adorable” ruby squeaks “will you stop spying on us” “we weren’t spying you two dolts left the door open” weiss says annoyed

The mission was boring as she thought it was gonna be how normal soldiers couldn’t handle this she’ll never know on the airship ride home she opens the box Oscar gave to her a note on top says “have a great day and stay safe” she smiles at the note and sticks it in her ammo pocket it looks like a brownie is some kind and yang leans over and says “where did you get that”

“Oscar made it for me” she says taking it out of the container it smells like a peanut butter protein bar “ooo come on share with me pleassss” yang says putting her hands together “ugh your lucky I’m a good sister” she breaks off a small piece and hands it to yang and takes a bite of her own and it’s amazing it Taste like a peanut butter brownie but somehow better it’s somehow not dried out or crumbly yang seems to have a similar opinion “god if you don’t marry Oscar i will his food is too good”yang says with a laugh she kicks yang in the leg “I know right I can barely eat the cafeteria food anymore” her and yang chat a bit about food until they finally land Oscar is standing on the landing pad waiting for her she bounce on her heels excitedly despite how tired she is when the door finally opens she rushes out to hug him “how did it go” he asks wrapping his arms around her shoulders “oh it was easy but soooo boring I don’t know why they asked us to do it” she says leaning into him he chuckles “well I’m glad it wasn’t dangerous at least did you like it” he asks sheepishly she puts her head on his “yeees brothers it was great what was it” he unwraps his arms and looks at her “there’s no name for it yet but it’s kinda like a protein brownie was it too grainy or anything what about the after taste” he asks “I didn't even realize it was supposed to be healthy” she puts her hands on his shoulders “Oscar I’m gonna need more of that” he smiles “happy to make some more tonight” he says proudly yang walks past and ruffles his hair “make sure to make enough for me too kiddo” and walks off “how about that nap ruby my teams still on mission so we should have some time” he says taking her hand “yes please”

They walk back to team alpns dorm room after ruby changes into something more casual Oscar was already wearing his normal clothing he sits on his bed and smiles “I’m gonna get to have two naps today” she sits down next to him and throws her arm around him "you and your team sure like your naps huh" he smiles as they lie back on his bed "honestly who doesn't like naps I never use to be a huge cuddler but it’s nice to have someone close to you, you know” they lie back Oscar resting his head on rubies shoulder “well I do wish my team took naps together sometimes yang is a big cuddler too but Weiss doesn’t like being warm and Blake can’t sit still even so less than you” he snorts as he takes her hand running his thumbs along her knuckles “well I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind you joining our naps if have to ask but i'll warn you ren sits up in his sleep Jaune snores and i talk in my sleep” she raises an eyebrow “you didn't last time” she says “that's cause we were smoking but if i take a nap or if im really tired you can actually talk and I'll talk back” she grins “well what do you talk about” he rests his head on her chest “usually about my aunt or all yall but Nora has told me i say lots of stuff about you if i'm asked” he says his cheeks getting just a tiny bit rosy she grins and plants a kiss on his nose “well i hope i get the chance to ask but i'll probably fall asleep first im super tired” she rolls over and wraps herself around him oscar adjusting to lay on her arm pulling a blanket over them "well if you can get me to talk I'll answer any question just nothing to embarrassing please" he says “i would like to know what you have to say tho so maybe i'll try to hold out just a bit longer” she says closing her eyes as oscar lets out his relaxed sigh about half of Oscars communication was nonverbal she liked to mentally catalog the things he does when he relaxes he lets out a long almost high pitched sigh it makes her happy to hear that and it helps her relax her thoughts starts to get fuzzy as sleep takes her she wakes up a few hours later laying on her back oscar laying on top of her them both having wrapped around each other she hears quiet murmurs coming from him to quiet to understand "Oscar are you still asleep" she whispers no response "Oscar are you comfy" he nods his head "of course I'm comfy I'm cuddling with ruby" she snickers he was definitely still asleep "who's the coolest person you know" she she's "ruby for sure she's so good at fighting and everyone trusts her I wish I was more like her" she runs her hand through his hair "how do you feel about ruby " she asked "I'm in love with her she makes me feel strong and weak at the same time when she's with me I feel like I'm safe and that we could do anything together i want to be with her forever" she's crying now "oh shit I didn't expect him to be that honest" she thinks as tears run down her face "I love you too Oscar" she kisses the top of his head “you know i never used to want like romantic stuff and all the fluffy garbage i just wanted to be a huntress and fight grim stuff like that but you make me want that stuff i wanna take you on dates and like hold your hand and stuff there are a bunch of things i wanna do like” she pauses resting her head on his “i forgot you were asleep for a second i'm starting to embarrass myself i do love you tho i dont know when your supposed to say that we've only been i guess dating for what 2 and a half weeks my dad always joked that huntsmen relationships move really fast nothing like holy shit we might die to move a relationship forward right but you make me feel like i don't know amazing and I love being with you you make all my worries disappear even if it's only for a little bit and i'm rambling and your not talking back” oscar lifts his head “its cause im awake and i love it when you ramble” she feels her face light on fire “w-what when did you wake up” he hums happily “around we might die i think it was nice that stuff you said you can ramble longer if you want what that new gun you saw in that magazine” she smiles “it's a roller delayed blowback sniper rifle its a smaller caliber than crescent rose but it has a longer effective range because of the way the bore is shaped i prefer bolt actions to semi automatics for a long range rifle semi autos have there merits and stuff it's a lot lighter than crescent rose as well on account of it not also being a giant scythe you know i was thinking about carrying a pistol too crescent rose is great but shes heavy and she's also really hard to conceal even when shes folded speaking of i need to clean her gears a bunch of dust got in them today you said you wanted to learn weapon maintenance i could teach you today if you want” “sure i can learn there's a lot of things oz knows but it's like a big library without a librarian its all jumbled up” she scratches the back of his neck “well i do not understand the dewey decimal system but i'm happy to help” they both giggle at her joke ruby keeps rambling until the rest of team alpn return

Oscar is walking ruby back to her dorm they come to her door and they turn to face each other and oscar rubs his hands together “so ruby uh I got permission with ironwood to leave school grounds as long as someone's with me so I was wondering if you’d like to maybe go out like on a date” she smiles and puts her arms around his shoulders “sounds amazing sweetie I’m free this weekend where do you want to go” he blushes and says “well I actually have something in mind but I wanna keep it a surprise if that’s ok” she kisses him on the cheek “of course casual clothes or should i dress nice” he shakes his head “i mean it's really up to you but were not going somewhere fancy just a place I think you'll like" she smiles and kisses his nose and he leans up a little so there lips are level "can i kiss you again" he asks just above a whisper her pressing her lips gently against his is her answer they hold the kiss for a few moments Oscars hands drifting to ruby's waist when they separate she says "i think we're getting pretty good at that" Oscar smiles avoiding her eyes "yeah um It's certainly enjoyable" they break the hug "I'll see you in the morning I'll make that stuff you like ok" he says "yes awesome you're the best Oscar good night" she says as she slips into her from her teammates giving her knowing smirks

#rwby #rosegarden #ruby rose #oscar pine #there simps your honor #im a sucker for this shit so yall get to read my self indulgent word vomit #weedgarden #expanded universe #am i a good writer no can i write fluffy shit yes #after weed garden ive wrote like three seperate fics #next one will have angst #but it gets fluffy dont worry #im not evil

15 notes · View notes

tarhalindur · 3 years

Text

Rebellion’s Biggest Outstanding Question

(Big fat PMMM+Rebellion spoilers under the cut, natch:)

Homura, at the end of Rebellion, believes that she is rebelling against Madoka’s will. But is she actually doing so? Or is she acting in accordance with it?

Let me explain.

I’ll start with the point I’m sold on either way (and have commented on at least twice before, including my explanation of Madoka’s other big mistake): Rebellion is directly downstream of Madoka making a single mistake immediately after her ascension in episode 12, a moment when she could not afford to make any mistake at all. Much like Madoka’s other big mistake in episode 10, this one is not obvious on the surface and only becomes clear when looking at the events through a symbolic lens.

Specifically, a Buddhist symbolic lens.

I’ll leave the full explanation there to this post, which lays out the Buddhist influence on base PMMM’s themes and imagery and on Madokami’s ascension better than I could. (Although its author is missing a few points. First, the shot of Madoka expanding to galaxy size is DIRECTLY out of ego death symbolism. Which makes sense, because there’s enough accounts to suggest that regardless of whether or not it has any deeper meaning beyond brain chemistry the people who’ve had it are describing a single class of subjective experience, and “one’s consciousness expanding to the size of the galaxy” seems to be a common feature of it - I’ve read at least one account of that kind of experience from, of all people, a random Protestant minister who claims to have had such an experience on a vision trip to the Amazon and only later realized that there was precedent for that kind of experience in Buddhist traditions, and he mentions that exact expansion as part of what he went through. Second, the flower on Madoka’s bow is a rose, not a willow... which makes sense, because “Guanyin/Kannon and the Virgin Mary are two aspects of the same goddess” has been a theory in certain parts for at least a century, and the rose has a traditional association with the latter goddess - there’s a reason they call it the rosary, after all. (I’ve seen speculation out of a few polytheist/less orthodox Christian circles I keep tabs on that Pistis Sophia is yet another aspect of the same goddess, too...) Third, note all the mandala symbolism floating around - most obviously Walpurgisnacht’s appearance and Kyubey’s exposition in episode 11.)

And that influence is important here, because part of the process of the escape from samsara is the breaking of all karmic ties to the world.

Except... Madoka does not do this. She leaves one karmic tie behind.

This one, to be precise:

Now, in theory it’s possible that the tainted miracle of Homura remembering Madoka has another root. But I have my doubts, and the biggest piece of evidence there is the OST: the track that plays when Homura meets Junko in the finale and offers to give up the ribbons is named Taenia Memoriae, aka “the ribbon of memories”. HMM,

(That Junko scene is in this regards the single most enigmatic scene of the main series finale to me. My instinct is that it’s drawing off of Christian mythos again, either canonical or Gnostic, but I can’t quite place what piece; I kind of want to compare it specifically to the Denial of Peter.)

Now, there’s two other pieces here that are worth noting.

1) While Homulilly is described as the Nutcracker Witch in Rebellion, Homulilly’s name and Witch card are first revealed in the PSP game, and there she goes by a rather different epithet: Witch of the Mortal World, nature is karma. Which is rather on the nose (the Mortal World [shigan] being another term for samsara), but then that’s probably by design - main series PMMM is not subtle at all when it wants to make a point. And it is this epithet, not the Nutcracker Witch, that the Doppel versions of Homulilly in MagiReco draw off of, which suggests the staff considered it important. (There’s a second distinction in the latter, because Moemura’s version of the Doppel implies that Homulilly’s nature was originally slightly different again - Witch of the Mortal World, nature is closed circuits - but I think for our purposes here this is a difference without true distinction, much like the Witch of the Near Shore pun for swimsuit!Moemura’s version of Homulilly.) And there’s echoes of this even in Rebellion: the Clara Dolls are of course referred to as the Children of the Mortal World, plus of course the obvious “Homulilly’s Rebellion barrier as the Mortal World” take. (Which, hmm. Hello second-order symbolism - Homura failing to “break out of the egg” as failure to escape the cycle of samsara.)

2) The red ribbons of course suggest a very specific form of karmic tie - the Red String of Fate. And you can be very, very sure that the staff intended that, too. To drag a certain piece of key animation back out from storage:

While it’s hard to tell at this size, it sure looks to my eyes like the two ends are specifically tied around the girls’ pinkies. You know, exactly where the proverbial Red String is said to be tied.

Or, to put it another way: AI YO.

Everything in Rebellion is downstream of this.

