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folerdetdufoler · 3 years

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What are Magic 8ball Evak doing today? I miss them.

hey, sorry, you sent this a few weeks ago i think and i really got hung up on it.

usually this kind of thing would be fun to think about but because of the way time works i didn’t know how to write around it! like, when you sent it it was late august, and technically that had like, just happened in the story. we’d just had a late august, so i couldn’t figure out if i should write another “late august day” almost a year after the story finished, even though i only finished the story back in april. that felt like too much of a time jump though, and i hadn’t given isak and even enough time to grow after the story ended. someone else had asked for an update in the comments on ao3 and i couldn’t give them one, not the same way i have been doing for mondays. but i do want to do something, so…

even’s birthday fell on a sunday. it was the first one isak would be celebrating with him, so isak wanted it to be special. but so did sigrid, and she worked faster than him. she invited them to their house for dinner months in advance, which annoyed even. the saturday before, when they were all hanging out at elias’s apartment, even spent most of the time grumbling about it.

“i thought things were getting better with you guys?” elias asked from his throne.

even sighed. “yeah, i mean, we’re fine. this guy is her new bff.” even patted the head of curls sitting against the couch between his legs. “but i just know it’s going to be this over-the-top thing that i don’t want to have to deal with on my birthday of all days. i don’t want that attention.”

isak paused the race he was playing against mikael and whipped around. “you love the attention.”

“yours, not hers.” even gave that same head a correcting tap and isak returned to the game. “if she actually wanted to celebrate my birthday with me then she would ask me what i would like to do, and then maybe it would be something i would enjoy.”

isak scoffed but didn’t pause the game this time. “if she did that you would just tell her to leave you alone.”

“happy birthday to me!”

“then you should just tell her no, you don’t want to spend your birthday with her.” elias doled out the reasonable and obvious advice.

“i would have, but she invited both of us and isak accepted immediately. besides, it’s kind of a regular thing now, sunday dinners.”

“that’s cute,” mutta noted as he walked in from the kitchen with a bag of pretzels and jar of peanut butter. mikael pointed to the coffee table, a silent command to place the snack within his reach.

isak felt a little guilty then, but he kept it to himself. they kept playing their game until it was mutta’s turn, and then isak pushed himself to his feet. he gestured to even to follow him to the kitchen.

even had a big smile on his face as they stepped away, because he was probably thinking isak wanted to kiss him in the privacy of another room. isak did pull him in close by the waist, but it wasn’t for kisses. “we can skip tomorrow,” he offered instead.

even froze for a second, but then shook his head. “no, no, we can go. i would only make it worse by skipping.”

“i would be happy to tell her we’re skipping but take her out to dinner on her own another night, smooth things over.”

even chuckled. “i absolutely love that you feel comfortable having one-on-one dates with my mother but it’s really not necessary. I’m just…complaining. and i’ll complain a little bit more in therapy, and then i’ll work through why i’m complaining and then i’ll be in a better mood for tomorrow. okay?” he reached up and rubbed isak’s shoulders in reassurance.

“will you tell me about it when you get home?” sometimes even shared what they’d talked about and sometimes he didn’t. isak was getting better about asking permission to cross the ever-changing border.

even’s eyes shifted to the side. “it depends on what we dig up.”

isak accepted this. “okay.” he leaned in to kiss even’s cheek, physically changing the subject. “my next question is…how angry do you think elias will be if i steal the big pillows?”

―――

isak had moved into even’s apartment right before christmas, hauling bags and suitcases back and forth over a few days until most of his belongings were at even’s. he fit a desk and his nice chair in the bedroom, and somehow all of his clothes fit in even’s closet. the giant pillows he’d bought had stayed at elias’s apartment, mostly because they would get more use there; the boys still gathered on saturdays and needed the extra seating. but after even left for therapy this was isak’s chance to make the steal without ruining his surprise.

mikael helped him carry them to even’s apartment, since he was ready to leave around the same time as isak. they didn’t talk much on the walk over, but isak knew that that was mikael’s preferred level of communication, and they were both comfortable with it. isak would much prefer a mikael at peace than a mikael ready to launch an attack.

they deposited the pillows in the living room and mikael turned to leave. “we should be here at six?” he asked over his shoulder.

“yeah. i don’t know how late we’ll be but if we leave early then that would be a good time.”

“okay. and elias still has his key?”

“yup.” isak followed mikael down the stairs to their shoes.

“aight. we’ll see you tomorrow then.” mikael offered his hand for a casual slap-shake goodbye, the most physical intimacy isak had ever experienced with him.

“thanks for the help!”

mikael disappeared. isak went back upstairs to find his phone and finalize plans with kari anne in the group chat.

―――

isak dressed nicely for dinners at sigrid & jan’s house. this time he had a red fair isle sweater and dark wash jeans, and some chunky socks keeping his feet warm in his leather boots. even wore something very similar, but his sweater was cream with a different pattern. “do you think she’ll want to take pictures of us again?” even wondered while he combed back his hair, then gently mussed it into a style.

“of course. it’s your birthday. and we look handsome.” isak was applying a dot of concealer just because he could, though he would have to ask emma for more if he wanted to keep up this routine. even put his comb bak in the drawer then leaned in to kiss isak on his opposite cheek. he added a smack to his ass on the way out.

isak liked to dress up a bit because it felt like sigrid and jan dressed up too. it was the polite thing to do, but also isak knew that conversation would flow better if they were all on the same page, even with their appearance. they were all putting the same level of effort into the gathering, and then no one would feel out of place. and it wasn’t too much extra effort, because they would just save the same outfits for work the next day…as long as they didn’t get any stains on them.

they gathered their outerwear as they walked down the stairs, pulling hats and scarves and heavy coats from the hooks along the walls. isak checked in with even right before they left. “are you sure?”

even nodded and smiled and isak didn’t doubt the honesty of his response. he’d shared that his session yesterday had gone well, and they’d talked about certain behaviors from sigrid and himself that he wanted to avoid. “like i’ve been remembering things she’s said and reacting to those instead of what she’s actually doing now. when i feel ready to discuss those past…transgressions, then i need to have a conversation specifically about those moments, versus whatever might be triggering those memories now, whether they’re related or not. otherwise it’s kind of like these mixed messages. she won’t understand what’s actually upsetting me.”

on the way over isak suggested a dinner with just his parents, where isak stayed home. “would it be easier, or give you more of an opportunity to discuss those things without me there?”

“maybe another time. sundays are nice with you.” he gave isak’s hand a squeeze.

they held hands in public now, while they were commuting to work or grocery shopping or walking over to elias’s or meeting emma for dinner. if isak happened to catch a stranger’s curious look, he might tense up a bit, but he didn’t let go anymore.

sigrid & jan’s house was a tiny thing that they’d moved into after even went to university. its yard was bigger than the actual house, but it was completely filled with jan’s garden. another nice thing about going to visit was that they always came home with plenty of seasonal crops. and in the winter it was usually canned fruits, jams, or pickled veggies. sigrid greeted them with big hugs and jan immediately presented two very small jars of “blackberry jam! i got just enough off of that bush at the back.”

“i thought it had died!” even exclaimed, the genuine shock and delight at the gift lifting his voice.

“it’s definitely on its last legs…uh, roots.”

“he was out there every day scouring the brambles.” sigrid shook her head but she was clearly proud of his efforts. then she took isak’s hand and pulled him to the kitchen. even and jan went to the tall closet at the back of the living room where jan stored his jars. “you both look so cozy today. remind me to take a picture later.” she brought him to the stove where she had two large pots simmering. she pointed to one. “i need you to blend that while i get this bread finished.”

“what is it?”

“that’s butternut squash, and this…is a ministrone. kind of. i’ve taken some liberties.”

isak picked up the immersion blender that was sitting next to the stove. sigrid had gotten it started but it was still chunky in spots. while he stood there and mixed the soup she sliced a loaf of bread and laid it out on a baking tray. each slice got a thick spread of butter. isak stepped to the side so she could open the oven and slide the tray in for a quick broil.

she flicked her eyes toward the living room and then leaned toward isak’s chest. “how has he been?”

sigrid asked this question every time they were together. isak had thought it was just general curiosity about the new relationship, but once isak revealed that to even he had rolled his eyes. she was asking isak because it was the nervous curiosity that even had tried to distance himself from years ago. eventually he told his mother to stop using isak to get answers about her own son. that turned into an argument where sigrid nearly started crying about how even wouldn't answer her so she had no choice. she excused herself from the table and jan was left to host the boys through the rest of a very quiet dinner.

at this point isak was comfortable pushing back to defend even’s boundary. “sigrid, you know i’m not going to speak for him. how’s this, is it smooth enough?”

she glanced into the pot. “yes, that looks good.” isak’s deflection seemed to work. “now grab some bowls from the shelf for me please. thank goodness he found a tall one to bring home,” she muttered to herself. isak blushed but easily picked four bowls from up high.

even and jan came to the kitchen shortly after, with jan still talking as they headed to the table. isak passed them the silverware and glasses to set out at each seat. then he helped sigrid carry the pots to the table. before she sat down she dropped a kiss on the crown of even’s head. “how are you doing?” she asked as casually as she could as she moved to her chair. isak sat on the other side of the table, so the couples could look at each other directly. isak studied even as he answered.

