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sunflowerspectre · 3 years

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Strange Magic | Ballroom Blitz

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Title: Ballroom Blitz Summary: As a newfound couple, Marianne and Bog work on grasping their new normal while trying to merge both of their kingdoms and cultures. Seeing as both sides have a ball quickly approaching, they see it as a great chance to be able to teach the other about their cultures. Rating: T for mentions of drinking (and Griselda) Tags: fluff, ballroom dancing, cultural differences, minor politics, minor mentions of discrimination

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Ballroom Blitz

“Is all of this really necessary?”

Marianne looks over at Bog as he stands in an uncomfortable stance, looking himself over with bristling wings. She has to admit, it does not suit him (some part of her whispers how fairy clothes never will and she needs to stop expecting them to; that it is okay that it does not). She does not need to worry about fitting in anymore, she thought that she already accepted that.

Bog is not Roland, she reminds herself. He will not give her grief if she wears something out of season or if his outfit is not up to par and ‘perfect.’ Bog cherishes individuality, he does not squander it. Which is why, even if he will not outright admit it, he hates trying on these ridiculous clothes. But he will, at least, try .

Bog glances at her from the corner of his eyes as she takes off the vest given to him, fluttering around the room in disarray as if any of the other vests already tossed around will be any better. He can see the worry and frustration in her brow. He will try anything and everything for her.

“Calm down, tough girl,” Bog tries to ease the tension.

“I can’t calm down.” Marianne admits, “I just want this to go well.”

Marianne plops down on the flowery bed with a tired, frustrated groan, her wings spreading out behind her. While her father was not thrilled about the idea of Bog being in the castle, nevertheless actually being inside of her room, he can not exactly keep the other King out; his daughter, after all, is an adult. However, she knows that Bog’s visit is kept on a need-to-know basis, as is all of his visits.

Which is exactly why this ball is so important. She is not ashamed to be with Bog, but she is ashamed that everyone is trying to get her to keep it a secret, like it’s a scandal. She is tired of people, especially her father, telling her what is and is not acceptable for her; the latter, she hears much more than the former. She can decide that for herself; and she has decided. She wants Bog and she wants everyone else to realize just how wrong they are about him.

“Do you know how much easier it will be if this goes well,” Marianne ventures carefully, her voice soft. Bog flitters above her, hand outreached to hold hers, his wings clicking to create an insect-like noise that she relishes in; something about it brings comfort to the silence that has befallen them. The spikes of his armor and skin would destroy the delicate bed (a mistake they will not be repeating since it was so hard to explain in order to get it replaced).

Marianne takes the outstretched hand, a soft smile on her face as she notices the nervousness in his expression. She continues softly, a soft blush brushing her cheeks. Her stomach flutters and she loves that he can get this reaction out of her just from being around her, that he brings this side out of her. She thought that after Roland, the butterflies that had once fluttered in her chest were dead, but Bog - he had brought them back to life without even trying.

“I just want everyone to see you the way I do.”

His forehead pressed against hers as their eyes close; he relishes in how warm her skin feels against his forehead. She can feel the comforting coolness of armor, pleated skin. His face is always the safest place for her to touch; the twigs are not as sharp, there’s less barbs for her skin to catch on.

“I know how everyone else sees me.”

Venom seeps into his voice, if a bit unintentionally, but Marianne can hear the hurt underlying in it. “And it’s - sweet - that you are trying, but I do not really think -”

The longer he talks, the more she wants to just scream how this is exactly why she wants everyone else to see him the way she does. Why she wants those stupid fairies to realize that Bog King is not as scary as they all make him out to be - well he can be, but that is far from the only thing that he is.

Marianne places a long finger to his lips, a soft smile on her face. He takes the hint and closes his mouth, stopping himself to let her speak.

“I’m tired of the court talking about you the way that they do.” Marianne softly admits.

She never elaborates on just what they say, but Bog imagines that it’s nothing he has not heard before. Her voice turns more bitter, almost venomous and frustrated.

“I’m tired of Dad acting like there are better suitors out there. I don’t just want everyone to see as equals, you deserve it. You deserve for them to see you as the Bog King. The king I know you are.”

She flushes when she realizes just how gushy she sounds. She never meant to go on a tangent, but when she starts, it is hard for her to get herself to stop talking. All of the things that she has been pent up come flowing out like a busted dam.

Bog sighs softly, his expression softening as he flutters down to her. The sharp edges of his armor and skin cut at the delicate flower petal, but he knows this is going to be much longer conversation than he imagined. He appreciates her enthusiasm, but he gave up on that dream before she even thought of it. He knows that the divide between their kingdoms is large; while it is making its progress, there are still many hurdles for them to fly over. Every step forward feels like it is followed by two steps back.

“They’ll never see me as equals to fairies, tough girl.” Bog speaks up; his expression more somber, solemn as if he already accepted his fate. As if he knew that he would never be enough for her.

Marianne, however, just grins viciously, her teeth gleaming like the devil he knows that she can be. Each time, that grin always reminds him exactly what he loves most about her - her strength, her rebellious side, her sense of justice, her wickedness. Her refusal to abide by their rules of her and to stand by her choices - even when that choice is him.

“I guess we’ll just have to give them no choice.”

_________________________________________________

Fairy balls used to not be the dread of her existence. Marianne remembers a time when she used to look forward to it. She used to love to dress up and to dance, even if her voice carried a bit louder than quiet conversation would allow or she missed a few steps during the dance or she stepped on someone’s foot. The more she looks back on it, the more she realizes that she never quite fit in during the balls even if she did at one point enjoy it.

So if she never fit in anyway, what was the point of trying to fit in now? She may as well do what she wants, have fun, and most importantly, get her dance with Bog. Her original plan was to talk to them, get them to agree to not only Bog attending, but to have her dance with him as well. But she is a princess. Soon to be queen and she will dance with whomever she wants.

If the elders refuse to see him as her equal, at the very least this (very public) dance will help her subjects see him as such. It’s admittedly a bit backhanded. But she knows that someone such as Bog dancing with their crown princess will make their courtship hard to ignore. Harder to try to talk her out of. Harder to slip under the rug or excuse. The more public and more aggressive she is about the fact that Bog is her partner, the less of a choice they have about ignoring him.

They can not outright deny him entry if he has an invitation, she reminded herself; the courts may not like it, especially her father, but they are all too proud to deny their manners as a host. Otherwise, she imagines Sunny would have been kicked out long ago despite Dawn constantly vouching for him.

“Should we be worried about how long they’re taking,” Sunny speaks up, anxiously, from beside her; unlike most of them, Dawn did not have to choose his outfit with the elf already being one of the most fashionable among them. She almost thinks it is a shame that Dawn has not seen him yet.

Marianne glances toward him, but otherwise appears not nearly as concerned. She continues to absently sip at the grape-based wine served, almost lazily, with the peace of mind that if she spilled any than at the very least, it would not show up on the dress. While not caring much about what the others think of her outfit - considering that she has already gotten more than a few stink eyes - she is looking forward to showing herself off to Bog. Dawn had worked hard on this particular dress, with Marianne’s own input, for weeks in preparation for this. The dark purple silk was carefully dyed with wine, intricately sewn in with matching petals. She felt the color was a good way to assert herself as royalty and, admittedly, it is also just her new favorite color. The overall plan is that the neighboring political figures will not make any mistake on who the crown princess is, which will make her dance with Bog an even bigger event.

But now that the ball is in full swing, an appearance from either Dawn or Bog would make them fashionably late; something that is usually more her style than her sister’s. As crown princess, she actually took her duties in getting the ball ready more seriously, which made her almost dangerously early. Her father was thrilled that she was showing more of an interest and she did not want to ruin his good mood by telling him she was only making sure of things this time around since Bog would be joining them.

“Dawn always takes longer to get ready for these things,” Marianne reminds him, “And with a new person to dress up….”

She trails off with a bit of a shrug. It is nice for her sister (her loyal, always by her side sister) to offer to take over Bog’s clothes for the ball; Dawn all but gave her no choice when she found out. While she imagines that Bog is not having the best time, she can not help but be curious as to what Dawn put him in. Out of the two of them, her sister has always had the best taste in fashion and understood the dynamics of being a seamstress must better than herself.

Not too much later after her words, Princess Dawn’s appearance is announced by one of the guards. Considering this is one of the larger balls the kingdom throws, a majority being fairies and political figures from neighboring fairy kingdoms, their father had insisted on the more traditional approach of having each guest carefully announced. Not the worst idea until someone - or two someone - are late.

Considering that there are most everyone is there, and whomever is not by now is considered by most to not be coming, Dawn’s announcement draws a bit of attention. Most of the fairies of their own kingdom pay her no mind, used to at least one princess being late, while their other guests at the very least, turn their head to glance her way. Most just continue their slow dances and hushed whispers - whispers that, with her late attendance, seem to get a smidge louder than normal among their visitors.

To their father’s credit, he does try to greet her, but Dawn wastes no time in going in for Sunny, grabbing his wrist, then dragging him out to the dance floor. Dawn barely even greets her own sister, a smile stretched out on her face wildly, and Marianne just returns the smile as she sips at the glass. She can see her father’s disappointment from here as some of the dancers glance at Dawn and Sunny with uncertainty.

But if the attendees thought Dawn was scandalous, Marianne can not help but grin wickedly when she thinks about the stir her and Bog will cause. She knows she will get an earful later, but she also knows that a statement like this can not be dismissed.

When the guard announces Bog’s arrival, instead of the hushed whispers growing, all sound seems to stop. While the musicians eyed each other uneasily, their music coming to an abrupt stop as an uncertainty washes over them all, the sound of Marianne’s shoes against the solid floor are the only thing echoing across the ballroom.

Marianne grins viciously, her eyes lighting up as Bog enters the party. Her sister did a dastardly good job. Forgoing too much that would cover his armor and rip due to his thorns, Bog instead wears a deep purple toga, made of a thicker fabric with layers. The fabric wraps from just beside his neck across to his hip, giving him the illusion of being covered for the sake of the event, but is open enough to reveal the intricacies of his armor and give him room for his large shoulder plates. It does not go unnoticed by Marianne that they, likely intentionally if she knows her sister, match.

“Care for a dance, Bog King,” Marianne bows deeply, one foot behind the other while her hand stretches out to him in an offering. She winks at him as she meets his gaze, relishing in the way it almost makes him flustered.

Bog matches her grin, shamelessly looking her over as he appreciates her choice of dress. The silky fabric is as dangerously scandalous as he is.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

They walk to the middle of the dance room, many of the guests parting to give them plenty of space, their heads are held high as Marianne evens her breathing. She does not even bother to glance at her father, instead only giving a small wave to Dawn as her younger sister openly encourages her.

A small nod to the musicians is enough for them to start up the music again. It takes a moment for the music to build, with Bog and Marianne taking that time in getting in the proper position. They stand facing each other, one hand behind their back, the other outstretched to barely touch their palms together.

As the music begins to pick up, Bog brings her closer just as they practiced before they start to go into a full swing. With each flare of music, Marianne moves - a kick of her feet, a twirl. All while maintaining her hold on Bog’s arm.

The longer they dance, the more she realizes that - for the most part - everyone has parted away from the middle floor to leave them both the space that they need. Either they realized just how dangerous her kicks are or they do not want to get close to the Goblin King. Like a weight lifted, she realizes she does not care.

All that she can focus on, as the background blurs around them through spins, turns and careful steps, is the fact that Bog is not missing a beat. They move together like one through a series of classic, yet dramatic, dances. The music echoes in her chest as it pounds in her ear, she counts each beat as thinks about where she has to step next.

“Purple suits you,” Marianne comments softly when Bog brings her in close. Her hand moves from position to scrape her nail along the underside of his armor at his neck. He almost growls, but instead grins deviously.

“Your hand is not in the right place, princess.”

Marianne does not move her hand. She just grins, her hand briefly going to his face.

“I beg to differ, Bog King.”

She is lightly pushed away as they part, her going into a twirl before coming back into his arms. As their dance closes, Bog makes a point to dip her a bit deeper than customary with his face too close to hers to be mistaken for casual. His hand is tight at her waist, with no sign of letting go. As much as she tries to hide it, with them so close, he gets a good glimpse at the flush dusting her cheeks.

“You’re a pretty good dancer,” Marianne compliments as they part, Bog maintaining his hand on her waist.

Marianne does not miss the way that the others return to the dance floor as her and Bog leave it. Granted, some go back to the wine bar as soon as her sister stumbles her way to the floor with Sunny back in tow. But at the very least, she knows that their message got across - especially as she looks at her father, who looks two glasses away from passing out. Despite knowing that, and knowing the lecture she has in her future, she can not help but feel elated at just how much fun it was. Her heart racing, cheeks flushed, she hopes that the ball in the dark forest - an event only a few nights away from this one - will be just as fun.

Bog draws her in close, his teeth bared in a predatory dangerous smile.

“You did pretty well yourself, tough girl. Now, it’s my turn.”

__________________________________________________

Marianne is a little more worried over Griselda being in charge of her dress, however at Bog’s reassurances, she takes a deep breath and lets go of the reins. After all, who would know what is more appropriate for a goblin ball more than the previous queen? If she can put her trust and faith into Dawn, she can do the same for Griselda, especially after all that his mother has done for them (if in a bit embarrassing manner).

But, almost embarrassingly so, Marianne is left in the dark as to what to expect for the ball in the Dark Forest.

Her father tried to instill fear and caution in her over attending an event by herself, at night, in the Dark Forest, surrounded by goblins. Dawn tried to imagine something hauntingly beautiful, and made a few passing comments about Griselda enlisting her help with the dress to make sure it balanced goblin fashion and fairy well; though she complained more often than thought that she is unable to attend as the goblin ball, as she would be too busy attending the elves’ own soiree with Sunny.

Bog, however, would just give her teasing comments here and there about preparing herself to see just how different a real party is compared to the one that the fairies had. While that idea is exciting - thrilling - she is a bit nervous. Especially since she knows that, just like the one in the Fairy Kingdom, this event would also have other representatives from different sections of the Dark Forest and who knew what else. She knew that she could protect herself and that Bog would stand up for her presence there, but she still remembers just how scary it was when she first accidentally stepped into the Dark Forest and feels that same fear bubbling under her skin at the idea of being introduced to so many unknowns. She is sure that Bog felt the same anxiety, however, about attending the fairy ball.

And she also has to remind herself that this is what she wants. She wants to be kept on her toes. She wants the challenge. She wants to learn more about Bog and his world, just as he did the same for her. More importantly, this is exactly what she always dreamed of (with a few minor things changed here and there such as actually dating the Bog King).

Griselda helps put the finishing touches up on the dress. With Dawn gone to the elven ball, Griselda puts her all into making sure each detail is perfect a mere hour away from the event. The previous queen is already dressed - with jewelry adorning her horns, but lacking shoes - and Marianne can not help but wonder if she should expect the other goblins to be dressed in something similar - and if going without shoes is the norm.

“You look - beautiful,” Griselda gushes, brushing a tear away from her eye with her pinky claw, “Boggy is just going to love you - well, he already loves you dear, you know that, but when he sees you in this dress - I better be getting grandchildren out of this.”

Marianne flushes deeply, eyes darting around as she can only laugh a bit nervously at the sentiment, especially knowing that Griselda says it so sincerely. Griselda immediately, lightly, scolds her for fidgeting as she finishes sewing up one last spot to make it the perfect fit. Marianne catches glimpses of herself in the mirror - and more she looks at it, the more she falls in love with what Griselda and her sister have created.

“-Is it normal not to wear shoes,” Marianne asks, hesitantly as she eyes Griselda’s toes balancing her as she stands up on them to reach a specific spot. Marianne glances down to her own feet, wiggling her toes, unsure about how she feels about the possibility of dancing barefoot and the more fairy part of her is a little worried about just how dirty her feet would get. She also already knows how Bog’s thorns feel when they prick her finger, she can’t imagine what would happen if he stepped on her toes while barefoot.

“Goblins do not need shoes, honey,” Griselda explains gently, “Our skin is tough and we’re made for running through stones and bark and twigs, not soft dirt and flowers.”

She gently pinches at Marianne’s skin as if to emphasize her point, “But do not worry about it dearie, I made a pair of shoes - with your sister’s input mind you - that will work perfect for tonight.”

_____________________________________________

“Is she here yet,” Thang attempts to whisper, his voice harshly cutting out.

“No.” Stuff rolls her eyes, crossing her arms, “If Queen Marianne was here, we’d see her.”

“ Oh.”

Bog sighs deeply, trying to fight the incoming migraine as the two smaller goblins debate about whether or not Marianne is at the ball yet. He leans on his staff, tapping his foot impatiently as he debates about searching the castle himself for his mother and Marianne. He hopes, at the very least, his mother did not put something ridiculous on Marianne; she would look beautiful no matter what she wore, but his mother’s atrocious ideas of fashion are (at times) a bit much to swallow, especially at formal events. But even he is starting to get impatient over his mother taking too long.

He notices his mother arriving first; it is hard to not notice her. Unlike the fairy ball, with formalities and announcements, Griselda comes in loudly and proudly - immediately calling out to the old politicians that she recognizes, waving to them enthusiastically. Bog sighs at the way some of the others street clear of her as she plows her way through the dancing crowd just to say hi to any given person.

But then he turns to see Marianne. Gorgeous, stunning, beautiful Marianne. Looking as if she belongs to be there as any of them do. The black dress she wears has thin, translucent sleeves that wrap around her arms, connected to the dark collar at her neck, her dark purple wings looking more like an elegant cape behind her as her sword glimmers at her hip. He glances down and is surprised to see that instead of her normal cloth and vines around her feet, she instead wears shoes that look suspiciously like his armor just dyed; they match the armored bracelets at her wrists.

She looks every bit like the future Queen of the Dark Forest should be.

Marianne’s eyes meet his - the dark shadow around her eyelids highlighting the gleam in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks. She holds her head high as she walks to him, with most of the goblins parting out of her way while others linger to look at her in curiosity.

She tries her best to focus solely on Bog, remembering to keep her shoulders back and walk with the confidence that she needs right now. The dark, low lights of the cavern inside of the hollowed tree are unexpected - lit mostly by fireflies and moonlight that beams in through the skylight. She glimpses the various types of goblins around her - batlike ones whose arms reach to the ground to support their weight, ones with ears larger than their bodies or some larger than she thought goblins could even be. The diversity among them is so vastly different than that among the fairies, from their sizes to features, but she feels an odd sense of welcoming that all of them are Bog’s people.

The music is deeper than she anticipated - tight strings with an ominous undertone. As if it is background noise to an anticipated fight. She supposes that that is not entirely wrong, given that she remembers just how Bog taught her how to dance.

“Wow,” Thang whistles, the sound sharp and crass against the rugged music playing, “She looks pretty evil.”

Marianne raises a brow, nose scrunched at the compliment, She is but bites her cheek for now. She is used to the ‘compliments’ people give her - pretty, quirky, awkward. She is used to what Roland used to pass as compliments, but (especially knowing Thang) this does not feel backhanded. It does not even feel like an insult either. But if it is a compliment, she is not sure what exactly it is supposed to mean.

Bog immediately bows to her, causing Stuff and Thang to stumble, squawking in surprise as they do the same. From the corner of her eye, she can see the other goblins do the same. She feels a sense of honor and pride, as well as absolute adoration from Bog being as bold to do something that clearly meant a lot to his people.

“I believe it’s time to dance, tough girl,” Bog takes her hand as he stands up straight, “Do you remember what we practiced?”

Marianne bares her teeth in a wild grin. She remembers exactly how to do this. For as often as she practiced dancing with him for the fairy ball, they practiced twice as much for this. She knows that if something goes wrong someone could get hurt - and she can not imagine what would happen if that person was accidentally Bog.

But she has faith in herself - and in him. She thinks that she has a good enough handle on this to do it well.

“How could I not?”

Bog guides her to the floor with an elegance. At his presence, the goblins make a very clear circle around them to give them plenty of space. She would be more worried about hurting someone if they did not.

Bog gives a nod as they part, gaining a few feet between them. Unlike the close, slower and more calculated movements of the dance they performed at the fairy event, this one starts at a distance as they draw their weapons. They close in with his staff against her sword, circling each other as they bring their weapons down against each other.

“By the way,” Marianne asks softly, eyes still on him- each movement she makes feels natural to her, with her sword acting more like a third limb than a weapon. “Was that earlier?”

“Which part,” Bog almost laughs, but his voice comes off hesitant, “What did my mother do?”

“No - your mother was fine,” Marianne assures him as their weapons hit each other once again, twirling around like this - she can not help feel the parallel to their first fight. “I meant Thang.”

“Thang?”

They stumble - for a brief moment, their dance stutters in an awkward pause as their weapons slip out of their hands and into the air. Their staff and sword glide pass each other in a fumble. They move fast, and as one, to cover the mistake - grabbing each other’s weapon in an elegant switch that causes the crowd to gasp, not noticing it as a mistake and instead as (what Dawn would call) a power move, as they continue on.

“He called me evil.” Marianne states carefully, unsure if it would come off insulting and this time, she is careful to hold onto Bog’s staff. The weight of it is unfamiliar, if oddly comforting, but considering she practiced with only her weapon, her words come out a bit slower as she concentrates more on her movements. “Is that - I mean, is that a good thing or -?”

This time Bog does laugh - bellowing and deep, it echoes through the room as he grins madly at her. Their dance picks up the pace as their conversation blurs among the clash of her sword against his staff.

“Evil is a compliment in these parts, tough girl,” Bog explains, a wicked grin on his face, “Evil is not malicious - but of strength, mischief - rebellion.”

Marianne lets out a quiet oh. She supposes that makes sense, if she squints. To fairies, evil means darkness, malicious intent. But hearing his version of it, she wonders just how much their version of ‘evil’ is just based in prejudice against the Dark Forest.

They come together closer as their dance starts to slow, neither out of breath as everyone watches them carefully. Marianne can hear Griselda already clapping, but for once, Bog does not pay much mind to his mother’s embarrassing attention.

“And there is nothing - ” Bog states, his voice low and soft. Their weapons are down, still against each other as Bog leans into her, close to almost whispering into her ear, “- nothing more rebellious than a fairy princess and a goblin king.”

#krystalmoonfae #strange magic #fanfiction #politics #cultural differences #fairy goblin #bog king #marianne #ballroom #myworks #fics #fic

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angelisverba · 4 years

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golden

in which y/n’s life is dark, but the fae king sees she’s golden.

word count: 12k

pairing: y/n and the Fae King, Harry

warnings: allusion to suicidal thoughts, angst, & a very sad reader.

note: This is my fic for the #FineLineFicChallenge that @hsogolden is hosting. I submitted for Golden! Enjoy :)

It was a known fact, that one isn’t to mess with the Fae.

Don’t try to communicate with them.

Don’t try to find them.

Don’t do anything with them.

Masters of twisting the truth because they cannot tell lies, the ethereal beings were dangerous in the sense that they cared not for anything but their own interest. If they wanted your lover, they would do everything to take them from you.

