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myfellowcandlesticks · 3 years

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Title: Little Bird Pairing: it’s mostly about Phénixine, but since she’s their daughter: Lumiere/Plumette Word count: 1242

@lumiereswig i love Phénixine so much i can’t stop thinking about her 💞

The floor squeaks under her slippers and she giggles, delighted, as she waves her tiny hands in the air.

“Be careful, ma petite plume,” Plumette calls after her.

But Phénixine isn’t listening. She’s only recently discovered the joy of running, and she has no intention of stopping. The castle is a world of its own, with so many rooms and passageways to explore. First the Great Hall, where the tall, silent man by the door pretends to steal her nose. She laughs and steals his in return, and he looks for it all around the room—is it under the table? is it on the coat rack?—and her favourite part is returning it to him, because of the kind smile that appears on his face.

After that, there’s the parlour. Chip’s maman is there, sipping her tea.

“Look who’s up already,” she says. “You don’t take after your parents—poor dears.” And then she chuckles, and Phénixine feels safe and warm, and for a moment considers staying here.

Then she hears something, a lovely sound coming from another room, and she runs off towards a new adventure.

“Don’t wander off too far, poppet,” Chip’s maman tells her.

[Read more on AO3 or:]

The sound is coming from the ballroom. Phénixine leans on the door to push it open. She slips inside, mesmerised by the sounds and lights. Zio and Zietta are making music.

“Ciao stellina!” Zietta exclaims upon seeing Phénixine. “How beautiful you are!”

“Come sit at the harpsichord with your Zio Cadenza, we will play your favourite song,” Zio says, sliding on the bench to make room for Phénixine.

“Or perhaps you would prefer to sing?” Zietta asks, the ruffles on her sleeves swaying with every movement of her arms.

Phénixine shakes her head, making her curls bounce off her face. She’s not sure how to tell them what she wants, so she decides to demonstrate instead; she runs in a circle, waving her arms.

“Ah!” Zio smiles. “She wants to dance, naturalmente!”

Music once again fills the room, and Zietta’s beautiful voice rises in the air like butterflies in a field. Phénixine twirls and twirls, watching her dress flow around her. One song, two songs, and then she’s distracted by the sound of footsteps just outside the ballroom. Leaving her Zio and Zietta to their music, she twirls into the hallway.

It’s Prince Adam, holding books and quills and a big round thing that Phénixine instantly wants to hold in her hands.

“Hello.” The Prince gives her a friendly pat on the head.

“Ball!” Phénixine says, extending her arms towards the big round thing.

“This?” the Prince points at the object. “It’s called a globe. This is our world, Phéxinine. Here, it’s yours.”

She takes it, holds it close to her heart, and suddenly she doesn’t feel like throwing it up in the air anymore. Prince Adam pats her on the head again. “I’ll teach you all about countries and continents when you’re older. Geography is great fun.”

He walks away, and Phénixine is so fascinated with the globe that she doesn’t notice she’s waddled right into the library.

“Oh, hello there,” Belle says, putting down the small hammer she’s been holding. “Want to help me with my newest invention?”

Phénixine, still holding her globe, takes a few cautious steps closer. There’s a weird contraption in the center of the room. She tilts her head to the side, wondering what it could possibly be.

“It’s a sewing machine,” Belle explains. “It’ll make sewing so much easier—and faster. But don’t tell Auntie Garderobe,” she winks, “it’s a surprise, for her birthday.”

Inventing feels like a grown-up’s job. Phénixine loses interest when she realises she can’t use the screwdriver to colour in the metallic parts. It makes Belle laugh. “Papa is painting in his atelier; why don’t you go there? He’ll give you paper and some colours to paint with.”

So now Phénixine is in the atelier, where Maurice lets her finger-paint flowers and feathers. She leaves the globe on the floor, unwilling to touch it with her sticky fingers. Maurice teaches her the names of colours—yellow, pink, purple—and calls her finished painting a masterpiece. She gives it to him as a present. He is very pleased; he shows her how to write her name at the bottom of the paper. “Sign your work, so everyone knows it’s yours.”

Once that’s done, it’s time to move on to the kitchen. The big man in the white apron helps her sit down at the table, where he gives her bonbons and chocolates. He watches her eat, grinning when she asks for more, please. “Of course!” he says. “And how about a meringue too?”

Out in the hallway, the curtains seem to come alive in the gentle spring breeze. Phénixine's eyes widen. The sun licks the window frames, lighting up the wood like fire. It calls her, all of it—the sun, the wind, the wilderness beyond the castle. The whole world in the palm of her tiny hand. She blinks and she is off the ground, she is floating, leaving a slipper behind. Up, up, up; the sky is right there, big and blue, calling her name.

“Good heavens!”

Someone pulls her down by her ankles, gently, drawing her away from the window, away from the sky. She is disappointed only for a moment; then she sees who it is and smiles.