“i’m fine, mamma. a little nervous about pappa’s grand scheme over here, but everything else is okay.” isak couldn’t hear any tension in his voice so he relaxed a little bit.

“oh, is he trying to get you on his side about buying a van?”

“how else will i transport my vegetables, sigrid?” jan sounded exasperated by her skepticism.

“dearest, you don’t even have the stall permit yet. don’t put the cart—excuse me, the van—before the horse.”

“catch me up?” isak requested of the table in general. jan gleefully started from the beginning with his grand plan to join the farmer’s market that summer, with the full list of his crops and ideas for clever names for his backyard farm.

most of dinner was spent discussing this great undertaking, with even contributing creative enthusiasm and sigrid sprinkling it all with caution and logic. then they pivoted to jan’s work at the office, and how he found his attention shifting so easily in the warmer months. jan and sigrid lived comfortably and were starting to entertain plans for retirement. that led to talking about the cabin, which turned into the perfect segue by the time they were clearing the table for dessert.

Isak fetched smaller plates from an even higher shelf, and even clapped when sigrid revealed his cake. it was a tall layer cake draped in swirls of light blue icing. there were six candles on top and even’s name written in a shaky, dark blue script. “do you remember that picture you put in the folder for me? the close-up of his face?” sigrid asked isak. he nodded. every few weeks he picked a photo (with even’s approval) from his phone and uploaded it as a wordless update for his parents. that one had been from early december, when they went out for lunch on a random tuesday, just to get some sunlight. “i zoomed in on his eyes and picked the blue color from there.” sigrid twisted to even and cupped his cheeks with her small hands. even leaned into the adoring gesture and those blue eyes crinkled up with a smile. they shared a silent moment of connection and then she released him to stand in front of her chair. isak stood up too. jan struck a match to light the candles.

even laughed and gamely clapped while they sang the birthday song. he watched isak spin around with a little flare, and isak genuinely enjoyed performing something he used to roll his eyes at. then even paused to make a wish and blew out the candles. isak knew he would ask him what he wished for later.

the cake was delicious, and they each had two slices. even tried to flick icing across the table at isak but sigrid threatened him with a spoon. “if you get icing on my wall you are cleaning it up, birthday boy.” even agreed to those terms and kept trying. then jan left the table for the bedroom, and returned by sliding a tall, skinny cardboard box through the kitchen. it had a blue bow stuck on top, which was enough, since it would’ve taken an obscene amount of wrapping paper to cover the whole thing.

“eh?” even stood to look at the box.

“happy birthday, dearest.” sigrid looked very proud of the gift and was enjoying even’s puzzlement. jan stepped back and let even walk around it. they had to hold it at the top so it wouldn’t fall over.

“it’s heavy….” even’s eyes scanned each side. “is…did you get me a bed?” he gripped the box to turn it around, showing sigrid and isak the diagram on the other side. it was, in fact, a bed. “thank you,” even whispered, without much conviction.

“it looks like a nice bed,” isak added, coming around the table to look at the dimensions. “we can get the guys to help us carry it upstairs.”

“oh no! no!” sigrid nearly yelled. “it’s not for—it’s for the cabin. you don’t have to carry it anywhere. pappa and i will take it up on our next trip and build it in your room, so now you’ll have a proper bed for when you and isak visit. i didn’t want those flimsy beds from when you were a kid stopping you from staying in ålesund.”

even’s face relaxed as his mother explained and the bed made more sense. he leaned the box against the nearest counter edge and moved around it to give sigrid a hug. “thank you,” he said again, with actual gratitude. “that’s such a lovely gesture for the both of us.” he pressed a heavy kiss on sigrid’s cheek and isak saw her squeeze her eyes closed. she was going to cry. she let out a tiny gasp when even pulled back. he went to jan to give him a hug as well, and sigrid turned away from them to hide her tears. but isak stepped in and opened his arms for a hug as well, and she fell into his chest and let loose against his sweater.

“thank you, sigrid. that means so much to us.” he rubbed her back to calm her down. “let us know when you’d like a family vacation and we’ll try to clear our schedules for it, okay?” her blonde hair scratched at his chin as she nodded. isak knew it was a big promise, committing to a vacation with his boyfriend’s parents, but that seemed to be the least they could do since they bought them a bed. aside from the literal comfort they were providing, it felt like a grander statement since the gift would serve both of them. isak felt like it was his birthday too.

when even and his father separated, jan peeled off the bow and stuck it to even’s chest. they shared a low chuckle, and then jan slid the box back to the bedroom where it had been hiding. “you know, if we have a van, it will be a lot easier to transport this up there!” he sang as he left. isak let go of sigrid and spun into even’s arms. she plucked a napkin off the table to wipe at her tears while isak was crushed into a hug with the bow.

“we’ll keep the little mattresses, of course. you never know when elias and mutta and mikael want to come for a visit too. but yes, this will be a nicer frame for you both.”

“it’s such a thoughtful gift, mamma. thank you so much.”

“you know…i thought of it as soon as you came back from your first trip, when you brought back the clean sheets and blanket. it might’ve been presumptuous but if…if isak was having a nice time then i thought he might want to come back, and then i wanted it to be ready, and you two could have your own space.”

isak laughed as he pulled out of even’s hug. he kept to his side though, and wrapped an arm around even’s waist. “you were very right to presume. though i suspect i would’ve had a wonderful time even if i had to sleep on the floor.”

sigrid looked horrified when he suggested such a crime, but that just made even laugh. jan reappeared. “oh i forgot to bring these out.” he was carrying a colorful quilt and coordinating linens, also with a blue bow on top. even let go of isak to accept them, and both boys admired the pattern.

“pappa helped me pick those out. they were on sale after christmas. oh, and if you bring them back to the city to wash, you could just use them on your regular bed too. everything fits.” sigrid returned to her pleased homemaker attitude, with any remaining tears in her eyes only there out of pride. she’d surprised her son with a useful and enjoyable gift, that doubled as a reason for him to visit her at the cabin. it was a very successful birthday dinner.

―――

they enjoyed a little bit of champagne in the living room before they left, relaxing on the couches and catching up on the skiing gossip from sigrid and jan’s most recent trip. isak disclosed that he hasn’t skied since he was very young, which sent even giggling, picturing his boyfriend flying down the slopes. “this might be even better than my skateboarding fantasy.” luckily neither sigrid nor jan inquired further into what that fantasy actually was.

when isak noticed the time was getting close to seven he made the gentle suggestion to head home. sigrid and jan were happy to let them go, having enjoyed the whole bottle together and noting their earlier bedtime now that they were getting older. but she also demanded photos once they were standing, so isak took a few pictures of even with his parents and then jan took a few of isak and even alone. they had to brainstorm a way to take a picture of all four of them together, but then sigrid cleared a small space on the fireplace mantle to rest a phone. Even set the timer, they lined up with the boys in the middle, and they wrapped their arms around each other. they smiled.

after another round of hugs and kisses they bundled up and went home. isak carried the new linens in an oversized shopping tote over his shoulder. “that went well, yes?” isak looked over to see even nodding into his scarf. he pressed the button for their stop.

“it was really lovely. i had to, like, constantly remind my brain to not interpret what she was saying negatively, but that’s…what i’m supposed to be doing.” they stepped off the bus carefully, navigating the packed snow on the sidewalk. “maybe after a few more visits it will be less of a conscious effort. but even as it was, i enjoyed myself. i liked seeing you with my parents.”

“speaking of me with your parents, i kind of promised sigrid we would go on a family vacation with her to ålesund.”

isak could barely hear the chuckle underneath the scarf but it was there. “i think that was a given. that was the whole point of the bed. it was quite clever on mamma’s part.”

“mm,” isak agreed. “so we’ll have to start looking at our schedules. and now we have the weekend farmer’s market to take into account.”

even’s laugh was louder and drew his mouth up above the warm wool. “he really has leaned into his gardening in the last year, jesus. if you had asked me five years ago what hobby i thought my dad would pick up next, i never would’ve thought ‘fruits and vegetables.’”

“forget hobbies; he’s halfway to his own business.”

they approached their building. isak had his own key now, and he unlocked the first door for them.

“what are you thinking about?”

isak was thinking about the surprise that was waiting for them upstairs, feeling nervous that he didn’t have any texts with updates, even though he didn’t ask for any. but he quickly thought up a work excuse that would explain his distance. “um, how maybe someone from jakob’s team might be interested in profiling jan. has there been a surge of home gardens lately? what’s the process for joining a farmer’s market? how profitable is it to bring produce into the city from a farm versus urban, hyperlocal crops? what resources are there for farmers when it comes to direct-to-consumer sales?” he felt ridiculous spitting out these ideas because they were rushing out without a filter yet they sounded somewhat legitimate. he really should be putting these questions in a voice memo, but even was climbing the stairs in front of him and that was…well that took priority.

the bag of linens landed with a light thump on top of isak’s pile of shoes. they removed their outerwear slowly as they climbed, hanging everything back up. isak listened for noises but didn’t hear anything over the shuffle of their own clothes. there wasn’t any light coming through under the door. and even—even was still undressing. isak reached up and tugged at his belt. “what are you doing?” he hissed. even threw his sweater and undershirt over his shoulder, and they skimmed isak’s head as they fluttered down the steps.