But y/n wasn’t one to listen to the rules.

Especially one that promised her a better life, at no cost other than to seek it.

Her life wasn’t exactly shit, but it also wasn’t enjoyable. It was bland. And, to put it straight, lonely.

She had no family, and no friends or lovers. Life had made surviving her number one priority, and bouncing from job to job her favorite hobby. The girl lived in an apartment that had her feeling like a heroin addict, and she’d never had a dose of drugs in her life that wasn’t Tylenol. And, well, she had the looks of one; a feral, dead look in her eye accompanied with a malnourished body from eating what her pocket change allowed her to: ramen noodles.

It was pathetic. She had to shower using a cup because the overhead didn’t work, and she couldn’t sit because the bathtub was full of rust on the edges. Her walls were cracked and at night there was a faint scratching of nails in the ceiling. The sink was missing a knob, the light bulb in the mini-fridge didn’t work, and neither did the one in her room.

But, she couldn’t complain because it was all she could afford. Y/n was grateful that she had a roof over her head, even if it was infested with rats, and the cheapest, tattered clothes on her back. At least she had food, water, clothes, and a home, right? Even if it was the worst quality and her unfortunate state of mind made it worse?

View it however, she was done. Had been for a long time, but she didn’t really know how to stop, how to live a new life.

Until that night.

* * *

* **

It was another lonely night for y/n, and those she usually spent in chic bars she would never be able to afford, sipping on drinks and observing. Learning; mentally taking notes of how rich people lived their lives and all the mannerisms that came with it because maybe, just maybe, if she acted like one, she’d be one. That dainty toss of the wrist, the graceful, hypnotizing tilt of the chin that told a man you were interested.

She didn’t dress like she was going to the bar, which made her stick out like a sore thumb in the high-ceiling, leather-furnished, glass-walled place, and she didn’t drink alcoholic beverages. She sat at the far end of the bar counter, sipping on a glass of tap water the bartender gave her because he pitied her, and watched. That last part didn’t really matter because it turned out, rich people got more drunk than people with less money than them-- a blacked out woman (or three) ending up on the marble floors at the end of their outing. Men never tried to talk to her because she always showed up in ragged jeans and shirts with holes in them, and women wouldn’t even look her way.

That is of course, until another dead-eyed person walked up to the counter.

She was a Scottish woman, or maybe Irish-- y/n couldn’t remember much. Only that she talked of fairies prancing and singing around mushroom tops and a fairy king that got angry when she said thank you. Drunken slurs, that were only made more incomprehensible by her accent, spilled from her lips at the first sip of brandy, and at the sound of her foreign tone, y/n’s ears perked to hang onto every word.

“Never in my forty two years of putrid life did I see something like that, and I doubt I ever will again.” The woman said to the bartender. She was wearing a sleeveless cardigan the color of hazelnuts when they’ve fallen off trees, decorated with golden medallions that jingled every time she moved her shoulders. Big, was an appropriate word to describe her hair; voluminous, blown out Barbie waves that plumped at the top of her head and bounced all down her back to end at her hips. Her eyes were an engaging amber color, the kohl black charcoal on her eyelids enhancing them like boiling magma, the reddish-brown shade in stark similarity with the blood-red shade of paint on her thick lips. “Dance with us, to your heart's content, so fun you’ll want to never stop, them little brats tried to get me, they did! If it hadn’t been for the Fae King, well--” she huffed, a jerking movement with her entire body, “-- I wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure.”

The bartender, a middle-aged man in a flannel with a 5 o’clock shadow sprinkled on the lower half of his face, pursed his lips and rolled his eyes as he wiped down a shot glass with a rag. “Sure as hell never seen a drunk lady talk about faeries before. Santa Claus? Sure, but faeries? You must be on some heavy stuff, ma’am.”

Y/n was staring into the center of her glass, watching the water ripple, strangely comforted by the slow movement of the liquid; her fingers tapped rhythmically at the ridges molded into the edges of the cup. It looked as if she wasn’t paying attention, with eyes cast downwards, but every inch of her was standing on edge, eager for a story. Essentially, this was the reason why she came to these bars when she felt like it, to catch a story; be entertained. Her own life wasn’t enough, she needed more, even if it didn’t belong to her.

“Aye, lassie!” shouted the woman, lifting her glass with a pointed finger towards the lonely girl at the other end of the bar.

At her loud exclamation, y/n glanced up to see what was the cause of the remark, and found the woman looking at her with a peculiar, interested look in her eye. Y/n twisted to look behind her, oblivious that the woman’s true subject was her. Expecting someone to be standing where the woman pointed, she returned to her original position, confused.

“Lassie, it’s you I’m talkin’ to, listen to this tube, says faeries aren’t real. You believe me don’t you?”

Because the feeling of humor was so scarce in her life, it had turned into a strange and foreign feeling rendering her useless in how to react-- and while y/n found the woman humorous in her drunken ramblings, she wasn’t quite sure how to express it. A wormy smile played on her lips as she nodded her response, the bartender throwing her a bewildered look because it was the first time he’d seen her interact with anyone other than him.

“Well den, I guess you’ll listen to me, won't you? I’ve gotto tell sumone or I’ll go radge.” The woman throws her head back and finishes what’s left of her drink, wiggling two fingers at the bartender to signal: she wants another. Y/n watches from her seat as the lady hops off her seat, one hand on the counter to keep her standing as she wobbles over in her direction; the medallions on her cardigan tinkling with every swish of her hips. When she stood, the dull heels of her knee high boots slapped against the sleek floor, the noise making y/n jump.

“Listen, here,” she sat on the empty bar stool next to y/n with a labored huff, “don’t you ever go walking round the woods on a full moon. My own mother been telling me that since I was on her tit, and I should have listened.” Her tone was slightly spiteful, and exasperated at her own action. She made the same gesture at the young girl, two long-nailed fingers curling and drawing y/n closer to her, as if she was going to tell her a secret.

Never go walking in the woods on a full moon.

“The trees- they speak. Got ears I’m telling ya,” The woman’s voice rasped at her hushed tone. “Will o’ wisps are sweet talkers, I’m telling ya!”

Y/n bit her lip in efforts to keep a building laugh in. The stranger didn’t look at all drunk, she was in complete control of her facial features, and her voice was funky because y/n wasn’t used to the accent. If it hadn’t been for the tell-tale empty glasses she kept generating, one wouldn’t even be able to tell.

Finally deciding to propel the conversation further, she said, “Is that so?”

“Swear on the Fae King himself, I do! Told me to find the mushrooms for a good time, coz I was out for a piss half mad with moonshine. Knew what they were doin, they did. I thought they meant those that make ya loopy, shite don’t even know what made me listen to them.” She grumbles the last part to herself, her chin tilting down to touch her chest as she frowns.

“What happened next?” Y/n asked, propping her chin on the flat of her palm.

The woman looked up, startled like she’d forgotten there was someone there. “Next? Next…. Next, oh yes!” Crossing her legs, she angled her body sideways to y/n. “Will o’ wisps said to walk the opposite way a clock does around the circle of mushrooms and I did! I did! And, and it got me to the fairy realm. ‘Course I didn’t know until after the king himself told me. But this... this circle of sky opened up-- like,” her head tilts to the side as she thinks of ways to form her thoughts into words. “Like the sky fell and was standing before me. Go through it and find eternal happiness, they told me.”

Walk the opposite way a clock does around the circle of mushrooms. Go through it and find eternal happiness.

As soon as those words left the Scottish woman’s lips, y/n was hooked. A part of herself that had slowly been locked away throughout her pitiful, self-depreciating life, and, that part of her came to life-- it bloomed awake, triggered by the words eternal happiness. An earth-shattering revival.If this woman wasn’t spitting shit, then… this was her chance.

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Her voice went soft and hazy, recalling the images of a far away land. “It was green… everywhere. And the flowers were alive.” She snaps back into a more solid tone, “They fairies were too-faced little bitches, though.”

Y/n nodded, noting and agreeing. “Tell me more.”

Needing to further probing, the tales continued. “They tried to get me to eat, to dance. And I nearly did, you know? I would have, had it not been for the king… I’d be dead.” The bartender slid a glass their way, a manicured hand reaching to catch it without turning to look at it. “He saved me from them. He apologized for his subjects actions, even housed me for the night, and escorted me out the next day. Mentioned something about…” Her head cocked, eyes squinting. “A star telling him not to wipe fairy dust against my forehead to make me think it was just a dream.”

Someone in the distance dropped a glass, and a shattering noise was heard; reduced to a meager tinkle. The bartender whipped his towel in anger, and went to see what the fuss was about.

“He was truly… well I can’t even explain it. You’d have to see it with y’own eyes.”

Y/n tapped her forefinger on the plushy center of her lips three times before saying, “And, what exactly do I have to do to see it with my own eyes?”

The question simmered in unknown waters while the woman registered what y/n had asked. It was clear; the transition of her eyes going from unfocused and dazed to serious.

“Why, lass, would you want to find those piece of shites?” Her head bobbled. “After I just-”

“I just wanted to hear you tell the story, that’s all.” Y/n shot to respond, set on getting the stranger to tell her how to get to the fairy realm. Every atom in her buzzed with friction against each other, excited, elated to have what basically a reason to life again. What Wonderland was to Alice, this was to her.

A rabbit hole.

“Legend goes that if a pure-hearted being leaves offerings for the Fae, the Fae may respond. This is why lil’ tikes always talk about, having dem-- imaginary friends. They’re fairies-- they friend, that is. Fae people show themselves to children because they’re pure. Maidens before their wedding night, if desolate, go missing in the woods because the fairies take them. As for me? They wanted to take advantage of me. It’s process; fickle people they are.” A hand waves in the air, brushing away intrusive thoughts. Y/n leaned further into the woman, lips pursed in interest. “Anyways, my mother, her mother and her mother’s mother, have all had encounters with them after long periods of offerings of home-made foods, and planting flowers in the woods. Slowly, over-time, they gather the courage to show themselves. But, what happened to me was the Summoning of the Full-Moon. And- HEY! ‘Nother one please.” She repeats the same motion from before, sliding back the empty glass.

“What is the Summoning of the Full-Moon?” Tapping her fingers to attract her attention again, y/n’s eyes follow the woman’s desperately.

“Right, right. Fleet aren’t you?” She chuckled. “The Summoning of the Full-Moon happens when the moon is full, and you drink a glass of moonwater from the past full moon. To get the moon water, just leave out a pitcher of water in clear view of the moon when it’s full, that way, when the next full one comes around, you drink a glass. The moon charges the water with it’s energy, and it’ll give ya’ the ability to see will’o wisps.”

The bartender slid another glass, and the woman took a swig before continuing. “Will ‘o wisps are spirits that appear as floating blue flames of fire, usually three atta time at first; one disheartening and appearing behind the last as you move closer to them. They guide travelers, y’see? They lead you to what your heart wants the most-- or wherever destiny takes you-- depends on which one is mighty. It all takes off from there.” At her last words, the small glass listed, and slammed back down empty.

Y/n nodded slowly, absorbing the information that was unloaded on her. Moon water. Will o’ wips. But,

“What happens next?”

“It’s up to Destiny and wherever She wants ta take ya, lass.” The woman winked, her long, curled lashes fluttering closed momentarily. “Of course, that is if we’re talking about a hypothetical situation, isn’t it?”

Y/n was about to give a flustered response, when a man decked out in a black and white suit, with shades, an earpiece and slicked-back dark hair, tapped the woman on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. The woman lifted a hand and dropped her eyes to the floor, directing some but not all attention to the man. An abrupt change in her voice sends shivers down y/n’s spine; the friendly rasp converting into a chilling, demanding scorn. “Tell Alex he’ll lose 30k from his next check if he doesn’t fix this in an hour. I’ll be out as soon as I wrap up the lovely conversation I’m having with this lassie.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The man says, nodding and walking the way he came.

Lifting her eyes from their casted gaze, the woman locks with y/n’s curious, seeking eyes, and sees. She understands now. The questioning. The peaking glint of interest.

It makes sense.

“Play your cards right, child.” The woman sighed, her voice suddenly ages older than she seemed. “Play them right, and you’ll find eternal happiness… but, make one wrong move and you’ll screw yourself over forever.”

Then she got up and left. Feet landing one after the other with a firm stance, and a swagger in her walk that hadn’t been there before.

Strange, y/n thought. How quick her demeanor went from drunk to composed. After that fleeting thought came a tsunami of questions. What was she doing in the woods? What woods? What dis the woman take with her?

But it was too late because the was far gone, and she was left to sit and ponder the countless outcomes that could come if she were to go through with this. For one, eternal happiness. It’s natural for anyone to try and seek it. Who wouldn’t? Especially y/n, who’d been deprived of dopamine for... well, forever. Her childhood was about as good as her current life. Parents who yelled at each other, and at her, leaving her only company to be the stray cats that would lick the tears off of her cheeks; raspy tongues eliciting giggles from the small girl. It was a treasure, what she had found.

She would be stupid if she didn’t at least try.

* * *

* **

Y/n left her measly apartment on a day where the clouds looked like objects you could pluck from the sky; fluffy, white cotton shapes that overlapped and left small sifts of space where the sun shone through in beams. All was shadowed with soft colors; rough edges turned tender, perfectly appropriate for the way the giddy girl felt inside. Floaty, heady, and delicate with a skip in her step. Aloof with happiness and a tickle in her rib. She no longer cared about anything. The latter was true. She didn’t even tell her landlord she was leaving, or anyone else for that matter. Everything that belonged to her and truly significant, was inside a wicker basket she tucked in the crease of her elbow. Food, and a blanket because she wasn’t sure how long she’d be waiting for the Fae to respond.

The Fae.

After extensive research at her local public library, y/n realized how… complex these creatures were. It was no joke was she was getting into, and the Scottish woman has been right. Make one wrong move, and it was over. The ethereal beings had the power to make the rest of her life living hell if she messed up before eating their food.

Eating their food,

was all she had to do

to stay.

Bound by whatever magic they possessed, she wouldn’t be able to leave the Fae realm if-- when-- she bit into something from their world. Like giving your soul to the devil, but instead it was faeries who pranced in delight, not flames. This promise, this reward had restored something in y/n that hadn’t been there in years. Child-like glee, innocence, purity. Call it what you want. But it was there; a fresh sprite in her soul. Restoration of a youthful essence.

But it was there, and it was back twice as strong as when it previously existed in her. Ignited by the words she drank from her computer screen; early morning rises to the library, and late night walks home after closing time fueled her through two months. The first, she dedicated to attaining a jar of moon-charged water.

There was a mason jar in her cabinet that she used to eat blueberries and milk in, which was the only portable-type cup she had. The night before a full moon, she filled it with tap water, and set it on her window sill. For the first three hours into the dark, y/n watched the moonlight dance in the water like the aurora borealis. Her eyes would focus and unfocus with possibilities of her future; the possibilities of her eternal future extending from the tips of her toes like the yellow brick road. Images of dewy meadows and heart-shaped ponds full of lilies flooded her mind. Willow trees and flowers to make flower crowns and tea out of. She wanted it. Wanted to live among the Fae, and wander aimlessly with beauty and prose.

She yearned for it.

Y/n woke the next day with a jar of... water. It didn’t look any different then from when she poured it into the cup, other than the fact that the glass was dewy from the cold of the night. Her fingerprints decorated the sides where she gripped it, and after bringing it up to her eyes for closer inspection, she set it on her pillow, and left for the library.

Her seek of Fae knowledge continued, with more vigor now that she’d acquired the water. Everyday consisted of books, online pages, audiobooks; anything she found she ate up like she was starving for it.

And in some ways, she was.

Swallowing more that could fit in her mouth, y/n came to learn that the Fae weren’t exactly the comforting go-lucky deities she’d come to perceive them as. Beautiful, sure, but not all of them. And certainly not sweet.

Anything, but sweet. Y/n found that faeries were actually formidable creatures that enjoyed watching trouble develop. Legend has it, that the Fae were those caught in the in-between land at the time God shut the gates of heaven, and Lucifer trapped demons in hell. They could be angels or demons; fallen angels, outcasts, forgotten on the human plane. Belief in angelic behavior is reported, but lesser than the haunting actions, or bewitching incidents. It was a blind treasure hunt, the one she was getting herself into.

However, it she wouldn’t let that stop her. In some ways, she felt entitled to an explanation, a slice of truth; and answer. It would be an act of sadism to derive her of euphoria after she’d lived so, so shitty. She owes it to herself to seek them out.

Even if they could haunt her forever, take her first born, and or make her dance until her feet were reduced to stubs, she needed to look. Anything would be better than her reality.

Her adventure started with the seek of Rowan trees, sacred trees commonly associated with the Seelie court, the lesser malicious group of fairies. If... her expectations are even a fraction real, then she’s set. Good to go. Safe.

Or at least, once she found them she would be safe. The woods before sunset were enchanting, with golden tones littering the leaves and bark with glittering light. Pieces of peach-colored sky peeking through the empty spaces in the tree canopy, shadows dancing on her skin with every giddy step she took. She wasn’t quite sure where she was going, only that she was looking for the Rowan trees, and the increasing amount of flowers was a good sign (according to the internet). It had been about an hour since she went off the set trail, the ground growing more unleveled with each step. Squirrels and rabbit would scurry across her way every time a branch cracked underneath her feet, and since her eyes were set on the shrubby part of the trees-- looking for the tell-tale red berries of the trees she was looking for-- the furry animals skittered more often than nought.

Slowly, the sun snuggled deep in the horizon, and the remaining light shifted to created harshly shadowed edges on the trees. This prompted y/n to panic, her searching eyes growing faster in their movements. No, no, no, it couldn’t be dark yet. She hadn’t found the trees yet. It would be dark with....

With no light to light her way.

Light. Small flames of blue light, was what the Scottish woman said the Will ‘o wisps were. And to see them, all she had to do is drink the moon water.

The moon water that was in her wicker basket.

With the last of the sun floating away, y/n hurried to flip open the top of her basket, deft fingers dipping in to wrap around the cool mason jar. She screwed it open, lifting it to her lips and taking two generous mouthfuls of the water. She needed to sip at it cautiously, because the offering acceptance took time, and she’d need more than one night to work this out.

To find her way back to whatever spot the spirits took her, she’d need the water. There would be no waiting at the gates of the realm, given that the faeries were suspicious creatures, and it would take time for them to judge and be comfortable around her; deem her a pure maiden at heart. Hovering in the area where she placed her gift would jeopardize any chance at them accepting, or even considering her entrance into the realm

She would have to be patient. And she would be.

Y/n was full of buzzing energy and she let her eyes adjust to the growing darkness. The sun had gone down completely. The trees reduced to smeared shadows and mysterious shapes. Her skin was victim to a crisper kind of air- the cold having a sharper edge to it in the absence of sun. The moon shone brightly, she could see it through the same spaces where the sun had shown through; a milky-white face in the sky, frozen mid-yawn, and though her light was strong, it wasn’t enough to penetrate through the wood’s thick roof of leaves.

The path space that formed in the gaps of the trees, was cloaked in a pitch blanket, general figures of branches and trees ghosting in her squinted line of vision. Shivering, she shrugged the quilt she carried onto her shoulders, and it was when huddled into herself when she heard the first whisper.

We hear you.

It was one voice; one whisper. And hundreds resonating behind it. A small, shy, wispy call out to her, sounding as if it were right at the lobe of her ear.

Y/n is startled, and she jumps, clutching her fists tighter towards her chest, the basket digging into her hip and chafing on the skin in the crook of her elbow, but she doesn’t pay any mind to it because holy shit it’s happening.

Often reported, the wisps whisper or make high pitched whirring noises to catch the attention of the traveler. This was it. What she was hearing, was the calling. The will o’ wisps.

Her head whipped wildly from side to side, searching for the hovering blue and it’s incandescence. Eyes wide with seeking fervor, lips parted as puffs of air left her lips when her chest came down, y/n felt a rush of adrenaline course through her spine.

“Who can hear me?”

Suddenly, a flashing burst of electric blue color appeared in the distance, about 10 steps away from her current position. She gasped at the sudden outbreak, her eyes stretching to their maximum diameter. All the inklings of doubt that had seeded themselves in her break uprooted and flew in the wind; gone. Real. It was all real.

And she was doing it. She was helping herself. Providing to her soul what she couldn’t for years: happiness. The mere appearance of these spheres entities sent a buzz of ecstasy to the center of her core because they were real and she was really doing this.

I can

Three chants of ‘I can’ tinkled, one after the other, appearing with every she took towards the spirit. Her knees shook slightly, goosebumps prickling on her knees with every movement. Eerily, branches crack underneath the soles of her shoes, and she can feel the dispersion of energy against her feet when the wood cracks. With the lack of sun, and how she’s so hypnotized by the will o’ wisps, she doesn’t see the thick hump of tree root sticking out from the ground, the tip of her shoe catching on it and causing her to fall fly forward and dig her nose in the dirt. The basket gets crushed between the dirt and her hip, the abrupt and uncontrolled pressure eliciting a pained yelp from her. Her hand comes out stiffly from underneath the blanket, rushing to push herself back up and relieve the intrusion. As she’s hissing, the dreamy, other-worldly whispers say,

Oh no

Are you okay?

Are you still able,

To come and play?

Smaller, quieter, different toned whispers echo each murmuring, creating a dizzying, mind-spinning effect. To a certain extent, it disoriented her. But the tender, cooing voices smoothed over her unease and comforter her. Encouraged her, even.

Huffing, y/n dragged her dungaree covered knees underneath her, and sat kneeled for a moment.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She panted, the experience amazing her. “Who are you?”

She stood again, feeling her dented basket with her other hand while she waited for a response.

We are messengers of Destiny

We will take you

To what your heart wants most

Be quick, Your Majesty

They won’t way forever

Your Majesty? Now why on earth would they call her that? Befounded, she walked with cautious steps towards the first spirit, and tried to caress it with her fingertips. She wanted to feel it, hold it. But alas, as soon as her hand got close, it disappeared as quickly as it came, and reappeared behind the other two that were in line. The trio produced a bio-luminescent radiance that would surely stump any scientist who tried to explain the logic behind it. There simply was no other reasoning to the phenomenon, other than it was magic.

She knew that. Could feel the altered tensions in the proximity of the will ‘o wisps, calmer and still where they were. Beats of her heart pounded where her tongue lay, dry, in her mouth. She wasn’t royalty.

“Why are you calling me that? Why… why are you calling me your majesty?” Y/n stared intently to the very core of the wisps, noticing the change of color at the center. White flickers of tiny bodily shapes, like the spirits were dancing idly in their own capsule of light.

Destiny calls you so

Destiny yearns for you

You’re almost there

Be quick, Your Majesty

She didn’t understand. Your Majesty, was a title reserved for royals wasn’t it? She was not one. In the midst of her confused and amazed state, a lineage of wisps appeared behind the third one, creating a long path that went straight and then made an abrupt turn left. Enchanted, she followed in a zombie-like state. This was real and it was happening. It was real because her nose was bitten-raw from the cold and her nails pinched into the skin of her palm. Pain didn’t exist in dreams, and her hip still ached where the basket has pressed against it.