But all this is prologue. Now that we have established the mistake, we can address the actual outstanding question: Did Madoka intend to make that mistake? People have noted the applicability of Junko’s comments about intentionally making a big mistake when backed into a corner to Homura’s actions in Rebellion; do they also apply to the action Madoka took that led to that?

I am not sure. Both cases are consistent, and I’d put about even odds either way. But it’s the affirmative case I want to lay out here, to show that it does in fact exist:

- Let’s start with the one point someone else might bring up that I don’t really weight: Madoka’s final conversation with Homura in the flower bed. This one, I think, can mostly be discarded. We have word from both Kyubey and Sayaka that Madoka does not have her memories here; I can’t see both of them lying here. (Also remember that Kyubey seems to have restriction that is sometimes said to apply to demons, at least under certain circumstances: he cannot directly tell a lie. This is of course a very different thing from having to tell the truth, as episode 9 alone is enough to attest, but in this specific case it’s a boost to his credibility.) If there’s an actual argument here, it’s a second-order one; it is possible, especially given her divine abilities, that Madokami was running a Xanatos Gambit and counting on her amnesiac projection to unwittingly relay her true feelings. (In which case I would have to grab a certain infamous line from another well-known anime: “Just as planned”.)

- That one shot of Madokami’s gloved, scarred arm reaching down through the window to touch Homura. Operative word scarred. (And honestly, looking at one of the subs for that scene again Madoka’s comments there look potentially consistent with her actually supporting of or at least accepting Homura becoming a demon...)

- Mata Ashita, specifically the lyrics thereof. With the perspective of the full series, Madoka’s character song is fairly clearly from the perspective of Madokami, and it’s suggestive that she is not entirely happy with the results of her wish and ascension.

- The fact that Rebellion happened at all. There’s a complaint that I’ve seen regarding the mechanics of the Incubators’ plot in Rebellion: logically, by the wording of Madoka’s final wish the Incubators’ plan to use the Isolation Field to block the Law of Cycles should not work, since part of Madoka’s wish was to rewrite any rule or law that would prevent her from destroying Witches with her own hands, including the one the Incubators set up with their Isolation Field - doubly so if you take Madokami’s statement can see every world that ever existed or could ever exist and apply it to the Sealed Reality the experiment generates. Except... there is one way that argument fails, regardless of anything else: namely, if Madoka saw what the Incubators were doing and intentionally allowed their experiment to proceed. And at this point there is precedent for her doing something very similar; AIUI in her Magical Girl Story in MagiReco Madokami does something very similar wrt the MagiReco timeline, deliberately declining to destroy it despite its continued existence conflicting with the Law of Cycles.

(- Magia. This point of argument I’m not convinced of either, but let’s lay it out. (Honestly, even if I’m right I’m not sure how much of this was consciously intended, but creations can have a life of their own - especially creations where fucking natural disasters delay them so that they’re released on the most appropriate day possible!) There’s two pieces to this, one I’m more sure of than the other:

1) The visuals. Here’s the spot where I feel most solid about interpreting Magia: the ED visuals are clearly a reference to Madokami’s ascension. (The show loves hiding that sort of foreshadowing in plain sight, why would you be surprised?) Note the second half particularly, both Madoka’s hair lengthening and the starfield she’s running past. (I think the order of the four other girls in the first half is probably how long they held out without Witching out.) That leaves two issues, one more obvious to Western audiences and one less so. First, that enigmatic and ominous shot of Madoka in fetal position (appropriate - her request in 10 and then her wish in 12 can be rephrased as “don’t let me grow up”) in the eye of Mephisto. Second, there’s a point I’ve seen raised in analyses of Connect: in Japanese cinematography, motion from right to left indicates a correct course (unlike its Western equivalent, where the opposite applies)... and for the entirety of Magia Madoka is moving left-to-right.

2) The lyrics. This is the part I’m less sold on, but once again let’s lay out the affirmative. My line here derives from a hunch: Connect is famously from Homura’s perspective despite appearing to be from Madoka’s, perhaps the inverse is also true? I’m still not sure there, but especially if you’re considering the TV version it can work... provided the lyrics are specifically from Madokami’s perspective again. Grabbing the wiki version of the translation: “The light of love lit within your eyes will transcend time” sure fits better if we’re talking about Homura rather than about Madoka, likewise “with this power that can break even darkness” sure sounds like a better fit for Madokami to me. And in that case the most interesting stanza is the second: “Swallow down your hesitation. What is it that you wish for? With the direction of this greedy admiration, will there be a short-lived tomorrow?” The former two lines are quite consistent with Homura’s decision in Rebellion (and I note the visual of Homura biting down on her Soul Gem to break it!), and “tomorrow” is consistently a reference to the possibility of Homura and Madoka meeting again in other PMMM songs (Mata Ashita again, Colorful, Connect full version) - which is realized courtesy of a greedy admiration, no less. So. Magia’s full version might count, too - there’s lines there that are harder to square from a Madokami perspective (”if I can move forward without hesitation then it’s fine if my heart gets broken” especially), but “Someday, for the sake of someone else, you too will wish for great power; on the night love captures your heart, unknown words will be born” fits Homura’s fall better than Madoka’s wish, I think.)

- If Madoka’s mistake in 12 is intentional then it more closely mirrors her (unintentional) mistake in 10: she’s implicitly asking Homura to once again do something she can’t and stop her from/alleviate the effects of her making a mistake.

- At a Doylist level, if they go for a proper happy end (either in Walpurgis no Kaiten or in a hypothetical sequel to the same) I’m not sure there’s any way they can get there without using this interpretation. (In general, the two outcomes that make the most sense to me are “Akuhomu becomes the core of Walpurgisnacht, cue ending scene with Moemura making her wish” (the Logic Error ending, consistent with the Eternal Return of the Self; cue MagiReco as the way out) or an ending based on the answer to this question being yes - the easy version being a movie of everyone except Homura fighting to let Madoka rejoin the Law of Cycles only for her to surprise everyone with some sort of ending based on “actually, I was counting on her to do this from the start”.)

9 notes · View notes

eventidespirits · 3 years

Text

Adam Allistair Freemont

Aliases: Edwin Lockhart, William Silva, Francis LaRue, Everett Brighton, James Fenwick

Apparent Age: "29"

Birthday: August 11th, 1897

Death Day: December 19th, 1926

Species: Vampire (Siren Bloodline)/Bloodbound Spirit

Gender: Cis Man

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: Primarily Heterosexual

Occupation: Photographer

Residence: Santa Marta, California; Morgan Kendrick's Psychic Realm

Universe: Primarily original lore but also Vampire the Masquerade where he's a Camarilla Toreador who defected to the Sabbat.

Appearance:

Height: 6'0

Build: Tall and lanky with angular shoulders and long limbs. He has a trim, lightly muscled physique with long delicate fingers and soft hands.

Eye Color: Luminous Yellow/Gold with slitted cat-like pupils and a darker, amber band around the edges.

Hair Color/Texture: Black, 1b hair texture. Just long enough for the ends to brush against his shoulders. Partially brushed back and parted to the right but a significant amount of his hair ends up falling into his face.

Face: Angular with a square jaw and high cheekbones. He has a mostly straight nose with a slight convex curve to the bridge. He has deep set eyes with heavy lids and dark circles and usually looks somewhat sleepy but in a strangely sensual way. Defined lips that are usually curved into a sadistic little smirk. He's quite attractive but in a way that feels vaguely dangerous or even predatory.

Distinguishing Characteristics: Adam has bright golden eyes with slitted cat-like pupils. He also has a rather large, jagged scar on his back, located between his shoulder blades. I'd include his *other* distinguishing characteristic but that's kinda NSFW ;)

Posture/Body Language: Confident, even arrogant, chin up, shoulders back but not in a way that looks particularly stiff. His body language is generally relaxed and easy, bringing to mind a big cat at rest -- there's always something about the way he moves that implies a predatory nature laying beneath his cool, collected surface. Adam walks with clear purpose and long, smooth strides and always knows how to make an entrance.

Voice: Soft and smooth with a deep timbre and confident inflection. Adam's voice is somewhat like poisoned honey or arsenic laced velvet -- smooth and sweet but with something slightly off.

Clothing Style: Adam prefers dark colors -- burgundy, blood red, black, charcoal, rich deep browns and the ocassional pop of gold or cream or a white dress shirt. He wears primarily expensive, tailored button downs made from things like silk, velvet or very high thread count cotton with the sleeves rolled up and the top three (or four) buttons undone. Sometimes with brocade, floral or striped patterns. If it's cooler out, he'll wear a black blazer or something similar. When it comes to pants, it's almost entirely black or charcoal tailored pants or pitch black jeans. He usually wears very few accessories -- a nice watch, a belt, a silver and garnet ring and a pendant on a thin silver or gold chain. Generally wearing pointed toe oxfords or other dress shoes. When it comes to outerwear, Adam generally prefers things like wool coats and the ocassional leather jacket (always real leather, too) (to get a better idea, check out his [Pinterest Board]

Skills

Social: Manipulation, Lying, Gaslighting, Flirting, Proper Etiquette, Public Speaking, Blame Shifting, Negging, Seduction

Physical: knife combat, some hand to hand combat, basic combat training (circa 1914), long range firearms/sniping, Ballroom Dancing, Fencing, Horseback riding, the carnal arts

Talents: Photography, Drawing, Poetry, Lying, Being an Asshole, Manipulation, Painting, Seduction, Sex

Knowledges: Fluent in French & Italian, Masters in Psychology (circa 1926), Photo Development (wet plate, autochrome, modern methods), some basic knowledge of financial law and property law

Hobbies: Photography, writing, breaking pretty girls, avoiding his deep-seated psychological issues, general hedonism

Special: Emotional Influence, Telepathy, Emotional Transference, Enhanced Stamina, Enhanced Strength, "Immortality", Enhanced Senses (esp sight), minor regeneration, sweet blood, emotional radar/supernatural empathy, hypnosis/mind control

Psyche

Strengths: Charismatic, quick-thinking, clever, good at understanding the thought processes of others, empathetic, deeply romantic, treats service workers well, dedicated, generally calm, high emotional intelligence, has critical thinking skills, polite*, can be incredibly sweet, adaptable, pays a lot of attention to his partners in bed, passionate, artistic, creative, protective

Weaknesses: selfish, self-absorbed, arrogant, manipulative, almost completley lacks compassion, disdain for basically everyone around him, dishonest, has a horrible temper, needs constant attention and praise, has a massive inferiority/superiority complex, overconfident, easily susceptible to flattery, deep-seated intimacy issues, can't stand being wrong, terrified of vulnerability, paranoid, detached from his own emotions/denies his own humanity, callous, sadistic, can be incredibly rude, actually a bit of a coward, condescending, possessive, jealous and generally kind of a dick.

Fears: genuine intimacy, abandonment/loneliness,true death, being buried alive

Goals: To finally create the perfect art piece (i.e., break someone in just the right way -- he's not even sure what this MEANS, he's just sure he'll "know" when he finally does it), to just enjoy his immortality.

Personality: On the surface, Adam seems likable enough -- at least, at first. He's incredibly charming and thoughtful, often anticipating people's wants before they're even able to articulate them, witty, intelligent and seemingly very polite...

But beneath that surface lurks a spoiled rich kid who learned early on in life that having money, being good looking and charming meant he could get away with almost anything. Adam is self-absorbed and arrogant and almost everything he does is a carefully crafted performance intended to get people on his side and manipulate them into doing what he wants.

Beneath even that, which he desperately tries to ignore, is a little boy who was spoiled by his mother and entirely ignored by his (largely absent) father -- a young man who was traumatized by being forced to fight in WWI and who is full of deep-seated fears and insecurities.

To make up for this, Adam is often sadistic towards the people around him -- but in that way where it's difficult to tell that he's actually being cruel until one looks back at the conversation.