“Cogswow!”

“You gave me quite a fright,” Cogsworth says, holding her close.

She feels her wings retract, disappearing into her back. Now that Cogsworth is here, she forgets all about the window and the curtains and the wind and the sun—instead, she tugs lightly on the old man's moustache, laughing when his monocle falls from his eye.

“You've finally done it,” he whispers, shaking his head in astonishment. He looks at her, her beaming face, her bright eyes. “You are just like your father,” he says fondly.

“Coming from him, I am not sure you should take that as a compliment, Phénixine.”

Cogsworth turns towards Papa, who is walking down the hallway with the biggest smile on his face. “Lumiere!” Cogsworth says. “Where were you? The most extraordinary thing happened!”

Phénixine coos happily as her father kisses her on the cheek. “Something extraordinary happens every day,” he replies.

“No, you don't understand—Phénixine—she flew!”

“She flew?”

“She flew! Would've flown right out that window if I hadn't caught her!”

“Sacre bleu!” Papa exclaims. “Plumette! Plumette come quickly!”

Maman runs towards them, clutching the side of her dress. “What is it, mon amour?”

“Our little bird has finally flown!”

“Oh mon dieu! She is growing up so fast!”

Papa and Maman lean in for a celebratory kiss, and Phénixine claps gleefully, and Cogsworth rolls his eyes. “You do realise this means she’ll need better supervision—no more running around the castle all alone.”

“You would have me keep my little bird in a cage?” Papa shakes his head. “I could never do that.”

Maman places a reassuring hand on Cogsworth’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, she will be just fine.”

“How do you know that?” Cogsworth asks worriedly.

“Because you will always be here to make sure she stays out of trouble, mon ami,” Papa smiles.

There’s laughter, and kisses, and music, and Phénixine falls asleep in Cogsworth’s arms, knowing she will wake up in her room, with her loving parents watching over her, and the whole world in the palm of her hand.

i’m not sure who came up with the idea that post-curse babies have powers, but it’s been my personal headcanon for years! (edit: might have been @spectral-musette 💕)

{read more batb short stories on ao3 or on my blog}

#my writing #phénixine #batb #batb 207 #beauty and the beast #beauty and the beast 2017 #my art

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victorsandvanquishers · 4 years

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The Fall of the House of Usher with the Black Bulls? Bonus points if you add some eerie aura to it, but that is totally up to you! Thank you in advance!

Hello! Thank you for requesting this fic. I took the liberty to apply some more themes from “The Fall of the House of Usher” than just the prompt’s family, eerie, and home themes. Twins, legacy, and of course, the quintessential haunted house, are also explored in this story!