This wasn’t a dream.

Will ‘o the wisps flickered in their formation, bursting away when she came into proximity. The exhilarating thrill of attempting to catch; chasing, is what caused her to let out a squeaky giggle that eventually grew into harmonious laughter. Light, gleeful chortles bounced between the trees, and if anyone were to hear here from a distance they’d surely think the woods were haunted.

Eventually, she reached the turn, and was set onto a winding, twisting road of curving blue light. Y/n was light on her feet, raising them high and setting firmly on the ground. She began to run.

She ran and ran until her throat went dry, her lungs burned, and her thighs ached; body begging for a break, heart high on the drug of hope. Every slight twist in the wood only motivated her further, coaxing her towards her end target of… wherever the wisps were taking her. She was so submerged in the task of following that she was quite surprised when she arrived at a clearing; a circular space where the trees curved around, almost respectfully. The wisps made a beeline towards the middle, where they made the same pattern the trees did, forming a circle around a ring of mushrooms.

It was almost comical, the way the red-topped, white-dotted mushroom were arranged in a circle big enough to lay, sprawled, in the middle.

You’ve made it

You’re here

Destiny wishes you luck

Stay strong, Your Majesty

And then, they dissipated; flip of a switch and the lights were off.

For two days, she waited. The first night, she layed her homemade thumbprint cookies and honey in the center of the ring, leaving a sweet kiss on the wooden plate, and walked aimlessly until the balls of her feet ached. It wasn’t that far, because she had already done so much walking, and the girl was drained from the events she’d witnessed. Y/n settled in an alcove of tree roots, wrapping herself snug with her quilt but shivering despite her efforts. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but she waited until the morning, wanting to make the food she brought last as long as possible.

She woke with the faint images of golden petals floating around her, faeries dusting shimmering substances on the top of her head, and a demanding grumble in her stomach. The dirt underneath her hand was soft, dipping in where her the pad of her fingers dug in to push herself up. Instantly, she was met with the feeling of something wet striping up her cheek, a sniffing like noise filtering through her ears.

Blinking, y/n groggily turns her hear, and comes face to face with... a pig. It snorts when it see her move, sitting back on it’s haunches and looking up at her with bunched cheeks so it looked like it was smiling. Y/n’s jaw dropped in shock. Where had this pig come from?

It’s pink skin was a cool contrast in the light of the late-morning sun (y/n was never much of an early riser), and upon closer inspection, she saw the pig was a he. His nose was twitching with interest at the stranger he’s encountered. Ears floppy, bent and jiggling with every call squeal he exhibited, hooves half dug into the dirt. He watched patiently, inspecting and almost waiting for orders.

“Where’d you come from?” She asked, intrigued at his presence. They both shared a small moment of staring at each other in wonder until her stomach emitted a stale gurgle, pleading for food. The piglet (which he was, given his small stature and clean snout), squealed again, standing up with a jump and walking around in a circle three times, chasing after it’s curly tail before stilling, with his rump facing y/n. He began to walk backwards, continuing until his back legs came up on her lap, and he plopped himself down, tilting his head up with a pleasant smile, while y/n stared at the small creature, astounded.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” She said with a light giggle, reaching with one hand for her basket, and the other to pet the small thing’s head. She might as well embrace him, so she had company.

The basket was right by her shoulders while she lay, meaning it was now behind her because she had sat up. Clutching the pig so he wouldn’t fall out of her lap while she moved, she twisted her upper body to grab the basket, and the pig adjusted himself, pressing his two front feet onto her lep repeatedly. Making shushing noises, she flipped open the wicker flap, and reached in to grab whatever she found.

A sleeve of ritz crackers, that she ripped open eagerly, popping the first cookie into her mouth. Chewing, she looked around for the first time that day.

She was surrounded by much, much bigger trees than the ones she was venturing in the day before. Tall, brooding giants; rows and rows of trunks thicker than her wingspan and arching branches casting shadows on those who walked underneath. Might and wise, but silent and still. And intimidating network of roots on the ground mirrored the intertwining leaves above her, so high up she had to throw her head all the way back to see the expanse.

Breathtaking, is what it was. Y/n hadn’t been this connected with nature since that field trip she took with her third grade class to the blooming tulip meadows. She appreciated their presence, basked in the beams of light that shone through and grazed over the grass and moss on the trees. She even stopped eating, transfixed by the image before her, and she would have continued pondering in the glorious, godly image of greens and brown had the pig in her lap not shifted to sniff at her hand.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, glancing down at his curious tilted head. “Want some crackers, too?” Y/n wriggles her fingers into the brown packaging and took out two cookies, setting one on her tongue and extending the other towards the pig. He sniffs at it, his snout twitching, before cocking his head and picking it up with the side of his mouth. The pig gets close to her, placing the flat underside of his chin in the groove of her neck, snorting appreciatively.

“You’re a cute one,” she hums more to herself, tracing the pads of her fingers on the piggy’s back.

They fall asleep like that again, after y/n had finished the sleeve of crackers. The girl so calmed by the image presented in front of her, she slipped into a light slumber, the breeze and waving sheets of leaves lulling her eyes closed.

She spent the day like that, rationing her food, and sleeping, the pig switching positions from her lap, to her side, and eventually by her feet. The thick quilt she had brought stayed on her shoulders at all times, keeping her warm in the crispy forest air.

Nearing the sunset again, a butterfly landed on the tip of her nose, stretching its wings and tickling her awake. Her eyes fluttered opened when everything around her was lit a golden haze; the tell-tale sign that the sunset was near, and so was the night. The blue butterfly flew away when she took the first breath, and she watched it fly away with hazy eyes, not fully awake and aware yet.

Y/n jumped when the piglet let out a squeal, and upon looking down, she saw that he had remained settled into her side while she slept.

With a smile on her lips as she placed her hands on her back to stretch, she said, “Well, hello there!” She patted his head, and he leaned into her touch. “You stayed!”

The pig smiled, which sounds ridiculous but his lips really turned upwards, filling his eyes with a glint, and squealed his response. Y/n’s heart warmed at the sweet animal, happy that she had company and wasn’t alone. Her friends, she realized, had always been furry. Animals were the only beings that were ever welcoming of her, treasured her presence, and reciprocated the love she had to offer.

“Will you stay through the night as well?” The girl remarked, scratching behind the piglet’s ears. “I sure hope so.” A sad look took over her face, the corners of her lips pinching downwards as a sudden wave of forlorn thoughts washed over her.

She was sitting in the forest, all by herself, following after a drunk woman’s rants because that it what her dissatisfaction led her to. That’s how much she lacked. That’s how much she yearned for. It goes to show the large chunk that was missing, because she had no second thoughts about doing so. It hurt, knowing no one would worry about her, and that she had nothing to regret leaving.

As if sensing her unease, the pig started bucking up into her hand, his snout blowing onto her palm and tickling her skin. The action made her laugh, her first genuine, comfortable laugh at an act of humor. A deep, belly chuckle that made her cheeks hurt.

She had learned to laugh again.

Y/n got up from her spot on the forest floor, and stretched with her arms reaching towards the canopy, fingers splaying and tightening the skin between them. Taking a deep breath, the corner of her lip quirked up in her smile.

Night two was underway and she was ready.

With her furry companion, the girl picked her basket up and began her walk in the general direction of her arrival. It was hard to tell, because it was pitch black when she made it to her spot, but either way she walked far enough that she would need guidance from the wisps to get back on the correct track.

The sun repeated the same routine it had the day before, splashing an assortment of colors on tree bark and leaves, streaking the sky wild orange taints and soft blues to contrast. It was ethereal image, the one she was witnessing. Like something out of a documentary, except she was there, seeing it with her own eyes.

Her neck was starting to hurt with how much she craned it to see the mesh of vibrancy in the sky, and the piglet alongside her had often bumped it’s small snout on her ankle when she stopped moving to gaze. When night finally came, the moon was a partly eaten up by shadow, her color less vibrant that the day before. But it was fine, because according to research, what mattered most was the first offering on the full moon.

Repeating the same steps from last night, y/n took another drink from her glass, and blinked three times exactly, waiting for the wisps to formulate in front of her.

And they did.

But there was something different about it this time. They were quiet, a change from their past fizz of whisper. Confused, y/n tilted her head and tried to speak to the.

“Hello?”

Silence. Not even the whistling sound of their breaths. The wind had stopped, and as the line of blue orbs created a twisting route between the trees, the hairs on y/n’s spine stood on end. The air was charged with... a certain potential that was impossible to miss. A certain static of promise.

Tonight was the night.

As she walked towards the wisps, her footsteps were accompanied by the soft pitters of her tiny friend, stuck by her feet still, despite everything happening around them. Could he see them too? Was her cold? He probably was. If y/n was cold, then he was too. Deciding to not only warm herself up, she took out her blanket and bent down to pick him up, cradling him against her chest and wrapping the blanket around him as well, to which he responded with a cuddle into her neck.

With purpose in her step, the hopeful girl began her journey, following the marked up path left by the wisps. It was, as expected, longer than the first. She had ensured that she was far enough away before settling down for the night.

Nevertheless, she made it to the blue luminescent ring of red-topped mushroom (like the ones from Mario), and stared.

It was apparent, that she had no clue what to do next.

“Now what? Tell me what to do?”

The last wisp, placed in the center of the ring, spoke for all the spirits the first time since they appeared that night.

Destiny had spoken once, She will not speak again.

The knowledge you need to open the realm,

is one you already know.

Furrowing her eyebrows, y/n took a moment to digest the message.

She knew? She knew how to open the gate? The extent of her research only described protocol on fairy manners, what they were like, and what to do in the case of an encounter. Never explicitly the steps to open the realm to meet them. Yet, the wisps said otherwise. They claimed she knew the ways to open the realm.

How could that be true…

OH. The Scottish woman! The Scottish woman had told her exactly what to do. Walk counter-clockwise around the circle of mushrooms.

And that was it.

All she had to do.

Y/n was in the middle of contemplating if she should do it or not, given she had only presented one offering, when she saw the note.

In the middle of the ring, lay a fist sized scroll that was only visible because the last wisp hovered above it. The pig next to her glanced from her to the script, and skipped over to clutch the script with his mouth, and trotted over to give it to her.

The wisps didn’t disappear when the pig approached it, but it raised higher above the ground, above her head and just past that; blue light glowing just a bit brighter.

The girl bent to get the note from the piglet, and gave it a small pat on the head before unrolling the thick paper. It had a very quality feel to it, grooves tickling her finger-pads. The slip, not much better than her hand, read,

the pie was delicious. we are most appreciative of it. proceed.

The black inked scripture widened her eyes, sending a shiver up her spine.

Well, that settled her question. She could, proceed.

And she did. Y/n placed the note in her basket, and picked up her small friend, needing the emotional support. Her lungs expanded in a burning breath, bracing herself for what was to come. No turning back now.

She angled herself so her feet were parallel to the mushroom she was near, and began to walk. Please let me in, please please please let me in. I need this, please. She begged mentally. The girl wasn’t sure what would happen if this went wrong. Her hopes were high, and the crash would be devastating.She begged to whoever would listen; whoever was in charge. Please let me in.

Nothing happened, until she passed her third mushroom.

The remaining will o’ wisp began to expand, it’s light turning a lighter blue color, bubbling out and expanding into a concrete oval, growing in size as she made her way around the ring. The pig in her arms was quiet, not affected by what was going on like he saw it happen everyday, but y/n, on the other hand, was having her mind blown. Her lips were parted as soft breaths came out of them, scared to breathe to her full capacity, watching as the color of light went from blue to yellow. The two colors merging in a gradient shift, the orb growing bigger and larger as water expands when spilled on a flat surface.

Fleeting shadows danced through the portal, like the reflection of birds flying over a lake’s surface.

Y/n picked up the pace on her last round, and a breeze began to blow out her hair. the light from the now door-sized hole turned a golden color; a glittering, metallic shade of yellow that swirled in a spiral at the speed of her steps, dizzying her. The far-away sounds of a child’s giggled resonated through the forest, coming from the golden circle in the ring.

When she stopped at her starting mark at the end of the third rotation, the portal rose higher, higher, higher, and then floated down like a swaying feather in the air, the golden beams of light now shooting skyward.

It came to lay on the grass covered floor, flattening in the area inside the circle of the mushrooms, the gold-lined edge nearly touching the tip of her show.

The front of her face was covered in the golden light, her eyes gleaming in the colored glow. Laughter sounded from it, the sound of music teasingly escaping, low enough that she could hear it over the lapping water noises from the portal.

The pig, still in her arms, began to thrash and squirm, squealing wildly until y/n finally let him go, and he didn’t hesitate to jump in the pool of gold.

“Wait, wait no, n-,” y/n protested, but his curly tail was gone before her hand even attempted to catch him.

After his leap, the portal rippled, and cleared into a calm mustard yellow splashed with... clouds? It was a piece of sky that fell to the ground, just like to woman had said. Without thinking twice about it, she jumped through, just like her friend had done.

Her body was instantly met with a chilling wind, as if she wasn’t wearing any clothes. It was a disorienting feeling of shooting up, and coming back down like she was falling, landing in the same spot where the portal had been, except now it was closed. Her butt ached where is received most of the impact, and y/n groaned as she pushed herself back up, the budging feeling of her basket restricting her arm movement present, but… the weight of her clothing was gone.

And, when she glanced down at her body, it was confirmed that she was bare.

As in, no clothes, no underwear, no bra or panties.

Y/n shrieked.

Who, when, and how had her clothes come off if she hadn’t taken them off herself? She ignored the fact that she was in the fairy realm to cover herself with her hands, glancing up to see who may have seen her, only to view a landscape unlike any other.

Rolling hills, seemingly endless with giant trees on top of each one, bigger than the ones she had slept alongside, with flower-filled valleys and and a crystalline river that cut a path through a hill and disappeared into an arch of trees. Children with elvish features stared up at her from the nearest valley, blue flowers littered in their hair to match the pink color tinted in their cherub cheeks. Brown ad white rabbits alike roamed around her, does grazed in the meadows. The sun was nestled in the horizon, just barely peeking in the dip of two hills, sky the same glittering golden color the portal had been. Everything was untouched by technology. No building or antenna towers, but homes in tree trunks or underneath giant mushrooms.

The faeries were staring at her. All with features a human would posses, but a certain other-worldy-ness regular people didn’t posses.

They were all beautiful, with full lips and striking eye colors to match their leafy outfits pertaining to their niche. Two of them ran up the hill on which she sat, edgy grins on their lips as they approached her with their hands behind their backs. One was dressed in the fluffy feathers of a peacock, black hair slicked back and tucked behind his ears, curving up at the nape of his neck. The feathers draped over his shoulders and fanned around his arms, ending just at the end of his wrists so the his hands showed; talons in the place of nails. His lips were beak like, the cupids bow dragging over his bottom lip to imitate a bid’s curved mouth. The other man standing next to his was dressed just the same, except that he had no hair and his ears curved like a ram’s above his head.

Suddenly, her pig friend jumped onto her lap, and began the same squealing as before. Urgent and forbidding, pressing his rump back into her, but leaning forwards as if to ward them off.

“You again, Angus?” The one with the ram horns said, quirking his eyebrow into a perfect arch at the same time his tilted in that direction, giving him a graceful yet mechanical look. Intimidating and cold. His voice was equal to the ear-splitting sound of a fork against plate.

The other one spoke. “How’d you get away from Harry this time, you littl-”

“Pias and Rye? You best stop right there!” Another voice spoke, making y/n twist her heard towards where a crowd had formed in the nearest valley. Mostly creatures with childish features, holding fruits of bunches of petals to their bare chests.

There was a woman, with curly red hair and striking blue eyes. Droplets of water seeped from her skin, collecting at the dress she was wearing, which looked like rippling bodies of water floating above her skin, the placed surrounding her most intimate areas a darker color of water, whereas everything else was translucent. A blob of liquid floated near her head; a crystalline globe of water that contained a golden koi fish that moved on its own around it’s companion, swirling around her unruly red coils of hair.

“Well if it isn’t-”

“I’d shut it, if I were you. Just wait until he hears that you weren’t going to follow protocol. Now, leave.” At her emphasis, her grey eyes flashed bright white momentarily, scaring even y/n, but fulfilling their purposes in warding off the other two fairies. They turned around and left with their prides damaged, turning back to look every other step.

The woman turned to look at y/n, her face transformed into a welcoming smile.

“Hello, my name is Marianne, Welcome to the Fae realm.”

* * *

* **

Marianne took y/n to the river, opposite the way the two other faeries left, and clapped her hands to snap everyone's’ gazes away, while y/n listened to every command with no hesitation.

One their way to the river, y/n was covered in monarch butterflies that flew from a nearby bush, arranging themselves like a skirt on her hips, their wings twitching and fluttering with every step she took. Her top half was taken care of by her pig friend, whom she learned was called Angus, which she clutched to her chest like when they walked around the mushrooms.

Marianne apologized for the other faeries’ behavior, and led her into a giant water lily, holding her hand as she stepped in. The large green leaf coasted down the river, giving y/n a proper sight-seeing experience. They passed by tree roots that elevated above the water’s surface, and passed through the center of a hill like a tunnel. The golden skies seemed to place a filter on everything it touched, making it look like the water held diamonds, and the dew on other floating lilies were pearls. Leafy branched from willow trees on the river bank reached out to touch the newcomer, caressing y/n’s bare shoulder’s as she passed. She watched it all happen with parted lips, intoxicated by the luxurious feeling of magic pouring over her; skin coated in remnants of glittering water from the tips of the tree leaves that dipped in water.

So fixed on the trees and their giant glory, y/n didn’t see the stone castle coming into view from behind the passing green hill; the river turning into the castle’s moat, floating alongside the uneven stone walls patterned different colors from time, sun, and water, but magnificent in it’s ancient glory.

The girl noticed Marianne staring at her, and in her embarrassment, she turned around to attempt to compose herself, but her efforts were thrown away when her eyes found the castle. Romantic, rustic walls covered in curtains of ivy that grew all around. Blinking, y/n gasped as the lily pad came to a stop right before the entrance of the tunnel underneath the bridge, and rose to meet it. She glanced down to see they were off the river’s surface, level with the top of the stone arch. Marianne stepped off, her bare feet stable on the path and she extended a hand for y/n to grab onto.

Stunned, she took hold of the woman’s wet grip, and followed after her, throwing her head back to view the entirety of the castle. Windows with no glass carved rows into the walls, allowing sun to stream in to the rooms and halls. The drawbridge lowered for the two guests, dropping with a loud rustling of chain.

Walking across is at, goosebumps possessed her skin, and she felt the shameful, poking sensation of being exposed settle in her breastbone. Castles meant kings and queens; she was being brought to the king and she was practically naked.

Her chest rose, and her stomach filled filled nervous breaths. Her pals became moist against Angus’s furry one, who seemed calm and sated with the whole ordeal.

Once across the drawbridge, they were met with an open courtyard framed by the castle walls, a cobblestone path leading to an arched entrance, where Marianne followed The courtyard was full of wild grass up to her ankles, stone arches in the middle of the scene, with rope swings and flowers hanging down, ominously still. A bench centered in an arrangement of statues of men in heroic poses holding harps and arrows, a floating body of water in the place of a fountain. Much, much more attracted the girls curious eyes, but Marianne pushed past a curtain of foxgloves, and led her into the castle hall and her view was cut off, dragged into... the throne room.

The throne room clearly because in the center of the sun-lit room, there was a throne covered with wild flowers where the king sat, legs spread and back against the seat as he listened a subject speak.

He wore a red ensemble, by-far the most magnificent of anyone in the room. Transparent garments the color of cranberries draped on the broad expanse of his olive-skinned shoulders, waves of the material hanging loosely on his hard biceps, a tassel tied around his waist to taper an accentuate the strong muscles seen through the garment. The cloth bunched at his groin, and fell in folds around his muscular thighs and down his calves, stopping at his ankles and exposing his bare feet.

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the arm of his throne, each finger falling after the other, adding to the powerful aura of his character. Plump lips colored that matched the tone of the nipples that poked through the thin fabric on his chest, mouth arranged into a hard, concentrated line as he listened. Eyebrows dipped just slightly, drawing attention to the vibrant emerald eyes that gleamed in the sun that illuminated his castle. Structured jaw that twitched with the movement of his lips, leading down to the delicate skin of his neck, equally delectable as the rest of him.

Y/n knew he was the king by the tell tale crown that rested on his head. A golden wrap of laurel leaves that nestled on the caramel curls that were pushed back and away from his face.

She wasn’t aware that she was holding her breath, until he glanced up and locked eyes with her. His eyes brought instant relief to her, her body uncoiling, lungs releasing the air their were holding. His lips pulled up into a pleasant smile that made her heart leap and causing one to appear on her face, too. Oddly, she felt safe the instant her eyes landed his, the green sating all of her doubts.

“Marianne? And Angus? Angus is that you?”

Angus jumped from y/n’s arms, landing on the stone floor with a snort and running over to meet the king, jumping into his arms and nuzzling his snout into the king’s face.

The absence of the pig in her arms, left her breasts bare for all to see, and given y/n was transfixed by the king’s voice, smooth like honey with a beautiful scratch that was pleasing to listen to, she didn’t rush to cover herself.

Meaning the king, and the subject he was speaking to, had the time to look at the curves of her chest.

An unreadable look took over the king’s face, and he frowned down at the floor before saying, “You may leave now, Rives.”

The subject cleared his throat, and rushed out at his king’s command. He snapped his fingers, and two of the butterflies on her legs flew up and covered her nipples with their wingspan.

“Your Majesty,” Marianne bowed, and y/n looked over at her before doing the same thing, awkwardly curtsying and the king’s lips quirked at her attempt. “I found her with Pias and Rye. They planned to trick her, Your Highness.”

“Very well, Marianne. You may leave now.” He said. The woman bowed and left without turning back, leaving y/n alone with the king.

A moment passed, ensuring the water fairy had left before he began to speak again, leaning forward on his throne and smiling fully at the human. Y/n instantly took note of the dimple on his cheek, and she blushed at the simple fact that he was looking at her while she was so exposed.

“Oh! My apologies, surely you’d like some clothes wouldn’t you?” He asked rhetorically.

Y/n nodded sheepishly, and crossed her arms over her torso.

“Right, well let’s see.” He stood, letting Angus on the floor with a small pat to his head, and walked off into another archway on the left side of his throne, mumbling “come, come” to get y/n to follow him. She walked behind him, shamelessly grazing her eyes over his back, adoring the way his muscles dimpled his shoulder blades, and hating the way she can’t see the cleft of his buttocks of the strategic bunching of the fabric, the color darkening and making it hard to see through it.

The archway led to a short hall of portraits and moss-covered head statues, before opening to a steep staircase, which the king stepped on, going all the way up and choosing the right branching of stairs from the landing. By the time they reached the top, y/n was huffing and her thighs ached from the walks in the forest.