“getting naked. wanna help?” even was still climbing and his hands were at his belt buckle.

“even, no!” isak was torn between holding his boyfriend back and trying to reach for his shirt, while also not pulling them both down the stairs.

“what…what’s going on? you love when i get naked.”

isak blushed, praying whoever was on the other side of the door was far enough away to not hear them. maybe they were hanging out in the living room. even undid his belt but he did stop climbing to look at isak.

“do you want me to blow you down there?” he pointed down to the graffiti door and isak was going to melt from the flames burning his neck.

“shut up, no, just….” he stumbled down the steps to fetch the sweater and chucked it back up at even. “put this back on. we can’t be naked.”

“why not?” even was seriously confused but he did as isak asked. “we always get naked.”

isak pinched the bridge of his nose. “not tonight, okay babe?”

even dropped his sweater and his jaw. “is this…is this the first time you’re saying ‘no’ to a fuck?”

“even! i’m not—that’s not what this is. just please put your clothes back on until…until later or something.”

even reached into the pocket of his sagging pants and pulled out his phone. “i need to document this. for the record.” he snapped a photo of isak staring up at him with an annoyed look on his face. “this was the first time isak denied me.” even snorted. “it looks like you’re about to give me a very angry blowjob though.” he showed isak the photo.

if he weren’t so frustrated by the situation, isak would’ve laughed. that’s exactly what the photo looked like with that angle. unfortunately isak’s face just made even want to persuade him even more, so even tucked his phone under his chin and promptly shoved his pants down to his ankles. he was wearing bright red boxer briefs and he shook his ass in isak’s face. then, before isak could get a grip on his body, sexual or otherwise, even waddled up the few remaining steps and reached for the door. isak screamed, “NO!” at the same time as their kitchen, full of friends and coworkers, screamed “SURPRISE!” at a nearly naked even.

maja screamed, marius howled, and mikael took approximately 50 photos, the flash of his phone camera lighting up the kitchen like a red carpet. isak was so embarrassed he sank down behind even’s legs. even laughed and made no move to get dressed.

“pull up your motherfucking pants even! i came here for your birthday, not a peep show.” kari anne's booming voice had a hint of a laugh in it.

it did not occur to isak until just then that all of their friends were not just seeing even in his underwear—they were seeing even’s boner in his underwear. so despite isak’s desire to melt into a puddle right there on the steps, he now felt enough possessiveness to lunge forward and pull up even’s pants from behind. it was a challenge to dress someone blind, especially when that someone was a giggly, wriggly mess. isak got a flash of the kind of future where he was getting a toddler dressed, but he had no time for that future right then. he got even’s jeans up to his butt and then he had to forcibly turn his boyfriend around in order to navigate his bulge.

“looks like dinner with the parents went well, then!” elias shouted out, making everyone laugh again and isak’s cheeks turn an impossible red.

“oh, babe.” even finally noticed isak’s general struggle. he took over with his pants and hefted them up to his waist. “i’m sorry. i should have listened to you. but this was amazing and hilarious. are you okay?” he buttoned his jeans and cupped isak’s jaw.

isak was still too flustered to say anything. his eyes darted from even’s face to the gleeful faces behind him, checking to see who was still laughing. “come on, bedroom.” even started walking isak backward toward the privacy of their bedroom. “five minutes!” he announced to everyone else.

“i thought you only needed two!” someone else shouted back.

―――

the laughter and voices faded as soon as the door closed. isak spun around and flopped himself on the bed face first. “surprise,” he mumbled. even collapsed on top of him, blanketing him with rough denim and warm skin.

“this was the best surprise ever. i’m sorry i embarrassed you with my penis.” even added a little thrust as if that would convey sincerity. the heat that flushed isak’s cheeks now was a slightly different kind. even nuzzled his face against isak’s cheek and gave him a few kisses. “i’ll get dressed and we can hang out with my favorite people.”

even pushed up and went to the closet. he swapped out his jeans for grey sweatpants and put on a white t-shirt. isak kept his jeans but opted for a clean white t-shirt too. even swept isak into a hug before they went through the door. “i love you in general and i love you for this. thank you for such a nice gift, and the perfect way to relax after the family dinner.” he squeezed across isak’s back and then shifted his head in for a kiss. isak demanded tongue as part of even’s apology and he got it, a nice open, wet kiss that tasted like champagne. even grunted when they parted. “um, yes. friends first, but then we’re definitely revisiting the naked thing.”

isak agreed with an aggressive grip on even’s ass. even kissed his way out of it and wiggled toward the door.

the kitchen roared with another greeting when they appeared, birthday wishes thrown from every direction. even opened his arms and accepted all of them with a wide smile. “thank you all for coming. this is such a fun surprise, and i clearly had no idea.”

“it was a fun surprise for us as well,” kari anne smirked.

“since we’re all here and there is a grotesque amount of alcohol behind mutta, have we agreed to absolutely ruin our sunday night?” another cheer went up. isak moved around even to get to the counter by mutta.

as requested, everyone bought the alcohol isak had assigned them and paid for. he couldn’t bring much into the apartment on his own without raising suspicion, so he spread out the drinks, food, and decorations among their friends. maja and marius picked up a cake from a bakery on their side of town. mutta and kari anne brought most of the alcohol. sana and yousef brought food from mamma bakkoush, enough to last them at least a week. elias and mikael were on decorations & entertainment duty. their friends had started drinking, as was to be expected when you’re trapped in an apartment for a couple of hours. since everyone had helped themselves to the juice and ice in the fridge, isak didn’t bother with setting anything else up. he searched for sana in the small crowd, who was chatting with mikael by the entrance to the hallway. when he caught her eye he nodded a question and she held up a full glass in response. with her taken care of he mixed up a dark & stormy for even.

“here you go, babe.” he only interrupted even’s conversation with marius and maja to put the cup in his hand. then he went back to the counter to assess the food. yousef joined him to point out the options.

“all of even’s favorites. mamma didn’t leave the kitchen all morning. this…this tray is okay. these two should be reheated a bit.”

“okay, thanks.” isak reached over to start the oven.

“and this we actually eat cold sometimes, so it would be fine as is.”

they figured out the food and then isak moved on to the living room. everyone was still in the kitchen, so isak got to see the decoration efforts as intended. streamers looped colorfully from even’s shelves, carefully taped as to not disturb his toys. balloons hovered at the ceiling, their strings becoming vines that dusted isak’s shoulders. on the coffee table was a pile of markers and a large brown envelope. he went right to the envelope to see what was inside. “yesssss.” isak dumped out the contents and spread them out. he had found ten particularly embarrassing photos, a mix of recent shots from isak and childhood ones from sigrid, that he’d ordered temporary tattoos of. he had a good feeling that this group was going to get very creative with the placement. in the very least he knew exactly where he wanted a tattoo of even on his own body. he practically skipped back out to the kitchen to get water and a sponge.

everyone had started eating, so isak joined the queue for a little bit of the bakkoush cuisine. no matter how full they were, isak and even would always make room for mamma’s food. isak refreshed even’s drink and then led some people into the living room to eat, for more seating. even stayed in the kitchen at the table with sana, yousef, and kari anne.

maja screamed again when she saw the tattoos. she and marius abandoned their food immediately and took the sponge to the bathroom. three minutes later marius returned with at least four evens plastered across his face. then he dared mikael to do even more. after that, it was chaos.

elias tried to tie a balloon to the back of sana’s hijab. kari anne was the first one to get a tattoo of even on her ass cheek. mutta and mikael started doing shots, and marius and maja were caught making out in the stairwell when it was time to break open the markers on the door. their defense was that maja could stand on one step above marius and they would be a closer height for kissing.

“like my apartment is the only place with steps, get the fuck out.” isak shoved marius against the door. but that’s exactly where everyone stayed. they all shared the markers and wrote silly birthday messages to even on the door, reading old ones and laughing, and recording new jokes that they now all shared. the graffiti door was due for an update and everyone got a chance to leave their mark. isak made sure no one wrote over his original “shithead,” and he added a couple more questionable names wherever they fit.

unfortunately marius convinced maja to paint her lips with marker ink and kiss the door, but then she was stuck with deep purple lips. sana immediately dragged her up to the bathroom to start exfoliating. isak had to console maja from the doorway. “i’ll get emma to give me some lipsticks that would cover it up if it doesn’t come off.”

“matte,” sana instructed.

isak opened his recording app and noted that: “matte lipsticks from emma for maja.”