He has difficulty genuinely connecting to others because of those insecurities and instead uses his powers as a Siren to make the people around him love and adore him-- no matter how badly he treats them.

Life

Best Memory: Being gifted his first camera, meeting his Maker.

Worst Memory: Somewhere between when he almost died during WWI and his actual death...

Biggest Achievement: Getting his Masters

Prized Possession: Silver and Garnet ring gifted to him by his Maker, his first camera, his black 2020 Ferrari Portofino (with the red leather interior), (he also has an engraved custom sniper rifle but a friend picked the model and shit for me and I cannot remember what it is for the life of me)

Favorite Color: Red, Gold

Favorite Food:

-Mortal Food: Partial to anything rich and flavorful, prefers food that's not pointlessly ostentatious (nothing coated in gold leaf, that's absurd), dry red wines, Italian Cream Cake, Eggs Benedict, Crepes Suzette

-Blood: Blood taken in the heat of the throes of passion from someone that's truly and deeply in love with and obsessed with him...

Favorite Scents: Blood, Gasoline, Cloves, Cinnamon, Resin, YSL Nuit, roses, vanilla, rain, the sharp smell of a cloudless winter night

Favorite Songs: Winter, 1st Movement - Vivaldi, Raindrops - Chopin, La Vie En Rose - Edith Piaf

Can't Leave Home Without: At least one knife somewhere on his person.

Birthplace: San Francisco, California

Childhood: Adam is the only child out of six in his family to survive to adulthood with four older siblings who had either in infancy, had been stillborn or died of tuberculosis when Adam was still too young to remember them. He had one younger sibling, a sister named Mary who was killed in an accident at the age of 6 when Adam was 8 years old. His parents were already a little bit older by the time he was born and his father was the owner of an incredibly lucrative railroad line and had profited greatly from the Gold Rush as well as owning multiple properties in San Francisco and neighboring Santa Marta...

Due to the loss of her other children, Adam's mother doted on him -- giving into his every whim, supplying him with the best education she could and basically just spoiling the ever loving fuck out of him. His father, on the other hand, was always busy with work and when he was home, had nothing but criticism for Adam who desperately tried to gain his approval to no avail.

Adolescence: Adam developed a passion for photography as a teenager and discovered that being good-looking, clever and rich meant he could get away with A LOT more than most people and also meant that he rarely heard "no" and accepted it as an answer even less often (though he rarely resorted to force to get his way, relying instead on bribery, flattery, blackmail and implied threats). All of this gave him quite an interest in psychology and he intended to become a clinical psychologist. During his adolescence, Adam would have a great many girlfriends and despite being a selfish and manipulative little shit, was actually not the world's worst boyfriend and no hint of the violent temper and genuine sadism he'd develop after being Changed.

Adulthood: Adam's education would be interrupted by the outbreak of WWI,which if asked he will describe as "incredibly distasteful and personally inconvenient." He was a skilled marksman and sniper but was otherwise unremarkable -- much to his father's disdain. After nearly dying in one of the trenches of France after taking a grievous bayonet wound in the last few months of the war, Adam would be sent back from the frontlines and would shortly begin work on continuing his education...

However -- despite the fact that he would complete all seven years necessary to get his degree, Adam's interest in becoming an actual psychologist wouldn't ever come to fruition. In 1925, he would meet Amelia Madeleine Smith -- an unbelievably beautiful and charming socialite from Santa Marta who would see Adam's potential as a source of money and influence for the Nightingale Court of Northern California. She would spend the next year carefully grooming him to become her protege -- manipulating him much in the same way he would later manipulate the women he dates as a vampire -- using emotional transference, mind control and mundane manipulation to cause him to fall madly in love with her... In December of 1925, Amelia would finally perform the ritual of transformation on him and bring Adam over into the world of the Supernatural.

Unfortunately for Adam, his Change would take nearly two weeks to complete -- two weeks spent in absolute agony beyond anything he'd experienced before. Amelia, believing the most important first step for a newly born vampire is to break their bonds to humanity would kidnap his mother during this change and leave her for him to kill upon waking. Adam would remain with Amelia (who used her bond as Adam's maker to control most of his actions and her abilities as a Siren to continue to influence his emotions) until 1980 when she was killed by a member of the Bram Park Wolf Pack in Santa Marta, leaving Adam behind. During this period, Adam would end up being "taken in" by a bonded pair of Stryza -- Camille Belikova and Lucy DeSantos and would act as their primary draw for new playthings.

Recent: Adam met Morgan Kendrick at the Velvet Box goth club in Santa Marta when Morgan was twenty two years old and would sweep her off her feet, intending to make her into his "masterpiece"... Three years into this relationship, Adam would finally Change Morgan, which would break the initial control he had over her and result in her, in a fit of rage, completely draining him and through a magical fluke, causing his spirit to become bonded/fused with her blood...

Recently, Adam's presence has disappeared from Morgan's psyche due to the machinations of Miss Belikova and her wife -- though it appears that the two of them are still inextricably linked in a way beyond the usual bond between Maker and Fledgling.

Relationships

Family: Lawrence Freemont (Father; Deceased), Anne Freemont (Mother; Deceased), Mary Freemont (Sister; Deceased)

Lovers: Amelia Smith (Maker; Deceased), Morgan Kendrick (Fledgling, Ex, Soulbond), Many other unnamed girls.

Friends: Camille Belikova, Lucille DeSantos, Jonathan Andreason

Enemies: Morgan Kendrick, the Bram Park Wolfpack

Acquaintances: Miranda Cortez (Queen of the Nightingale Court of Santa Marta)

Income: Moderately Wealthy

Vehicles: 2020 Ferrari Portofino

Residences: Penthouse Apartment in Vista Rosa, a small Victorian row house in Val Del Mar and a 1br/1ba apartment in Park Verde (all located in Santa Marta)

#about: Adam #Adam Freemont #character profile

0 notes

sprnklersplashes · 5 years

Text

Truth Of His Dreams (9/?)

AO3

Charlie sees her right away. Anyone would, of course, even from their seats on the other side of the theatre. With her sweeping purple gown and diamond studded tiara she still wears even now that her kingdom is gone, the Queen Mother isn’t one you’d skip over easily. He watches as she, along with Countess Oswald, takes her seat in the upper box, seats which probably cost more than their entire journey from Rhodia to where they are sitting right now cost them. She doesn’t notice him, of course she doesn’t, but he can’t take his eyes off her. Far away as he is, he tries to find some resemblance in her. Tries to catch a good glance of her eyes or chin, searching for some trace of himself in her. He still thinks he’s dreaming, and he’ll wake up back in the orphanage to work a shift at the factory, briefly wondering who they’ve given that job to now that he’s gone.

He can’t sit still, even though his fidgeting has already drawn dirty looks from other people who came to view the ballet. He can’t even focus on the dancers, whirling around the stage in their dazzling costumes. Despite how wonderful the theatre must be, and that it’s the first real, fully furnished working theatre he can remember seeing, he can’t appreciate it. Everything else seems so trivial and useless when his whole future could be sitting up there. He calms himself down just enough to check his watch. Eight thirty. Everything he’s ever wanted is so near now. Just an hour and a half away.

******

Alia’s old heart nearly gives out when she sees him; she almost wonders if this is it, and she is simply seeing her Charles one last time before she goes. Instead, she finds herself still breathing, her heart still beating, albeit far rapidly than it has been in years. Her hand trembles as she holds her binoculars, making everything go out of focus except that one boy.

“Your Majesty?” Clara asks beside her, taking her shaking arm. “Your Majesty what is it? Are you too cold? I have your fur wrap here in case you need it.”

“No, Clara,” she says. Even if she were cold, she’d never admit to it. Never let it be said that the Queen Mother of Rhodia is susceptible to cold. “I simply thought I saw someone I might have known.” Clara looks in her direction. She’s smiling and she thinks she’s doing it discreetly. Her lady in waiting is many wonderful things, but discreet has never been one of them. She would ask what she finds so amusing, if she wasn’t finding it hard to breathe herself.

The boy pushes his blonde hair out of his eyes, a gesture so similar to Charles it pains her. He mutters something to the boy sitting next to him, she assumes it’s his lover, for their knees touch, and he takes his hand gently. She can even see a faint blush on the boy’s cheeks. Either they are lovers or he wishes they were. Despite her better judgement, she adjusts her binoculars and gets a better look.

It takes everything in her not to gasp; the chin is almost an exact replica of her daughter in law’s. From what she can see, the nose is the double of her son’s. The suit he wears, the blue, that shade, it’s exactly what she had always thought Charles looked best in. When she sees him clasping his hands between his knees and scratching at the back of his hand with his thumb, she almost wails; Charles used to do the same when he was afraid. She wishes he’d look up at her and she could finally put this silly fantasy to rest.

“Stop it,” she mutters to herself, not realising for a moment that she had spoken aloud, thankful she was quiet enough and Clara was distracted by champagne and Lady Ashildr to notice. Her head knows she should stop believing that she’ll ever find him, but she finds that the heart is not so easily persuaded.

******

Quill’s fingers trace over the bulge of the gun in her pocket, a vile taste sitting in her mouth as she sits in the gods. The seats are hardly practical for watching the show as a gold rail obscures the view of the stage, but for scouting the audience, it works quite well, even if people behind her hiss at her to sit down.

She spies him just before the lights go down, sitting in a box of his own near the front. Along with his friends from Rhodia, the little group of street rats. Decked out in all their finery, they hardly look like the children they are. He certainly looks older than he is. Even the youngest one, the one who looks like her daughter, looks older than she is, dressed in a red suit.

Her stomach clenches when she sees her, tiny as she looks down there. Kat herself is hopefully asleep by now, likely star fished across the bed, maybe drooling. Hopefully having gone to the toilet before she slept. Out of sight, but never out of mind, not since she was born and now that this girl is here, she can’t even put her aside for a moment.

But when she looks at the would-be Prince, something else takes over her mind. No, he doesn’t look like a child, but he also doesn’t look like a commoner. He looks like a Prince. Like someone who takes and takes from his people and never gives them anything else. Someone who sends good, hard working people off to fight his wars for him because he could never get his dainty little hands dirty. Someone who can come strolling back into Rhodia at a moment’s notice to tear down everything that her father died for.

With a slight snarl on her face, she lets her hand drift back to the gun. Times have to change, and the world change with it. The whole world, not just the Republic of Rhodia. And as her father knew well, sentimentality has no place in revolutions.

*****

All the way through the show, Charlie sits so rigidly it’s unnatural. After the lights go down, he barely moves except for his thumb, which continuously picks and scratches at the back of his hand until it’s red. If he doesn’t stop, he might draw blood.

“Hey,” Matteusz whispers, gently prying his hands apart and holding onto it himself. His hands are freezing, his fingers like icicles, but he doesn’t complain. He just hopes he can warm him up. He supposes it would never do to meet your long lost grandmother with hands like ice. Charlie manages a small smile, but Matteusz isn’t sure if it’s genuine or just a reflex. He just keeps his eyes trained on the Queen Mother’s box.

If he’s honest, Matteusz is having trouble keeping his own nerve. When they started planning this so long ago, in an abandoned theatre when they were loving day to day, wondering how they’d scam their next meal, he had half thought (or hoped) that this was all a game they would get tired of when they realised no one could impersonate the Prince and they’d move onto another, less frightening con.

Well, technically, no one is impersonating the Prince, because he’s right here.

He can still hardly believe it. The little boy he helped through a servant’s passageway is sitting right beside him. The boy he could never take his eyes off when he was eight was now making his heart flutter at eighteen.