The stairs opened to a hallway of rooms, and the king entered the third on the right, revealing a sun-lit room. The corner closest to the window was covered in tree tranches, twigs extending and branching along the pink colored wall, small leaves and flowers twisting up to the roof, splaying over the bed to create a net of petals around the fame of it.

He led her to the center of the room, and sat one of the chests. She stood nervously, unsure of where to take her place because she didn’t want to offend him. It was easy to do that with faeries.

“Stand right there,” he pointed to an elevated tree stump opposite of him.

Y/n felt the butterflies flutter wildly at the drastic movement of her knee hiking up, and her ears burned red when she felt cool air blow on her intimate area.

“Now turn to face me.” She turned, and came face to face with the king, who sat with his ankles crossed, and hands clamped between his thighs, back straight.

He removed a hand, and snapped once.

Instantly, the butterflies flew off of her body, and out the window.

Y/n yelped, and rushed to cover herself, forearm over her breasts, palm at her mound.

“M’lady I need you straight so I can adorn you with clothing. I’d have someone else do it, but it’s just me here.” The king said, voice a whisper. His eyes drooped, eyebrows slanting and softening his whole demeanor.

Y/n would have responded, said something to protect her modesty, but she was just too out of it. Her brain running on autopilot by the events that had occurred, that she went pliant under his orders and obeyed. She wasn’t even ashamed anymore.

The king’s fingers moved along her figure from a distance, twiddling across her body, and as he did so, a milky glitter grew upwards from the tree stump, wrapping around her calves and up her thighs, tightening just lightly at her hips, and resting snugly up her torso. Setting on her shoulders, she blinked slowly at the finished product, her tongue too tied to attempt a dreamy woah.

He had dressed her in a silk toga, the material so light it felt like she was wearing nothing.

“There we go!” He cheers, another small smile gracing his lips, melting y/n.

“I am most appreciative, Your majesty.” She bowed her head respectfully, her hands coming to fold at her navel.

“It is alright to say thank you. M’trying my absolute best to dilute a lot of the negative stigma around my people, but with fools like Pias and Rye it’s nearly impossible.” He stops, shaking his head to himself before looking back up and saying, “And you can call me, Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry, my name is y/-” before she could finish her sentence, the Fairy King interrupted her with a green flare of his eyes, heat radiating off his translucent cranberry ensemble, licking her skin with warnings of heat.

“I don’t want to know your name.” He said, his voice changing from jovial to demonic. His eyes pinch closed, and his shoulders tense, momentarily reeling himself back in, and the licks of heat turn a soothing cool. “Please, not yet.”

Harry sounds nearly broken, pained by the restriction.

“I-” y/n started. She collected herself, taking a deep breath before saying, “I understand.”

His eyes opened again, and uncertain fire blazing in the green of his irises. “Do you? Do you really?” Harry’s tone is mocking, angry. He’s mad, but not at her and she knows that. Deep down inside her, she knows this is him baring himself, this is him slipping her a piece of information, and she’s grateful they get to start off an a truth slate, but not at the way he’s presented himself.

He’s got no right to talk to her that way, she feels.

“Yes! I do understand! It’s the reason why I’m here!” She fires back at him, her nostrils flaring, and eyes wide. By the time she’d finished with her aggravated statement, her chest is heaving.

Both go quiet, the revelation heavy between them. Harry realizes that one, he’s been extremely rude, and two, he and this girl may be more alike that he thinks.

“Why are you here?” He asks, his face doing the thing again, there his eyes droop downwards like a puppy’s when it’s begging. Soft. tender.

Y/n takes a deep breath, and begins. “I need to escape. If.. if I stayed even a moment longer I wholeheartedly believe I would have died. Everyday was a mindless drone, and it was eating at me. I came to ask for permanent residence in your realm.”

When Harry doesn’t respond, y/n crosses her arms over her chest, and picks at the skin of her elbow nervously. Her throat closes up and eyes well up with tears. But, she’s not sad. She’s overwhelmed with emotion because for the first time, she’s admitted it out loud; formulated into a coherent thought instead of a general feeling.

The king, touched by her vulnerability, gets close enough to her that so he can uncross her arms to stop the girl from harming herself. This stranger, so unexpectedly placed into his world, understood him. She knew what it was like to go unnoticed; to not get what she wanted out of life. But to risk forever? Is that really what she wanted?

“I do not know if this much of a wise decision. The rules of my realm are diff-”

Y/n grips at his arms, her eyes pleading and her tone desperate. “Please,” tears slip from her eyes, and neck veins protrude in stress, “You don’t understand. The past day has given me more than I’ve ever received from my life. Do you know much happiness Angus has given me? Or standing on a lily pad while trees touch my shoulders? Let me stay.”

She’s shaking him, grip so tight her nails make crescent marks in his skin.

“Do not cry, my lady,” he begs, voice just barely audible. “You must understand the severity of your words. This lifestyle is not a situation in which you can change your mind when your heart so pleases. The fairy life is forever.”

“I don’t care. I will die, if I go back.”

“Your species will perish either way. Humans are destined to die.” He stated in a matter-of-fact tone. At this, y/n drops in a heap of desolation, and places her face in her hands, shoulders shaking her sobs.

Her begging, her uprooting, was all for nothing. Her hopes were crashing, she wouldn’t survive this fall.

The strings of Harry’s heart pull ferociously at him, his instinct telling him he has to help her. He has to. Even if it goes against everything faeries stand for. He was king, he could do whatever he wished

He bent down, his feet bending at the toes in a crouch, and he placed a hand on the girls wrists, pulling them away from her face so he could see her when he uttered the words, “But, I will give you three days.”

At that moment, y/n thinks he looks magnificent. A curl has slipped from the crown’s grip, falling to rest over his left eye, and his eyes sparkle with golden specks of the sun that slip past y/n’s shoulders and his face. Shadows ghost over the left side of his face, accentuating the right side, and y/n sees for the first time, the small moles on his chin, and the bags underneath his eyes. Bags that come from nights of no sleep.

She knows because she had them too.

“Three days?” It comes out wet, her voice thick with the saliva that had collected in her mouth, and the mucus at the back of her nose.

“A period of time for you to be sure of this choice. A human can go three days without food or water, and I wish for you to have the most time possible. You cannot eat or drink, because by fairy law you are bound to stay the moment it passes your throat. I will not allow a forced decision. This is a choice you must make on your own.” When y/n’s eyes began to fall, the king placed a warm hand on her cheek, drawing her eyes back to him. He needed to know she was sure, and her eyes would let him know everything.

She was sure. She was very sure, and he could see that. More than that, she was even irritated he’d make her wait that long.

“Three days?” She asked

“Three days.”

#harry styles gifs #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #finelineficchallenge #harry styles blurbs #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff oneshot #harry edward styles #harry styles soft #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles au

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years

Text

Freddie’s 40th birthday; Freddie Mercury x reader

*Author’s note*

In honor of the legend’s 74th birthday, as apart of my Rock Angel series, I have written up this little filler chapter centered around Freddie’s birthday. It’s unbelievable that had he lived today, we would’ve been celebrating his 74th bday. But as it is said in the Sandlot ‘Heroes get remembered, but legends never die’. Happy birthday Freddie Mercury, wherever you are, know that you are loved and are continued to be loved by generations of people that are just getting to know you or people that have followed/known you when you were alive.

Enjoy my lovelies and until the next update :)

Taglist:

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@psychosupernatural

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@queensdivas

@queendeakyy

@geek-and-proud

@platawnic

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@klausidiot

@onebigfangirlworld

@naturalswifty89

@starswin

@dj-lowkey

@isabella-bby

@bohemiansweede

@5sos-wdw

@labessieisallama

____________________________________________________________

*Sept. 7th, 1986*

I was looking myself over in the mirror seeing how my cowgirl hat looked. It wasn’t anything fancy just a simple leather khaki hat that belonged to mum who gave it to me just for this party. I brushed the ends of my hair before Jack came in wearing his Indiana Jones hat.

“Look at you my little cowgirl.”

“Now don’t you dare say something naughty or else you’re going to get it.” Jack faked a gasp.

“How dare you suggest I’d say such a thing.”

“Please Jack. You may look all sweet and innocent but even you can go Freddie Mercury dirty. Or worse Deacy leveled of rottenness.”

“Never did I think he could think such thoughts.”

“You do realize that his first song Misfire was all about pre-ejaculation right?”

“Okay subject change please!” I shoved him and said.

“You started it.”

“Nu-uh!”

“Oh shut it you. Now remind me again why you didn’t want to wear a cowboy hat?”

“You know what those hats do to me. Plus….” He stroked the rim of his Indie hat, “this makes me look cooler.” His brow quirked as he smirked in the mirror trying to be sexy (which he was but I’ll never admit that out loud).

“But then we could’ve been a matching set at the party. Fred would’ve been all gushed up about it.”

“You know this day is about him right?”

“Correction two days ago was all about him. This is his birthday party. Thankfully it won’t be as crazy as last years. Yeesh. I still don’t remember how Roger and I ended up in that closet together.”

“Let alone with your shirt over his face.”

“Oh god yeah that—most awkward thing ever. But I think I recall saying something like ‘it’s too hot in this hellhole for me!’ Or some random thing like that. At least that’s what Deacy said he heard. God we had sooo much tequila that night. Never again.” He chuckled and wrapped his arm around me and pecked my cheek.

“Yeah cause I wouldn’t want to think that my wife was screwing around with her father figure.”

“EWW! Now that is something I know that not even drunk me would do. Why put that image into my brain oh god JACK!!!” he laughed as I began hitting his arm.

“Ow! Okay! Okay I’m sorry!”

“You better be. Now what time is it?”

“6:40.”

“Shit we better get going!” I grabbed his hand and we took off out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

In the living room our sitter Derek aka ‘Dancing man’ Anderson, who was also one of my roadies on tour, was already feeding our daughter.

“Okay Derek, we’re heading out. Again thank you soo much for volunteering to babysit for me. Normally I wouldn’t ask you to do this much…….”

“Relax (Y/n). I’ve had 3 kids so I know how this works. Thankfully I was in the neighborhood. Plus I get the chance to see the kid before the rest of the roadies do.” I shook my head at him.

Derek had been one of my first roadies ever since I became the Rock Angel. He was about the same age as Roger was and if I’m being honest, he’s kinda like Roger in a way. In fact if I remember correctly it was Roger’s roadie Crystal that recommended Derek to me. He’s great with electronics and lighting and he’s basically the ringleader since he’s the only one of my original team that has stuck with me for the past five years.

“Okay so her bottles are in the fridge and I’ve laid out instructions on how to warm them up. Her bedtime is in two hours, and her favorite story is ‘Oh the places you’ll go’. And ohh I know I’m forgetting something.”

“Angel, relax. I’ve got this. Jack gave me the full rundown about an hour ago while you were deciding on your hat. Give my birthday regards to Fred.”

“We will. Thanks again Derek.” Jack said as the two of them shook hands with each other.

“No prob, you two kids have fun. And don’t worry mini Angel will be safe and sound.”

“Alright, bye baby girl. Mummy loves you.” I leaned down and pecked my daughter’s cheek repeatedly then Jack came down and kissed the top of her head which was starting to sprout my hair color and told her.

“Daddy loves you too sweetheart.” Jack and I picked up our gifts for Freddie and we walked out the door and headed to the car.

To my surprise Jack actually offered to drive to Freddie’s place at Garden Lodge. I looked at him surprised and switched seats with him and I must admit I’m surprised that he’s managed to get driving in England down.

“Wow Jack I must say, you’ve really adapted to our way of driving, haven’t yah?”

“Well seeing you guys drive all the time kinda helped me out a bit more. Plus those old driving lessons from Deacy also helped as well.”

“So I got to ask. American style of driving or UK style of driving.”

“Oh American hands down. I still fear that I’m gonna ram into someone driving on this side of the road.”

“Guess we both feel that way. When your cousin Jensen gave me my first car driving lessons, I was terrified beyond belief. Not only was it something totally different, but also just driving on the side of the road that I’ve never driven on. But you’re doing good baby. I’m proud of you.” I gave him a peck on the cheek and he said.

“Hey now, no need to get frisky. I’m the one behind the wheel here.”

“You are just full of snappy comebacks today aren’t yah?” he grinned at me and continued to drive on.

After a while we finally arrived at Freddie’s place just ten minutes past 7. Jack parked the car just a few yards away from the entrance of Garden Lodge and the two of us walked hand in hand towards the entrance. I pressed the buzzer at the gate and that’s when Jim’s voice came on the intercom and he said.

‘Hello?’

“Hey Jim it’s Jack and (Y/n). We made it.”

‘Ahh the Kline couple, come right on in.’ the gate let out a buzz and Jack opened the door and tipped his hat just like Indiana Jones as he did his best Harrison Ford impression.

“My lady.”

“Why thank you Dr. Jones.” I said in my best Southern accent before walking right on in and he followed behind me.

We walked across the front garden and I couldn’t help but admire the flowers that grew down the runway towards the house. We walked up the steps and Jack knocked on the door and soon answering the door wearing a pink boa with an angel halo on top of his head was the Queen himself, Freddie Mercury.

“Well about fucking time you two got here. I was beginning to think you both skipped out on me.”

“Please Fred. If we wanted to, you’d never let us hear the end of it.” I teased him. He chuckled and smiled that wide smile of his before extending his arms out and the two of us hugged and kissed each other.

“And Jack. Handsome and dashing as ever.” Freddie praised.

“Thanks Fred.” Jack blushed.

“And a couple’s costume at that. I swear I think you two will upstage me. And I’m supposed to be the birthday boy here.”

“Oh well Fred actually we’re not doing a couple’s costume. At least not anymore we aren’t.”

“Oh well then Jack what kind of hat is this supposed to be?” Fred said as he stroked the rim of Jack’s Indiana Jones hat.

“Wow and I thought you would’ve at least seen at least one of the films. This is an Dr. Indiana Jones hat.”

“A doctor you say, well what the fuck kind of doctor wears that kind of hat?”

“He’s also an archeologist that goes on adventures Fred.” I explained to him. Freddie ahhed in understandment.

“Okay now I see. Well besides all that, come on in my darlings the party’s just beginning.” Fred opened the front door wider and allowed Jack and I to enter inside.

And amazingly while there were a lot of people there, it wasn’t as full crazed as his birthday party last year. It was mellow, quieter, people making small talk amongst friends. It was a nice change for once (especially after the after party for the Magic tour).

The party went on and as Fred and I stood side by side of each other looking out at the other party guests I turned to him and said.

“You know I’m really surprised Fred. You really mellowed out.”

“Well darling the older you get, the less of a party animal you become. Even the champ must lose at one point.”

“All these metaphors and old saying you’ve been saying throughout this past year, I swear Fred you should be a philosopher.”

“As great as some of their sayings are, they’d be boring to meet in real life. And dear I refuse to be boring.” He playfully dipped my hat forward covering my eyes. I groaned and playfully shoved him as I readjusted my hat.

That’s when I noticed a band on his right ring finger.

I took his hand and held it and looked up at him and asked him intrigued.

“And just what is this Fred?”

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know.” Fred teased me.

“C’mon Fred. You know as well as I that this ring isn’t like any of the old concert rings you used to wear ten years ago. So out with it.” Fred looked around before clasping my hand with his and he dragged me off upstairs where we would have some privacy.

We made it to his master suite and there I saw Delilah and Goliath both sunning themselves on the bed.

“It’s from Jim.” Freddie spoke softly as he stared down at th ring lovingly. “He gave it to my just before everyone got here. A sorta—one year anniversary present. I would wear it on my left hand if I could but—you know how people are these days when it comes to relationships. Especially with mine.”

I walked up to him and cupped his face between my hands. He and I stared at each other and I said to him.

“I’m happy for you Fred. Truly I am. And hell if it were up to me, I’d have you and Jim married tonight if you both wanted to.”

“I know you would darling.” He very gingerly pinched my cheek.

“And……people can be bastards. They think that sexual relationships have to be in a straight fashion. Even Johanna and Graham thought that way. Any trace of homosexuality, they’d treat them as if they were scum of the scum. They’d even tried to brainwash me into believing it as well. But thankfully I have more common sense than them or anyone else that thinks that way. Love is Love. As long as two people are happy and in love with each other, so long as they are of legal age, then it doesn’t matter.” I said as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“A lioness with a heart of gold. Your parents would be proud of you darling.” He said as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Who knows maybe one day the world can change and have people of the same sex get married. And when that day comes, I’ll be right there at your side as your Maid of honor.” Freddie softly smiled and said.

“I’ll let you plan the whole thing out if you want.”

“Good cause you know I’ve got some suggestions.”

“You did learn from the best.”

“Also I’m gonna tell you what you once told me when Jack and I first became a couple. If he breaks your heart, or makes you cry like that last bastard of a man you had, I’ll pop him off his arse till he’s in a coma.”

We both softly laughed and pecked each other’s cheeks before embracing each other tightly. “Never change my darling Rock Angel.”

“Never Freddie. So long as you never change either.”

“With you by my side, I doubt I ever will.” We both softly laughed.

“C’mon. I’m betting everyone’s wondering where the birthday boy is at.” We took each other’s hands once more and walked out of his master suite and headed back downstairs.

Everyone gathered in the back garden as Jim, Terry and Phoebe pulled out the cake (which was sculpted into the shape of an orange, black and white patterned cat standing on a podium with its paw up in the air).

Once the sparkling candles were lit, we all sang Happy birthday to Freddie. Freddie stood by his cake smiling and gushing about till the end of the song before finally blowing out his candles.

“I better not expect a girl wearing a cat costume to pop out and ruin this cake!” we all laughed and that’s when Jim came up to him and delicately cut the bottom part of the cake. As Jack and I sat together I couldn’t take my eyes off of Freddie.

He was just radiating this pure energy as he chatted away with Phoebe, Jim and his other friends that he knew outside of Queen. He truly was a ray of sunshine who made everyone laugh and smile, and I am so glad that he got out of Prenter’s grasp when he did cause this this was the Freddie I knew and loved.

“He seems happier with Jim.” Jack said to me as he ate a piece of his cake.

“He does. He finally found himself a little niche in life. And I’m happy for him.”

“So they’re really together, aren’t they?” Jack asked me. Of course there wasn’t any hatred or disgust as my husband spoke those words, he genuinely wanted to know whether or not Freddie and Jim were seriously an item or not.

“They are. And I can see that it’s real love between those two. I hope they stay together for a long, long time. They’re good for each other.”

“I’ll admit it, even though I’ve never really seen a gay romance for myself. I think they really do love each other.”

“It’s just like us. Like Deacy and Ronnie, like any other straight marriage or relationship. It doesn’t matter the gender of the person so long as two people love each other and care about one another. Love is Love.”

“I can get behind that.” Jack said as he nuzzled his face into my neck making me giggle softly.

It was about an hour after sunset when the party finally came to a close. Everyone bid their goodbyes to Freddie and when I had invited Fred and Jim to come and have tea tomorrow, that’s when I found out that they would actually be leaving for Japan tomorrow afternoon.

“Oh wow Japan. You two going on your honeymoon?” I playfully nudged Fred.

“It’s not so much a honeymoon dear. Just a way for Jim and I to get to know each other a little more without all the press and cameras stalking us.”

“Understood. Those blood-sucking leeches.”

“Tell me about it.” He grumbled.

“Well I hope you both have a safe trip and enjoy yourselves.”

“We will darling. And I’ll be sure to pick something up for the mini-angel’s birthday in a couple months. As well as a souvenir gift.”

“You know she’s still a baby right?”

“So what? Just because she’s a baby doesn’t mean I have to stop spoiling her.” I rolled my eyes and embraced Freddie and he hugged me back.

“You’re gonna drive me to early grey hair Mercury.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous darling.” He said in a posh tone. “As I’ve always said you’re gonna be an ageless beauty. It’s me and the other guys that’ll age like milk.” I slapped his arm then we kissed each other goodbye then Jack and I took our leave.

When we arrived back home, we came in to see Derek sitting on the couch watching the news.

“How was the party?” he asked us.

“Mellow but fun. How was our girl?” Jack said.

“Barely gave me any trouble, unlike my own daughter when she was that age. The only fuss she made was when I had to change her nappie before bed.”

“She’s done that with us too. Mum hopes she’ll grow out of it soon.” I said as I walked up to him.

‘Growing cases of the AIDS and HIV virus continues to climb. So far in England alone more than 1000 confirmed deaths have occurred due to the virus…..’ I shut the TV off and muttered angrily.

“I hate the news. They never have anything positive to say. All it is is just death, gang bangs, cults, economy crashes, war, or this new virus that’s been coming up.”

“Don’t let it affect you too much Angel, you don’t need to have all that negativity floating in your head. Well I best be off.”

“Thanks again Derek, I’ll send you your payment in the morning.” I told him.

“No need. This one’s on the house. Have a good night Angel, Jack.”

“Night Derek. Drive safely.” Jack told him as Derek grabbed his coat and keys then left the house.

Jack and I changed out of our party clothes and got into our pajamas and cuddled close together.

“G’night Jack.” I yawned.

“G’night my love. Sweet dreams.” Jack whispered. He kissed my forehead as the two of us fell asleep cuddled under the sheets.

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katherinewilliams221b · 3 years

Text

For A Greater Good Fun Facts and Self Assesment (spoilers)

Long Post

What worked and what didn’t:

I think the overall structure worked pretty well. The most difficult part was, with the plot and subplot already created, scattering all those ideas throughout the text in such a way that at least made some sense. I regret not writing more about Mer Yankelevich, I feel like the crumbs I left on the way were not enough; in my attempt to make it subtle it lacked information about her. The key piece was of course her sister, and I should have introduced her sooner.

MC’s evolution. I feel like Kate’s learnt a lot with this experience (I’m not only referring to the Deathly Hallows or Grindelwald) When it started, she was very discreet and kept a low profile, not knowing what to do really, not taking more risks than necessary. And then she ended poisoned and splinching just to protect a document she thought was important. I hope her evolution is noticeable for the reader.

Worldbuilding. Grabbing HP concepts that were forgotten and full of potential, plus a dash of original ideas from me and blending them with muggle features was my absolute favourite part of the process.

On that note, I dont own these concepts: Durmstrang, Igor Karkarov, Nerida Vulchanova, umbrella flowers, fanged geraniums, billywigs, Appare Vestigium, glow-worms, trick wand, chamaleon ghouls,

If you’ve read the fic and thought: “everything happened so fast” or got a general odd feeling about the timeline it's because I made a series of monumental mistakes: setting a chapter limit, telling you about it and then tried to stick to it. At first the idea sounded nice: this is my first “big” story with complicated components. I should (and I did) do an outline of what I want to happen in each chapter and stick to it methodically so I don't forget what's happening or lose track of the plot. Well...it kind of backfired. So I wrote the first 3 chapters and at that point I thought “okay everything is going as planned, I’m going to put it out there”, bam, instantly cursed. After that it got ridiculously difficult to make the story that I wanted. Why? I needed chapter space that I convinced myself I couldn’t add. Dumb.