As a sidenote - this fanfic features an ensemble cast, but primarily revolves around Secre and Zagred. Happy reading, and thank you again for requesting! (ᵔᴥᵔ)

~~~

Zagred haunts her. In a mansion overflowing with people and endless cheer, he haunts her.

“You had five hundred years to make peace. I had to die and then wake up as a ghost, with all the same pain and memories I had when I was still alive. I possessed a human being. You spent your life sitting on top of a statue before finding a boy to manipulate into doing your bidding.”

As she makes her way through the winding halls of the grand castle, Secre remembers speaking with Patolli of the Elf tribe few times in her five hundred and seventeen years. Still, there are words reverberating through her head in his voice, words he's never spoken to her since he barely knows her. Patolli barely remembered her when they met face to face again after the souls of the dead elves ascended, and she can't blame him. She'd been a crown prince's servant – her existence was meant for the shadows.

And yet, that's not how it is now. There aren't enough shadows in Henry Legolant's mansion for Secre Swallowtail to hide in.

“I can't change my actions, nor can I change my feelings, but you... You pretend like you've always cared. At least I did what I did out of rage, even if it was misguided, but you spent five hundred years chasing a rock. Who can you blame for your eternity of longing? You could have chosen death in those five hundred years, but you chose to wait instead because you had an inkling of hope that your beloved could be brought back.”

Secre swallows the lump in her throat and makes her way down the small flight of stairs. It seems her room is on the second floor of the grand castle today, instead of the fourth floor she'd walked up to the night before. The landing is buzzing with Luck Voltia's electric currents, and what she senses to be Charmy Pappitson's cotton magic. The smell of freshly baked bread gently wafts through the landing, infecting each and every one of her senses with the kindness and love she's been starving for, for five hundred years.

It's hunger, this feeling, not longing because the longing she had for Lumiere is moot now, because Lumiere is dust. He's the ash at the bottom of a fire pit in the early rays of dawn, but the hunger she feels now is something different, something more manic, something that slept quietly in her chest during her time as a bird, but suddenly awoke when she came across the fifteen-year-old boy who desperately reminded her of a dead dream, a dream where she and her Lumiere had a child, a child that doesn't exist.

It's this hunger that finally compelled her to stop using that fifteen-year-old boy for her own agenda. It's the hunger that drives her now, that drives her to protect that boy and his friends, to look at the shadows of Henry Legolant's castle with love instead of fear because now the shadows can help her to find the best spots to launch an attack if someone tries to hurt the boy and his friends, these human beings that are filling the hole in Secre's heart.

Atonement? I was fifteen when I died, fifteen when I woke up again. How can you look at me like I'm trash when you were the one who received the mercy of time when all I received was uncontrollable rage at knowing that no matter what I did in the end, I could never bring back what I lost? How can you look at me with such disdain knowing you're worse?”

Perhaps that's why her Lumiere is dead now. She has to pay for her negligence of a child who looked to her as a companion. It doesn't matter that Asta forgives her, that the others see her as a part of their family, none of it matters because Secre committed the same sin as Patolli, used a depressed, lonely boy to commit violence in the name of her beloved, used Asta to revive her Lumiere to defeat Zagred, just like Patolli used William Vangeance to revive his Licht, the Licht that never loved Patolli like Patolli loved him.

Just like the way Lumiere never loved her the way she loved him.

“You're worse than I will ever be, Secre of the noble house of Swallowtail. You're a filthy noblewoman who had everything and pretended she had nothing. You deserve this pain more than I do. You deserved to lose your Lumiere after five hundred years of waiting. You deserved to be strung along like the little rat that you are.”

It stings, but it's true, and maybe that's why Secre is still here and not dead at the bottom of a river. Zagred haunts her because he knows her. Zagred knows her as intimately as the verdant forests of the Forbidden Realm know the sun. Secre starves for kindness and warmth, just like Zagre starves for a corporeal body. Secre didn't kill herself in her five hundred years as a bird because for her, it was a blip on the radar, nothing more than an obstacle for her to get past to bring back her most precious light, her Lumiere. Nothing was sacred in that quest – not the fifteen-year-old boy who cried for magic so that he wouldn't be discriminated against, not the Magic Knights who were too daft to notice that she wasn't just an ordinary bird, and certainly not the nobles who were too ignorant to notice how they themselves sowed the seeds of dissent in their own kingdom. For Secre, none of it mattered because only Lumiere mattered.

And Zagred knows, and so he haunts her.

He takes on the voice of an elf she barely knows, and he finds her deepest, most repressed feelings before snatching them from the depths of her chest and bringing them into the light. Zagred forces her to admit that she's no different than the elf who almost sacrificed the entirety of the kingdom to bring back his brethren. Patolli of the Elf tribe barely knows her, and she barely knows Patolli of the Elf tribe, but Zagred knows her more than Lumiere ever did, and so he haunts her, haunts her under the guise of an elf who'd murdered countless human beings and managed to get away with it all. Patolli is her long-lost twin, and Zagred will never let her forget it.

“Demon.”