He’s always been religious. He’s not sure if it’s because of his upbringing or something inside him, but he’s held onto his faith. The regime back in Rhodia would hate him if they knew, a gay practicing Catholic, and he dreads to think what might have happened to him, but he’s become good at hiding his faith and heart. His grandmother back in Poland had been the most faithful person he had known. She had given him rosary beads every birthday since he was five, read him stories from the Bible, made him pray every night. He remembers her saying to him that God had a plan for everyone, big or small.

Maybe this was his. Maybe he and Charlie were meant to find each other. Maybe God sent him to Charlie to protect him, to save him from the rebels back them and now to hand him over to his grandmother. Give him back everything he lost, home, love, family. Maybe God’s plan was always meant to end like this, with Matteusz helping Charlie find his way back.

As far as grand purposes go, it’s not so bad. He just wonders if falling for him was meant to happen too.

*****

The show ends sooner than they thought, but Matteusz also wouldn’t have minded if they added on an extra hour or five. As they wait outside in the hall for Countess Oswald, his breath gets shorter and shorter, his hands sweating. Just less than an hour, surely until it’s finally over. April is visibly resisting the temptation to chew on her perfectly manicured nails, Tanya presses her fist into her hand. But no matter how nervous he, or any of them, are Charlie is far worse. He stands pressed against the wall, his face as white as the wall itself, his eyes far away from here. A few kind looking women give him concerned looks, but none stop to ask if he’s all right, too busy pushing past each other to get out to their cars and back to their homes.

The Countess emerges from the crowd, wringing her white-gloved hands together. Her concern only grows when her eyes land on Charlie. He doesn’t look like he did at the hotel. Back then, he had looked radiant and confident. Born to step into the high-class world of ballet visits and soft suits. Now he looks like he’s shrunk to half his original size and is in danger of throwing up.

The Countess steps in front of him and takes his shoulders, bringing him back to reality slightly. His hand twitches to grab her arm but he stops himself at the last minute. He’s not royalty yet.

“Are you ready?” she asks him gently.

“As I’ll ever be,” he confesses, his voice shaking. He gives her a half-hearted smile.

“Follow me,” she orders. She leads them, taking Charlie by the shoulder, down the hallway and up a flight of carpeted steps, a gold railing running along the wall. They arrive in a smaller hallway, dark wooden walls instead of the white painted ones along the rest of the theatre, a matching side table with a jug of water and glasses on it and a red velvet door with “Box 2” written on a gold plaque.

“That’s her?” Charlie whispers, his voice high. “She’s in there?”

“Yes,” the Countess answers, looking concerned. “Here, let me get you some water.” She pours him a glass and he accepts it with trembling hands. “I think I must tell you to expect that she might… I don’t want to get your hopes up, young man.” He nods, handing her back the glass. He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths, the muttering of ‘one, two, three, four, five’ barely audible.

The transformation is amazing. The colour seems to rush back into his cheeks, he holds himself with more composure, his chin higher, his shoulders straight. When he turns back to the rest of them, even his eyes seem to be brighter, the same shade of blue and bright shine to them that was said to be a royal heirloom, passed down through the generations. He nods firmly, to himself more than anyone else.

Then he smiles at them, and underneath it all, he’s still the same boy he met in the theatre and stood on top of an apartment tower with.

“I survived a palace being stormed,” he jokes. “How bad could this be?”

“That’s the spirit,” Tanya says, but she’s biting her lip enough to draw blood.

“Good luck,” April adds, slipping her hand into Ram’s.

“We can celebrate in your grandma’s apartment later,” Ram says, smirking.

Charlie laughs and looks at Matteusz, his eyes wide.

“Matteusz?” he asks softly. Matteusz moves over to him, careful not to mess any part of his hair or suit.

“You can do this,” he tells him. “I know you can. It’s no one else but you.” He looks at the Countess over his shoulder. “You will introduce Prince Charles of Rhodia.”

The Countess nods at him with a smile and opens the door slightly. Charlie’s hand shoots out and grabs his. His face is utterly composed and cool, but his hand is shaking like a leaf. Like he expelled all of his fear into that one hand. Hopefully, the Queen Mother won’t ask to shake his hand.

“Your Majesty, you have a visitor,” the Countess says. She turns back to Charlie and motions for him to come in.

He doesn’t look back at them as his hand slips out of Matteusz’s and he follows Clara into the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

“Jesus Christ,” Tanya says, leaning against the wall like a ragdoll. She claps her hands over her mouth, hoping the Queen Mother didn’t hear her.

“I can’t be here,” Ram says. “This is way too much for me. I wonder if the bar’s still open.” He goes down the hall and April sighs and follows, but not before sharing a quick look with Matteusz. She’s the only one other than him who knows the truth about Charlie. She hasn’t told a soul, but she still knows.

“I need the loo,” Tanya says. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Matteusz nods and watches her go, leaving him alone in the hallway. Apart from them, the theatre is almost completely empty, there’s probably more staff than customers in the building. In their part anyway, it’s completely quiet. Far too quiet.

He rushes to the door and presses against it, listening intently over the sound of his frantic heart, straining his ears. Nothing but silence. That could only be bad, couldn’t it? Or he should assume it’s good.

The whole plan is fool proof, really. He could recite the history of Rhodia’s royal family in his sleep. And even if he couldn’t, he is the real thing. He has an airtight cover story for getting out of the palace. The odds are entirely in their favour.

Who is he kidding, nothing is fool proof! He knocks on the wooden table quickly. He leans against the door, pressing his hands to his mouth.

At the end of the day, they’re all getting what they wanted. Himself, Ram, April and Tanya are getting rich. Charlie is getting a family. And they’re all free now, for better or worse. Tanya had said long ago that they were building a fairy-tale, but he hadn’t realised it would be in part his own fairy-tale. One with a spin.

They can’t fail.

He wonders insanely if his and Charlie’s paths will ever cross again, like they did when he was nine and Matteusz was ten. Meeting him once was a privilege, but twice seems more like fate. He had thought it was goodbye after tonight, but he also thought that eight years ago. They never know what the world will throw at them after this. Maybe this is just wishful thinking, or maybe he’ll end up staying around London and they’ll wave at each other from opposite side of the river.

He should be happy. He should be happy that he’s free and soon to be rich, happy that Charlie is where he belongs. But he isn’t, despite everything. Con man and Prince get their wish, and fairy-tale comes true. But there was one thing he didn’t count on.

With everything to win, there’s just one thing he loses. Him.

The door opens suddenly and he nearly falls to the floor. He must have been thinking for longer than he thought. Or the Queen Mother made up her mind about Charlie quickly. Charlie stumbles out slowly, his face pale, his mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out except for slight, small squeaks.

“Charlie?” he asks softly, moving towards him. His eyes are shining with unshed tears. Matteusz goes to take his shoulder, for he looks like he’s about to collapse, but Charlie flinches away from him, still looking at the floor.

“She wouldn’t even look at me,” he says flatly. “She said, ‘Tell this imposter I know his kind, Clara. He wants money and will break an old woman’s heart to get it’.”

“No.” They were too late, it seemed. He should have known, they should have known, that dozens of other people would have had the same idea they did and gotten to London before them.

But none of those people had the real Prince. Or the boy who helped him escape.

“Look, I wasn’t going to tell you this,” he begins. “But-”

“That I was a pawn in a scheme of yours?” he asks, his voice trembling. He gasps and the tears run down his face. “You made me believe I could be someone I wasn’t? That you trained me to trick an old woman so you could collect the reward money?”

Matteusz feels his world crumble around him. He thought he felt it eight years ago, when the sky was red and the streets were littered with bodies, but that doesn’t come close to this. Maybe because he couldn’t understand what was happening back then, or maybe it’s not just sadness and grief and confusion he’s feeling this time. Those are all there too, stirring around in his heart like a poisonous cocktail, but guilt is the main ingredient here. Blooming out and flooding his chest. At least if they had taken any old street rat looking for fame and fortune, they’d have only broken one heart. But he’s broken two.

“Matteusz?” Charlie asks. “Is it true? Is what she said about you true?”

“Yes.”

For a moment, Charlie doesn’t react. It seems that even the tears on his face freeze in place. He keeps his eyes on Matteusz, heartbroken and confused and betrayed. Then his face twists into a snarl and despite how upset he is, and how much smaller he is than Matteusz, he fears he’s going to attack him right there and then.

“Charlie, please,” he begs. “It’s different this time, you’re different, because you’re-”

“Stop!” he shouts. There’s so much force in his voice that Matteusz has to step back from him. “When I met you, Matteusz, I was cold and hungry and scared, but I was always honest with you! I trusted you, I gave you my diamond…” He covers his mouth for a moment, his shoulders shaking. “I told you things I never told anyone else! I thought you were-I thought we were… I was wrong.” He pushes past him quickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“No, Charlie, please!” He grabs his hand just as he passes him, his mind racing. “Charlie, just listen-”

“I’m done listening to you!” he exclaims, ripping his hand from Matteusz’s hand. “I travelled across a continent with you. I let you convince me that I could be something, I belonged somewhere when really… I’m nothing. I’m no one.”

You’re a Prince, he thinks, you’re a survivor, you’re brave, you’re brilliant. But he’s too scared to say it.

“Thank you for reminding me of that, Matteusz,” he spits at him, and he turns and runs down the hall. Matteusz stands and watches numbly as he gets smaller and smaller, disappearing down the stairs, his footsteps fading until he’s disappeared entirely.

This was all his fault. He should have stood up to Tanya more, should have told Charlie the truth about then last night, should have done something to stop this. Or should have never agreed to this in the first place.

“Is he gone?” a voice asks, older, slower, with the poise and grace of someone raised in nobility. A Queen dignity even though she doesn’t have a Kingdom any more.

When he turns around, Countess Oswald is standing with an apologetic expression behind the Queen Mother. Despite his guilt and shame, Matteusz is mesmerised by her. Even when he worked in the palace, he never laid eyes on her. Despite her old age, she carries herself well, her head held high without a second thought, her silver hair spun back into a low bun, her black evening gown embroidered with small black diamonds, trailing up the long skirt in an elegant spiral, silver and black, heavy looking jewels around her neck and dangling from her ears. But even underneath the make-up, she looks tired, and angry. The tight grip on her black cane confirmed this.

“Your Majesty,” he greets, bowing low, remembering every etiquette his father drilled into him. He has one last chance to fix the mess he’s created.

“Who is this?” she asks.

“Charlie does not want your money,” he explains, seeing there is no time for formalities. At Charlie’s name, the Queen Mother glares daggers and his stomach clenches. It’s ironic that he’s jumped off a train while being chased by gunmen, but he’s more afraid of one old woman. “I take full responsibility for bringing him to London.”

“Then you’re the one who wished to con me out of the reward money,” she says dryly.

“I believe with all my heart he is the Crown Prince,” he insists. He takes a step closer to her, but when Countess Oswald raises her eyebrows he shuffles backwards. “Let me explain, my name is Matteusz Andrzjewski, I used to work at the palace-”

“Well,” she scoffs, an empty smile on her face. “That’s one I haven’t heard before, I must say.” She moves past him, scowling as she does so, while a nervous Countess Oswald follows. “I will not stay to listen to this any longer. Have you nothing better to do than to torture an old woman?”

Matteusz feels something inside him snap. The sight of her walking away, while her one surviving relative sits thinking he’s a nobody, flips a switch inside him. Everything else he felt is gone. Now he’s just angry. At her, the rebels who did this, Rhodia itself.

“Charlie only wants what is rightfully his!” he exclaims. “Your recognition and your loving embrace!”

As she keeps walking away from him, he feels as though he loses all control of his body. Rationality and reason abandon him, and before he can even think, he runs towards her and stamps his foot on the train of her gown, stopping her in her tracks.

When she turns back to him, her expression utterly horrified, her mouth hanging open, there’s a small spark of triumph in him. Soon drowned out by the dawning realisation of what he’s just done.