The major consequence of this was the lack of character backgrounds. It started out good, but as I kept writing and publishing I realised that I missed some great opportunities to make amazing ocs. That’s Corentin’s fault in a way: he wasn't going to be a major character, really, just a piece to help Kate a bit. But we all fell in love with him so what was I supposed to do? Also, Sheyi Mawut owns my heart and he got just a bit of spotlight. A shame.

I wish I had written more about them, but I think I wasn’t ready just yet to make it even more complicated.I just wanted to prove I could concoct a mystery plot and now that I know I can manage a fair amount of information I think I can take it a step further and deepen new ocs a little bit more.

I’m thinking about the datura series and I know why I got blocked and tired of writing it; it wasnt going anywhere because I wasnt prepared, and I didn’t do the months of outlines and planning that I did with this one. I’ll come back to the datura story one day, subjecting it to a sever rewrite. The ideas are there, I just need to be organised.

Although the chapter limit was problematic it was also a good exercise of managing space and deciding which things were unnecessary for the story. I dont think there’s any filler chapters, perhaps the last ones, but there is important information there too so... However this sentence from the blog wordsandstuff reassured me (and I think I did a good job at that?)

If you set out to write 10 parts and you write a fantastic story in 8, you haven’t failed and it’s not too rushed. Concise writing is an underrated talent. Focus on how effectively you engage the reader, not for how long.

I spent more than year writing this! When I started, I had a lot of ideas, I wrote the last two chapters then the first 3 and I really thought it was going to be that way with the rest of the story... okay... lesson learnt. #humbled

Other thoughts:

I received a couple of comments on ao3 that said that they were pleasantly surprised. Maybe I should change the tags because they are misleading? Clearly this wasnt what people were looking for lol.

One particular comment stood out to me and quoting it said: “You did not choose the easy way with a fiction with so few characters from the fandom.” And I’ve been thinking about this since I read it. It didn’t occur to me that there were few mystery fics (maybe I should write more things like that? Maybe throwing some power couple detective work 👀 ) In any case, I’m glad I contributed with something different to the fandom, and the fact that the Charlie bits are very scarce but people who read it still liked it is really flattering.

I wanted to make sure that all the characters had strengths and flaws, I didnt want to severus-snape them so maybe I overdid it with that bit of introspection kate does at the end...

Also, I did the kiss and fade thing twice to mention sex. I know some people dont like that but since it wasnt the point of the story and I havent done research on how to write sex scenes I didnt include them. I have that on my “to learn” list.

Conclusions:

Writing the whole thing was incredible. It's my first ‘big’ project and its not a great work (there are some things I wish I did better, thats what you get when you are an agatha christie wannabe) and not writing more character backgrounds will haunt me to this day, but I think it's at least good for a first series and I’m proud of it. I loved spending hours doing research and trying to piece together this puzzle. And of course I’m not an expert and I dont want to sound pretentious (like this is my first story) but if you are planning to write this type of genre I can be another source of tips and tricks for you.

If I read the story after a while and I dont cringe, I would call that a success.

FUN? FACTS!

Bakunawa really belongs to Filippines mythology

Snapdragons have different meanings, one of them being: “grace under pressure or inner strength in trying circumstances”

The entrance to Grindelwald’s room was going to be in the duelling classroom, strangely shaped as a triangle. I had this system where one of the round candle lamps descended and lined up with a line on the floor (serving as separation for duels) it created the Deathly Hallows symbol. I couldn’t make that work because it wouldn't make any sense for Nerida Vulchanova to shape a room like that. Here are some sketches:

Lucius Malfoy was going to appear as the Ministry employee that goes to Durmstrang, but after revising the events of the OoP I realised it was impossible.

Kent Jorgensen was going to be around Kate’s age and the charms teacher and he would have a small crush on her. After seeing some pics of Pen Medina, I rewrote the character completely.

The series was going to be 6 chapters long (I’m glad I decided not to) one for each month. The chapter names were ridiculous: January of Beginnings, February of reputation, March of Students, April of Discoveries, May I? and June of Endings. #tragic

The Dolohov family was going to be a part of the plot but I had to erase that part because it was unlocking another layer of complexity that I just couldnt handle.

I dont remember exactly the chapter but I got really confused with the names Rhode and Hodges and there’s one chapter where I accidentally mixed them (I corrected it I think), but for a while I could stop calling Rhode, Hodges, and vice versa lmao

Here are some sketches that helped me describe and imagine things

Thank you for accompany me in this journey, especially if you endured the process with me lmao. You’ve been here for over A YEAR! <3 Mindblowing

Also I’d love to know your opinions about the way you read the story, I mean, I know some people read it as I published, and some other readers found the story already finished, what are the differences? Should I stop the updating system and drop a story all at once? I know it is difficult to keep up with a complex story if there’s a lot of weekly or monthly gaps between the chapters, so I wanted to know.

Sending you a virtual hug 💜💜

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musedblues · 4 years

Text

Send My Love

summary: Eugene misses home. You miss him. But there's a lot neither of you can say.

a/n: Here's an angsty bit of nonsense I word vomited out of the blue for no reason at all- besides the fact I love Eugene. Plus I sort of owe this to @joemazzmatazz for hooking me up with The Pacific and for also just being the angel that she is!

w/c: 5k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

He couldn't burden you with his darkness. He couldn't tell you that he hadn't caught a wink of sleep in three nights straight. He dared not tell you whose blood was on his hands, if he even managed to figure out who it'd belonged to. Or how he'd become fearful of lingering silence. His chest would fill with lead as seconds crept by in the twilight and even the blowing of the wind pricked his ears as he waited for the next big bang. He couldn't even tell you he missed you. Because all the other throat constricting truths were tangled in that one simple fact. He missed the warmth of your bed. The smile on your face on a breezy Sunday drive. He missed never knowing what he was missing out on, before.

I love you. Now that, he could say. Actually, he said it all the time. He said it when he admired his only worn photo of you near candle light. He said it when he thought of you, as all his friends and enemies cries pierced so loudly it deafened him.

I love you. He thought, hours after sending you another letter, as he dug his nails into the dirt of a foreign land. He thought only of how dearly he loved you because even the mud he crawled through wasn't enough to ground him. Not when the dirt clouded his already blurred vision.

///

"I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I-"

You let the new letter fall against your writing desk as your eyes scanned the page. It was chock full of those same three words without punctuation. His writing was sloppy, almost careless. But he'd taken the time to scribe the sentence in repetition, so you knew his heart was in the right place.

But the word's meaning didn't leave a long enough effect on your heart before worry swallowed you whole. He loved you, and you knew it. But a whole page full of the declaration felt tragic. Like a warning. Not at all what it should have felt like.

You bit your lip as you pulled your own stationery in some kind of sudden hurry. The quicker I write this the better. You though. But the thought caught you off guard. You'd never thought it before.

"Dear Gene,"

No sooner than your pen hit the paper did a knock come across your bedroom door.

"Come finish dinner before your father and I have to leave to beat the snow." Your mother softly demanded, and you stood without haste. But your eyes lingered on Eugene's letter as you turned to leave.

"The mail was from Eugene, wasn't it?" Your mother grinned, stabbing her fork into a lump of mystery meat she insisted on coming over and cooking for you. The exchanges between yourself and Eugene had dwindled significantly over the while he'd been away. And quite the while it had been indeed. So when a letter finally did arrive between the collection of cobwebs in your mailbox, it was like Christmas day. Better.

"Uh-huh." You agreed, biting into some asparagus and hoping to high heavens that your voice sounded even and calm. The new letter was so sweet. So why did it leave you with such a heavy heart?

"How's Gene, then?" Your father boomed.

"He's good." You decided, keeping your gaze fixed on your dinner plate. Sure enough, your father spun into the most frightening updates of the state of your country's men. You pretended to listen, white noise flooding your ears and stealing your focus. The sinking feeling in your gut took up too much space for any more food.

Your sister changed the subject to some school girl fantasy. The boy she fancied had yet to leave the comforts of his family home. But he would likely be up and away like the rest of em' soon enough. So was it really a change of subject at all?

///

"Gene?" You called. His silhouette was shaped by a sunlit door frame. When he stepped into the room all the way, the floorboards didn't creak. But your heart did. He lifted a silent arm toward you, but you couldn't let him any closer.

"This isn't real. Don't break my heart in another world, Gene."

You shot awake from the dream with the realization that you hadn't finished writing a response to Eugene's latest letter. You couldn't be stopped from padding toward your writing desk in the black ink night.

You scribbed a hurried response that assured your lover you loved him just as much as all the times he said so on paper. You tried to keep it short, but as you kept jotting down your feelings, you couldn't stop. You took up three pages confessing how scared you were. How lonely and worried and dazed you'd become. If anyone should know your heart's murmurs, it was your Gene. So you sealed your words in an envelope and sent your lengthy letter through priority mail the next day.

///

You couldn't be sure if your letter got to where it was meant to go. Six long dreary months passed since you'd seen anything besides bills in your mailbox. The winter's snow had been melted by a warm spring. Trees blossomed and flowers too. So why were you wilting? Because you hadn't received one single bit of mail from Eugene since his page-long declaration of his love for you.

The repetitive letter laid exactly where you left it on your writing desk, something your eyes glanced over at least once a day. It had become a fixture of your scenery, and you were glad for the reminder.

Maybe Eugene knew he wouldn't be sending more letters. Maybe he filled up every blank space in his last with love, for all the times he feared he'd miss out saying so in the future.

Some days you let ideas like those get the better of you. Friends of friends would be united with their war-torn lovers. A girl dropped her grocery basket in the produce aisle to sprint into her long lost man's embrace. Another would brush past you at work to tackle her husband to the ground with all the kisses she'd saved up. You would pretend to smile for them and curse at yourself for feeling so selfishly bitter. Their love came home. And in a way, yours did too, in so many written words. You had to remind yourself that Eugene's last letter was better than nothing at all.

But soon, nothing at all was your everything. No letters, no calls, no news from anyone you'd hope would have some. Nothing. You kept Eugene's side of the bed neatly tucked in, and his clothes on his side of the closet. You ran out of shirts that smelled of him, after cuddling them all too close. Their charm might have washed off in the laundry, but they were still Eugene's.

///

You worked through the summer and went out with your friends on the weekends, if you could. When another lonely autumn started to approach, the steadily dissipating hope you'd been grasping hold of, had been lost. You'd passed the stage where everything made you sad; like frequenting Eugene's favorite shops in the city, and catching glimpses of his favorite cars on the road. You'd turn the radio down when songs he liked came on air. You'd noticed his favorite trees outside your cozy home, but wouldn't let yourself admire how they'd grown.

One afternoon you noticed the letter on your desk for the first time in a while. It'd become a part of your background, something your eyes were so used to it was almost like the letter wasn't even there. But one day, you sat down to do some mind numbing paper work; and glanced over to realize half of Eugenes scribbles had started fading from the sun that crept past your curtains day in and out.

You took the sun bleached letter into your grasp and let your eyes fall across the page. His words might have started to disappear but you didn't have to squint to know what he'd written. The patterns of each sloppily scrawled line had been burned into your brain for good, by now. But you couldn't let it go on fading. It was all you had left. So with a heavy sigh, you pulled out the box where you'd kept all the other letters, and stuck it in the very bottom of the pile. That way, if you'd ever venture to read through some of Eugene's outdated updates, the last one you received would hopefully keep some semblance of it's original form. And if the words were even harder to make out by the time you came upon them again, you'd know exactly what was missing from the washed out letter.

///

Your friends stopped asking if you were alright, because they knew you'd only answer like you always did, by pretending you were. Secretly hoping that forcing a smile on your face would make it stick till it became real, or at least natural, again. But you hadn't felt that fizzle in your chest for a long time, the one that bubbled up in the theater during a funny film, or a thrilling plot twist. You hadn't even felt a tinge of jealousy when your coworkers went on trips to spend time with their lovers distant relatives.

By Halloween, you barely felt anything at all.

Your sister begged you to come along for a night-long hallows eve celebration. You didn't know what kind of night she planned on having, but you simply weren't up for pretending to have any kind of fun. And you really didn't want to be pulled through a house of horrors or tossed a handful of sweets to tied you over till the next scary thing popped out. You'd spent too many nights scared of what might happen next. You wanted to stay in and practice your new routine of praying for a better tomorrow.

But nothing could stop the neighborhood children from knocking on your door, asking for candy. And you'd be a real monster if you didn't have any to offer. So you filled a big bowl with chocolates and spent the night marveling over kid's homemade costumes.

You spent a while chatting with little werewolves and ghouls, musing with their parents about the weather. You handed out candy as the sun went down and put a record on in between. Your home felt lonely as ever but the bustling streets were an odd comfort.

When a fireman, and a lion knocked on your door for a treat, a princess was leaving a trail of flower petals on your porch, dedicated to her role. You chuckled and watched her twirl into the crowded street, shouting about the excellent quality of the candies you were handing out. Children of all ages were floating down the block, and your neighbors were giving out sweets too, on their aptly cobweb-covered porches. For a moment you wished every day could be so full. You wished the streets were always jam packed with smiling faces. You wished the knocks on your door were always so frequent.

Among the sea of costumed kids, and parents with cameras, one figure slowly parted through the rest, making their way toward you. It was akin to an eerie vision. A sick joke. You'd had dreams like this, that never came true...

You stilled as the kids on your porch reached into your candy dish, and more came up the steps for their share. But your gaze was fixed to the person in the road.

Could it be? A lone soldier was drifting closer and closer, a familiar swath of auburn hair tousled in the warm night air. This was no costume. Suddenly, children's laughter was muddled, and the record inside your door sounded miles away. This wasn't another one of your dreams, for once- even though time seemed to slow down while your heart beat a mile a minute.

Eugene was here. Eugene was home. He was looking right at you, and when he realized you noticed him, his face relaxed into something softer, sweeter than a smile.

You dropped the dish of sweets in the doorway because you were only capable of running now. You pushed through the group of children scrambling to collect your mess of candy and bolted down the petal covered porch steps.

Eugene stopped walking through the crowd in order to brace for impact. He scooped you up in a long-awaited embrace, nearly stumbling over from the momentum you'd gained.

"Hey watch it!" Some kid cried, ringing the bell on the front of his bicycle. The crowd of comers and goers had to redirect their swarm that you'd rushed into the middle of. But you were in no state to offer up apologies for disrupting the bustle. All you knew was the feeling of Eugene's strong arms around you. That's where you belonged. You wrapped yourself around him, like if you didn't cling on for all it was worth, that he would evaporate into a fever dream you'd had once before. But then he spoke up, reminding you this was all really real.

"I missed you." Eugene's warm voice was muffled in your hair. And he meant it. He always had, of course. But now that he was back, he didn't have to miss you anymore. So he could finally say it. And it wasn't until then, that you realized he'd never said it before. You realized why, too.

You couldn't hold back your tears as you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck. If you could have focused on anything besides the reappearance of your long lost love, you would have been able to register the neighbor's chatter and the children's ongoing griping for you to get out of the middle of the road. But you just kept on crying.

So Eugene kept one arm around your middle, and pulled the pair of you steadily toward the porch steps, apologizing to the candy snatching children he maneuvered around.

By the time he shut the pair of you inside your home, the record had stopped playing and the neighborhood's collective buzz was reduced to white noise.

Eugene pulled you to the floor and held on to you all the same. He couldn't tell you he was too relieved too cry along with you. He couldn't ever find the proper words for a moment like now. So he just savored the way you adhered to him; as he held you close in the living room of your home that's carpet felt like clouds beneath him.

Your cries slowly morphed into whimpers as he smoothed back your hair and hummed in your ear. It was amazing, the way Gene sent you reeling and calmed you down all at once.

"I'm sorry." Embarrassed that you couldn't stop crying, you buried your face in Eugene's shoulder. Only then did he dare to release his comforting grasp on you.

He tugged you to face him, wiped your tears away and peppered your cheeks with soft kisses. The way he always used to do, when you were angry or exhausted. You lifted a hand to his face and relaxed into his frame in a way you'd longed to do for ages.

"It's alright. I'm just glad to know you missed me so much." Eugene admitted through a sweet chuckle as you pulled back to gaze into his eyes that were even more striking than you'd managed to remember.

"Why didn't you tell me you were comin' home?" You asked, not unhappy in the least, just curious when you recalled all this time you'd gone without hearing from him.

He couldn't tell you why he'd gone so long without sending you something. He couldn't tell you that time seemed to tick, and when it stalled, the words he could have conjured just for you were stolen away when those rare moments of respite were, too.

But he could tell you that when he was finally sent on his way, the train he'd boarded with anxious glee- broke down in the middle of no place at all. He combated another couple days of waiting to get home with the peaceful knowledge that he was headed in that direction without a doubt.

"Well, welcome back." You smiled, sitting up with your knees on either side of his legs, pulling his shoulders closer toward you for a kiss. You felt Eugene melt in your clutch as his strong arms coiled around your waist. This was just like before. But better. You could get used to this.

///

He was everything you missed. He was patient smiles as you fretted over what to wear. He was the last to ask for help with anything, but you were the first he asked, when defeated. He was around every corner with big strong arms already outstretched, eager to pull you in for a bit of reassurance, or just because he simply longed to hold you close.

And as the weather turned cold and you got used to his being home, readjusted to the way his presence brought you warm peace; you had a few other things to get used to, as well.

He still waited for the perfect time to crack jokes, when he knew they'd make you laugh hardest. They made your family laugh too. And when all the champagne bubbles and chuckles fizzed out near the end of a big dinner, so did something in Eugene's gaze. He didn't go missing his spark or the warmth that radiated from his forest toned eyes. But you noticed the shift before everyone else seemed too. You watched his focus break away before he got up from the dinner table without a word and slipped down the hall.

Your sister's boyfriend would halt mid tall tale and act as if he couldn't wait to go on telling his story without Eugene near to listen. You had to rest your hand on top of the schoolboys, when he made as if he was going to shoot up away from the table and down the hall to talk your man's ear off. The boy would cast you a curious glare, and you would shake your head as your father made a show of kicking conversation in an all new direction. Then you all sat and waited, hard as it was.

You wanted to run after Eugene too, but you knew he needed the space.You knew, when he'd found whatever he went off looking for, he'd always come back in time to help clean up with a soft smile that reminded you why you'd fallen so hard for him way back when.

So you learned to leave him be. You learned it was normal to find he'd wake up before you, now, and linger in the kitchen with a cup of tea. He'd let the drink go untouched and grow cold till you found him nodding off at the table, and offer to make him another.

When you went on walks, you watched him drift toward the nearest patch of quiet until you'd finished catching up with the women you bought fresh flowers from. When you'd finally manage to float in his direction again, he'd hold his arm out for you to take; and then greet you with some cheesy line that left you blushing, despite all your years of becoming accustomed to his sweet talk.

So you'd let Eugene go quiet. Because you knew sooner or later, he'd pull you into his lap or close to his side, where you'd spend the rest of the day dreaming of the many more you had left to waste away together.

Of course, though, some days you couldn't let him go by sulking in the sunroom one minute longer. Your heart would crack down to the wire, each hour you passed by the door to peek in on him- slumped a little lower in his favorite old chair.

And when the day started turning to night and all that time passed without a peep reminded you too much of the quiet that crept in when he wasn't around at all- you swayed into the sunroom on a mission.

You found Eugene how you'd left him early in the afternoon, flipping the yellowed page of a book you knew he'd read a thousand times before.

"Why don't we call it a night, then?" You wondered softly, leaning against the chair and letting your hand fall to Eugene's mess of hair. His locks were mused by wrestling for a wink of sleep the night before, and his fingers today, as he fought to stay awake through his parents surprise morning visit.

He glanced up at you now, letting the book in his lap flutter to close. You knew just the method to settle his duo of restless exhaustion. So with tender encouragement, you got him up from the chair and scurried to run a bath.

His smile flickered back to life in the dim light of the washroom. The softly coloured walls and the scents of the soaps you'd always found worthy of splurging on, all combined into some kind of small luxury. You filled the tub with bubbles, and unbuttoned your man's shirt while the sky went dark.

When you ushered him to settle in the bath, you kneeled at the edge and asked Eugene if he was happy; like your efforts were a tried and true formula set to melt away every trouble. He responded by splashing a bit of warm water your way with a grin that faded, like he was exhausted by the effort to remember how to smile.

"Would be happier if I had a little company..." He swept his eyes across the vast expanses of the bath as if it were the sea that had kept you apart for too long before.

So then you joined him without discussion. He watched you ease before him, your form disappearing below the steam and bubbles. His gaze was dazzling, albeit foggy, but entirely fixated on you. His brow furrowed when you brought a hand to his face, like he'd never been treated so kindly in all his days. As you studied his expression Eugene hung his head with a deep slow breath, solidifying his unsettled nature. His long, water warmed fingers trailed up your wrist, pulling your hand between both of his to hold.

"I should have written more."

"You wrote plenty." You assured, firmly, softly. Shifting closer, trying to catch his eye.

"But I could'a done more. I went so long without-" He looked at you just in time, before you managed to hide the flash of sadness that crossed your eyes.

"What you must have thought..." Eugene suddenly realized in a shudder, reaching up to wipe drops of water that he'd splashed to your cheeks.

"It doesn't matter what I thought." You spoke decidedly. "You're home, now." You watched Eugene watch you, the crease in his brow deeper from being so permanently furrowed, his lips curled into a small frown, still. And when you nodded, to guarantee you were simply glad to have him back in your arms again, he still wasn't settled. Eugene's eyes searched yours as his frown grew.

"You... you thought I died, didn't you?" He asked.

It wasn't so much a change of topic as it was a direct acknowledgment of the matter you'd both been dancing far around since long before his leaving. It was always a concern, always a worry. Always something morphing into an ugly, mangled, all consuming thought you'd never let come out from the very back of your mind. And as you try to hide the way Eugene's question made your heart plummet, and as you consider what to tell him without lying or adding to the sadness filling his gaze; you failed to say anything at all.

Eugene decided your silence was plenty loud enough of an answer.

And then his troubled gaze started turning to the look that flooded his expression you'd come to recognize. The look he'd get before leaving families to wonder where he'd gone at the end of dinner.

So to save for the way your silence deafened the room, and the way you still couldn't say anything, you pulled Eugene to your chest. You threaded your fingers through his mused hair and held him close, because your "doesn't matter, you're home now speech" hadn't worked this time around and it was the only one you knew how to give without breaking up.

Then, Eugene's cold breath fanned across your collarbone as he started stammering through a speech. All about how he could have done more and how he'd so carelessly broken the promise he made to take care of you even while he was away. How he'd failed you and how he hadn't done nearly enough for you, and how he'd never be able to make it right...

"I'm sorry for makin' you think I was dead but, for a while... well I might as well have been. But damn it you don't need to hear that kind of thing. I could have done more then and I could be doing more even now but-"

"Gene stop." You gripped his shoulders, pushing him away from your hold until your eyes met. His expression was still curious and grim, but it slowly morphed into something even more somber as your eye's pierced into his.