She walks into the dining hall, the tables already decked with food, beverage, and cutlery. The voice has shifted now, becoming more and more like the creature it belongs to, and not the elf who escaped.

Secre attempts a smile on her saturnine face, and finds that the effort hurts. She stops before Charmy and Luck can get a look at her. They're occupied with putting on the finishing touches to the overflowing table, Luck setting booby traps on Magna Swing's plate and fork, while Charmy instructs her sheep to pack food for the magical beasts living in the castle dungeons. They don't notice her yet, because she's a wraith in her own right, a ghost drifting from room to room.

“Oh, you're up,” she hears Yami Sukehiro drawl. She turns to the taller man, also an early-riser but just as clandestine as Secre. There's a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and his clothes smell like fresh leaves and dew, so she suspects he was out training in the forest before Charmy can ring her breakfast bells.

Secre nods in assent and turns back to the two young adults who've finally noticed her and are waving her over to take a seat. She attempts another smile, and this time, something resembling a smirk appears on her lips, but it still hurts, because Secre isn't used to smiling. She didn't smile when she and her Lumiere used to spend hours poring over books and tinkering around with magic in the castle yards. She knows little about how to socialize, but she tries. She tries because Zagred will kill her otherwise, under the guise of her spiritual twin, the elf named Patolli who has left Clover without being punished for his crimes.

“But I'm not really here, am I, Secre Swallowtail?”

“Nero, there you are!” Asta calls out, barging into the breakfast hall with his cleaning outfit already coated with dust and mud. “I was wondering where you went!”

“She came down to eat like a normal person,” Yami deadpans before bonking the boy on the head with a closed fist. Asta screeches in pain before passing out for ten seconds. When he wakes up, his eyes are sparkling with endearment, and Charmy has a pail of food ready for the beasts in the dungeon.

“I'll be right back,” Asta declares with more sparkles than necessary, and then he disappears, and Zagred's voice gets just a little lower.

“And he's not your son.”

Secre blinks, her red eyes going redder. No one notices, not even Yami who is dangerously observant at times. She looks down at the plate that Luck has filled up for her. Her ears perk up at the sound of Vanessa Enoteca's tell-tale yawns, and her eyes land on Rouge the cat, who cocks its head to the side and watches her, its fur as red as her eyes.

“And they aren't yours to protect.”

Patolli the elf's voice is gone now. It's Zagred, the demon, the being who knows her better than Lumiere, the creature who stole everything from her, her life, her light, her humanity.

Secre's eyes bleed red and she wants to destroy, wants to burn down everything in her path because she's hollow, her soul is corrupted, and she's one step away from becoming a monster like Licht, a monster that Asta and the Black Bulls will have to euthanize once she loses control.

“Nero-san? Is everything alright?” Secre hears, finding that the rage vanishes suddenly. She blinks a couple of times to completely wash away the reverie before turning to the familiar voices.

It's Grey and Gordon, their eyes filled with worry. Noelle is right behind them, pretending she isn't concerned, but her fists are balled in her lap and she's pensive, waiting for Secre to answer their question.

“I'm fine,” she says, the plastic smile budding on her lips, “just hungry.”

“Then you should eat!” Noelle squeaks, because she can't help herself when she's worried, and now Grey is shakily piling too many warm biscuits onto her plate while Gordon is pouring her coffee, and Charmy is singing, and Yami is smoking, and there is warmth, and love, and cheer, and Asta is back, and Asta is everything she's ever hoped her child would be, a beacon of hope in the darkness she's always lived in.

“Thank you,” Secre says.

'Fuck you.' She hisses inwardly at Zagred's voice, Zagred who is only dead in his corporeal form, but not in essence, because demons don't die.

“But we're cousins now.” Zagred coos back, because Zagred knows her intimately, the demon that set her tragedies in motion, who wants her to lose her mind when her grief becomes as all-encompassing as Licht's, and she becomes a demon herself.

Because that's what she is now – one step from becoming a demon.

She looks around the table at the family of misfits, all of them unrelated to her in every shape and form, and yet fundamentally her family – her lifeblood. Her Lumiere always told her to find her own happiness, but he had been her happiness, but now her Lumiere is dust, and she's still alive.

She attempts to smile again, and this time, Yami smiles indulgently at her efforts while Magna asks her if she wants more biscuits, even though there are seven biscuits on her plate.

Zagred haunts her, and Lumiere is dust. Patolli is her spiritual twin, and Asta and the Black Bulls are the children she never dared to ask for, for fear of retribution. Her light is gone, and the demon persists, but now she has this – this castle and this home, these shadows she has grown to love.

“I'll see you soon.” Zagred promises her.

And the red of her eyes bleed redder, because Secre isn't worried. When the time comes, she will trust her family to take care of her like her Lumiere took care of Licht. Because this castle, this home, is testament to the faith that they will put her to rest when the time comes.

“Thank you,” she says again, and takes a bite from her biscuit.

#Black Clover #Secre Swallowtail #Zagred #The Black Bulls #avafanfics

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teroar · 5 years

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twdg school theatre headcanons

before u say anything. yes. i wasted too much fucking time on this.