“anything from a maroon to a magenta should cover it up.” isak added that. “in the meantime, here, you can use this.” sana pulled a tube of lipstick out of her small crossbody bag and opened a drawer. she plucked an alcohol wipe from where even kept them next to the tweezers and cleaned off the tube and used lipstick. she handed it to maja and maja looked like she was about to cry from the gesture. sana nipped it in the bud with a glare and a single finger held up in maja’s face. “just be glad your friends are so clean.”

isak blushed, assuming sana knew that they had those wipes to clean their toys. but then marius burst into the bathroom, shoving isak aside. “baby, it looks like we just kissed too hard for a little bit. ‘cheer up! a hickey from kenickie is like a hallmark card,’” he quoted in his best american accent. this actually made maja cry so isak excused himself and went to get more alcohol.

eventually yousef was tasked with getting mutta and mikael home. marius gave maja a piggy back ride down four flights of stairs and across the city. they found kari anne had removed her pants and crawled into their bed, so they left her there. sana, even, and elias collapsed onto the couch and giggled their way through a nonsense conversation the way siblings do. isak put the food away, got water for them all, and then joined them on the floor with his giant pillows. even found grease on the tv and they watched and sang along with the few bits they knew. then isak fell asleep, his fingers wrapped lightly around even’s ankle and his head resting against even’s knee.

#magic eight ball #SO SORRY if the cut doesn't work #skam fic #kerrywrites #i swear to god i AM writing it's just taking me forever #and this could've been a lot longer but i'm not going to test tumblr's patience with that

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theawkwardterrier · 3 years

Text

When in the Depth of Winter

Summary: Peggy notices how the cold troubles Steve and tries to fix it.

The first part of my Steggy Secret Santa outtakes posting. This one was rejected because it refused to stay as light as I wanted, so take that as you will.

Read on AO3

Something happens to Steve as the temperature begins to drop below freezing. Peggy doesn’t think that anyone else has noticed - when asked if he seems different to her, Angie declares, “Nah, swell - and gorgeous! - as always,” and Bucky points out that just because the current war is a cold one, doesn’t mean that Steve feels he’s through with his responsibilities - but it’s terribly obvious to her. Or perhaps it’s only that no one else is around to see him walk through the house in his warmest socks or take an extra quilt from the linen closet to add to their bed. No one else thinks to notice how odd it is for him to bundle in gloves and a scarf and a hat, even though his core temperature stays consistently high regardless. She seems to be the only one who sees him turn from cheery window displays and tuck himself even quieter and farther inside at the parties they’re invited to.

She asks him about it, of course she does. They’ve been married for a year and had been seeing each other nearly daily for months before then, ever since he’d been recovered from the Valkyrie. There’s no one she trusts as much as she does Steve and she doesn’t think it flattery but mere fact that she holds similar esteem to him. Still, he only frowns and shrugs in response to her questions, says he’s feeling the same as usual, kissing her gently on the temple or crown or mouth and thanking her for worrying about him. And she doesn’t think he’s intentionally lying; sometimes, however, your feelings are buried so deeply that you don’t even recognize them. That doesn’t mean that they aren’t there. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything to be done.

Somehow, as if knowing that Peggy has other things to think about and can’t stay in the office until all hours or pop in for emergency sessions on weekends (or perhaps because she isn’t the only one whose family has her focus just now), her agents are closing cases at a top clip and the criminal underworld seems to have settled into some sort of hibernation.

And so Peggy is able to stop at the delicatessen on a Friday and still be home by suppertime.

“It’s the absolute perfect evening,” she says as soon as she comes through the door. “Come for a walk with me.” There’s an excitement to the declaration rather than any martial strictness; after an assessing look at her - this isn’t precisely normal for the two of them - he stands and dons his coat to join her outside.

They live away from the main street and most of their neighbors are already tucked away inside their homes. When they do encounter someone, they exchange nods, but for the most part there is only the soft sound of their boots atop the leftover snow, their exhalations of breath which fog in the air.

Through the larger front windows they can see families eating and couples reading side by side, silhouettes of Christmas trees, and once, a couple sharing a kiss in a dim sitting room. One or the other of them will point out some particularly pretty decorations. It is not late but the winter darkness is so complete that when they step through a streetlight the reality of the brightness is nearly a surprise, a brief dawning which reminds them of how lovely the velvet night can be too.

Pressed close as they are, she feels him shiver as a breeze blows past them. Leaning up, she touches her chilled cheek to his warmer one, both their eyes closed. And without speaking, they turn around and start for home.

Their fireplace has never been used before now, but they light it tonight, sit in front of its bathing warmth to eat the chicken soup that she had brought home, reheated piping hot. They don’t speak much but it is enough, unhurried and peaceful. She can feel him watching her, trying to figure through her intentions, but in the end he seems simply to accept it, leaning back and allowing himself to be thawed.

“What do you think of ice skating?” she asks him as they finish washing the breakfast dishes one Saturday morning.

He gives her an odd glance. “Walking but on ice and with knives strapped to your feet?” he tries.

“Well, I’m sure there’s nothing we have to do today which can’t keep until tomorrow, and I’ve bought you a pair of skates which should fit.”

Steve is her husband, and before that he was her friend, and he is above all her partner. She doesn’t often use with him the tone of voice she does for stubborn politicians or agency heads who disagree with her, the one which is simultaneously so firm as not to brook complaint and a bit blithe, as though whatever is being discussed has already been decided in Peggy’s favor and aren’t they silly for having forgotten. By the way his eyebrows furrow even deeper, she knows he recognizes it and he even opens his mouth to say so, but in the end he instead goes to get his coat.

Their house is a ten minute walk from the skating pond - not even that if you’re Steve - but they’re usually too busy to even contemplate availing themselves of it. It’s already midmorning by the time they arrive and the day is perfect, sunny but frigid, so no one has to worry about softening ice. They are far enough into the season, however, that the novelty has worn off and only a few other groups are taking advantage.

Steve has, through mutual effort, become a passable dancer beyond back and forth swaying and turning in circles (not that the style doesn’t have its own charms). That skill doesn’t seem to translate to the ice, however, and he spends their first turns around the pond clutching her hands with the trembling ankles of a newborn deer taking its first steps. But he picks it up more quickly than she had expected, his serum-induced athleticism activating as he continues to practice, and soon his hand in hers has nothing to do with balance or security anymore.

They get competitive, they can’t help it, laughing as they race, taking care to swerve around the others with whom they are sharing the ice. Steve tries a couple of jumps - daring and occasionally reckless as he might be, he’s smart enough not to attempt flips just yet - and even when he falls, he just laughs and shakes himself off as he stands again.

It doesn’t escape Peggy’s eyes as they switch back over into their street shoes that Steve has stuffed his gloves into his pocket, that he drapes his coat over his arm deference to the sweat they’ve worked up. But she doesn’t mention anything, merely takes his hand once again for the walk home.

They go to watch Angie playing Martha Cratchit in A Christmas Carol the next week, and treat her to supper and hot apple cider afterward. (Steve crinkles his nose but keeps taking baffled sips from his mug, as if a preference for it might sneak up on him if he only keeps trying.) The week after that, it snows again and they spend Sunday in Prospect Park with Bucky so Peggy can experience the site of their youthful sledding exploits.

“Well, we didn’t exactly have a sled then,” Steve points out as they climb Lookout Hill. “But there’s plenty you can do with a garbage can lid or the old instrument trays that the hospital was getting rid of.” It’s the sort of statement which would have Peggy’s mother making faces like she had just sniffed sour milk, but Peggy herself actually smiles at the picture of her husband small enough to curl himself up for a trip down the hill and brash enough to try it.

“Can’t believe you’re forgetting my masterpiece,” Bucky jokes. “Weeks of collecting scrap wood and old nails, borrowing my dad’s hammer to put it all together, and you don’t even mention it.”

Steve shakes his head. “My mother was certain I’d get tetanus just from being near that thing when she saw what you’d made.”

“I think my ears are still ringing from her shouting - and don’t think I’ve forgotten that it was mostly at me.”

“You were the one stupid enough to build it!”

“You’re the one who was stupid enough to ride it.” With a grin, Bucky adds, “I didn’t think anyone could shout louder than my ma, so I guess I learned a lesson in more than woodworking that day.”

“Now I’m even more disappointed that I was never given a chance to meet her,” Peggy says as they reach the top before Bucky can play any further with the word woodworking. He had been discovered in Russia by a SHIELD spy and extracted a year before they found Steve; he is quiet about the professional help he has been getting to manage the pain of the things that happened to him during the war and after, but it’s clearly making a difference: his terrible sense of humor is returning in fuller force even than she knew it could. Steve’s hip nudges against hers, and she knows that it is not by accident. She looks up at him and catches his smile.

After a morning of racing down the hill until the crowds arrive, after they’d handed over their sleds to a group of kids without their own and, picking up food on the way, gone back to Bucky’s apartment to eat and talk and laugh together, Peggy and Steve take the train back home. His cheeks are still somewhat rosy when she looks at him, and the remnants of laughter still dance about his mouth. Halfway there, a pair of seats opens up and they sit side by side, leaning into each other a bit, watching absently through the steamed window as the city passes them by.