Eugene broke your stare to hang his head. When he started to cry, you clamored closer and wrapped around him all the same. You held him close as ever and assured he'd done enough. Assured he had nothing to be sorry for. Assured you loved him and were glad to have someone to worry so feicrly over. You held him close while he held you too.

///

And you stuck just as close after the water turned cold and you'd slipped into your night clothes, together. You held Eugene right against you as you both pretended to sleep.

When he drifted from under the covers as the sun rose, you let him clatter about the kitchen for a beat before you followed close behind. Then you both sat at the table with cups of tea and let the silence set in. Eugene's knee brushed against yours every time he snapped back from staring at one page of the newspaper for too long. You bumped your elbow into his side every time you rose your cup of tea for a sip.

And then, as often as you could get away with- without offending too many of your neighbor ladies who stopped for a chat, you let Eugene pull you along when he floated away. He'd never said much, then. But he made tiny promises to do better, for you. You'd tell him he'd already done enough, and sat with him till the quiet seemed less suffocating.

Then, one day, you checked the mail to find Eugene had left a brand new letter. It was written in careful scrawl, echoing the promises he'd always repeated, when he wasn't too burdened to say so out loud. And though it was still missing so much of everything he'd never be able to say, it was full of thanks for you. He wrote how he'd never even want to try and claw through the darkness that seemed to swallow him whole, if it wasn't for you. For your dumb jokes and your pretty hair, and the effort you made to show him how much you cared. He wrote that every little thing about you, were the only things that got him through minutes he couldn't kick the habit of counting as they passed by.

You had to slip into the darkest room of your shared flat to cry where he couldn't hear. But these tears were less bitter, much more sweet than before.

Eugene wrote more letters, when he skipped out on parties you attended. He wrote about how he wished he could have gathered up the guts to have gone along with you. He wrote how grateful he was to know you'd come home to him at the end of the night. He wrote to you when he couldn't sleep, about how sorry he was for keeping you up with worry, all the same.

Your mailbox was usually full of bills, but you weren't surprised to keep finding odd envelops from Eugene. You collected the notes in the same box you'd stored his others away in, and watched Eugene sit up a little straighter each day he'd managed to get some of those heavy thoughts off his chest, in so many words.

Between letters, his laughter came back. His conversations lasted longer. And he'd stick around to join in the chatter at the end of big dinners.

Of course, there were still nights his tears mixed with the bathwater and his cries seemed to echo from places you'd never know. You'd never ask, not directly. You'd just make a warm drink and sit with him in the silence that told you all you needed to know. He'd never tell you. Not even when his thoughts spilled over onto papers he'd leave for you to find. He'd just hold your hand a little tighter under the dinner table until your father was done rambling about his own time fighting.

For fleeting moments, you wondered what Eugene had been through. But you reigned in your imagination as soon as it threatened to keep you up at night. And you made sure to sing along to songs on the radio- even the ones you didn't like very well, theatrically enough to get Eugene to smile, and turn his blank gaze from the empty fields you drove past.

You realized the thoughts that kept him awake till dawn might always. You realized there wasn't much you could do. Sometimes, you wrote letters back, and left notes under his pillow, when sharing silence wasn't enough to ease his frown. But more often than not, you'd started to spend nights together that reminded you of the day's before everything changed. You'd take each morning in stride, next to Eugene.

You got back to some kind of normal. The war was over. Eugene was back in your arms and in your world. He was your world. And no matter how far away he seemed to drift some days, Eugene was finally home.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

#joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello imagine #eugene sledge #eugene sledge x reader #eugene sledge imagine

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one-leaf-grimoire · 4 years

Text

Catfish (1/3)

So uhhh I’ve had this idea bouncing in my brain for like a month and I need to get rid of it so now you guys are subjected to it. Oops? It’s pretty self indulgent but hey what’s new? Anyway enjoy!

Also I was struggling to write this in 2nd person because I kept switching to 1st person. If you notice that in there please just ignore lol.

Warning: Finral’s shenanigans, alcohol use, catfishing (uh oh)

Even after 3 years of being part of the Black Bull’s squad, one thing remained constant: Finral never, NEVER stopped flirting.

“Ah!!~ You look so lovely today, why don’t the two of us go on a date sometime?” Finral appeared out of nowhere as you minded your own business, extending a gaudy bouquet of flowers towards you. You almost screamed in terror as he popped up, but managed to contain it.

“Er, thanks? Finral, you don’t have to keep giving me these, and anyway-” You laughed nervously. “I told you this before... you’re cool and everything, I just think it could be weird to date someone on the same squad, you know?” It’s true, in-squad dating could potentially lead to some very awkward situations. You had explained this reasoning to Finral time and time again, but he never seemed to quite get it.

“Aw... wait, you’ve told me that before, haven’t you?

“Yes, several times.”

“Well...” Finral’s eyes suddenly light up. “Since we’re both two lonely souls, and you want to meet someone from outside the squad, why don’t you come to the mixer with me next week?”

You’re not exactly sure what he’s talking about, but it sounds sketchy. “Mixer?”

Finral’s eyes widen. “Yeah, a mixer! It’s where young single people come to mingle and meet one another. You get paired with people for dinner.”

“Oh, so like a blind date?” The thought of going on a “date” with someone you don’t even know is sort of intimidating, but Finral keeps insisting that it’s fun. You do want to find a boyfriend at some point, just because it’s starting to get lonely. Being a magic knight is fun and all, but it takes up a lot of time, and relationships need time to build. Maybe this would be a good way to meet some people from other squads after all. “Alright... I’ll go with you.”

“Wonderful! We can be each other’s wingmen!”

“I don’t know about that...”

(one week later)

Two minutes after arriving in the town of Nean, you’re already regretting this decision. Finral dragged you into some loud, crowded inn. Most of the other girls there were dressed to impress, frilly gowns and ribbons in their hair. But you were still wearing your work clothes and cloak. That's what Finral was wearing, anyway! "You could have at least warned me about the dress code," you whispered to him angrily.

"Huh? Oh, don't worry about that!" Finral assured you. "Lots of girls like it if you're wearing your squad cloak! It attracts them like crazy!"

That's all well and good, but what about the men? Most of the men here seem to be making beelines for the girls in the pretty dresses, paying no mind to the girl with the squad cloak. "Well, what now?"

"We need to find a place to sit- Look! Over there!" Finral pointed at a table where a boy was already sitting, with two girls right across from them. He grabbed your hand and dragged you over. "Hey guys! Looks like you need another lady, huh?"

The guy blinked, sizing the two of you up. "...alright." The way he saw it, Finral wouldn't be a big threat, causing him to smile. "Have a seat!"

"Thanks!" Finral sits down across from one of the girls, then points at the empty seat with no one across from it. "Go on! Now we just need another guy..." He frowned as he realized you weren't moving. "What's wrong?"

You tried to string together some words. Already, you can tell that this guy isn't going to be very interested in you, and you doubt the last one will be either. So, what's the point? "Finral... I-I just remembered I have something to do-" You said quickly. "So, ah, I gotta-"

"WOW!" You were cut off by a loud gasp behind you. "A magic knight? No, TWO magic knights... Jackpot!"

You turned around to see the source to the exclamation: a young man with curly brown hair and the thickest glasses you had ever seen. He looks like a stereotypical librarian, was your very first thought. "Er- I was just-"

"Can I sit here with you guys? Please?" He's basically vibrating with excitement at the mere thought. It's a little creepy.

The other guy at the table chuckles to himself. "Go ahead, we need one more."

Oh god. Now you were trapped.

“Hello everyone! Now, we should all introduce ourselves to get warmed up!” Finral immediately takes charge of the dinner, which I’m grateful for. If nothing else, he’s good at riling people up, one way or another. “I’ll start! My name is Finral Roulacase, I’m 21, and I am a member of the Black Bulls! One interesting thing about me is that my Captain basically depends on me for everything. Without me, the squad would go under!”

“Whoa, really?” Mr. Spectacles blinks slowly as he looks at Finral in awe for some reason.

“Well, sort of.” Finral laughs nervously. “Next!”

The guy who was here originally flashes the girls a smile. “Good evening. I’m Emile, I’m 23, and I help my father run his merchant business.” The girls’s eyes immediately light up at this information. Having money is probably a plus. “And an interesting thing about me... I’m a great kisser.” Emile winks over at them.

Shit, he’s good! Finral thinks to himself.

I mean, he is pretty handsome, you thought to yourself, eyeing Emile up. But... I don’t know. He rubs me the wrong way already. Maybe Finral is the best option here-

The last guy stands up, wringing his hands together nervously as he squints over at us through his glasses. “Hello!!! I guess it’s my turn, ahah! Thanks for letting me sit with you, once again!” He giggles to himself nervously. “My name is, uh.... James! And I’m... uh... 21 as well! I work in the... uh- the Royal Library! I know that’s probably not where you expect a fellow young-person to work, but I do! And, an interesting fact about me... well, I’m not just going to tell you, you’ll have to ask me to find out.”

None of us know what to think about James. Finral stares at him for a moment before shrugging and turning back to the girls. “Now, what about you lovely ladies?”

The two girls recite their information, but their gazes are only directed on Emile and James. Mostly Emile, though... even though James works in the Royal Library and probably has connections, they don’t seem to care much for his manner... or something. James doesn’t seem to mind, though, he just keeps looking around the inn like a child in a candy store.

Finally, it’s your turn to tell everyone your name, and you do, a little nervously. “I’m 21 too, I’m on the Black Bulls, and, uh...” You were blanking on a fun fact so you decided to piggyback off of James. “Ask me for an interesting fact later. Hehe.”

A waitress comes by and drops off some beer (THANK GOD). You quickly start drinking in the hopes that it will calm your nerves, but get distracted when Emile calls your name. “So, you and Finral are the same age? You must have taken the exam together then. What was that like?”

“Oh, well, you see-” Your hands were shaking now that this very handsome guy was staring at you with interest. “I-I didn’t take the exam. Our captain ran into me at a bad time in my life and thought my powers would be a good match for the team-”

“A bad time in your life? What happened?”

You gulp nervously. “My... parents died. About three years ago?”

Emile’s eyes widen. “You’re an orphan, then?”

“Er, technically-”

“Let’s change the subject!” Finral interjects before I can get any more uncomfortable. The conversation moves on and any interest Emile had in you is gone. You supposed that a girl with no parents wouldn’t be much of a profit... no dowry. Well, if a guy wants to date me just for the money, then he isn’t worth it! you think, but still feel a bit disappointed.

“Your captain took you in? He must be a nice guy.” You looked up to see James speaking to you with a little smile on his face. He’s calmed down by now as well. “I’m sure you make a good member of the team.”

Well... at least he’s nice! I should at least make an effort to get to know him. He seemed a little eccentric but honestly who wasn’t? “So, er, James,” you started, not sure what to ask. “Have you been to a mixer before?”

“Nope! This is my first one.”

“Oh, me too!” For some reason, the answer put you at ease. Everyone else here seemed to be comfortable. James reached up and took his glasses off to clean them briefly, and for the first time, you got a good look at his eyes.

... they were beautiful, a shade of purple you had never seen before.

“... what are you looking to get out of this mixer?”

The question was a bit bold, and you weren’t exactly sure why you asked it. Something possessed you in that moment, because there was something strange about James, something you didn’t notice until he took off his glasses.

“Hmm?” James looked back up at you as he put his glasses back on. “Oh, I don’t get out much! My job is pretty hard, believe it or not.” He giggled to himself as if it were an inside joke. “I thought this would be a good way to meet new people and see new things!”

... that’s all? For some reason, the answer was a bit disappointing. Maybe he wasn’t looking for a date, maybe he really did just want to socialize.

But I can’t give up... I don’t know why, but I feel a strange need to succeed. And I will!

“What about you?” James asks obliviously.

You clear your throat and summon every ounce of courage within you.

“I’m looking for a boyfriend, of course.”

You winked, internally screaming as James’s eyes widened a little. Ahh! Hopefully that doesn’t scare him off-

After the moment of clarity, James breaks into another adorable smile, but he can’t hide the blush on his cheeks. “Oh... see any good options yet?”

Got him! “Maybe... we’ll see.”

After that the food comes, and your nerves melt as determination takes hold. It’s been a long time since you actively flirted with anyone, but you think you’re doing pretty well here. You have James basically all to yourself since both of the other girls seem to be only interested in the more charismatic Emile. Most of my comments go over James’s head, but you know when one connects because his ears turn bright red and his voice wavers. Most of the time, though, he’s bombarding you and Finral with questions about being magic knights. “

But, eventually the event devolves. Emile gets a little tipsy and challenges both of the other guys to a drinking contest. “Whoever wins gets all three of the girls to themselves!” he states cockily. You don’t really like the way he just lumped you all into this like you were objects.

“Now, now, that doesn’t sound healthy!” Finral objects quickly, but yelps when Emile grabs him by the front of the shirt. “AH! I mean, may the best man win!”

James just laughs and picks up his mug. “I’m ready!”

Five drinks in, and Finral falls forward onto the table, passed out. Emile, who is belligerently drunk by now, roars and grabs him by the front of the shirt. “You can’t just fall asleep on me! Keep fighting! Do you want to make me look like a fool!? Get- Get-” He lets go of Finral and staggers back. “Ouch...”

You avert your eyes, feeling very embarrassed. Emile was making everyone at this table look stupid. Luckily, Emile sat down heavily in his chair and ended up passed out in the same position as Finral 2 seconds later.

“Well... looks like I won!” To everyone’s surprise, the nerdy, slight James is the only one still standing. “Haha, so, ladies?”

“I’m out.”

“Me too.”

Both of the girls unceremoniously stand up and walk off, not sparing either of you a passing glance as they disappear. And just like that... You and James are alone.

“... that was rude how they just left. I think you’re pretty nice,” you said, wringing your hands together under the table.

“Really? That’s nice of you,” James says cheerfully. “I didn’t really know what to expect from tonight, but it’s fun! I’m sorry you had to get stuck with me at the end, though.”

“Huh? No, don’t be sorry! Emile really isn’t my type and Finral’s just a friend... plus, I told you,” you brought yourself to look in his eyes again. “I think you’re pretty nice...”

James just chuckles a little at that, his blush still visible but lessened. He must have gotten used to it by now. “Wanna go outside?”

“Sure!”

You make sure that Finral is comfortable in his sleep before walking outside after James, your eyes fixed on the back of his curly brown hair. He’s a weird guy. Sometimes he seems so hyper, but other times he’s mellow. I wonder if he’s putting on an act?

“Look, there’s still a lot of people down in the square.” James gestures down at the street over the railing of the walkway the two of you are on. “I love people-watching... sometimes you can tell what kind of magic they have just from the way they move! Like him-” He points at a guy walking with his hands in his pockets. “What do you think he does?”

“Hmm...” You lean on the railing next to him, not sure why he was so interested in this. “I don’t know. Probably something boring.”

James lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “No one is boring... everyone in the kingdom has an exciting story to tell, you know? I’m sure you do...”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” you reply, looking up to see him staring at you with that little smile once again.

“... I think you’re interesting.”

For the first time in a long time, your heart skipped a beat.

“... fire magic.”

“Huh?”

“That guy, he has fire magic.”

“Oh!” James looks down at the guy once again. “What makes you say that?”

You point at the man before he walks out of sight. “The way he saunters around, like he owns this whole town. That’s how a lot of fire-magic users are. They think they’re hot shit or something...”

Your voice trails off, then you both burst into laughter. “Hey! That wasn’t even a good pun, stop laughing!”

“Oh? Make me.”

... uh oh.

You stopped laughing as James continued to chuckle. For some reason, all parts of his face faded from your vision... all but his lips.

But you didn’t take the chance, and he settled down. “I bet you’re right, though. You have a fire-magic user on your squad, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Magna... hey-” You frowned. “How did you know that?”

James stuck out his tongue teasingly with a wink. “No reason. Anyway-” His eyes suddenly twinkled violently as he rapidly changed the subject. “Right now! Tell me your top five types of magic!”

Top five types of magic?! What is that supposed to mean?! You gulped, stuttering as you tried to think of something. “Uh... well...” You started counting off on your fingers. “I like Finral’s spatial magic... and light magic! Only the King has that but it’s cool. And then Vanessa’s thread magic, I’ve never seen anything like it. Lord Nozel’s mercury magic is neat, and then number one is Captain Yami’s dark magic.”

“Interesting...”

“What about you?”

“Hmmm...” He hums for a long time before breaking into what’s obviously a well-rehearsed list. “Memory Magic, Tree Magic, Fire Magic, Dark Magic, Time Magic, and... hmm...” He hums again before looking down at you. “What kind of magic do you have, by the way?”

The question caught you off guard, especially when James was about to finish his list. “oh... it’s gem magic...”

“Gem magic?”

“Basically I can conjure them and shoot them at people. They can also refract other magic and send it in a different direction.” James doesn’t say anything right away, but when I look back up at him he’s vibrating with excitement. “That’s.. so cool! I’ve never seen that in action before! So, I guess...” He winks. “Gem Magic is my favorite magic.”

... oh my god. That was smooth. James?!?! WHo are you?!!?

“I’ve never seen it in action before, though... you should demonstrate it for me next time!”

“Oh, sure- wait, next time-”

“Great!” James laughs warmly, adjusting his glasses. “I have a day off next week! I’ll write you a letter!”

You stared at him for a moment, stunned. Did he just ask me on a second date? Or am I overthinking it... no, he definitely just did!

“Well, I’ll see you next week. Goodnight!” Before you get over your shock, James swoops down and grabs your hand, presses a kiss to the back, then walks off behind you. You blink, finally coming to your senses. Jeez, it was like he put you in a trance or something! “James! Wait-”

You turn around, and he’s gone.

You had some time to sit and think after that while Finral recovered enough to transport you home. James had first struck you as a nerdy, eccentric, yet ordinary guy at first, but now... you were right, there was just something off about him. Part of you wanted to go on the date with him to get to the bottom of the mystery... but then the other part of you wanted it for a different reason.

Either way... something strange was going on here. Stranger than you could possibly imagine.

Yay you made it to the end of the first chapter! Congrats... maybe it is obvious to you who “James” is but our dear Reader has a real surprise waiting for her. Feel free to send me your input, I always love reading your reactions to these short fics.

See you in chapter 2~

#black clover #short fic #catfish #julius novachrono x reader #julius novachrono

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et-lesailes · 5 years

Text

parallels

pairing: steve rogers x reader, ransom robinson/ransom thrombey x reader, also guest starring tony stark for 4 seconds

themes: jealous!steve, two of chris evans’ characters in one fic? idk if there’s a term for that i’m neW at this tbh

word count: 3k

summary: you and steve are on a mission involving traveling through dimensions, and you end up in some type of alternate universe where the two of you meet a cocky yet charming man with an eerie resemblance to steve. as bizarre as the situation already is, steve finds himself getting jealous when this man starts flirting with you, considering he’s had feelings for you ever since he’s met you; he almost immediately returns back to HQ without you, leaving you a little upset and a little more tempted to run into this mysterious man’s arms.....

taglist: @world-of-losers, @viarogers, @evanstush, @chibi-crazy, @chalamet-evans

note: requested by anonymous // SO, the original request did include the choice of adding smut, but tbh, i felt as though it would be a little out of place based on the storyline i went for. however, if anyone would like to see some smut with this story, please let me know in my inbox and i would be more than happy to write a part two! also please keep in mind that this may be nothing like ransom’s actual character; i only have one movie trailer to go off of, but i did my best!

** feel free to send an ask if you would like to be added to my taglist of any chris evans related fics!

You approached the large black gates to the expansive mansion, your eyes flickering over it curiously with a slight frown on your face. “This doesn’t seem like the place Tony described,” you murmured, looking around the freshly cut, well maintained lawn sprawling in front of you and Steve. “I think there might have been a glitch with the machine…”

The super soldier nodded in agreement as he glanced around, strong hands placed on his hips as he surveyed the area. “This definitely isn’t where we're supposed to be. Just looks like a regular place to me. I mean, besides for the fact that someone clearly outrageously wealthy lives here. Jesus, this house is huge.” You looked upon it again, practically having to tilt your head back to see as much of it as you could, and even then there were a few trees and foliage in the way of your view. “Well, I guess we gotta use the Pym Particles and get back to HQ. Tony should be able to fix this,” you said with a sigh, earning somewhat of a scowl from Steve, though you didn’t even notice. He knew there was nothing going on between you and Tony, but even the mere thought of you relying on someone other than him made him feel… useless. He wanted to be your rock, he wanted to be the one to fix everything for you.

He forced himself to snap out of it, though; the two of you were on a mission, and he couldn’t let such petty thoughts distract him. If anything, he only felt frustrated with himself that he turned into such an adolescent boy when it came to you; it wasn’t like him to feel so territorial, so jealous. He was a man who believed in freedom and independence-- he was Captain America, for God’s sake. So why did he want to know every single little thing that was running through your mind? Why did he hate the thought of even being apart from you?

He sighed to himself, retrieving the tiny bottle of particles from his pocket before a voice sounded from behind both of you. “Hey! Do you two need something, or do you just enjoy trespassing for fun?”

You looked up in surprise, blinking a few times upon seeing a man with an eerily shocking resemblance to Steve; he wore more formal apparel, dressed in a brown coat, cream colored sweater, and a rather flashy colored scarf adorning his neck, but his facial features were almost identical to Steve’s. You could tell that Steve was rather shocked too as he stared at the man somewhat dumbfounded, not usually one to be at a loss for words, but this situation seemed to be the exception.

You quickly shook your head, realizing you had yet to give him a response. “No, I’m sorry-- we, um, seem to be lost. Do you live here?” you asked, somewhat curious to figure out who the hell this doppelgänger was. Had you and Steve ended up in some odd parallel universe? Was there some wealthy, well dressed version of you wandering around here too?

The Steve lookalike had his eyes fixed on you, an eyebrow slowly raising as a light smirk crossed his lips. “Why, as a matter of fact, I do, dollface. Why? Would you like a house tour?” You blinked and laughed slightly, a blush barely traveling over your cheeks-- though before you could respond, Steve was standing right in between both of you, a deep frown on his otherwise stone face. “We’re actually just leaving, but thanks.” The other Steve blinked as he looked at him; you expected him to realize and acknowledge the freaky similarities, but instead, he looked to you with a little scoff. “This your boyfriend, sweetheart? What’s with the tough boy act, he compensating for his tiny dick?”

Your mouth practically dropped open, though you quickly closed it again upon seeing the anger practically radiating off of Steve’s body. Quickly grabbing him and pulling him back gently, you looked at the other man with an arched eyebrow. “You do realize you two look exactly the same, right?” He looked at you as if thoroughly offended, snorting in disbelief. “Me? And him? Good one, darling. Anyways, like I was saying,” -- he changed the subject before you could even fully take in the shock that this stranger was completely oblivious to the fact that he was Steve Rogers’ damn twin-- “let me show you around, cupcake. It’s not everyday you get to see a mansion like this one, hm?” He winked and held out his hand for you, barely biting on his lip charmingly. “My name’s Ransom, by the way.” You found yourself placing your hand in his as you introduced yourself, still unable to fully get over the fact that everything about his physical features was identical to Steve’s.