clem: doesn’t join the drama club until senior year. she figured that she’d pretty much participated in everything else, sports, mathletes, peer leadership, she might as well do this, too. just to try it out. the school musical is beauty and the beast and, inexplicably, she gets belle. on her first audition ever. because Of Course she does. she doesn’t know much about musicals (she’s seen the classics) but she has a great voice and she LOVED disney as a kid so she gets in. would be the person that forgets to bring sheet music (“you’re supposed to do that????”) so she’d have to acapella it. and still get in. she is loathed at first because of this

violet: did technical crew from freshman-junior year. ran into clem during auditions (vi was supervising) and was convinced to join by this girl she’d never met because god DAMN she was so pretty. she auditions and, in her eyes, it goes TERRIBLY. she doesn’t even bother checking her email until the next monday where she’s greeted by a hug (which was essentially a tackle) from clementine, congratulating her on getting, of all parts, the beast. because of the extreme lack of male auditions, and the fact that violet has a beautiful lower range, they cast her as the beast. she is, at first, terrified. but clem asks if she would help her run lines, and so every day after school violet goes over to clem’s (violets parents don’t even know she’s in the show, so they never go to her’s) to help her with her lines. she knows that clem has them all memorized by the end of the first week and is just pretending to mess them up, so she starts doing the same. they both realize during tech week that they now ACTUALLY don’t know their lines and go into panic mode, spending every night staying up UNGODLY hours to memorize their lines. during one of these especially late nights, they’re practicing the final number, and they get to the part in the script where they are instructed to kiss. clem hesitates, but eventually ends up going through with the kiss, and every day since then, they somehow keep forgetting the words to the last song. “let’s run that last song again, i always forget the words.” “hahahaahaha yeah me too let’s run it till the end” “yeah obviously” u 2 aren’t fooling anyone

louis: freshman year, louis played piano for the orchestra pit. he saw how much fun the actors were having, and from sophomore year to senior year the stage has been his LIFE. he’s gotten the male lead to every show since, but the director noticed he didn’t really fit the description of beast like. at all. the part of lumiere, however, literally has his name written all over it, so it’s not a surprise to anyone when he gets the part. goes with violet every once and a while to practice with clem, but after a while catches on and lets them do their thing. the kind of person to never come on time to rehearsal and miss half of tech week yet still SOMEHOW have all of their shit together long before opening night??? clem is worried that a mistake will happen but by now everyone is used to louis’s behavior “shouldn’t he be here?” “he has everyone in the cast’s lines memorized already including his own, let him do his thing” still has a passion for piano, but he loves to sing, and with lessons from the company’s vocal coach, he’s fucking great at it.

aasim: aasim has done lighting and sound all four years. could literally do it blindfolded. the person all the junior techies comes to when something isn’t working because he’s the only person that knows how to work most of the shit up in the booth (although honestly, he doesn’t tell people how to work some of the stuff because he likes feeling important.) a few weeks into the show, it is realized that louis, although he has many talents, cannot do a french accent for shit. but, guess who is fluent in french??? while violet and clem are doing their thing, louis comes to aasim, essentially begging him to teach him how to perfect the accent and pronounce some of the french words. as funny as it is watching louis’ feeble attempts, he’s secretly a little embarrassed every time he says a line. at first, aasim VIOLENTLY refuses “dude, they have youtube videos for that shit, right?” but louis pesters him EVERY DAY until aasim gives up and finally agrees. partially because he’s sick of being pestered, but mostly because, well, louis is adorable. since aasim is one of the only kids that knows how to drive, after rehearsal, he usually drives violet and clem to clem’s house and drives him and louis to louis’s house. louis will blast show tunes on the way (because clem lives an ungodly distance from the school) and louis will sing loudly along to the lyrics, despite knowing that literally nobody else in the car is really all that into musicals. aasim, half the time is complaining about how much he spends on gas weekly for these assholes (louis usually lends him money, it’s not like his parents will notice)

ruby: THE BACKBONE OF THE ENTIRE DRAMA CLUB. keeps traditions alive, hosts the cast party every year, etc. is in her junior year and has a surprisingly good soprano voice. she’s cast as mrs potts. makes everyone cry during her song on closing night. will frequently argue with the director, however, but she’s usually right, and she usually wins.

minerva: minnie has gotten the female lead since freshman year. and let me tell you, she is PISSED when clem gets the lead instead of her, and even more pissed that she’s playing her ex girlfriend’s love interest. minnie and violet broke up early in the summer going into senior year (it ended badly.) so the wounds are still pretty fresh. is cast as babette (or the feather duster, for the uneducated) and hates it. she doesn’t even have any lines! so much so that she joins the technical crew instead, opting to work on spotlight. during rehearsal, she’ll often “forget” to put the spotlight on clem during pivotal moments, and almost does this through the show’s run, but sophie talks her out of it very sternly.

sophie: sophie has worked on set design ever since freshman year (currently a senior) and is the real creative genius of the tech crew. is incredibly disproving of her sister’s attitude toward clem, and even goes out of her way to prove this to clem, giving her a hand when she needs it or complimenting her outfit once and a while. makes most of the props and costumes, and literally nobody knows where they would be without her.