“I can tell what you’re doing, you know,” Steve says as they climb the porch stairs, returning from helping out at the Red Cross rummage sale. Steve has plenty of volunteer projects he’s associated with around the neighborhood - the soup kitchen, the community center - but she had been the one to suggest this; she remembers how welcome that bright symbol had been on the battlefield, in the same way as Steve’s shield.

“Unlocking the door?” she asks as she plucks her keys from her bag.

He is so near to her that she can feel his heat and practically his narrowed eyes as well as he says, “Not—Well, sure, but what I meant was that I know that you don’t just suddenly find winter outings appealing.”

She lets them through the door, unbuttoning her coat with her other hand. “Perhaps I’m only just becoming comfortable enough with you to share my love for them.” Until he comes out with what he is thinking, she isn’t going to simply believe the jig to be up.

“Peggy,” he says, and to anyone else listening it would just be her name, but she hears the real sharpness to the word. She turns to him, coat still draped around her shoulders. He’s shut the door with his foot and they haven’t had a chance to switch on the lights; his face is shadowed, difficult to make out in the muted light of the late afternoon.

“When you asked,” he says, and then makes himself take in more air. “When you asked if something was wrong, I didn’t know that there was. But it’s just that—” He ducks his head, then lifts it again, making himself look toward her. “I keep thinking of all those winters of never being quite warm enough, never having a good coat or shoes to keep out the damp, the way I knew that I was getting sick by the way my breath would catch when I laughed or when there was a certain taste in the back of my throat. I can’t forget the smell of trench foot from guys who’d been walking in wet boots for days, or the times I had to be the one to keep digging the graves because the ground was so frozen no one else could get through it. There are nights I close my eyes and see Buck falling, that jacket of his all dark against the snow, even though he survived, he’s back now and safe. And sometimes, when the wind is really bad, I feel like I remember—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, though his shoulders shake as well, broad as they are.

They have talked about their time apart, as they call it, but he has always wanted to keep the focus on her end, on the things she had done and the way she had felt and all that had happened to her, pushing off talk of his end of things with reminders that there wasn’t anything to tell about what was essentially a prolonged sleep. They both know that he shouldn’t be able to recall any of it - he swears he was knocked out by the impact of the crash and he only woke up again long after he had been removed from the shell of the Valkyrie and completely warmed - but even the thought that he might remember a moment of his time frozen beneath the ice stabs at her.

“I could see that this time of year was difficult for you,” she says, and she doesn’t look away from him even as she folds herself inward. Typically her bulling forward has worked in her favor; the idea that it might have backfired and hurt the person she least wants to is intolerable. “I thought we might try to cloud some of the associations for you, to give you some new memories for the season. But perhaps it was a bit too much to overcome.”

He ducks his head and steps toward her; he is very near in the darkened front hall. “You weren’t wrong to try. The thing is that you did give me good new memories: helping people get through the worst of the cold, spending time with our friends, all those new moments with you. Those memories have to fit inside my head along with the old ones; you just made sure that sometimes when it’s cold what I’ll remember instead is kissing you with snowflakes on your eyelashes. I’m just never sure which is going to be the one my brain’ll bring up.”

“I know as well as you do that it’s impossible to erase the other memories,” she says. “But it’s terribly important to me to make sure that you have an entire lifetime’s worth of happy ones too.”

“You’ve given me a million wonderful ones, even when you weren’t trying,” he says staunchly. Captain America isn’t just a persona or a symbol, it’s who he is, the bolsterer, strong and entirely reliable, she’s always known that. But it is so clearly Steve Rogers who, after a pausing moment, asks, low and a bit worried, “But what about—I don’t want you to feel guilty if sometimes the good memories aren’t always enough. It’s only that the bad ones are still in there too.”

She closes her eyes; how particularly privileged she feels for him to allow himself to say such a thing when he spends so much time considering himself last, trying to make sure no one thinks of having to extend a hand on his behalf.

“Well,” she says, stepping forward and tucking herself beneath his coat with him, wrapping arms around his back to hold him tightly to herself. “In those moments, we just stand together and wait for spring.”

#Steggy fic #Steggy #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #alternate universe - Steve was found in the ice #bad psychology

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reincarnated70sbaby · 3 years

Text

star crossed

-chapter four-

*disclaimer: this work is entirely fiction, all scenes with real life people presented in this work are entirely fictitious.*

word count : 2.4k

warnings : angst! (af!) swearing ? charlie watts being unbothered as ever, did i mention angst?

<<previous chapter

next chapter>>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a couple drinks in, the conversation of recording a track started up. Jimmy was actually quite excited, a Rolling Stones and Jimmy Page track was bound to happen sometime. Sure, Jimmy had played with them in his session days, but not anything to the extent of actually being featured and credited for the track. They decided to come back tomorrow to Bill’s home studio to record a track that might feature on the upcoming Goats Head Soup album. Two nights previous, he finished up the English leg of the 72/73 tour. In a couple weeks, Led Zeppelin would be embarking on their biggest tour yet - the 73 North American tour. There was plans to record a concert film and album, and Jimmy was really hopeful everything would work out.

“Lads I’m about to fucking pass out here, I’m out, see you all tomorrow yeah?”

“All right Jim, see y’a tomorrow, not to early mate right?”

After agreeing to come in the early afternoon with Bill , he bid goodnight to the rest of crew there, Charlie and the pianist for the album, Nicky. Sure, they weren’t as wild as the Toxic Twins, but they were still good company - better than getting drunk in his hotel room alone.

Walking back to his hotel room, the walk felt much longer than 10 minutes. Even though it was the beginning of February, and therefore the start of spring, he had to wrap his arms around himself to preserve body heat.

Reaching the hotel lobby, he was met with the warm air of the large room. Red carpets and gold accents adorned the room. It was quite late in the night - or early in the morning, so he decided to skip going to the bar in hopes of picking up a partner and instead, head straight to his room. On his way into the elevator, he passed two women, both wearing sunglasses. He thought that peculiar, and even more peculiar, he thought he recognised the woman with short brunette hair. After attempting to place the woman, he concluded he was in no state of mind to try.

Laying down on his bed, his thoughts wondered to Alice. He hadn’t heard anything about her since they were last together. He wasn’t even sure if she was still in the music business. He wondered would he ever see her again. He hoped he would, but a feeling in his gut told him it would happen eventually. Sooner, or later, he thought.

Waking up slightly hungover, he showered and prepared for the day of recording ahead. It wasn’t to be a serious session, more of a jam of sorts and hopefully produce a track in the process.

Strolling casually into Bill’s recording studio, he noticed that, as per usual, everybody was there expect Mick. On second look he noticed that Mick Taylor was not there either.

“Where are the Mick’s?”

“I think Jagger is just late, but oh, theres Taylor there now!”

Just as Keith finished speaking, Mick Taylor walked in, guitar case in hand. This would be the first time Jimmy and Mick played together, and he hoped they would get on well.

“Jimmy, great to see you again, ready to play?”

“Nice to see you too, lets get down to it shall we boys?”

Mick Jagger had finally arrived, so he and Keith were working on lyrics, while Charlie and Bill were working on rhythms and riffs, leaving Jimmy and Mick Taylor to work out the main guitar melody. They worked really well together, as they both had the same blues origins and both loved incorporating it into new material.

“So who's the sound tech here anyway” Jimmy asked, while in the process of tuning his guitar down.

“Allie, she's been with us for the album, she's great, have you met her before?”

“Hmm, the name doesn't sound familiar I don't think”

“Well she had an appointment, so she’ll probably be here within the next hour” Mick commented, a shy smile coming onto his face when mentioning her.

After around half an hour of messing around, the boys were finally ready to start the recording tapes. All that stopped then was the missing sound tech.

“Good afternoon boys, I, being your guardian angel have brought lunch for all of us” Alice said cheerily, bursting through the door with a bright smile.

Jimmy’s head shot up at the sound of her voice, suddenly connecting all the dots. The feeling in his gut about meeting her, the woman in the hotel, and the ‘Allie’ nickname.

“Oh thank you Alice, forgot to mention we invited a special guest to join our entourage, last night at Bill’s after you and Taylor left” spoke Mick Jagger with his usual eloquence.

“Alice!”

“Jimmy” Alice replied curtly, a hint of sourness in her blank expression. Jimmy was now in front of Alice, greeting her.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, its been what, nearly four years! I didn’t even know if you were still an audio tech” Jimmy said warmly, excited to see her again

“I would say it’s a pleasure to see you too, but its not, so I wont” Alice casually said, blanking him, and moving further into the room. She set the bags of fresh food on the table, in the back of the recording section of the large hall. Jimmy watched her walk away casually, totally taken off guard by her coldness. The rest of the Stones all caught this too, extremely confused, but a little entertained by their encounter.

“Wait, you guys know each other?” Keith asked, a small smirk on his lips, pointing between the two.