“Are you serious?” Steve looked to you now visibly annoyed, eyebrows furrowed. “This creep doesn’t need to know your name. Come on, let’s get out of here. We’re clearly in the wrong place.” You frowned, beginning to respond until Ransom stepped in, an almost challenging look in his expression. “Why don’t you let her decide, buddy? She’s a grown woman-- and a very attractive one at that-- I think she can speak for herself.” You bit your lip seeing Steve’s eyes become darker, his fists even slightly clenching. “Steve. Maybe we should check it out first,” you whispered, coming closer to him. “You know, just… rule out for sure that this is the wrong place before going ahead and deciding that for ourselves.” The soldier looked at you incredulously, slowly frowning even more. “This guy’s actually getting to you, isn’t he? You would really rather spend time with this jerk than finish this mission?”

“Steve, no, I just-”

“Forget it. I’m going back myself and clearing this up with Tony. You come back when your date is over.”

You widened your eyes as you watched your partner use his Pym Particles to transport himself back to HQ, your mouth slightly open in disbelief. Even Ransom looked slightly fazed for the first time since he had made his entrance, staring at the spot where Steve had just been. “How the hell did he do that?” he asked, and you could only rub your temples, feeling both irritated and guilty at the same time. Finally looking up again, you smiled at the well dressed man, taking a deep breath. “You know what, Ransom? I will take that tour of your home. Let’s go.”

_________________________

“So you just left her there. With some weird man who happens to be your parallel universe doppelgänger.”

“I-- she can come back anytime she wants, Tony, you act like I stranded her there.”

“Yeah, and since when does Captain America turn his back on his team? Well, you know, besides that whole--”

“Shut up, Tony. And I’m not turning my back on her, I just left early. There was no point in me being there.”

Steve sighed as he ran his fingers through his blonde locks, leaning back against the steel table in Tony’s lab. As much as he was downplaying the situation, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Had he been too rash? Too petty? If anything happened to you, he would never be able to forgive himself. No, no-- you were smart, and you knew how to protect yourself. You’d be fine, he assured himself.

….Right?

_________________________

“Wow. This place is.. beautiful. And you live here?”

“It’s technically my grandfather’s house. My family and I are visiting, but they’re out shopping downtown at the moment.”

You marveled at the beautiful courtyard, your eyes flickering upon each and every flower bed. You could still feel Ransom’s eyes on you, however, and you hated the fact that it made you blush. What was it about him that was so charming to you? Was it because he looked exactly like Steve? You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been majorly crushing on Steve ever since you started working together for Nick Fury, and you could tell he had feelings for you, too. Why the two of you didn't have the guts to say anything, you didn’t know, but it only stressed you out to think about. And so you pushed the thought away, smiling at Ransom. You were still a little annoyed with the soldier for leaving you behind, and you wanted to spend a little more time away from him. “Well, like I said, it’s absolutely beautiful. Where to next?” He shot you his appealing smile, holding out his arm for you to take. “Mm what I’m hoping will be your favorite part of the tour….” You looked up at him slightly more intrigued, laughing softly as you took hold of his arm. “Well, I have high expectations now,” you teased, and his chuckle sounded like a low rumble, eyebrow raised as he replied, “I would hope so. A woman like you should never settle.” You couldn’t help but blush slightly, though the heat across your cheeks was practically also screaming at you to get it together. Was Steve right? Were you only staying here for a “date”, not to actually make sure this place wasn’t where you two were meant to go?

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Ransom led you inside a rather extravagant bedroom, a devilishly handsome smile gracing his lips. “Last but not least…. my room. It’s nice, isn’t it?” You looked around in awe, admiring the elegant furniture and rather regal feel to it- it seemed to match his personality well, in a way. “It’s amazing.” You suddenly blinked and looked up to him in amusement. “But… why is this supposed to be my favorite?” He barely bit on his lip, grinning as he suddenly turned to face you more properly, coming closer to you and slowly placing his hands on your waist. “Because of this.” Leaning in, he pressed his lips against yours, and while half of you wanted to scoff at how incredibly douchey this plan had been on his part, the other half was already melting into his sensual kiss. Allowing yourself to bring your arms around his neck, you kissed him back, a little hum of content traveling from your mouth to his own as the kiss began to get steamier. He was soon kissing and nibbling on your neck, using his grip on you to walk you back to the bed and pushing you onto your back roughly, growling happily against your skin. You couldn’t help but wrap your legs around him, your fingers running through his hair as you tilted your head, letting out breathy moans and whimpers as his teeth teased your skin even rougher than before.

And then you snapped back to reality, your eyes widening as you suddenly pushed him off, sitting up. “Wh-what am I doing…?” you mumbled almost dazed, holding your head before looking at him. “Ransom, I’m- I’m sorry, I can’t. This was a bad idea, I need to go back.” He immediately frowned, shaking his head lightly as he caressed your cheek. “Come on, sweetheart, your little goody-two-shoes boyfriend doesn’t need to know…” You blinked before scoffing incredulously, shaking your head. He thought Steve was your boyfriend and had the nerve to initiate this with you anyways? Whoever this weird, parallel universe version of Captain America was, you decided he was not worth a second longer of your time. “Goodbye, Ransom.” You ended the conversation, standing up and smoothing your slightly messy hair with your fingers before checking your pocket for the Pym Particles. He let out a disappointed sigh, though still wore a somewhat cocky smirk on his face as he stepped aside, sliding his hands in his pockets. “Bye, beautiful. You know where to find me if you change your mind…” The mere fact that he was too focused on hooking up with you to even ask how the hell you and Steve were able to harness the powers of what was practically teleportation should have been enough of a red flag; you did not, however, have the heart to tell him that you had absolutely no idea where to find him even if you did change your mind, and so you simply offered him a somewhat pitiful smile before bringing yourself back to Tony’s lab with a click of a button.

_________________________

Five minutes had passed since Steve and Tony’s conversation when you suddenly appeared back at HQ, causing the blond to immediately rise from his seat with somewhat wide eyes. “You’re back… you were there for a while, for that dimension’s time,” Steve noted as he bit his lip slightly, and you could see that his eyes were practically filled with apology. You wanted to give in right there; you were soft for him, after all, and besides, you felt guilty for what you had just done. You and Steve had not even openly acknowledged having feelings for each other, yet you felt as though you had cheated on him. “Where’s Tony?” you asked instead, ignoring his comment. If you could at least avoid talking about Ransom, that would be ideal, but unfortunately, Steve wasn’t going to drop it that easily. “He’s out to get more parts for something he’s making, I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. I was so worried about you. What happened while you were there?” he asked with a frown, moving closer to you. “I’m… I’m really sorry that I left. I shouldn’t have done that, I-- I wasn’t thinking straight.” You had been slightly prepared to be a little irritated and feisty with him, but his apology caught you off guard. Damn. Why did he have to be so sweet, so accountable?

“Captain America wasn’t thinking straight? Since when does that ever happen?” you asked softly with slight amusement, your more lighthearted tone letting him know he was out of the doghouse. He chuckled lowly, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh before stepping closer to you. “Since he developed a huge crush on this girl he works with and messed everything up with her because he can’t get over some unnecessary, uncalled for jealousy.” You looked up at him in surprise, speechless for a few moments. You hadn’t been expecting him to finally say it, and while you would normally feel ecstatic, you only felt even more guilty than before. After all, his jealousy wasn’t so uncalled for…

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he spoke softly, bringing his hand to your face to gently tilt it upwards. “I made the mistake of waiting too long to be honest with you. But… I’m ready to be now if you are too.” You inwardly winced; did he already know or something? Was he trying to get you to admit it? You shook the ridiculous thoughts out of your head, knowing he would never be so manipulative. Taking a deep breath, you knew what you had to do.

“Ransom kissed me, Steve,” you blurted out, then mentally slapped your forehead; sometimes, your peel-the-Band Aid-right-off mentality was a little too direct. “A-and.. I kissed him back. But I stopped it right after, Steve, I couldn’t do it. At first I was just so irritated with you, so shocked and hurt that you left, and then I realized that was the wrong reason to be doing anything with him, let alone kissing him.” You looked up at him, your expression full of guilt, though softly and truthfully adding afterwards, “And besides… when I was kissing him, I was just.. wishing it was you…”

You saw several expressions cross through his features, each one making you feel more and more ashamed, but once you were done talking, he seemed to soften a little. Rubbing his temples, he let out a heavy sigh before looking down at you seriously. “I can’t be angry with you for that. I made you upset, and I can’t expect you to not be involved with other men when I couldn’t even tell you I wanted to be exclusive with you. But… that’s why I’m telling you now. Look, I’ve had these feelings for so long, and I think this could really go somewhere. So if you’re on the same page as me… then maybe…”

You slowly smiled, suddenly bouncing onto your tiptoes to fling your arms around his neck, kissing him happily in response. The second your lips connected, you immediately knew it felt right; as he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping tightly around you before scooping you up entirely to hold you in his strong arms, you were feeling more and more grateful that you had turned Ransom down when you had. You held onto him tightly as you let your tongues wrap around one another, taking in everything about him that was so uniquely Steve; the love and passion you could feel from his mere hold, his fresh, manly scent, the chiseled muscles of his arms-- Ransom may have had an eerily similar face, but he was certainly not the same as Steve Rogers. The biggest difference being that Steve was now yours, and you were his.

You were so absorbed in the kiss that you hadn’t even heard Tony walk back in, only pulling back in surprise when you heard him loudly clearing his throat. “I see everything’s been smoothed over,” the billionaire commented nonchalantly, a lazy smirk playing his lips as he held a box of parts for God knows what under his arm. “I dunno, if I were you, I would have stuck with the other guy. What’s his name? Hostage? Blackmail? Bandit? Something along those lines, right?” You blushed slightly but playfully flipped him off as you wiggled down from Steve’s arms, taking his hand instead. “As appreciated as your relentless sarcasm is, Tony, Steve and I will be leaving now. We have some… other business of our own. So let us know when you’ve fixed your error that sent us to “Bandit” in the first place, hm?” You gave him a playful smirk, patting his shoulder as you walked past him, giggling when a laughing Steve scooped you up again to kiss you as the two of you entered the elevator.

#steve rogers x reader #ransom robinson x reader #chris evans x reader #steve rogers imagine #chris evans imagine #i've been seeing 2 different last names for him so idk lmao #again please lmk if yall wanna see smut #but i figured this was so long already lolol

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nextwarden · 3 years

Text

Archenemies - Part I

Disclaimer: partially inspired by Supercorp and the very enjoyable facets of their dynamic. Hope you enjoy.

Commotions are always a good indicator of such happenings.

The first eyes on the scene are of course those of curious and surprised bystanders. Rarely does such an event be broadcast in advance. It's happened before, of course. Only a handful of times, however. It means the evildoers are confident in their plan and seek attention, two very bad news for any respectable super. The last time it's been the case, panic managed to erupt, only quelled by the competent authorities with some effort. Some joker tried to replicate the one before last, he's apprehended after barely an hour of shenanigans and threats, each more unbelievable than the last. What he tried to emulate, however, remains scarred deep in the minds of many. Blood and ashes flowing on the grass of the Magnus Arena in the city center on a crisp summer day, and the center itself drowned in cries of pain and terror. On that tragic day, SkullB makes the decision to invest in the services of both Mister Mind and LaValette, two of the most intelligent and cunning cons out there. One hundred and eighty six people die, each one in a slow and far too well documented way. Three pros are amongst them; experienced supers, yet they fall prey to SkullB's devious plans. Dame Seven, Verustoski, husband and wife in the business since the late 70s, and Sunny Sin, a young yet very capable teenage wiz, give their lives in exchange for SkullB's.

Mind and LaValette are, of course, smart enough to see themselves out once it turns in their disfavour, almost as if they see it coming. The former is caught a few days later, splurging on an online casino in his own underground mansion, while the latter still eludes the authorities to this day, taunting both pros and cons in an odd twist of fate. They realize the whole affair is getting far too out of hand, and some even speculate one of them (or both) to consort with the authorities to create the distraction that allows to bring out most of the hostages and to take down SkullB. That stems from irregularities in the chronology of the event and the fact that LaValette apparently decides to own up to her actions after that day. Not completely mind you, but enough to make a difference with a surprisingly efficient foil to many a plan, good or bad. Over the next few years it's apparent she's taken upon herself to remove supers altogether. Not in a definitively violent way, shockingly, but using her agile mind to dismantle actions undertaken to a significant risk to the city and its people. Dynopolis grows less weary and more peaceful due to that. It lasts a sufficient while for her to gain a strange and ambivalent status of anti-hero - chaotic good, as many surmise, in similar leagues to that of the legendary Crime Man himself, some add.

That changes over time as more and more supers, heroes and villains alike, manage either in their smarts, numbers, or luck, to pull and tug at the seams and reveal the cracks in her masterplan. What it loses in her ability, however, the city gains in balance. Many new pro upstarts join the ranks of a newly reformed agency, trying to attain both glory and riches, and to "do the people of this city some good". It's obviously been mirrored by the rise in organized and supercharged crime. That tendency is there from the beginning, structured even before the pros are themselves. It naturally evolves with the times and the influence of one changes the other. Not that they necessarily know - she doesn't care much for one or the other - but she naturally leans into that tendency. If one wants to make a difference by playing the game, one has to remove themself sufficiently from the board, and that she does in a surreptitiously efficient manner.

The second factor which sees to an apparent decline in her efficiency had been more subtle and more specific (although she would argue that it's not so much a decline rather than a shift of focus). It baffles a number and is the joyous guilty pleasure of some others, more observant or perhaps more versed in theorizing. It's fairly unnoticeable at first, by the audience as well as by those involved. The powerful blonde enters the scene unnamed and unknown, and almost by coincidence - officially "on a whim". A small incident takes place in the southern branch of Nat·Bank, devolving into a chaotic chase over land and sea. A simple passerby at the time, the greenhorn not-hero (yet) jumps to action, pursuing the robbers onto the beach and into the coastal waters once they reach their means of escape. Perhaps it's her gallant effort in taking them down despite their ion guns and reinforced armours, bringing the boat back to shore single handedly. Quite literally at that: she emerges on the warm sand pulling the swift vessel behind her, dragging it to the middle of the beach for the authorities to arrest the now baffled culprits. Many onlookers capture and immortalize this moment, making her drenched fit form into an object of many speculations for weeks to come. Her identity somehow remains unknown behind a hasty yet well-placed mask of cloth and nothing is made of it despite extensive research and avid requests on all fronts.

...

Dantra reveals herself almost two months later, to the day, new protegee of sorceress Saralis and a fresh recruit of the H.E.R.O. program - revamped by a retired Dynaman and funded by the Ministry of Defense to raise and promote fresh blood to the side of justice. She's expected to tour the studios and is breathed to be the new mascot of the agency; yet, despite all her efficiency and achievements on the field, she remains as elusive as on the day of her appearance on the chaotic stage. Her speculated concealed beauty adds to her engaging demeanor during her interventions, on top of her flashy yet efficient use of her power. Her flawless track record, only highlighted by her immediate appeal following her first and only late night show appearance, made her an almost instantaneous star, rising fast into the pantheon of revered supers. Some wait for her eventual demise, criticizing her close interactions with fans during downtime and her refusal at revealing too much about herself, theorizing many reasons, each stranger and more somber than the last. Yet it does not happen. She assimilates into the lifestyle flawlessly and durably, it seems. Perhaps too flawlessly for some. Not exactly dwindling, her popularity somewhat reaches a peak over the first year and a half during which she becomes active.

If she's anything, Dantra is not discontent. She takes it in stride, making the most of her situation, to the greatest pleasure of her enduring fans. If she's to plummet, she will, not that it will stop her from doing what was right as long as she was able to. Or so she tells the young reporter who manages to get the first interview in months. And she does, standing as a proud beacon of righteousness and letting life take its course as she does all that is possible to protect and help. This despite the insistence by the agency that she capitalize on her success. She does not yield, however, and accepts that interview on their recommendation only to clear some misconceptions that seem to have arisen over time. No she does not wear a cape and does not plan to as it would hinder her movements. Yes, that piece of white cloth she wears over her face is a replica of the original one, it's been retailored and enchanted by Saralis herself to not be easily removed. Oh she doesn't know if one could say 'superstar', she is proud to make a difference however. Definitely M'Persent, she's been amazed at their display of precision in the way they used their telekinetic powers, since her youngest age. That's excluding Saralis, of course! *laugh* Boreastre, perhaps, on one of his bad days and on her good, then again she has to respect the old man's resilience so, who knew… he is the only con to ever elude the great Dame Seven in his hayday, so that has to count for something. None of the above; the money is enough, the benefits are great, and the ability to use her powers as she does is compensation enough. Because it's right, that's why, and perhaps also a bit in honor of her grandfather, a war hero who she's always admired. Oh…! Uh, yeah, many. So many. Too many. *laugh* But no, never, actually. Sadly. She never has the time or the space, she guesses, or perhaps she's not been looking well enough. One day, perhaps, in her old age, in one of those quiet suburbs, with a dog and a small garden with flowers… That's a new one, never been asked that before, yeah, uhm, if she had to say, perhaps no sea, not that she doesn't like it, she loves the sea, but forests always seem more beautiful, intriguing, and without any tree how is anyone to breathe? *laugh* No, thank you for inviting me, it was great! Oh, yeah! Uh, stay safe and do good, folks. Until next time. *wink*

Some questions she does not answer or shifts the subject, but all in good sport. The interviewer doesn't seem too annoyed by it, more understanding than anything. They're even genuinely excited when she offers a quick demonstration, squealing when she does her trick with the water. Neither do the executives at the agency, they even congratulate her on its good value. She feels good after that, can't say no to fun. She returns to her usual routine without barely missing a beat, if only slightly more discreetly, satisfied for days and unwilling to engage in too much outgoingness at once. That seems to be her prefered rhythm: appearing sparsely on occasions unrelated to crime fighting yet always with panashe and with good reason. Time passes and finally she knows: her secret is safe. Tucked away behind the thin layers of her mask and her gentle charm. There are a number of reasons why Dantra refuses to unveil too much of herself, be it to her fans, enemies, or even her colleagues. She is young but has enough knowledge of the ways of the world, especially online, to wish to be careful about what she exposes of herself. She enjoys the attention yet wants nothing of it once the mask is down, relishing the quiet moments in her cozy house near the waterfront and the edge of the city. The most important reason, the vital one, is not because of a loved one - she's been alone for as long as she could remember - nor because of her job - the agency pays well enough, and a side gig as a commission photographer allows her to pass the time. No, her deepest, darkest secret is entirely other: she does not trust herself to look quite right, to pass well enough among them. She never has. Not before, nor since her arrival and her… change of style. Her face has always felt too angular, too sharp and harsh, underlying the softness that sugar-coats it. Okay, maybe it is stupid to hide such a thing, what with aliens and wizards and so many kinds of secret and supernatural entities buzzing about. Especially considering she is in fact time-displaced herself. But she's a private person and her doubts never quite leave her, neither with nor without the mask. Especially not without. And that's something she wants to keep to herself as long as possible, if not mostly because it would show the cracks in her heroic persona.

One second she's living her perfectly normal if only slightly different life in the wilderness, and the next she finds herself surrounded by stone and metal and sound. So much noise. She fled the great fortified city of her birth for that exact reason, the smells and bustling activity making her prefer the quiet of nature. It's scary, so very scary, at first. Frustrating too, new words to assimilate, new people to remember. Many people. Too many. Tastes and colours as vibrant and foreign as they were interesting. It should be more difficult, more off-putting, it should be a lot weirder and far slower to adapt to this new life that she's quite literally thrown into. She knows that. But somehow, either she's better at adapting than she believes, or the strange shrieking and smelly hole she's been dragged through - she later learns it's all that ozone - has been kind enough to gift her with an augmentation in her abilities. She can't say. Assimilating information has always been easy for her, computing it, on the other hand, takes a bit more time, but she manages well enough and that's a start.

No one knows any of that, not the agency, not her colleagues, not even her best friend Zelda knew of it, and if she has any say in the matter, none would ever know.

…

Later on she realizes their first meeting is not their first. It's not even the first time they actually interact, simply exchanging a look as she disappears into her surroundings while the hero goes the other way in hot pursuit of her own target. They cross paths before, at least twice, always en passant and never out in the open, none recognizing the other. How Valerie Vonazzio misses and is missed so thoroughly becomes one of the many subjects of scoffs and giggles, somehow playing the absolute opposite of their actual first interaction.

How it goes from a simple meddling in a high stakes robbery to a double hostage situation with innocent people in the crossfire she would say is entirely the annoyingly boot-straight bulldozer of a newcomer's fault. He's the one who barges into her delicately masterminded play's fault. They simply have to open the safe, take the money - in truth a pile of fake yet highly realistic 'the artist formerly known as Prince' bills she planted there earlier - and attempt a getaway. No violence needed, no casualties, and she can pocket the money for herself. Not that those to whom it belongs would miss it, even if the amount were to be doubled. And everything seems to work perfectly at first, that is until that idiot of a C-list super Faramour and his disgustingly felty suit gets stuck in one of her countermeasures and calls for backup. The channels should be jammed, they are jammed, and yet, somehow, she hears. Dantra enters all guns blazing - not literally though, she bears no weapons. Praised be that fact or things would go downhill much earlier for the great LaValette. She has no guns, none made of metal at least. It does not prevent her from bursting in, plowing half the group against the wall and intimidating the others sufficiently for them to lose their cool. Having taken two hostages, threatening to do some actual damage if 'superblondie' refuses to cooperate. She doesn't, to Valerie's relief, but she's the smarter of the two, after all. By far. Faramour, on the other hand, does not do the smart thing. Barely liberated from his restraints, he takes one of the robbers in return and immediately escalates the situation. How it hasn't gone to shit quicker with that horrid perfume of his, Valerie will never understand. Deadly weapons are pointed in every direction and a single movement might set the whole thing on fire.

That minty, hair-waxed bumblefuck of a super doesn't even try to use his lonely brain cell, it seems, choosing to ignore Dantra's warnings AND the robbers' threats, yelling louder than either for everybody to shut up, get on the ground and put their weapons down. Despite the fun she'd had recording his disheveled meltdown and against all her principles, she intervenes then. Showing herself in broad daylight for the first time in months, perhaps years. Well, as best as one can through a thick field of smoke and behind a specialized retailored special ops suit. While they're all distracted, she takes Faramour out, stunning him into oblivion and then twice more for good measure with simple yet efficient darts of a sleep agent of her own personal concoction. The robbers are easy too: make them think they have a way out and leave the appeal of the money, and the next second they're running. Dantra is another story. She thinks of lacing the smoke with a sleeping agent but doesn't want to hurt innocent bystanders - she has principles, or at least she's tried to grow some - and instead deploys a simple spot-sonic. The small device works as a grenade and is used to stun anybody of above average physique - group which she instantly guesses Dantra is a part of - and gives her an opening of a few seconds to make a getaway. Hers has been ready for hours now, but as she rounds the building and her car she hears the voice behind her, ordering her to stop.