brody: is currently in her junior year but didn’t audition until sophomore year, due only to the fact that her girlfriend sophie pressures her to. she REALLY didn’t want to, but nobody can say no to sophie. brody knows she can’t really sing, but she is AMAZING at dancing, and is cast as an ensemble member until minnie quits, and she is placed as the feather duster (babette.) it’s hilarious to everyone seeing her and louis try to flirt onstage. can also drive, but isn’t allowed to drive other people yet and will NOT break the law (except for sophie who she drives everywhere) picks everyone up McDonald’s, though, every day of tech week

mitch: auditions for the show after losing a bet with willy, doesn’t actually think he’ll get in. doesn’t ever use email so doesn’t know that he got cast as Gaston until after two rehearsals have past and louis comes up to him. “dude, you know you’re in the musical right?” doesn’t tell anyone that he’s in the show until louis accidentally puts him on his snapchat at rehearsal. will never admit that he’s actually having a really good time

#I SPENT TWO HOURS ON THIS PLEASE FUXKIBG REBLOG IT #twdg #the walking dead game

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eddiekasp · 7 years

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Must Be a Better Word- Ch11

Love. There must be A better word. -Adam Gillon My loves @stanleyuriis and @eddiesbadbreak helped me come up with some HCs about Richie and his home life so... its about to get angsty :^) Also on ao3!

Eddie sat in his bed, his two blankets covering his legs up to his belly button and his back leaning on the headboard. The adjustable lamp that sat on the nightstand on the right side of his bed illuminated a small circle of his white sheets, set to the lowest brightness as he told his mother he would be going to sleep nearly 40 minutes ago already. He felt warm; the room was shadowy and dark save for the small golden ring coming from the side. He was wearing to sleep a shirt that was far too long to be his own-- a shirt Richie had left at his house accidentally four days prior.

On his lap on top of the blanket sat the notebook Eddie had found in Richie’s closet, abandoned and nearly lost forever. Eddie felt like it had to have been more than a coincidence that he asked to clean Richie’s room that day. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have the notebook. Richie even let him keep it, happy to see how happy it made Eddie. Eddie just felt lucky.

He had read it so many times through now that he was convinced he could recite it. Eddie had gotten pretty good at memorizing lines of text. Richie starred in many roles in school productions (just last month he played Lumiere in Beauty and the Beast; Beverly did costumes and makeup and Eddie came every night of the show. Richie had pressed the flowers Eddie brought him into a book) and it was always Eddie’s job to help him practice his lines. They’d sit on Richie’s floor, Eddie reading the lines monotonously, making Richie laugh, while Richie reenacted the scene in front of him, gesturing extravagantly and pretending to hit himself on the head with a frying pan like in a cartoon (sounds effects included) when he forgot a line.

Now, the lines in front of him would not be able to bring forth any feeling of monotony. A lot of the pages, some about him and others which were Richie’s writing or doodles, made Eddie wanna spin around in his room or jump up and down or something silly like that, but instead he held the back of his hand up to his mouth, concealing the smile that bloomed on his face from himself.

Others, though, really… worried Eddie. He thought about asking Richie about them-- jokes about his mother and her problem with drinking, or how his father knows anything about him or WANTS to, how he feels like his family totally doesn't give a shit about him-- 8 or so pages like these written as rants or masquerading as funny jokes. But he didn’t know if it was his place. Although Richie had given him the book, Eddie wondered if he remembered those entries were written amongst the many pages of lighter fare. Plus, this was years ago… did Richie still feel this way?

He figured he must have, since Richie had Eddie over at all hours of the night and his parents said nothing. Not to mention the fact that Richie almost never brought up his parents, and if he did it was only to Eddie in a very quick and biting comment. And he knew Richie didn’t drink.

But then he began wondering, and this wondering didn’t stop until he did something about it. If Richie feels ignored and not cared about, Eddie had to do something about it. The thought of him ever feeling that way made warm tears prick in the corner of his eyes if he thought about it for too long.

So Eddie pulled the covers off of his bed, duelly reminded of how much he wanted to talk to his boyfriend after getting a small remembrance of his cologne that stuck like old stickers onto the shirt he was wearing. His heart felt warm, how it felt when he hugged Richie, and he tiptoed quietly into the hallway where the phone was.

The floor under him felt cold on his adjusting toes. He cursed (as he had at least 5 times a week) that his mother did not trust him enough to put a phone in his room. He had mastered the art of closing his door lightly as not to alarm his mother of him running away, and thanked fuck that their old curly-wired home phone in the upstairs hallway had retired from use two years ago, forcing her to get a cordless home phone. He’d sneak into the hallway quickly, the pads of his small feet barely hitting the floor beneath him, snatch the phone up and run back to his room.

He would talk to Richie with his window open, leaning out in that direction because that was the most likely way his mother wouldn’t hear him. Now, though, it was past midnight on the first week of March. Eddie already had Richie’s gift wrapped and hidden in his clothing drawer. Eddie loved March, loved how happy Richie got when they’d surprise him with cake and gifts on his birthday, loved how cold it was besides the 4 layers of shirts his mother made him wear, but now he worried he’d catch a cold leaning out the window in nothing but a thin t-shirt and his underwear.