“I would say used to know, I was on of the engineers on Zeppelin II in 69”

“Hold on, I didn’t know you worked Zeppelin II? That means you must have been a teenager when you worked on it. Blimey” Mick, asked, all of this coming news to him, as well to the others.

“I suppose you wouldn’t, after all I wasn’t even credited, nor my boss Tom” Alice said coolly, still not turning away from setting up the various soups and sandwiches.

Obviously, the teenage Alice that Jimmy once knew was long gone.

“God, Allie you look so old, what are you now? Twenty four, twenty five” Jimmy asked, sampling the new nickname, trying to break the stifling awkwardness that now infected the room.

“Still getting my age wrong I see, Jimmy. Im surprised you still know my name, after all the stunts you pulled over the last four years” Alice replied, walking directly towards Jimmy, accompanied with razor sharp glare. She now stood directly on front of him, slightly invading his personal space. She has grown taller and her face matured, loosing the slight roundness to her cheeks she once possessed. She apparently had cut off her long wavy crimson locks, in favour of a modern, dark brown bob.

“Uh, what’re you talking about?” Jimmy asked chuckling nervously as he scratched his head, hoping she wouldn’t notice his feigned innocence.

“Oh I’m sure you know, as does everyone else in this room. I don't really have the energy to continue this irrelevant conversation, or frankly, any conversation in general with you at this point. Also, it’s Alice to you” Alice stated sternly with a finger pointed to his chest. Jimmy could practically see the ice swirling in her cool blue eyes, the eyes he had come to miss over the years. He had never had encountered her true, red headed temperament. Now that he was on the receiving end, he desperately wanted to stay away from it.

“I’m not really hungry anyway, so I’ll be in the mod room if you guys need me” Alice said, directing her words to everyone but Jimmy, before leaving and entering the conjoining mod room. Mick Taylor quickly set his down his burnt orange Les Paul, then followed Alice out of the room.

“Woah, I haven’t seen drama like this since the last time Mick and Bowie had an arguement - which was last week, I think hmm” Keith remarked with a sarcastic finger on his chin, before moving to serve himself some soup.

“Actually Keef, I think this charade is a lot more entertaining than David’s and I’s little tiffs, as this is bit more of a lovers quarrel”

“Better not let Taylor hear that, or he’ll have to have a word with you Pagey” Bill commented, wide grin now on his face.

Jimmy was now the confused one. He turned to Charlie, silently asking him about Alice and Mick with the point of his finger. Charlie simply shrugged his shrugged his shoulders in response before going back to drumming a riff with the hi-hats and snare drums.

After everybody had ate or, cooled off, recording was finally underway. After a couple of takes, Alice interrupted to give some pointers.

“Look boys, I’m gonna be candid with you all. It sounds shit” Alice said into the mic. Ever since she had gotten more experience under belt, she became renowned for her no bullshit opinions. In turn, people valued her honestly and knew what she said was, more often than not, right.

“Yeah, boys let’s not sugarcoat it, we’re not exactly gelling as one” Keith commented, starting to become fed up with having to balance not only Mick Jaggers usual dramatics, but another egotistical lead guitarist in the mix.

“Okay, what do you think love?” Mick Taylor asked softly, trying to keep the peace before something erupted. He wasn’t wrong, the Stones, along with a quarter of Led Zeppelin, and a hot headed tech was a bit of a lethal cocktail. Fights often combusted quickly between the Stones and Alice, as all members were just as stubborn as each other.

“Well it sounds like there’s 5 Stones, and 25% Led Zeppelin playing. What I want, and what fans want to hear is The Stones featuring Jimmy Page. You five need to change your usual routine of recording for once and mix it up. And you” she looked to Jimmy “need to stop pretending you’re with the other boys. You both need to work with each others strengths and quit overcompensating. Stop pretending you’re something you’re not”

Everybody in the entire house probably could pick up that the last sentence was a direct jab to Jimmy. Another awkward silence passed, ultimately stemming from a staring contest between Alice and the famed guitarist.

“Oh my fucking god, kill me now” Mick muttered, pinching his nose, while Charlie just rolled his eyes and started drumming the start of the song. Eventually Keith started the riff with Mick Taylor,along with Bill and Charlie carrying the bass and percussion, and Mick Jagger singing the lyrics. Only when they reached the solo part, did Jimmy break eye contact with Alice and begin playing.

Finishing up recording, the boys all started to leave. Mick and Jimmy were the last to pack up their stuff, and an uncomfortable air fell over them. Obviously they both either had history, or were making history with Alice. Eventually Mick realised he should probably let the pair talk it out, so, as Jimmy toward the mod room door, Mick moved toward the hallway door.

“Alice, can we talk? Obviously things have become a bit strained between us, and I don’t want it to stay like this” Jimmy started softly. It was probably his choice of words that set Alice off, as immediately after his finished she whipped around from the sound board and kicked off.

“ 'Strained' Jimmy, are you serious?! Strained?! First of all, you didn’t even tell me you weren’t mixing the album with us, and then you just left after our night together. Then- don’t try to interrupt me James. Then, you barely even credit Tom for his songwriting tips on the album. You didn’t even mention me once, even whenever anyone brings up that Theremin part in ‘Whole Lotta Love’! You blush and go on to explain how it was your own fantastic brain that thought of it. The you had the audacity to diss Mystic studios in the papers! What was it you said again? Oh yeah, 'Mystic Studios was far from mystical and closer to meagre, and as a result, the workers were too.” Alice snarled, stream practically blowing out her ears.

“Okay, I agree that comment about Mystics’s capabilities was definitely wrong, I was extremely out of it in that interview- hell I even jibed Atlantic Records!” Jimmy was now getting frustrated too. Normally, no one put him in his place, or gave out to him.

“And then how cold you were about Tom!”

“Wait what happened with Tom?” Jimmy inquired, now serious.

“Oh my fucking god Jimmy” Alice shouted at him “you don’t even remember to you?” She said with a laugh. She searched his face, but all she saw was confusion in his light grey eyes.

“Tom had a fucking stroke last year. Peter told you, and don’t you dare deny it, as he told me he informed you all when I spoke to him on the phone. For Christ’s sake even Bonzo rang to see how he was doing! He didn’t even have my number, but he found it anyway! Robert and John joined the call after he finished speaking. When I asked for you, they said you were in a closet fucking a groupie!”

“Look Alice, I’m sorry, I don’t know what to sa-”

“I’m not surprised Jimmy, it’s a marvel you can play guitar at all, with having no fucking sense in your thick head”

“Stop being so fucking rude to me, you’re not perfect either! Don’t act so high and mighty! I know what went on in Geffen records! I’m mates with David Geffen” Jimmy was no shouting too. At the mention of David Geffen, Alice’s face immediately switched from red to a pale white.

“You do not know what happened between myself and David, if you did, you wouldn’t speak to him ever again” Alice spoke low and slowly, her face now white as a sheet.

Unbeknownst to the pair, all of the Stones were listening outside. When they heard Jimmy shouting about Geffen, Mick Taylor had enough and burst in. The rest of the boys tried to stop him, but he broke free.

“Jimmy, stop it. You don’t know anything about the Geffen incident. You don’t know Alice anymore. I suggest you leave her alone before I step in more. Al, let’s go, our driver is outside.” Mick stretched his hand out to Alice, her eyes now watery, trying to bite down her quivering lip.

Alice immediately joined Mick, and left without a second look to Jimmy.

Jimmy, now alone in the mod room, felt his gut twist with guilt. Had something bad happened with David Geffen and Alice? His mind wondered to Mick’s choice of words -‘incident’. He had heard rumours that were more damaging on David’s behalf, but being friendly with him, he thought he knew him better than all the tabloids and industry gossip.

Jimmy realised that both he and Alice had changed drastically in the last four years, how could he have expected everything to go back to how it was in the summer of ‘69? Now, they were even more distant than ever before.

Maybe they had missed their chance at eternity. Maybe the stars had uncrossed.

His heart nearly broke at the revelation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ok so chapter four !!!

I wanna write angst more often it’s my guilty pleasure

anyway, I think this is my favourite piece I’ve written 😌

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tag list : @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @princesspagey @dreamersdrowse

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patchwork-panda · 4 years

Text

If A Moment Is All We Are (20/?)

AO3 link: HERE

“...Maybe I shouldn’t have left Kunikida-san to deal with Dazai-san and the Tanizaki siblings back there,” I mumbled guiltily as Atsushi, Kyouka and I headed back down the hallway towards the Armed Detective Agency. “After all, Dazai-san is my case partner right now and I do owe both him and Kunikida-san for helping me out this morning...”

But Atsushi was already shaking his head.

“Kusunoki-san,” he mumbled, looking uneasy, “I feel bad too, but trust me when I say it’s better if we let Kunikida-san handle things on his own. The last time I tried to help before, I got caught between them and well...”

He swallowed nervously and for a moment, the light in his purple-tinted eyes seemed to fade.

“Dazai-san used him as a shield and Kunikida-san wound up punching him instead,” Kyouka finished for him, indicating her head towards Atsushi as the tiger-boy clutched his stomach and shuddered at the memory.