“Shit,” he mutters. He lifts his foot off her dress, but he’s come too far now. He has nothing to lose. “Try to imagine his life since his parents, friends, everyone he has ever known was murdered-”

“I do not need reminding what happened to my own family!” she snaps back. “I lost everything I loved that day.”

“So did he,” he reminds her. “Charlie survived for a reason, to heal what happened those years ago. Rhodia is a wound that will never heal!” In her face, he sees Charlie, the stony glare, the anger blazing the eyes, the set of her jaw. Like grandmother, like grandson, it seemed.

“That is no longer my concern,” she hisses. “Rhodia has damned itself for what it has done!”

“You’re tiring her!” Countess Oswald objects. He knows that, he sees the strain in her old hands, but he’s past caring. She can be tired all she wants. But he hopes she feels ashamed too.

“I hope that God will judge you harshly for what you’ve done tonight,” he tells her firmly. “History already has.”

He doesn’t bow before leaving. He knows he turns his back to her, but he can’t find it in him to care. His words hang in the air between them. Selfishly, he hopes that if Charlie never forgives him, she never forgives herself.

******

Charlie’s friends-or former friends, if they ever were his friends to begin with-stand lined up against the wall of their hotel room. The room is beautiful-deep red walls with a white trim, soft red carpeting, a crystal chandelier, a dark oak wardrobe with gold handles. The door of said wardrobe is open now, Charlie pulling his clothes out of it and stuffing them into his bag. He’s leaving. He hasn’t decided if he’s leaving London but he is certainly leaving them.

“It was my life you played with,” he tells them. “Making me think I could be someone I never was. Letting me think I could have people who cared for me.” He hastily wipes the tears from his cheeks but they keep coming, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. “Making me think I had friends.”

“Charlie,” April says softly. “Look, we are your friends-”

“No, you’re not,” he replies bitterly. “If you were my friends you never would have set me up like this. You never would have lied to me. I don’t have much experience with friends, but I know they don’t lie to each other, they don’t treat each other like chess pieces.” He looks down at the nightstand beside his bed, seeing a small teddy with impossibly soft pale brown fur and a blue bow. It’s sweet but he’s also never seen it before. “What is this?”

“I bought it for you,” Matteusz confesses. “When we were in Oxford Street, I know you were looking at them-”

“I don’t want it.” He throws the bear across the room and it hits the wall, falling pathetically to the floor. Matteusz looks like he’s on the verge of tears himself, and Charlie is both sad to see it and happy. He should be upset. They all should be.

Of course, he partially blames himself for falling for it. Falling for the promise of a new life and a family and a chance in London, falling for jokes and smiles and friendly hugs and pretty eyes. He makes a silent promise never to fall for anyone so easily again.

“I admired the way you were, Matteusz,” he admits, turning back to his packing. “Despite where you came from, you were proud. And you taught me to be the same. And the whole time you were tricking me!” He closes the suitcase, shutting his eyes tightly against the flow of tears, taking in a gulp of air. He shakes his head wildly. “I don’t care anymore. Save it for your next Prince Charles-”

He turns suddenly, ready to tell their sad apologetic faces (fake, he knows they must be fake) where exactly they can shove their excuses, but all four of them are gone, and they even took Dash with them. In their place is the Queen Mother, frowning at him in his state, leaning on her cane.

“Your Majesty,” he says quickly, bowing.

“I think history demands we play this game to the end,” she explains.

“Please, sit.”

“There’s no need.” She stalks over to him, looking him up and down. He only got a seconds long glimpse of her back at the theatre before she had him thrown out. She is barely taller than him but he feels as though she’s towering over him in her evening gown, her eyes cold and hard as ice, but the same colour as his. Despite the wrinkles in her face and the tremble of her hand, he doesn’t think she might be soft. Part of him wonders if she really needs the cane to walk or if she plans on beating him with it. “I will be brief, who are you?”

“I think I am the sole son and heir of-”

“I didn’t ask for a title!” she snaps. “It’s in any history book along the Thames, anyone can read it! I asked who you are?”

“I… I don’t know,” he confesses. “I’m no one.” He wanders over to the small sofa and sits down on it. “I’ve spent my whole life being a no one wondering if-”

“How dare you sit without my permission!” He jumps up suddenly. The Queen Mother waves her hand dismissively. “All right sit you have my permission. And in that case…” She comes to the sofa, wiping away imaginary dirt. “I will also sit.”

“What made you like this?” he asks her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My grand mother was the loveliest, kindest woman I’d ever known,” he explains. She scoffs, but he continues, bits and pieces, fragments of memories coming back to him. “She bought me presents every time she went away, she never got cross with me, she always smelt like orange blossom when she hugged me-”

“It’s a common enough scent!”

“Not hers,” he replies. “Not yours. One of the Dukes had it made specially for you, ordered the blossom all the way from Sicily.” He grabs the edge of the sofa. “And she was never this cruel. She never snapped.”

“That was before they murdered everyone I loved,” she says. Her voice is steady, but her hand curls into a fist. “Do you understand what that’s like, to not even be there when it happens? Hearing over a letter that my son, his wife, his child, all gone and for what? The good of Rhodia?”

“Why did you come here?” he asks, desperate to change the subject. He can’t think of Rhodia as it is right now.

“Your young man said you weren’t part of his plan. He thinks you may well be my grandson. He says you’ve come to believe it yourself.”

“I believe it with all my heart,” he agrees. “But I can’t be him unless you recognise me.”

“You can’t be anyone unless you first recognise yourself,” she tells him. She studies his face and he tries to keep as still as possible. “Who was my favourite lady in waiting?”

“You didn’t have one, you kept dismissing them,” he says.

“It was a trick question, you’re clever, I’ll give you that,” she sighs. She narrows her eyes as she peers at him, her cold hand pushing his hair away from his face, tilting his chin up. “I’m trying to see the resemblance. I don’t trust my old eyes.”

“Didn’t Father tell you to get spectacles?” he asks without thinking, recalling what looked like a taller, sturdier version of himself laughing at a happier, freer-looking Alia as they reclined on soft blue chairs. Memories were like that since the other day, coming without warning, just tangible and unique enough for him to believe they were real. He’d remember sights and sounds and smells, but feelings more than anything. He turns to see her with her mouth open in shock and covers his hand with his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

Except now the memory goes on, moving forward in his mind, not just a blurry snapshot. His father warning his mother that her eyesight won’t last forever, and her replying sharply that neither will his reign. Silence settling uncomfortably into the room while he watches from the door, holding a colouring book in his hand. His mother noticing him and calling him in. Him showing the picture off to his grandmother, who pulls him onto her knee and kisses his cheek. Her hair is loose, her laugh is easy. His mother laughs too and hands him a cupcake.

“What was your mother’s full title?” she asks him, bringing him back to the present.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “I never knew, she was just Mama to me.” All he knows is that the title was far too long to remember. As strict as his mother could be with him, she was never his Queen. Now she’s no one’s Queen. His vision blurs as hot tears prick his eyes and he forgets that she is even beside him as sobs wreck through his body.

“You all cry at some point,” she remarks without an ounce of sympathy. “Your tears will get you nowhere.”

“If you don’t want me to be him you can leave!” he snaps without thinking. “Why don’t you want me to be him?”

“Eight years,” she replies. He thought she’d be angry at him for asking, but she just seems defeated. “I have had eight years of false hope. Every morning I’d look at the young boys and then the young men coming through the door. I’d wake up believing today was the day I’d finally find my Charles again. Do you have any idea what it means to lose that? To be tricked every day like a common street rat? I was a Queen; my family was respected. People bowed as we passed. Now people play the part of my grandson for fun, to trick me out of my love.” She dabs at her eyes with a delicate handkerchief. “I know they want my money and I can’t make myself care anymore. But they will take my love and I will never let anyone fool me into giving that away.” She buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. “I want this fearful journey to be over. One way or another!”

“Do you remember the last time you saw Charles?” Charlie asks.

“I didn’t know it would be the last time,” she replies. “We never know which goodbye is the last. How can we? When I left, I thought-”

“You’d see him again,” he finishes. “See me again. You promised.” He gets up from the sofa and runs over to the dresser. The jewellery box is still there. Together In London written on the side. Just like she promised. “You gave me a music box. So that when you were away I could listen to our song.” He winds up the box as he comes over to her. She eyes the box as though it’s a wild animal. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. He lifts the lid, revealing the boy and woman dancing inside. Long ago, on a street in Rhodia, standing with Matteusz he had opened the box and heard the melody before, but there were no words to put to it. Now he can. “On the wind, cross the sea, hear this song and remember….”

“Soon you’ll be home with me,” Alia sings gently, her voice shaking.

“Once upon a December,” he finishes. He looks up at Alia. Tears run down her wrinkled face, her mouth opening and closing, unsure if she is happy or sad. “I said I wouldn’t stop missing you. You said you’d take me to London with you.”

“I wish I’d taken you with me when I left,” she confesses. “We could have avoided all this heartache. You could have stayed safe here.” Her hand reaches out to him but recoils away again. “What took you so long?”

“I’m here now, Nana,” he pleads, taking her hand. “I forgot everything. I forgot myself and you and Mama and Father, but I remember it all now. Please, I’m here with you now, doesn’t that count?”

“You’re too late,” she protests, shaking her head. “You’re too late. I promised myself no more.”

“It’s never too late to come home, Nana,” he tells her. She caresses his cheek, gently, oh so gently. Touching his cheekbone with the tip of her finger, testing if he’s real. “Please, please don’t leave me alone. Please don’t shut me out, please.”

“Oh… Charles.” She takes his face with both hands and kisses his forehead. “Oh my beautiful Charles.” He’s pulled against her chest and she wraps his arms tightly around him, running her hands up and down his back. He does the same, burying his face in her shoulder, clinging to her like she might disappear on him again. He allows himself to cry, wetting the shoulder of her gown with his tears, but they’re happy tears this time, as he relaxes into her. “My little Prince.” He breathes in the familiar scent on her clothes and skin. Orange blossom, just like she used to be. If this is a dream, he hopes he never has to wake up. But she kisses his cheek and he knows it isn’t. This is real. He’s home. He’s not alone and he never will be again. He’s really, truly home.

#class ff #marlie ff #matteusz andrzejewski #charlie smith #marlie #class bbc #fic: truth of his dreams

2 notes · View notes

pvncake · 7 years

Text

Bang!

That guy was dead, 100% dead and it’d happened seconds before Levi had wandered out for the sole sake of warning the small group that’d gotten a little too rowdy and was asked to leave, that the cops had been called. The argument itself had already put a damper on the night, and the continuation of the fight from out front, to someplace a little more secluded had the previously lively crowd solemn with worry, and those exact crowds were the reason he sought out the dives of the city. All he’d truly wanted to do was throw back a few cheaply priced pints and people watch, and now he felt just as on edge about the outcome of the altercation as everyone else. Although part of him didn’t want to wait and see how everything turned out, someone nearby muttered something about 911, setting off warning bells in his head. Not only were they heated, they were drunk, and at that point all the brunet wanted was to be able to go back to his room safely. You know, avoid ending up a witness or something. With the guy’s cellphone out, Levi took it as a cue and slid from his bar stool as cooly as he could, leaving without his backpack so that the bartender would know he planned on going back. He would have liked to pay his tab first, bring his stuff with him, and simply head out once he had warned the men, but he didn’t want to risk wasting any time; it felt like the right thing to do. Get them out of there before law enforcement got involved, and let people move on with their evening. That’s what he would have wanted had he not been the more proactive type, and besides, he didn’t think some drunken brawl was worth those guys getting a record over. In his mind, the little bit of information he had would be enough to break the other men up, and then everything that followed would be a whole hell of a lot simpler.