Eddie bounced slightly up and down, convincing himself he was creating some body heat, and hoped that he wouldn’t be waking Richie up from sleeping. It was a school night, and he supposed the conversation could wait until third period when Richie had class and he didn’t and they could sit in the empty auditorium and do whatever. But Eddie felt like he had to talk to him now.

On school nights, Richie was usually doing one of two things: sleeping, as he had been the second he walked into the house and taken his red converse off, or saving sleep for that beautiful three-hour period between 4 and 7 am so he could finish up procrastinated homework and could be found at 12:43 at his window as Eddie was now, maybe smoking a cigarette or maybe just feeling the cool air on his warm cheeks.

Although Eddie hated when Richie didn’t get enough sleep, he’d feel even worse if he would be interrupting him if he’d already passed out. Richie and Eddie talked on the phone late at night at least every other night, but it was almost always planned and usually not this late. It was rare for Eddie to stay up past 11.

He typed the memorized number onto the plastic-y buttons of the handset, the familiar song of the buttons in that exact order echoing in his ears as he put the receiver to them. After two rings, not Richie’s voice but his father's.

“Who’s calling this late?” a deeper voice said, not angry but definitely stern.

“O-oh, hi Mr. Tozier. It’s Eddie… Richie’s friend. I’m sorry for calling so late it’s just-- is Richie asleep?”

“Not sure.” Went pulled the phone away from his face and Eddie heard a vague calling of “Richard! Pick up the phone,” and then a click as he exited the only conversation he had ever had or probably would have with Eddie Kaspbrak.

Eddie heard a breath flow into the speaker of his phone before hearing the familiar, “Hey, Eds!” Eddie could tell he was wide awake, he just noted that his father hadn’t bothered to say it was too late to be talking on the phone. “Why ya calling so late? Did you miss meeeeee?” Richie said gleefully, making kissy noises into the phone.

Eddie felt any stiffness in his back that kept him sitting up straight start to melt as it always did when Richie talked to him. He could just relax.

“Of course not, you nerd. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Isn’t that kinda like the same thing?” Eddie could hear Richie’s upturned smile weaving its way into his words through the phone. Eddie could always hear Richie’s smile just as much as he could see it. It made him smile, too.

Eddie laughed at his question. “It might be.”

Richie laughed too. “Well, you know I always mish you when we’re apart, shweetheart.” His Humphrey Bogart impression had gotten a bit better since he was 12; his voice getting deeper helped a bit. “I really did though! In fact, you should come over. I don’t feel like doing homework anyways.”

“Rich, we have school tomorrow,” Eddie sighed into the phone. Honestly, he wish he could have gone over.

“Yeah, but so what? We can sleep in through first period, and you know I can forge a pretty good late pass.”

“If my mom sees that I’m gone on a school night she’ll really think I ran away this time. She’s already flipping out on me that I’m never home anymore.” Eddie contemplated how he felt on what was happening between him and his mother. “I mean, of course it’s probably better for me this way. I feel bad for hurting her though, yknow?”

“I get it, but you know she’s the worst Eddie. Like, honestly you shouldn’t have to feel bad. The only thing you should be worried about in regards to her is making sure she takes her Plan B after I leave in the morning.” Richie whooped into the phone and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Very funny, dumb ass.”

“But I’m being serious. She treats you like shit and she’s a huge bitch to you. I know I shouldn’t say that about my future mother-in-law, but you of all people should know she’s… kinda the worst, dude. Honestly, I don’t think you’re obligated to treat her well at all. She makes you feel bad, which means she’s a bad person. So don’t feel guilty.”

Eddie felt that same hot redness flush across his skin. “Mother-in-law?” he chimed, passing in a sly comment to cover up his heart beating in his throat. He smiled. “What makes you think I’d marry you, huh?”

“If you said no to a proposal from the Richie Tozier, you’d be the biggest idiot alive.”

“I guess it takes one to know one.”

They laughed at the same time, Richie unabashedly booming through his room while Eddie had to remind himself what time it was and cover his giggles into the palm of his hand. There was a silence, comfortable and warm, broken by a cough coming from Richie.

“Are you smoking out your window right now?” Eddie said, picturing the boy leaning his elbow on the window sill, phone trapped between his ear and shoulder as he flicked ashes onto the grass below his window. A position his brain had memorized.

“You know me so well! Yeah, I… I’m actually on my second pack in the last two days,” Richie said guiltily. He knew Eddie didn’t mind him smoking, (as long as it wasn’t near him; it sometimes made his asthma bad) he just worried it'd hurt Richie's lungs. Eddie knew how much it sucked to have problems breathing. Eddie had actually been doing a decent job on persuading him to try and smoke only 1 cigarette a day and Richie even found himself skipping days altogether when he had been feeling really happy. Eddie wondered what had happened.

“Is… something wrong, Richie?” Eddie furrowed his brows, starting to worry.

“Well, uh.” Richie paused, taking in another breath and clearing his throat. Unknown to Eddie, Richie had put his cigarette out and took the back of that hand to wipe his eyes quickly. He didn’t continue speaking.

“Richie, is it… your parents?” Eddie’s heart sped up, but for the wrong reasons.

Richie nodded his head before remembering Eddie couldn’t see him. “Uh, sorta. Yeah.”