I winced in sympathy.

“S-sorry that happened to you.”

Atsushi tried to laugh but it came across more as a weak cough.

“It’s fine. Things like this happen sometimes...”

Kyouka merely shrugged.

“I’ve seen people get hit much harder back when I was still a part of the Port Mafia,” she said quietly, “And sometimes it wouldn’t end with just a hit.”

Atsushi and I exchanged a strained glance. I’d heard Kyouka say something like this once before, when I was getting tea in the break room but I didn’t know how to respond any better now than I did back then. I was hoping that inviting her to lunch and getting to know her a little better, with Atsushi acting as a sort of buffer, would help make me feel more at ease around the former assassin, since we were now sharing a work area. Unfortunately, she was the most deadpan person I’d ever met and even after we spent all of lunch together, I still didn’t feel like I knew her very well. Then again, I did find out that she liked rabbits and tofu, so maybe I hadn’t abandoned Kunikida for nothing...

I sighed.

Despite Atsushi’s reassurance, I still felt like I had been pretty inconsiderate. I could have at least brought Kunikida a coffee to go or something...

“Kusunoki-san, you have a faraway look in your eye,” Atsushi pointed out. “Is something bothering you?”

“Huh? Oh! No, it’s nothing!” I stammered, hoping my face didn’t look too pink.

I scratched at my cheek.

“I was just wondering if I should’ve brought something up for Kunikida-san. He was kind enough to treat me when I got this scrape earlier and I thought maybe I could thank him with some coffee...”

I stopped scratching at my cheek and frowned as I thought to myself.

“Then again, Yosano-sensei did mention he should probably cut back on the caffeine if he didn’t want to end up on her operating table any time soon...”

Atsushi looked thoughtful.

“Kusunoki-san, you really care about Kunikida-san, don’t you?”

I flushed.

“I-it’s not what you think!” I stammered, my face and neck burning as I tried to think of a coherent response in response to Atsushi’s innocent remark.

Beside him, I could see Kyouka looking up at me with her bright blue eyes, quiet and observant as she waited patiently for my response. For some reason, this only made me more flustered. Something about the look on her face made me think she somehow already knew...!

“It’s just that—!” I managed, turning to Atsushi and hoping I really didn’t sound too desperate, “Kunikida-san has been so kind to me ever since I met him and I really appreciate everything he’s done for me so far. I really look up to him!”

Blushing harder, I turned to Atsushi, practically wringing my hands from nerves.

“That’s all, I swear!”

For a second, Atsushi just blinked at me. Then, his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and he flushed as well.

“Oh my gosh!!” he exclaimed, slapping his hands over his reddened cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Kusunoki-san! I didn’t mean it that way! It’s just, when I saw the two of you back at the infirmary—I thought—! I thought you were getting along really well, and—well—to be honest—!!”

At the mention of the infirmary, I was instantly reminded of Kunikida’s smiling face, the gentleness in his gray-green eyes... My heart skipped a beat.

“—I think it’s great that you’re getting along so well!” Atsushi rambled, making wild, erratic gestures with his hands, “I mean, I’m really happy that I can get along so well with Dazai-san and Kyouka-chan and—”

“You should make him something to eat,” Kyouka abruptly chimed in.

At once, Atsushi and I turned to stare at her. Unused to the attention, Kyouka looked away slightly, her cheeks tinged with a delicate, soft pink.

“Men like food,” she said quietly. “Atsushi-kun likes it when I make him breakfast. If you like Kunikida-san, you should make him something too.”

“Kyouka-chan!” Atsushi moaned, slapping his hands over his cheeks once again. “You can’t just say stuff like that!”

My eyes widened.

“You think so?” I asked.

Atsushi looked stunned. And a little confused.

“Eh?” was all he could get out as Kyouka nodded beside him.

“If you find out what kind of food he likes, you could make him a bento,” she said as Atsushi turned from Kyouka to me and back and forth.

The dark-haired girl lowered her eyes shyly.

“I’m not that good at it, but I’ve been cooking for a few years now,” she said quietly, fidgeting a little with her hands. “If you’d like, I could come over and help you? Or... you could come over to our place?”

I brought my hands to my mouth.

“Kyouka-chan...!”

How could I ever have thought she was scary? She was honestly really cute and so sweet for offering...! And given how well my latest adventures in cooking had gone, I needed all the help I could get.

“Yes! Thank you so much!” I exclaimed. “That’s so sweet of you, Kyouka-chan! Do you have anything you like to eat? Maybe I could treat you to a snack after we finish—?”

“Crepes!” Kyouka decided, her blue eyes shining. “There’s a stall near the park that sells really delicious ones. I like the strawberry ones!”

“Of course! It’s the least I can do!”

“Um...” Atsushi interrupted, awkwardly raising a hand, as if he were a student in a class. “I thought you said it wasn’t like that...?”

“It isn’t!” Kyouka and I declared, turning to him as one.

“If you appreciate someone, it’s natural to want to feed them,” Kyouka stated firmly.

“Yeah, Atsushi-kun! Haven’t you ever treated someone to a meal for doing something nice for you?”

“Of course I have!” Atsushi squawked, looking more confused than ever. “But I thought you said...?”

But Kyouka and I were barely listening and we were already continuing down the hallway without him. Kyouka started asking me about the cooking utensils I had on hand but when I asked her why she needed more than one, she just bit her lip and informed me it was probably better if I came over to her place instead.

Atsushi sighed and trailed after us to the office.

“I... I’m sure Kunikida-san appreciates you too, Kusunoki-san,” he mumbled, sounding defeated.

He thought to himself for a moment.

“Maybe his favorite foods are written down in his notebook somewhere! Oh, but now that I think about it...”

Atsushi grinned at me.

“His favorite foods are probably those that are ideal for a healthy lifestyle,” he joked, a small chuckle escaping him as he spoke. “I’m sure if you get some of those... eh? Kusunoki-san, what’s wrong?”

“H-healthy...”

I slapped my hand over my forehead as I thought hard.

“W-what counts as healthy food?”

Atsushi thought to himself for a second.

“Rice, fish, vegetables,” he listed, “seaweed, chicken, soup, tea...”

Was he actually answering my question or was he just listing off the ingredients needed to make ochazuke?

When I pulled out my phone to start copying this down, he stared.

“Wait a minute. Kusunoki-san, what have you been eating this entire time?”

“Ramen and vegetable juice...”

“Oh my God...”

“The... The last time I had to think about this,” I mumbled sheepishly as Atsushi appeared horrified (Kyouka’s eyes merely widened a fraction and she wisely stayed quiet), “was when Yamazaki-san dragged me out to get groceries.” Atsushi’s eyebrow quirked up.

“The lady you saved right before you joined the Agency?”

I nodded. I’d told Atsushi and Kyouka about Mrs. Yamazaki during lunch, when we were discussing our pasts and how each of us had joined the Agency. As the three of us finally arrived at the end of the hall, stopping just before the door to the Armed Detective Agency (it sounded like things had quieted down, although the faint smell of smoke still lingered in the air), Atsushi’s golden eyes widened a fraction in realization. He snapped his fingers.

“I have an idea! Are you still in touch with Yamazaki-san?” he asked abruptly, “If you are, then maybe she could give you some tips on a healthy, well-balanced bento? You know, like the kind that adults prefer? Did she cook for her husband?”

I stopped moving.

“I... I actually don’t know,” I said quietly, my hand stilling on the doorknob. “I didn’t really know her that well. She seemed to be home at the same time I was but I never actually met her husband.”

I turned to them.

“She did say that she was still married but I’ve never seen her husband home before. In fact, the only time I saw anyone else at her place was when she had her friends over for mah-jong.”

However, I knew her husband definitely existed because I’d seen photographs of him in the apartment, the most prominent of which was a large, framed color photo from the Yamazaki wedding some decades ago. On the left was a much younger Mrs. Yamazaki, looking rosy-cheeked and overjoyed in a traditional white Japanese wedding kimono and headdress. Standing just behind her, with one hand placed gently on her shoulder, was Mr. Yamazaki, a tall, thin man with a tiny pair of round, circular glasses perched elegantly on his slightly hooked nose; he, too, had been wearing traditional Japanese wedding attire. While he looked rather awkward with the large white knot around his waist almost bumping into Mrs. Yamazaki’s hat, his small, dark eyes seemed to shine with the same kind of joy that his wife displayed so readily.

“Oh...”

Atsushi grew timid.

“Is he perhaps, no longer around?” he asked, rubbing his arm in embarrassment.

But I shook my head and smiled.

“He’s around,” I said slowly, “just not physically. Yamazaki-san mentioned that he works abroad and doesn’t get to go home much but he does send her money every month so that she can pay the bills.”

I opened the door and headed into the office.

“I haven’t been in touch with her since she left for her nephew’s place in Nagano, but maybe I could send them an email? I should ask Dazai-san for their contact information, see if it’s safe to reach out—”

I stopped abruptly.