“Listen guys, I just want you to know the co-”, around the corner, and - Bang! - the shot filled the slim space, accompanied by a shout that Levi couldn’t be sure was his, or one of the other guys. His ears were ringing, and it seemed like time and space was moving more slowly than usual as he advanced on the situation. Even in the confusion of it all, he could tell who the obvious winner was, and with brown eyes locked on the limp, bleeding figure on the ground, he barely registered the high strung company just a few feet away. “The guy who shot him ran off right after,” one of them said while advancing, finally giving the male a reason to look up from the body, and when he did, one of the few guys he’d seen leave the bar not too long ago held out small hand gun which, out of instinct, Levi took, “we’re gonna see if we can catch up with him, saw his face and all.” And then he was off, leaving the gaping student alone with absolutely no idea what had just happened, and a heavy weapon gripped in his palm. He didn’t even know why he took it, perhaps because he was hardly even present in the situation. The ringing continued but was beginning to die down some, and though he could see the other three taking off in the other direction it still didn’t sink in that he needed to drop the gun, that the same amount of people who’d left the bar were taking off and there was no ‘other guy’ that had commit the murder. He needed for get far away, get his prints off it, but instead he looked down at it and then the other guy, the weapon shaking slightly as he tried to connect the pieces of what had unfurled just seconds before he’d stepped outside.

It was the whoop of a siren, the sound of tires pulling to a stop, and then advancing footsteps that finally clued Levi back in. At least enough for him to toss the gun and make a run for it, which as shouts of, “stop in the name of the law!” and “get down on the ground with your hands on your head!” followed after him, he realized probably wasn’t the best way to prove just how innocent he was. But at that point it seemed like the only option, being the only breathing person left at the crime scene, with a guilty look of disbelief on his face and the desperation with which he’d fled, Levi knew trying to explain would be useless. There wasn’t a single shred of evidence on his side, and the chase had already begun - back tracking now and pleading to be heard would just make him look even more guilty. Then, when his long legs and head start caused the sound of running feet to fade, the sirens started and everything became quick, and surreal. He ducked own streets if they weren’t too busy, or well-lit. Only down alleys where he could clearly see a street on the other side; the last thing he needed was to get caught at some dead end, and end up a convicted criminal for a murder he honest to god hadn’t commit. He wasn’t even sure which was louder, the sound of his old chucks beating against the pavement, or his pulse pounding in his ears, but neither, or a combination of the two were enough to drown out those damn sirens. But Levi continued running, not slowing down for anything, not to catch his breath or listen for just how close or far the pigs were from his location. It took everything in him to push forward despite not having a single clue of where he was going, or what area of the city he was headed towards, all the boy needed was to get as far away as quickly as he possibly could, then focus on finding a safe place to properly mull everything over.

There was no way he’d downed enough brews for his vision to be blurring, yet it was, and while fairly positive he hadn’t miscounted, he also wanted keep an open mind toward the option that, maybe he’d lost track somewhere along the line and passed out in a gutter while trying to get home. That he was just having a very, very vivid drunken dream based on some much calmer, but still similar version of the night he’d just experienced. One thing was for sure, he’d take a dirty puddle over the reality he was currently in. Just to be sure, Levi delivered a quick, harsh slap to the side of his face then stumbled as he recoiled from it, a small yelp leaving him as his flesh stung from the contact. It wasn’t a dream, and that disappointment honestly hurt more than the burning handprint on his cheek. His lungs were aching, and his hands felt dirty from holding someone else’s murder weapon. His entire being felt dirty, as he questioned himself over, and over, and over again as to why on earth he’d felt it was his moral duty to clean up someone else’s mess. He felt stupid, and naive as he thought back to how easily he’d taken the gun off that man, how he’d never once thought to himself how bad of an idea that was regardless of whether it’d been given to him by the actual murderer or not; his fingerprints would still have been on it. His fingerprints were on it. Levi could go on forever, blaming himself entirely for what he was now involved in, but the fact of the matter, and the all too horrifying reality that his tipsy mind had finally began accepting, was that he couldn’t run forever. Not only were his lungs and calves burning, the sirens were getting louder, which meant either they were getting closer, or the search had widened. He prayed for the latter and pushed on, needing just long enough to find somewhere to hide. Preferably before the news picked up the story, and his face became known city-wide, too. Which could have been avoided for at least a day or two had he not left his ID at the bar, another thing the brunet began cursing himself for.

A quick glimpse over his shoulder and the flash of red and blue hitting the buildings at the corner told Levi he needed to duck in somewhere quick, or they’d catch him in minutes. His prayers were unanswered, and they had gained enough that if he didn’t think quick, the marathon he’d just forced himself into would be entirely for nothing. An apartment building, that would work, but of course the front entrance would be locked - for the sake of keeping people like him out, he thought bitterly - and find another way in could potentially take more time than he had. So for the time being, he ran into the alley and crouched behind a dumpster, where he waited until he was sure the search had moved past that particular block, and tried to bring his breathing from it’s panicked wheezing, to a normal pattern of in through the nose, out through the mouth. Then, when the pants were accompanied by nothing other than small whines of protest from the back of his throat, Levi scrambled on top of the large metal bin, and reached desperately for the last rung of the fire escape ladder above his head. The sirens were likely to draw the attention of the neighbourhood’s inhabitants, and with no other way to get into the building he knew he’d have to keep moving if he couldn’t get himself up, and inside soon. A sweaty, unfamiliar dude walking around the area looking sketchy right after a bunch of cop cars passed through shouting over their coms asking about witnesses, he assumed, probably would make him a prime suspect. But finally, the tips of his fingers grasped it and he was able to pull it down, making it possible to climb up it; something he did both as hastily, and quietly as physically possible.

At the top Levi pulled himself onto the platform, not even pausing to breathe before starting up the stairs in search of anyone who was still awake, and while being as non-judgemental as possible in the situation, kept an eye out for someone who wasn’t likely to call the cops on him the second they saw him perched outside their window. Up and up he went, using just the tips of his toes as he sped up each level of the building’s fire escape, and slowing as he walked along the platforms, not wanting to miss a potentially helpful stranger simply because he was in too much of a rush to properly explore his options. But he was growing tired, and even more desperate as he began attempting to think up another plan, and failed. Finally, there seemed to be a window of promise - literally - and once he was just to the side of it, he began taking inventory. He couldn’t see anyone just yet, but the lights were on and the window was partially open, which was the best he’d managed to find thus far. So he waited, crouched low next to the sill with his eyes wide and locked on as much of the apartment as he could see from his spot; realizing both that there was a chance he could be waiting for hours, and that he was currently the epitome of creepy. Still without a plan B, however, Levi took it as a chance to once again attempt regulating his breathing, which was once again slowing to an exhausted pant when a blonde head came into view. Giddy with a chance at genuinely getting a moment to sit down, of course given that the stranger was willing to hear him out, he shuffled his bent up figure closer to the opening, then knocked on the wooden frame while leaning in as casually as he could possibly manage. “Hey there, if I could steal a second of your time…” he called in, hoping that a combination of the two would get the girl’s attention.

Leaning tiredly against the sill, the brunet brushed some damp hair from his forehead and huffed heavily, trying to sate the anxiety that was leading to a newfound shortness of breath he tried his very best to hide whilst continuing, “see I uh, jog, I like to jog when it’s dark, you know, a nice cool evening is always the way to go, and my roommate, he went out sometime after I left, and well, I left my keys at home… I don’t um,” he paused awkwardly, all the words coming out that bit too fast with insufficient pauses between them before finally, a second wind allowed him to tack on a quick, “like to jingle.” Accompanied by a purposely sheepish smile, Levi was hoping he could maintain his nerves and the desperation they caused, and pass them off as simply feeling silly for an honest mistake. Caused by a lapse in mutual understanding, rather than a set-up that lead to him becoming a wanted criminal. Not really sure how to invite himself in just long enough for things to settle, he pulled out his cellphone - the one thing he’d had on him when he left the bar - and waved it around in the blonde’s direction, “anyway, he’s gonna text me once he’s home so he can let me in, and I didn’t want to wake anyone up by buzzing, so I just need a place to wait.” Another pause, another small huff, and he was leaning into the window even farther, hoping his tone came across as that of a friendly neighbour stuck in a bind. “Do you mind if I come in?”

#it wasn't me.#thread.it wasn't me #thread one.it wasn't me

7 notes · View notes

rhinestonesonrhinos · 7 years

Link

Chapter 1 Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom:Voltron: Legendary Defender Relationship:Keith/Lance (Voltron)

Summary: Lance has been shipped off to live in Sweet Sunshine Skies Mobile Park with his Great Uncle Benny all summer long. Maybe he'll get a job. Maybe he'll go and wrestle some alligators in the Everglades. He just has to keep his nose clean until he leaves for college in August. But he can't seem to shake this Keith guy, so staying out of trouble might just be impossible.

Sitting in church on a hot, Floridian afternoon, Lance truly knew, for the first time, what it really meant to suffer. Uncle Benny had insisted that Lance wear slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie. It had been suspicious, since he himself was wearing khaki shorts and a t-shirt. Now, as he died from heatstroke while his uncle died of laughter in the seat next to him, he knew the real reason.

The old church was made of stone, like an oven. It had high ceilings and stained glass windows that let the morning sun in, but they did not open, like a greenhouse. The long wooden benches were uncomfortable and felt sharp, even through Lance’s thick, heavy, pants. The church itself was filled to the brim with people, packed so tightly into the pews you had to be careful not to elbow someone in the gut. There were even rows of folding chairs in the back, lined with people waving their prayer books back in forth frantically in a futile effort to create some sort of breeze. At least they could move their arms. Lance was afraid lifting his arms would just reveal his giant pit stains, probably making his uncle keel over.

If he could focus on the homily, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. But this priest was a worse than his five-year-old sister, Lisa, when she gave a speech. And she had once spoke on the merits of cherry otter pops over orange otter pops for an hour and a half. There really isn’t an hour and a half of new, creative things to say about any otter pop. If this guy gave one more sports metaphor, Lance was going to throw up. At least the sun was no longer directly hitting him in his eyes. According to the woman sleeping on his shoulder’s watch, the guy had been talking in circles for about 25 minutes.

Lance tried to look at the art around the church, but that was a mistake. While there were beautiful, ancient churches in the area dating back to when Spain was colonizing Florida, this certainly wasn’t one of them. The paintings weren’t that old, but they were already peeling, probably from the humid, swampy weather. From the looks of them, though, that was an improvement. They looked like they had been painted by a drunk raccoon. A drunk raccoon who also loved drawing things with eyes that were way too big. Lance couldn’t even look at the statues. It something about their expressions. They seemed to stare through him, as if they had seen some terrible horrors take place in that cathedral.

The most surprising thing about the whole church was that no one had fainted yet, given the clientele in the church. Lance was pretty sure the average age was about 75, if he was being conservative. Some of the oldest ones looked like they were about to blow away. Maybe that’s why the windows were shut. That’s who you get when your church is situated at the crossroads of four different mobile parks in the middle of Florida. To distract himself from the sweltering hear, Lance was playing a sort of game, trying to figure out who was from what park. That lady dyed her hair still, she must be from Springfield Park, those people are still relatively young and well-to-do. That man was in a wheelchair and had an air tank, he probably came from Rosehill, those people needed round the clock care. That guy was about his age-wait, a person his age?

It was surprising he hadn’t noticed him before, with his long, black hair. It really stood out among the short, snow white. He was wearing a black shirt, too. Probably to hide the sweat stains, which was smart. While Lance and his uncle were sitting more towards the center of the pit of heat death, the other teen was off towards the side, in one of the very first rows. He was sitting up very straight, and his eyes were glued forward on the priest. His head tilted slightly, following the priest as he walked around the altar. He seemed to be hanging on to every word, every simile, every literary device that came out of the priest. This guy must be a real bible thumper. It seemed as if he was here by himself.