Dantra is coming around the corner too, armed with a surprising two unconscious robbers, one in each hand. Fortunately she's decided to go stealthy this time, wearing unmarked gear and a simple black gas mask. The lack of recognition she gets from the super means that either she does not know her face, which for the agency's poster girl is highly unlikely as the agency must have drilled her on the many cons they were tracking, LaValette still being high priority. Or that she has no way of seeing through her mask, past her eyes, which is lucky as it has definitely not been designed with x-ray vision in mind. She looks at the blonde for a second too long, perhaps, and her mind is made: she has to play this one well.

"Why? You gonna arrest me?"

"As a matter of fact no, but the police will once they get here."

"Ha. Apologies darlin', I have no time to wait for them. Things to do, places to be," she replies, her tone as cocky as possible.

"You have nowhere to go. I'll catch you if you try to run…"

"Maybe. But I don't intend to run," she jiggles the keys in her hands.

She sees the frown form on Dantra's face through the cloth, a cute set of lines creasing around and above her brow. The super lets the robbers fall to the ground and takes a step forward, then another. Good, just a few more seconds.

"I'm fast."

"Strong too, I guess."

That stops her.

"You're too confident."

"Mayhaps. But so are you, I believe."

"I have the means to back my words up, do you?"

If the very slight flex of her hands and her taut muscles is any indication, the hero does indeed, and she's ready to show it at any moment. Perfect.

"I don't doubt that. But see," and she takes a small step to the left, Dantra mirrors it to the right, "my ride is waiting and they don't have a policy of canceling last minute, so I'm afraid I won't be able to take you up on that."

"The choice isn't really offered."

"It is though, and I'm certainly not letting a muscle-brained blondie tell me what to do."

That gets her a frown. Good. Let her stew a bit.

"You're not part of them."

Oh, surprising. Not all brawns, then.

"You noticed."

"I'm more than just muscles."

"I can appreciate that."

And she winks for good measure. The slight abashed surprise which momentarily coats the frown is worth it.

"You'll be happy to know I'm not all ass either, darlin'."

And with the image of a vague incomprehension mixed with outrage, she presses the ignition button. The car beside her roars to life and then everything is gone, swallowed in the bright neon light of the headlights and the piercing shriek of the alarm. That's enough to make Dantra recoil; by the time the super focuses again, she's long gone. Not very far away, but out of reach.

…

The second time they cross paths it's more official and perhaps she isn't as prepared for it as she's like to make them all think. There's a joint operation by the newly formed Hexagon, a trio of wrongdoers comprised of Miss Spell, Shore Thing, and Sasz, who apparently decide to carry out plans as horrid as their individual designation. How people, supers mostly, come up with such ridiculous names for themselves is something she'll never quite understand. It does help motivate her to foil their plan without pulling any punches, however. Which is a good thing, she thinks. They try to steal one of the prototypes in development at Atomic Delaware Industries, some sort of energy cell that could either be sold to competitors or foreign powers for quite a pile of cash, or be used in not so nice ways by someone smart enough. She certainly would find a few uses for it, she has, actually, without trying too much, even. But that's not the plan, it hasn't been for quite a while. They've been on her radar for the last month and, unfortunately for them, a whole month is entirely superfluous if one were to want to rig the whole operation. Which she does.

The traps fly and spring, doors jam, electric circuits fry and, strangely, the alarm resounds the minute they're deep in the vault despite all their attempts at quelling its shrill signal to the whole of the city police force before they break in. The panic but not so much as would other newer and less competent cons. The prototype is loaded in a rush as they manage to evade the first wave of security. It's jostles a bit - quite a bit - as they come out into the night. Whether it'll still work after that is anyone's guess, although she has an inkling as to the answer. It's but almost entirely confirmed when the crack resounds a few meters in front of them and Dantra appears, making them drop the cart onto the ground and letting the round object roll away. The trio tenses slightly, knowing they have the advantage, but Dantra shows no sign of faltering. The fight that ensues is what makes Valerie act upon her growing frustration: had she let them exit the perimeter they'd have been caught in her electromagnetic web until the police arrived. But of course the hero has to meddle in her affairs. She almost doesn't swarm all four of them with slime ice, a new project she's been working on for a while, trapping anything it touches almost instantaneously (super or not) and with enough efficacy it would work on Dynamos and his high speed vibrating or Saralis and her plane shifting. At least long enough for her to escape. Almost, because as she's about to think better of it, something barely misses the prototype. It's either a hex or an exploding scale, she can't really tell, but she knows that if it hits, they might not be there to argue whodunnit afterwards. To hell with being subtle, she doesn't want to die yet, and there are people in danger of being fried by the foursome's stupidity.

"Oy, nitwits!", she exclaims, stepping out of the dark black sedan she'd taken shop in.

They seem surprised to see her, enough to almost all freeze on the spot. Only Sasz seems not to lose any of his countenance - his cerebral implant must help, she thinks - which is a good thing because they don't immediately notice the small flattened cones that thud in the middle of them.

"What the fu-", she can hear Miss Spell attempt.

"Stop clonking so close to the prototype. Or do you want to raze this whole area to below sea level?!", she adds, seeing Dantra's eyes narrow.

"LaValette," Sasz simply says, still unperturbed. Not that he seems quite anything in the recent months since his upgrade. "How very pleasant." Well at least he's kept his tongue.

Miss Spell opens her mouth again but stays silent, still she can see her violet eyes widen slightly; Shore Thing doesn't react, simply getting ready to fight her too. She sees the flicker of recognition on Dantra's face, however. She wonders for an instant if she should have worn a mask but finds she is almost glad - a small prickle of pride even runs through her spine at the validation of her still very-well known status.

"Stop where you are," she hears the blonde's voice command.

"Oh don't worry, I don't plan on joining in the fight," she smirks, "I'm not made for that."

She lets a beat pass and sees them stew in their uncertainty. No more than a beat, however, or they'll have time to react.

"Plus I don't need to," her smirk widdens as she nods to the ground at their feet.

They look. Sasz and Dantra are the first to react but it's still too late. The cones explode into a storm of white and suddenly all four of them are covered in a thick layer of foamy substance. She has to give props to Dantra for attempting to jump away, but the slime ice hardens too quickly and she's frozen on one foot, her body angled back. They almost instantly begin to slump too, even Shore Thing's weird biology doesn't stop him from feeling the effects of the sedative. It won't take them out, she knows it, but it'll do for a while. She can already hear Miss Spell mumble curses under her breath, it would be cute if it weren't literal curses on top of her insults. She hurries her step, not wanting to overextend her advantage.

"Not that I don't find this fun but I can't trust you people with this," she grabs the prototype, "so I'll be removing your new toy from the playground until you learn how to share properly."

Without further ado she walks back to her car.

"Wait," she hears Dantra's slurred voice.

But she doesn't no matter the slight desire to play with them a bit longer. She knows if she does she'll lose her advantage quickly.

"Sorry darlin', can't stay. Have a nice night!", she smiles as she passes by them before rolling her window up and driving away.

Her exit goes unchallenged, none of the police notice the black vehicule hidden behind the bushes as they quickly drive by a few seconds later. The next day she confirms her slime ice was indeed efficient, more than she had banked on even, as she sees Sasz and Shore Thing still partially trapped in by the time the news channels are on the scene. Apparently Miss Spell managed to phase herself away in the nick of time, escaping right as the authorities arrived, Dantra taking only a few moments longer. She can't help the amused smile at the sight of the fit blonde going away as quickly as she can once the situation has been explained to the police, surely in search of her. The super doesn't succeed of course, as her being in her penthouse at that precise moment indicates. The morning is nice, warm with blue skies. She contemplates letting Dynopolis and its officials sweat it a few days more under the threat of her possessing the prototype, but decides against it. She's a tease, not an actual madwoman. The stolen property is found two days later in Hubway Park, in a glass box with a cute little ribbon on top of it and a card that says "Love, LV" in elegant cursive. And if the city's pockets are slightly lighter after that, well, it's not her secret to tell.

...

They meet again twice before it truly becomes a sort of routine between them. Not that she actively makes it that way. It just seems they can't stop themselves from running into each other. Maybe it's because LaValette's officially made an appearance after all this time, in front of no less than four supers, three of them being cons is of no consequence. Maybe she can't quite stop herself from being on high alert every time she goes on patrol, looking for the lithe dark woman in every corner each time she's called onto a scene or she is made aware of some nefarious happenings. The fact that Dantra is seen a lot more than usual out there does not go by unnoticed and many speculate as to why. The answer is simple: she's been bested thrice and she can't quite let it go. The smirk and the confidently teasing tone of a superior mind still ring in her ears. She's never been one to be very competitive, not seriously so to the point of letting it consume her rather laidback nature. But the villain has a way of getting under her skin. The con times her quips like the beats of a good song, like strums of chords during a guitar solo, settles her silver eyes so steadily that she can't help the shiver of anticipation at the challenge she knows is coming. The first time it's just a fluke, she doesn't realize she's facing the great LaValette herself, not even that she 's in the same realm as her for a while. The second time she gets the message but slightly too late. The result is positive in the end, not satisfactory however. It does have the unintended effect of giving her a purpose. She knows she can't force destiny, doesn't quite believe in it either, but it feels like something the third time they meet. She wants to be there because she knows what's coming. Or at least she knows LaValette will grace them with her presence. She loses her after a frustratingly slow chase amongst corridors and stairs in the tall building where the villain comes to meddle with an intervention the squad puts in place to nip the bud of a growing cult.

The thing doesn't go as well as planned. The cult is too prepared, as if they know what's coming. They manage to get them taken down before any blood is shed, however, which is a good thing. Until she realizes the ease with which it has been done and the glaring disappearance of a number of useless but golden artifacts the cultists had been in the process of using for their sacrifice. She realizes immediately what's afoot, perhaps a bit too quickly if she trusts the bewildered looks she gets from her partners. She spots the suit far too quickly too. She's nothing if not thorough and she's made her research on the older villain turned chaotic vigilante. Her style has changed slightly, moving on from spandex and leather to a more comfortable fabric oriented design. Still black, still badass and cool - she can't help but admire - and still kicking ass without actually doing any of the kicking herself. But as she's about to reach her, LaValette lets her know she's noticed her with a small turn of the head and a wink as she moves to the staircase. The resulting chase happens in a place too constricting for her, which she hates, and amongst a crowd of people who have no business being as productive as they are on a Monday. Still she follows as best as she can, careful not to damage anything. Unfortunately it's not enough and she knows it when the villain slips away one last time, dropping in an elevator shaft this time, and she's unable to follow. Not that she'd fear the fall or hurting herself (her body can withstand much more and quite literally fly, after all) but because she realizes she's been tricked when the shaft turns out to be a screen and she finds herself flailing not to walk off the seventeenth story. How the frustratingly smart woman managed to do that she doesn't know but she knows she's lost her. Despite it all, and while she does a round of the floor just to be sure, she can't help but be impressed. LaValette has never shown any other sign of outstanding abilities than her impressive intellect and for once she's glad it's the case, just imagining that coupled with any supernatural ability almost makes her shiver.

Their fourth meeting is the one in which she feels her work finally begin to pay off. She's been scouring every file, report and analysis she can find, all the footage available for clues as to what counter-measures she could try to put in place against LaValette for weeks. The incident at Magnus Arena makes her both angry, wanting to catch the woman as soon as possible and make her answer for her crimes, but also realize how much the villain has actually shifted her line of conduct since then. She doesn't quite know how others have not measured the impact of her actions since then, both to annoy supers of the program and to mitigate the destructive power of cons. There's no proof, no evidence, but she can read between the lines, feel the depression in the landscape of her crimes, and see the shadow the villain leaves behind her in each misdeed that goes a little bit too smoothly for the heroes or which seems to fail or combust in the air for the cons. How nobody has never noticed that is beyond her. Perhaps the long arms of LaValette extend even within the agency? Or perhaps someone else has been trying to keep the status quo?

It's a bit of a paradox. She gains newfound respect for the woman but at the same time the neverending list of accomplishments - which she seems to silently gloat about every time - makes her blood boil and gives her renewed determination to catch her.

So when she manages to corner her in the back alley of the store as she's about to flee on an unmarked bike, and she sees the brow quirk up in surprise as she halts mid climb, well she can't help herself and smirks.

"Well good evening to you," LaValette says, resuming her action and strapping the large duffel bag containing various pricy items to her bike, pricy items that the organized but not very professional group of masked individuals attempted to rob - are robbing? have robbed? - and will realize are missing from their own possession the next day.

"I would return the greeting but you're coming with me this time, and it will unfortunately not be 'good'," she quips back, hand on her hip.

LaValette has been calmly setting up her gear, putting on a pair of gloves and a scarf, zipping up her jacket, action following which she seemed to notice the quick glance, her smile widening ever so slightly.

"Not that the offer is not tempting, I'd love to stay but-"

"Stuff to do, places to be?", she cuts in.

The villain smiles wider still, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Exactly."

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble but I can't let you do that. You being a criminal and me being a hero, and all."

That earns her a chuckle. There's a pause, the woman makes a grab for her helmet, still showing no sign of a rush or any kind of panic at all. This is what makes Dantra start to question her standing in this exchange. She has a way of getting her nerves to flare. It seems the woman notices, her head shifts slightly to the side. Could she read minds? Or was she just that smart? Dantra realizes she might just be that smart

"Oh I know. And I can assure you I'm very flattered by your attention, but should you really be leaving those idiots alone?"

She follows the finger, it points at the store and suddenly, as if on cue she hears an explosion and sees bright flames erupt from the roof. The door she'd passed through moments earlier flies off its hinges and crashes against her, denting itself around her shape.

"What the-" she begins when she hears the engine rev.

Suddenly she's jumping to action, she lets her flight boom her through the alley and can feel the fleeing motorcycle revving its gears enter the grasp of her outstretched hand. Yet before she can do anything she hears a bump and her legs are once again cast in that annoying white substance, not only does it harden, it also latches onto the ground and she's faceplanting before she knows it. That much isn't enough to slow her down too much, and she's up the next second, grunting as she breaks through the foam - the countermeasure is one of raw power but it works, so, who's to judge. But as she's about to engage in pursuit again, masked individuals come pouring through the now destroyed exit and for a moment she's stunned. Why weren't they- It's then that she hears the shrill voice she's learned to dislike with every fiber of her body. Freaking Faramour…!

Only later, as they've rounded up the criminals that tried their best to escape and the police are there to take them into custody does she register the memory. It's seemingly jogged by none other than the felty cretin himself.

"Nice work, blondie!", he exclaims with a thumbs up.

Perhaps it's genuine, perhaps it's just playing it up for the cameras, she doesn't know, doesn't care much for it either. She's let her target escape once again. By the time she'd taken care of the robbers, barely a minute, and was soaring in the sky to try to locate the motorcycle, it had vanished once again. The criminals had given her restraints - a good measure of fence wire - a run for its money, already almost escaping by the time she came back down and she'd had to secure them once more. Then she'd taken measure of the whole situation: a blown up store, a bumbling super idiot trying to take over the situation and a disappeared LaValette. Then the police arrive, then the journalists, almost in sync. Then there's the report, which Faramour takes into stride despite his less than useful participation, and nobody seems to have noticed LaValette's presence. She'd been this close, so close… She tries to wallow a bit in her corner but even that is made difficult when Faramour comes all smiles to congratulate her. She had to at least nod and smile, she may be one of the most prominent faces of the agency - and miles more efficient than him - he had anteriority and some form of mind-boggling respect in the city. But his words trigger the flash of memory.

"Nice try, blondie!"

Almost the same words but a much, much different tone. Sultry and smooth, teasing as usual. With a smile and a wave of the hand as she rounded the corner, spoken in a voice loud enough for her to hear. The frustration is so much that she almost lets out a huff before she takes off to do her report at headquarters. It's only when she's done and gone home that she realizes she was close, much closer than usual. Next time. Definitely next time.

And next time comes. Much sooner than she'd expected. Barely a week later, in the middle of the afternoon. This time it's utter chaos. Three events strike at the same time. Havenleaf institute, the prison that houses many cons, is taken by Miss Spell and what can only be described as strawmen goons which she surel animated. Apparently an attempt to break out Shore Thing and Sasz. Nat·Bank is in the middle of a robbery orchestrated by the BronzeBronze cartel. And the head office of the Police is being hacked. The bank and the prison are already taken care of, Grace Solace and Mesmeride are on the case with their respective sidekicks she hears in the coms, and the police should be able to deal with whatever genius has decided to try his hand. She's met the ITeam and they know what they're doing. Still, she can't help but feel something is off. The coincidence is great, almost too great. So she goes anyway.

Everything is hectic. Power is going out repeatedly, the whole electrical infrastructure seems to be under attack. Which is weird, Rajan and Sam explain. They've made sure the whole network was secure and entirely closed off. She knows it is, she's seen Sasz try his hand at it and groaning in frustration. So whatever whoever is here wants, it's not in the database. The chaos feels too orchestrated. Like a danger looming around the corner and forcing you into panic mode but never making an appearance. She knows this feeling and that's what propels her into the stairs, down to the third basement and the writ archives. She struggles in the dark silence for a while, only nearly jumping when she hears clattering towards the deep end. The ever-knowing smile that usually welcomes her is only ever so slightly assured this time, only ever so slightly weaker, and she knows she's struck a chord.

"Wasn't expecting you so soon, darlin'", the voice drawls as the woman has the gal to look away, back to the files she's been searching through.

"Were you even expecting me?"

Her tone is light but it seems to land once again, from the slight tensing of the shoulders.

"Honestly? Not really. I hoped to have at least an hour uninterrupted, but it seems I got unlucky…"

She can't help the small satisfied scoff. She can't help the spark of curiosity either.

"What are you looking for, LaValette?"

The dark woman looks up, surprise passing through her steel eyes.

"Nothing much. Compromising pictures from college, maybe?", she chuckles. "What tipped your off, Dantra?", she returns.

Dantra knows she's curious but fakes disinterest. Somehow she knows. So she plays on it. She also can't help but lose some focus to the way her name rolls out of LaValette's mouth, soft and playful.

"I got lucky I guess. I had a hunch."

"A hunch?", a quirk of the eyebrow.

Now she was looking at her.

"Three at a time is a bit much."

"Ah," a shake of the head. "Maybe so… might have been a bit over enthusiastic on this one."

"You made all this happen?"

She should know better, she's seen the famed LaValette at work more than once, read and watched everything there was about her, but she still feels the wave of surprise at the revelation.

"No, I'm not omnipotent, you know. I may have… pushed the right buttons, however."

The smirk is back.

"Well you're certainly not getting out of this one," she quips back, hands on her hips.

"Are you sure about that?"

And there's that quirk of the eyebrow again. It's assured and confident.

"No."

But she is. And she jumps. As if she was expecting that the dark-haired woman throws the file at her and starts doubling down an alley of files, reaching for something in her bag. Dantra doesn't know what tips the scales in her favour this time. Perhaps she's gotten better with confined spaces, perhaps she's well and truly surprised LaValette, perhaps LaValette fumbles despite (surely) the many plans she has to escape. In any case, she has her pinned against a wall, any tools she might have discarded and her hands trapped within her own barely a minute later, near the emergency exit. They lock eyes and there's a surprised look in the steel discs, something else too, fear maybe? Something etched deeper than she expects, at least. But she doesn't have time to explore that before the other woman sighs and smirks.

"Well, seems it's my loss this time."

And it is. She doesn't resist. Lets herself be taken into custody without as much as an attempt to resist or protest. She takes an espresso when offered and answers each and every question the officers have for her once they begin processing her case. Dantra stays and watches, still unconvinced she's done it. She doesn't know if she believes everything LaValette says, still mulling over what she could have been searching for in the basement of the central police department. They only find a few files pertaining to an old cold case, one of an old woman found dead in her apartment. Nothing special about it, nothing linked to LaValette. Not that they could actually link anything to her. They don't even know who she is, she doesn't register in any database, no history, public or private, no facial recognition pings when they try. She's an anomaly, a dark and mysterious anomaly that keeps on slipping between your fingers even when you've got her. And have her they do. They have her face, her prints, her blood and saliva, hair samples, her voice and her story. Still, much good it does them. They resign themselves to keep her in custody until due process begins again. Dantra is on the go then, ready to leave when they have her secured. The day has been long and the thrill enough to wear her down. She'd been thinned by the last few weeks, her entire focus being on trying to solve the puzzle of the infamous LaValette. And now that it's done she can't quite believe it. They cross paths as the woman is taken to a cell, her usual black suit swapped for a standard grey uniform. It still fits her, she notes. The woman smiles as she notices her.

"Well played, Dantra."

She doesn't know what to do, what to respond to that. The amused twinkle in the woman's eyes another mystery she can't quite solve.

"Until next time?"

It's a question, she registers, as well as a statement. Nobody can keep her in for long, she seems to say, we'll play again soon.

"You're not getting out of this, this time," she manages to reply, throwing in a smile of her own, as confident as she manages.

That owns her a laugh. The sound is throaty and very amused. The wink that follows should unnerve her, so should the unfading smile. It adds fuel to the fire, that's undeniable, though what that fire supplies in turn, she has no idea. She doesn't sleep very well that night, exhaustion and excitement waging an intense battle. Exhaustion wins out in the end and she's rested enough the next morning when she wakes. It takes her the whole of the day to truly recuperate, however. She takes it off, she knows she needs it. Knows that she deserves it a bit too. No one at work is expecting her anyway. Not the bad weather nor Spyro, her cat, defecating on the coffee table manage to bring her mood down, however. The following night is the same as the previous one, a battle of nerves, she manages to go to sleep slightly earlier though. That Sunday morning she is well and truly rested as she wakes up. The weather is nice, Spyro is lounging on the coffee table, no poop in sight, and even the new seem to be good: the robbery has been foiled thanks to Mesmeride, and despite struggling a bit more and not catching Miss Spell, Grace Solace managed to prevent any escapes from the prison. She's coffee in hand, standing on her small terrace, Spyro resting on her shoulders, when she hears her name. It's faint but as she focuses the words become more clear.

"...and this morning, when Officer Wallace came to check on her she was gone. No traces of escape, no footage, nothing. The detectives are hard on the case but admit being somewhat at a loss as to how this was possible."

This definitely piques her interest and she steps inside. There's a still image of the cell with a few words splayed against it in elegant cursive. That's when she understands. Somehow, despite all the security measures in place, LaValette has made good on her words.

Till next time, Darlin', the writing reads.

She knows she should be appalled, she knows she should be stressed, she should be on high alert and perhaps already on route to rectify the situation but she finds herself excited and giddy. A smile plastered on her face when the screen turns black as power is ripped away from it. She's excited because finally, after so long, after so much hard work and dedication, it undeniably feels like she's managed to get her first arch-enemy. Her own personal nemesis.

To be continued.

---

More of what I write, if you’re interested.

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