Eddie checked the clock again. Almost 1. Richie had been right, though. Why should Eddie give a shit what his mom thinks?

“Do you think I’d get murdered if I took my bike to your place?” Sonia’s window was overlooking where Eddie’s car was normally parked. She’d see the lights for sure, and wake up in a panic.

“I can come with my car. I'll stay at the stop sign down the street.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon then. Get here safe.”

“I will... Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

#i really hope you guys are enjoying this!!!#richie #eddie #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #it #it stephen king #it2017 #fanfic #must be a better word #chapter 11 #mine

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aroace-fairytales · 7 years

Text

Beauty & The Beast: Chapter Six

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10298354/chapters/23362746

Guess who was in a writing mood and decided to post two chapters in two days! ;)

My hands wrapped around the soft silk drapes that hung around a tall window. A few moth-eaten holes were speckled across the faded yellow, but it was beautiful just the same. With several hard yanks, I managed to open the drapes. A gentle pink light flooded the room, casting a warm glow all around me.

The glass panes were dirty and smudged, so I rubbed my sleeve against them to create a clean pane for me to look through. Below my room was a garden – the only thing about the mansion that appeared to be kept up. Roses of all colors, shapes, and sizes bloomed in magnificent flowerbeds, a stark contrast to the gray stones of the mansion walls. I pressed my forehead against the glass to get a better view. The first rays of golden sunlight struck the rose garden with a breathtaking elegance.

Father would love this… My throat tightened and I turned away from the window, squeezing my eyes shut to fight back tears. “I’m never going to see him again,” I whispered, the words seeming to echo around the elaborate bedchamber. Despite the beauty surrounding me, my chest began to heave and my shoulders began to shake.

I raced toward the bed and threw myself down on it, muffling a sob in the feather pillow. I never should have asked Father for that rose.

“Is she crying?”

“Poor thing…maybe we should leave her alone.”

“Or we could pretend we didn’t hear her.”

My sobs quieted as two distinct voices whispered outside my door. Sniffling, I wiped the tears off my cheeks and sat up on the bed.

“Oh, I think she stopped. Maybe we should–”

“Knock, knock!” a sing-song voice called through my bedroom door.

That does not sound like the beast that trapped me here…Perhaps there are others held captive as well! My eyes widened at the thought and I stood up off the bed, straightening my skirts and brushing a hand over my hair in an attempt to diminish the frizz. “Do come in.”

“Bonjour mademoiselle! J’espère que vous aves bien dormi–”

“Good heavens, Lumiere! Did you stop to think she might not know French?” a voice broke in.

I tilted my head as the door opened to reveal a golden candlestick with three flaming candles and a sophisticated, dark oak clock. That’s odd…I thought I heard voices. What are these objects doing here?

“Too true. Do you know French, mademoiselle? Such a beautiful language, the language of love and romance.”

I squeaked, stumbling backwards onto the floor and just missing hitting my head on the bed post. Did that candlestick just…wink at me? No, no, no, did he just talk?

“Look what you’ve done, you flaming idiot.” The decorations on the front of the clock separated, as though to form lips and a mouth. I could have almost sworn the two round golden decorations near the top of the clock blinked, then looked at me.

“Am I…am I dreaming?” I murmured, eyes wide with wonder.

“Oh no, we’re quite real,” the candlestick began walking toward me.

I stared as he approached. The closer he became, the easier it was to see a distinct mouth, nose, and eyes on the polished gold.

“Y-you can talk…and walk?” I stuttered, my eyes glued to the candlestick as his metal mouth curved up into a smile.

“Just as well as you can. So, do you speak French?” he probed, grasping one of my hands in two of his candlestick arms and pressing his metal mouth to the back of my hand.

“I-I…je parle un peu français…” I nodded slowly, pulling my hand away from him. “I prefer English though.”

“Aha! I know you could speak French just by looking at you,” the candlestick crossed his arms and smirked at the clock.

“That’s Lumiere, and I’m Cogsworth,” the clock sighed, clearly irritated by Lumiere’s flirtatious show.

“I’m…Beauty,” I replied, a small smile flickering across my face. They’re so polite…and sweet…

“Indeed you are,” Lumiere crooned, batting his eyes at me.

“Lumiere…” Cogsworth shook his head.

“What? It has been too long since such a beautiful young lady has been our guest!” Lumiere defended, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout.

I giggled, my spirit lifting slightly as my curiosity piqued. “How can you talk? And…walk? How are you alive?”

“Ah,” Lumiere sighed, pressing one of his lit candles against his frame, dripping hot wax, and looking downcast. “It is as if she has never met a live candlestick before. Aïe, ça fait mal!”

I covered my mouth with my hands, guilt washing over me. “I am so sorry, I did not mean to be rude!”

“You were not being rude,” Cogsworth interrupted before Lumiere could continue his dramatic display. “It is a long story, but short version �� we were cursed by an evil enchantress. Lumiere and I were once human, you know.”

“You were?” I gasped.

“Yes, I was very handsome,” Lumiere grinned, then glanced at Cogsworth. “But he looked just as ugly as he does now.”

“Well, I think he looks quite attractive,” I declared, smiling at Cogsworth.

A pink tinge appeared on Cogsworth’s wooden cheeks and he chuckled, sheepishly looking down at the ground.

READ MORE ON Ao3 (Link above) AND PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE COMMENT/LEAVE KUDOS AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! :)

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