But that didn’t seem to be the whole story. Every once in a while, the priest would glance over at the strange boy. Maybe they knew each other? It was weird. Father seemed nervous, pulling at his collar whenever they made eye contact and quickly looking away. Lance’s brain was working overtime now. What was it? From what he could see. The dark-haired boy was emotionless, a total poker face. Weirdly, even though the church was completely full, no one was seated next to him. He seemed to have an invisible barrier around him, repelling everyone, like a super power. Lance would like that super power right now, as the elderly woman on his shoulder drooled a little.

Finally, the priest wrapped up his sermon. As everyone stood up to continue the mass, Lance was jostled by the sudden movement and lost sight of the other boy. Lance forgot about him for a second, and payed attention to the a crisis next him instead. The little old lady seated next to him had woken up. She looked a little disoriented, but she stood up shakily. Lance reached for her small arm to steady her.

“Oh thank you, young man, “The wrinkled woman whispered to Lance. She was much shorter than Lance, so he had to lean down to hear her. “If you don’t mind me asking, where are we in the mass?” She had a mischievous look in her eye, as if this kind of thing happens often.

“We just entered the liturgy of the Eucharist.” Lance whispered back. The lady smiled and patted Lance’s hand, signaling that he could let go now, that she had waken enough to stand on her own tiny legs.

Lance went back to looking forward, but he glanced over at where the other teen was seated. He was no longer staring at the priest. Now, he was staring at Lance. His blank look was gone too, but the expression was hard to place. Was it joy? No, while he was smiling, but the teen had a sort of malice to his face. But it wasn’t anger.

The teen turned away with a little huff of laughter, back to the front of the church. He bit his lip to keep from cracking up. Lance felt blood rise into his cheeks, in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Did the guy think it was funny he had helped that old lady? Was he judging him? Lance stared hard at the ground as he felt his entire face go red. He felt like he was in a high school classroom. This guy was a real piece of work.

As church went on, Lance stewed. Who did this guy think he was? Coming here, making fun of Lance without even knowing him, without even talking to him? How dare he! Lance was awesome! He helps old ladies, like a knight in shining armor! He was going to get a piece of his mind once church was over. Donuts and coffee were about to get interesting.

As soon as the last note was sung, Lance was up, walking over to where that son-of-gun (no cursing in church!) had been seated. But by the time he got there, the guy was gone. Disappeared, without even a trace.

Lance looked around rapidly, crossing his arms and glaring hard. He cornered an innocent old guy. “Excuse me sir, did you see the person who was sitting here?” He said in the nicest voice he could muster, given his rapidly declining mood. It was pretty hard to not take his anger out on this bystander.

The man blinked, looking a little confused “I’m sorry, no. Did you know him?”

“Not in the slightest!” Lance said angrily. He stalked off, leaving the man even more perplexed than before.

Lance returned to his uncle. He was having a conversation with the lady Lance had helped from falling over during mass. Knowing Uncle Benny, he was probably flirting. “Lance!” Uncle Benny said, gesturing for him to come and join the conversation.” Where’d you run off to?”

With a little sigh, Lance decided to let his anger go. For now. “The bathroom,” He lied, not wanting to involve the entire church in his search for the world’s-most-punchable guy. He might be over-exaggerating, anyway. The heat was really getting to him. People always told him he wasn’t good at reading the mood.

Uncle Benny laughed loudly and gave Lance a hard slap on the back. “Small bladder, eh? You’re already fitting right in with this crowd. Ethel, I want you to take a look at this face.” He grabbed Lance by the face and pulled it closer to his own. “Can’t you see the family resemblance?” He gestured between their faces to emphasize their supposed similarities.

To be clear, Uncle Benny and Lance looked nothing alike. It was hard to tell, with them being only 50 years apart in age, but while Lance had a thin face with dark features, Benny’s face was short and flat, with a very broad nose. Lance was tall and on the skinny side, Uncle Benny was squat and wide. They were almost polar opposites in features. They did have very similar senses of humor. The two have pulled many a prank on each other.

Ethel smiled. “I thought you weren’t blood related, Benny?” She teased him.

Benny smiled back at Ethel. “My good looks defy the laws of science. Children who meet me when they’re babies instinctively try to grow up to look like me.” He let go of Lance’s face, shoving it away slightly. “Ethel here was just telling me about her grandson! It turns out, he owns an ice cream stand in the area. He’s just a few years older than you by the way, very impressive. He told her that he was looking for employees.”

“Really? That’s cool.” Lance said, trying to keep his excitement down. He had been in Florida for 3 days, and already he was so bored he almost ran away to the Everglades, hoping to be eaten by gators. A job would be a win-win situation. Make money for college next year, and a reason to not poke his eyeballs out with kabob skewers!

“Yes! My grandson, Hunk.” Ethel started explaining. “He’s just opened up, and needs more hands, business is so great. I can put in a word for you, Lance. Kind young men like you are in short supply!”

Lance could pick up that tiny lady and spin her around. He really could, she was so small. ”That would be great Mrs.- “

“Oh, just call me Ethel!” She interrupted, waving her hand. “How about we go get some donuts before all the good ones are gone, yes?”

Lance sat with his Uncle and all his breakfast buddies in the church’s rec room, eating a maple cream stick and sipping on a paper cup of orange juice, feeling victorious. As people conversed around him, Lance existed in his own little bubble of happiness. See what being a good Samaritan gets you? A friggin (still in a church) job! At least, a good chance at a job. Shows what that other guy… that other guy…

Pop! There went the bubble.

Lance chugged the rest of his orange juice and sat down his cup. “Uncle Benny, there was a young guy sitting towards the front during mass. Long dark hair, dressed in all black, looks like a real big jerk. Do you know who that was?”

The whole table seemed to get a little quieter. Uncle Benny looked around nervously. He cleared his throat before answering. “That was Keith Kogane. I’d stay away from him. The wrong crowd to get involved in.”

Well that wasn’t mysterious at all. Lance pushed his uncle further. “Why?” He said slowly.

Uncle Benny looked side to side before answering in a hushed tone. “Alright, you didn’t hear it from me, but rumor has it is that he sells drugs, mostly weed, to people around here. People don’t know if he lives around here or what, but I have seen him leave some parties in the mobile park where I know some things were not quite on the up and up. No one can prove anything though, because they also say he’s somehow knows the chief of police, and keeps it on the downlow.”

Well that was unexpected. Both the fact that old people smoke weed and party, and that that guy was a drug dealer. “Why was he in church? That seems like a weird place to troll for customers.”

One of Benny’s friends jumped in, unable to control the urge to gossip. “Father Jeremy’s probably late on a payment. Priest’s make next to nothing, and that guy is the biggest pothead I know!” Everyone laughed at that. Except Lance, who was having his entire image of the Catholic church rocked to its very foundations.

Benny took a sip of his coffee as the chuckles around the table died down. “Look Lance, I know Florida seems like a perfect sunshiny, place from the outside, but it’s just like anywhere else in the end. There are good people, like Ethel, who give you jobs. And bad people, like Keith, who give you weed. Just keep your nose clean this summer, work at the ice cream stand, and you’ll probably never see Keith again. We should get going. You smell like a sweatshop.”

Little did Lance knew, Uncle Benny was totally, unequivocally, wrong. Except for the Ethel part. She bakes cookies for her grandchildren. And the smelling part. Lance did smell quite awful.

#klance #klance fanfic #klance fanfiction #klance fluff #keith x lance #lance x keith #keith #lance #fanfiction #voltron fanfic #voltron: legendary defender #voltron fanfiction #ao3 #voltron #humor #romance #my story

3 notes · View notes

sapphicsnowdrop · 7 years

Text

StormPilot: Writing on the Hand

Soulmate AU: You write/draw on yourself and it appears on your soulmate’s body.

Setting: Modern AU

(I figured I’d give fanfiction a try, although I’m not too good at summaries)

Summary: Finn’s working at First Order on a normal day, but things take a turn for the better when a man is brought in for trying to steal back airplane blueprints.

Clean uniform, feed Bee, and, what did that say?

He squinted, trying to make out the blue ink on his left hand.

Remind Leia? I think so.

He shook his head in amusement. His soulmate was always scrawling reminders on his hands, he must be super forgetful or something.

With a smile, he picked up a pen of his own, a silver gel pen to see it on his skin. After a quick glance around, he rolled up his sleeve and began the petals of a flower. Drawing on himself wasn’t a thing he normally did, maybe once or twice a day; the ink’s kind of hard to get off. But, his soulmate deserves a nice drawing, so why not?

“Storm!” He jumped, pen scraping across his wrist. “Finn Storm! Why aren’t you working?” Like a guilty child, he shoved his hand under his leg, feeling the gel pen dig into his thigh.

“S-sorry, I was just–” He fumbled around his words, avoiding eye contact with his supervisor. The blonde woman glared down at him, and Finn thought for a terrible second that she had seen him drawing the flower.

“No excuses, back to work!” She barked, glaring down at him. He nodded quickly, dropped the pen, and scooted back up to his computer. After a couple seconds and a haughty huff, she stalked away, heels clicking on the laboratory floor.

He let out a breath of relief, shoulders sagging a bit. If she had caught him writing on his hand, he might have been fired.

Soulmates were a tricky thing here, they didn’t want their workers to find their soulmates and leave their job for say, a family, or a move.

Working for the First Order was quite difficult, but it was a job. They paid a livable wage, and provided work that wasn’t just clacking away at a computer. Well, what Finn did anyway. Most of the time he was lugging around the parts for the aircraft, but today was examining the heat and air systems for errors. Which was exactly as boring as it sounded.

Finn had finished about half an hour ago, but he had to stay at work until five. He glanced over at the clock, eyes rolling up into his head when he saw the time. Three oh five. Fantastic.

I suppose I could go help in maintenance. They always can use extra hands there.

***

“Hey Finn!” Came the cheerful voice of Finn’s best friend, Rey, from the living room of their shared apartment. Finn shot her a tired smile before flopping down on the couch in exhaustion. Maintenance had definitely needed the extra hands, so much that they kept him an extra hour. She chuckled softly, shifting her position towards him.

“Did they at least pay you for the overtime?” She inquired around a mouthful of pepperoni pizza, and Finn shook his head. Rey leaned over and gently smacked his shoulder.

“What?” He turned his head to face her, she in the cushy armchair to his right. She raised her eyebrows.

“You seriously need to quit your job.” She lectured, gesticulating with her piece of pizza. “They’re working you to the point of exhaustion, and not even compensating you for it!” Finn sighed, smushing his face into the couch.

“Where else would I work?” He asked, words muffled by the cushion, and Rey rolled her eyes.

“I can’t hear you if you’re talking to the couch instead of me.” She deadpanned, and Finn groaned before pulling himself up into a sitting position.

“Where else would I work?” He repeated. “And I can’t quit, I’m under a ten year contract with them, and it’s only been five.” Rey placed her pizza back on her plate, then tapped her chin in thought.

“Then… get fired!” She suggested, eyes lighting up. Finn sent her a look, and she shrugged.

“You can come work with me at Alliance! They’re similar enough companies.” She nudged him with a stockinged foot, and Finn sighed. It would be nice to work with his best friend, and there’s been several good things said about how they treat their employees.

“How would I even get fired?” He asked, running a hand over his face. Rey grinned at him, leaning forward.

“You could wreck one of their airplanes… ‘by accident’.” She stage-whispered, and Finn couldn’t help but laugh at her facial expression. She pouted, slouching back into her chair.

“I’m not good at coming up with plans,” She laughed. “That’s usually your job.” Finn shook his head.

It would be a huge change, and maybe involve the law? I don’t know.

“I’ll figure something out…after you give me some of that pizza.” Rey clutched her plate to her chest, as if he’d try and take some of hers.

“You can get your own, there’s one and a half boxes in the kitchen.” She swung her head in the direction of the breakfast bar, and Finn heaved himself off the couch with the motivation of food.

He can hear the smile in Rey’s voice with her next statement. “There’re also several attractive guys working in the aviation department.” Finn pinked, but let out a laugh.

“I thought you were asexual.”

“I’m asexual, not blind!”

Finn rolled his eyes, grabbing some cheese pizza and shutting the box.

“What’s that on your hand?” Rey asked, Finn plopping back down with half a pizza on his plate. Confused, he looked down, seeing the barely started rose on the underside of his wrist.

“My soulmate scribbled some stuff down earlier,” Finn explained, flipping his hand back over to look at the barely-visible blue scrawls. “I figured I’d draw them something in return.”

Rey grinned, discarding her emptied plate and resting her head on her knee. “That’s cute.” Finn snorted, bringing the pizza to his mouth.

“Yeah, whatever.”

As soon as Finn could hear Rey’s snores from the other side of the wall, he took out the silver gel pen again. He knew that Rey certainly wouldn’t say anything about it, she’d encourage it, but after working for First Order, Finn was rather hesitant to draw in front of other people.

The first lines had faded a bit throughout the day, so he went back over those before starting on the inner petals. It took a while, about fifteen minutes, but the rose was gorgeous, shaded, and about the size of a half dollar. Just the right size to be hidden by his shirt sleeve.

***

“You stole our blueprints! How did you get in here?”

“You stole our plans from Mrs. Organa! How dare you?”

Well that’s not something you hear everyday.

Finn halted in the middle of the hallway, engine parts in his arms. As soon as he finished this task, he could leave, so he could wait and see what the commotion was about. There were footsteps coming toward him, quickly, so he moved to the side in anticipation of his supervisor.

Sure enough, there she was, with security, pulling a man along by his shoulders. He was swearing and kicking, and Finn felt his mouth twitch up at the corners. His supervisor breezed past him, stopping a few doors down. The man stopped kicking momentarily, most likely tired, and made eye contact with Finn. The man sent a lopsided smirk in his direction, and Finn clutched the pistons closer to his chest, a strange feeling spreading there.

The security guard said something in low tones to the woman, and she gritted her teeth in fury before slamming a code into the door keypad.

The door swished open, and she pointed inside. “Put him here. I’ll have Mr. Ren come in and talk with him.” The guards nodded, dragging the no-longer-struggling man into the room. It shut quickly, and the woman pinched the bridge of her nose.

I’d better leave before she sees me–

Finn turned, ready to leave the scene. “Mr. Storm, what are you doing back here, might I ask?” The woman’s voice is tight, high, and very angry. Finn felt his stomach drop, and he turned slowly.

“I–I was just going to the trash compactor to get rid of these parts.” He mumbled, face going slightly red. The woman looked long and hard at him, examining his face for any trace of a lie.

“Get back to work!” She gritted out, and he nodded quickly, feet carrying him as fast as they could down the hall to the compactor.

Pistons disposed of, Finn readied himself to go back to his desk. He didn’t want to go back the way he came, but that was the only way out.

I hope she’s gone now… I certainly don’t want to run into Mr. Ren.

Finn moved carefully down the hall, and halted when he heard voices. Feeling slightly ridiculous, he put his back to the wall and peeked his head around the corner.

“How did he get in here?” A tall, dark haired man demanded of the security guards. “I thought we had the best security in the city!” The security guard gulped in fear, and Finn felt a pang of pity for them.

“S-sorry, sir, we–” The dark-haired man made a dismissive gesture with his hand, and the guard sealed their mouth shut.

“I don’t care for your blubbering. Just make sure he doesn’t get those plans back to the Alliance.”

The Alliance!

Finn leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

I guess rescuing him would be a surefire way to get fired. Maybe he could put in a good word for me?

Finn shook his head.

This idea has got to be the stupidest I’ve ever come up with.

Jeez, why are the security uniforms so tight?

Finn tugged at the lapels of the ‘borrowed’ jacket, feeling slightly ridiculous for the second time that day. He made his ways through the halls, nodding slightly at people who passed him. Nobody seemed to think he was out of place, so he felt a little more secure in his idea.

He reached the back hallways, suddenly feeling extremely nervous.

Can I really do this?

He took a deep breath, setting his features.

It’s the right thing to do, I guess.

“Hey guys,” He grinned as the two guards turned to him. “I’m here to take over.” The two exchanged confused glances, and Finn swallowed quickly before continuing.

“It’s your break time, Mr. Ren sent me to take over,” He explained. “He told me that only one guard was needed because he’d already talked to the spy.”

“Are you sure?” The guard who Mr. Ren had talked to before sounded dubious.

Finn shrugged. “I mean, if you want to go against Mr. Ren’s wishes–”

“No, no it’s fine, we’ll go.” The other guard cut him off, sending a pointed glance to his partner. They shrug, and move past Finn to head to the break room.

Well, that went better than expected.

Finn wasted no time rushing up to the door, tugging on the handle in the hopes it was left unlocked. It wasn’t, but there was a sensor for a card. He patted down his pockets, searching for a key card. There was one in his breast pocket, and he waved it in front of the sensor until it went green with a ‘ping’.

The Alliance man was pacing on the far side of the room; it didn’t seem like he heard the door open.

“I, um, hello?” That sounded stupid even to Finn, but it got the man’s attention. He rushed at Finn, tackling him to the ground and pinning his wrists. Finn let out an oof of air in confusion, not sure what to do. The man’s face was pissed, and extremely close to Finn’s. Finn felt a blush creeping up the back of his neck, too stunned to say anything for a moment.

“Dude!” Finn blurted, “I’m here to help you!” The man raised an eyebrow, keeping a tight grip on his hands. Finn rolled his eyes.

“Let me up, or you won’t leave before Mr. Ren gets back.” Finn hissed, trying to get free.

“How can I trust you?” The man asked, sitting up slightly.

Good point, strange Alliance man.

“I’m a good person, it’s the right thing to do!”

You getting out also gets me fired.

The man seems more satisfied with that defense, releasing Finn’s wrists and letting him up.

“You helping me out has something in it for you, right?” The man smirked, amused, and Finn shrugged.

“Let’s just say I need a way out.” Finn supplied, and nodded toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

Finn peeked out into the hallway, searching for guards. It’s empty, thank goodness, and he tugged the man out, making sure to be gentle.

“I’m sorry about your arm,” Finn apologized quietly, pulling him along the hallway. “It just needs to look like I’m escorting you somewhere.” The man laughed.

“You have got to be the nicest First Order employee I’ve met.” He grinned, shifting his shoulders. They reached the atrium of the building, and Finn glanced around quickly before turning to the man.

“We have to get to my car in the low parking lot, but we have to go through the set of doors over there–” He pointed to the front set. “–and they’ve probably already noticed we’re gone. So we have to be quick.”

“Attention, First Order employees–”

“We have to go, NOW.” Finn walks as quickly as he can towards the doors, the man matching pace quite easily.

“–If you see any security guard off their post, notify Mr. Ren immediately.”

They’re running now, the guise of security and prisoner gone.

“Storm, Finn Storm!” His supervisor has found them, and Finn doesn’t look back, reaching the doors and blowing through them. No one is stopping them, Finn’s guess is that only his supervisor and Mr. Ren knew about the Alliance man.

“My car’s over here, come on!” Finn motioned to the man, sprinting across the lot, heart beating out of his chest.

Finn fumbled with his keys in the car, glancing up to see several security guards and his supervisor marching in their direction.

This has got to be the most exciting thing I’ve done–ever.

The engine sputtered to life, and Finn stomped on the gas, tire marks streaking the tarmac. His supervisor was screaming as they passed her, and Finn rolled the window down to hear her.

“You’re fired, Storm–” She screeched, and Finn laughed. She screams something else after that, but they’re too far away to hear. The man let out a breath, and slouched in his seat.

“Thanks, man,” He said, glancing over at Finn. “I owe you.” Finn grinned, merging into traffic.

“Just put in a good word for me at Alliance and we’ll call it even.” The man laughed, running a hand through his hair.

“So that’s why you helped me.” He joked, and Finn shook his head in amusement. They stopped at a red light, and Finn caught sight of his right wrist. The man had accidentally smudged the rose he spent so much time on, and Finn sighed. He hoped his soulmate didn’t mind.

“The name’s Poe,” The man declared, holding out a hand. “Poe Dameron.” Keeping his left hand on the wheel, Finn reached out and shook with his right. Poe’s hand was warm, and he had a firm grip. Must be popular with the Alliance members. Poe’s hand froze suddenly, not letting go even when the light turned green.

“Did–did you draw that?” He asked quietly, and Finn’s eyebrows drew together.

“Did I draw what?” Finn flipped on his turn signal, pulling into the parking lot of his apartment. Poe was quiet still, and Finn sighed. Before turning to look at him, Finn maneuvered into his parking spot and switched off the car.

Poe twisted Finn’s wrist so the drawing faced up. “The rose. You drew that?” Feeling slightly defensive, Finn tugged his hand back.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” He retorted, and Poe shook his head. Finn blinked in confusion, wrist still close to his chest. Was it his imagination, or was Poe’s face turning pink?

Poe shoved his shirtsleeve upwards, and extended his hand. In the exact same spot where Finn had drawn the rose on his own hand, there was a smudged image on Poe’s.

“So… we’re…” Finn trailed off, catching sight of faint blue writing on the back of Poe’s left hand.

“Soulmates, yeah.” Poe finished, smiling. Finn had definitely not imagined the blush on Poe’s face, and Finn mirrored Poe’s smile. “I never thought I’d find my soulmate in First Order.” Poe laughed, tucking his hair back.

“Me neither.” Finn agreed, then realized his mistake. “I mean, in Alliance. I’m in First Order–I mean I was. Um..” His phone rang then, saving him from his blubbering. Rey, why is she calling him?

“Uh, hi, Rey.” He coughed, feeling slightly awkward still.

“I can see you from our apartment, why are you just sitting there? Are you–wait a second, who’s in the car with you?” Finn ran a hand over his face, trying to hide his embarrassment. Poe snorted, shaking his head.

“I, um, I just–”

“Dude, is that Poe Dameron?” Rey yelped into the phone, and Finn yanked it away from his ear. Poe smirked, he must have heard.

“Um, yes–”

“Can you put him on?”

Finn blinked in confusion, then held the phone out to Poe. Poe took it, turning down the volume slightly.

“Hey, Rey, what’s up?”

Hold up, they know each other?

“Yeah, I know, right?” Poe laughed, and Finn fidgeted in his seat.

“You do?” Poe listened for a bit, then nodded. “Yeah, sure I can. Would he be cool with it?” Rey’s tone turned sarcastic, and Poe rolled his eyes. “I thought I should ask first. You know, being polite?” Finn grinned, and Poe glanced over at him.

“Yeah, okay, we’ll be right up.” He hangs up then, holding the phone back out to Finn. Finn raised his eyebrows in question.

“What was she talking about?” Finn asked, pulling his keys out of the ignition, something he should have done when he first turned the car off.

Poe shrugged, amusement on written all across his face. “Rey invited me up to eat some leftover pizza. She figured she could get to know her work partner better and her best friend’s soulmate.” With that, he exited the car, Finn too stunned to move.

Small world, huh? Work partners.

Finn shook his head. With a sigh, he exited the car, ready to learn more about soulmate and (hopefully) future colleague.

#finnpoe #stormpilot #finn #poe dameron #fn-2187 #tfa #the force awakens #alternate universe #my writing #lettersmarchacrosspages

27 notes · View notes