Sitting there, slumped over at my desk, with more bandages on his body than ever before... was Dazai. Even though I’d stopped walking towards him, he somehow seemed to sense my approach and before I could quietly back away and try to ask Kenji to share a desk again, Dazai looked up.

“Kusunoki-kun...”

Without moving his head up from the desk, he jutted his lower lip out in an obvious pout, his cheek still squished against my desk top.

“You went to lunch without me?”

His lower lip wobbled.

“And not only did you leave me here with Kunikiiiida-kun, you took Atsushi-kun and Kyouka-chan, too! How could you...?”

“Whatever Kunikida-san did to you,” I said flatly, putting my hands on my hips, “You deserved it. And why did you set that bin full of papers on fire, anyway?”

Dazai blinked at me.

“The paper shredder was busted,” he stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “so I thought we could save energy by burning the trash instead. You know, since Kunikiiiida-kun’s always going on about our budget and the energy bills and all that other stuff...”

“All that other stuff,” Kunikida seethed, a vein pulsing visibly in his temple, “is the reason you even get a paycheck, Dazai-san.”

I jumped.

“K-Kunikida-san!”

He was standing right next to me and I’d been so focused on Dazai that I hadn’t even heard him coming up behind me. Apparently, I was the only one who hadn’t. Atsushi and Kyouka were already sitting at their own desks, heads bent low over their laptops, and as I quickly scanned the room, I realized that other than Kunikida, I was the only person still standing in the middle of the room and not working.

But before I could apologize for anything, Kunikida continued right past me until he had arrived at my desk and was staring down Dazai with his notebook out and his arms crossed.

“Is there something wrong with your desk, Dazai-san?” Kunikida asked, tapping one finger irritably against his bicep. “If not, I must ask that you return to your own workstation and stop harassing Kusunoki-kun immediately.”

“Oh relax, Kunikiiiida-kun,” Dazai sighed, “I’m not harassing her at all! Kusunoki-kun is my case partner and I thought we could share a workstation. Hardly unusual at this office, especially considering how short we are on desks at the moment—”

“The only reason we were even short on desks was because you had Kyouka destroy half the office during Kusunoki’s entrance exam—!”

“—And besides, I need to work closely with Kusunoki-kun if we’re going to solve our case in a timely manner.”

Dazai sat up and took out the documents that we’d been given this morning, spreading them over the desk and leaving barely enough room for our laptops.

“I’m sitting here because it’ll be more efficient to work like this,” he said, taking out a highlighter and lazily marking up the printouts. “You’re all about efficiency, right? Wouldn’t you agree that it’s much more efficient for us to be sharing a workstation? That way, we can look at all our documents at the same time. We wouldn’t have to constantly ping each other over email, or worse, talk loudly next to you and disturb your work—”

“Kusunoki’s desk is already right next to yours,” Kunikida stated evenly. “How much more efficient could you possibly become, moving just a short distance over?”

But when Dazai went back to highlighting the printouts, giving his partner no indication that he’d heard him, Kunikida’s hands balled into fists. Without warning, the tall blonde detective stomped over. He slammed his hands down on my desk, and for one brief, terrifying moment, I thought I saw cracks appear on the floor beneath my workstation.

“You really think you’re fooling anyone, Dazai?” Kunikida snapped, “It’s obvious what you’re up to. You’re just trying to get into Kusunoki’s space so you can get all cozy with her during work hours, aren’t you?”

He jabbed a finger towards the far side of the desk.

“I bet you even put that stapler all the way over there just so you have an excuse to put your arm around her! Well I’m not having it. Go back to your own desk right now!”

“Kunikida-kun!” Dazai gasped as I went red at the idea of getting that close to Dazai. “I had no idea you were so creative! Don’t tell me you’ve been spending time thinking of ways to get closer to Kusunoki-kun? I’m actually kind of impressed...!”

At once, Kunikida went red as well.

“I—” he sputtered, “I would never—! That is completely unprofessional—Don’t lump me in with the likes of you, Dazai!!”

“Aw, there’s no need to be so embarrassed, Kunikiiiiiida-kun,” Dazai chuckled, propping his chin up on his half-bandaged hands, grinning widely in a show of mock-sympathy. “I can see where you’re coming from. I mean, Kusunoki-kun is pretty cute, riiiiiiight?”

Kunikida didn’t answer. Instead, he made an odd choking noise and turned away, his face flushing further until it was the color of an overripe tomato.

I stared.

No way...

I clapped my hands over my mouth, my face burning as well.

Did Kunikida actually think I was cute...?

“You can admit it,” Dazai teased, getting to his feet, so he could peer more closely into his coworker’s face. “I saw the way you looked at her after she got that makeover. Not that you didn’t sneak glances at her before—”

“Shut up!!”

Without warning, Kunikida grabbed Dazai by the lapels of his striped shirt and shook him, his fingers closing over Dazai’s bandaged neck the instant the brunette burst out into a peal of manic laughter.

This is getting out of hand...!

To my relief, I spotted Yosano out of the corner of my eye and chased after her as she disappeared out into the hallway.

“Y-Yosano-sensei!” I exclaimed, chasing her down and grabbing her by the sleeve. She turned to look at me.

“Oh. Kyou-chan,” she said, looking me up and down. Her eyes lingered on the bandage on my left hand and she rubbed her chin. “Do you need to be healed?”

I shook my head and she sighed in disappointment.

“I’m fine,” I explained, “but Dazai-san and Kunikida-san are fighting again!”

I pointed behind me to the commotion coming from the main office. I couldn’t tell what either of the detectives were saying but the sounds of their yelling were spilling out into the hallway and I winced as a particularly loud crash echoed all around us.

“Help me stop them! If we let them keep going like this, someone really will get hurt—!”

“Oh! Well, why didn’t you say so?” Yosano exclaimed, her pink-toned lips stretching wide with glee. “This is perfect! I’ve been wanting to cut someone up today!”

As I watched her dash off towards the infirmary to get her big black bag, I realized I would have to stop Dazai and Kunikida myself.

I groaned and ran back into the office.

“Dazai-san! Kunikida-san!”

I poked my head through the door just in time to hear Dazai let out something between a laugh and a wheeze.

“I’m just asking,” he pointed out, his eyes momentarily flicking to me as I came back in, “don’t you think you’re being a little unfair? I mean, what kind of guy gets mad at his coworker and fellow mentor for simply sharing a desk with the new girl when in fact...”

His lips twisted into an all-knowing smirk.

“he got to spend an entire week with her? Eh? Kunikiiiiida-kun?”

Kunikida’s hand twitched and I saw his grip on Dazai’s bandaged neck loosen just a fraction.

“If I recall correctly,” Dazai continued nonchalantly, putting on an expression like he was struggling to remember something, “not only did you share a desk with Kusunoki-kun for that entire week, but you also stayed late at work with her almost every evening. You even took her back to her apartment two or three times while you were working that case! Not to mention...”

He raised one eyebrow.

“You’re the one who dragged her into the infirmary to have a private conversation with her earlier this morning.”

Dazai grinned.

“Who’s the one getting ‘all cozy during work hours’ now?”

Kunikida froze. His grip loosened so much that he actually dropped Dazai, who landed back in my chair with a solid crash.

“That was different...!” Kunikida sputtered, his neck and ears slowly going red again. “It was a work-related conversation!”

“I’m sure it was, Kunikiiiida-kun,” Dazai said, getting back up and dusting himself off. “After all, a professional such as yourself would never even think about doing anything inappropriate with a coworker, much less a newcomer the President tasked you with mentoring.”

He clapped Kunikida on the shoulder—hard—and his mischievous grin widened.

“Right?”

Kunikida...? Having inappropriate thoughts...? About me?!

“He wouldn’t...” I gasped.

I hadn’t even realized I’d said anything aloud until I saw Dazai peering over Kunikida’s shoulder at me with a peculiar look on his face.

“Oh, Kusunoki-kun! Good timing! Care to weigh in?”

“I—!”

I looked around but nobody seemed to be paying attention. Except for maybe Kyouka. While Atsushi had his head bent low over his desk, seemingly intent on focusing on his work to block out the chaos, the blue-eyed assassin was actually sitting up a little higher than usual in her seat and she was watching the conversation unfold with an expression of rapt attention.

I glanced back at Kunikida, who was now looking less like a detective and more like a tomato wearing a blonde wig. The man, it seemed, was completely broken; I couldn’t even tell if he was still breathing or not...

I shot Dazai a withering glare.

“Kunikida-san is not that kind of person,” I said firmly.

I took a couple steps forward, my eyes firmly fixed on the still-grinning Dazai.

“He’s an upstanding person and a good mentor and he would never do or say anything even remotely inappropriate towards anyone.”

I frowned and crossed my arms.

“Unlike some people.”

Dazai rubbed his chin.

“Is that so, Kusunoki-kun?” he asked, brushing past Kunikida and advancing on me, “Is that what you think?”

He stopped before me. His grin widened.

“Do you actually think Kunikiiiiiida-kun is incapable of having inappropriate thoughts? He is still a man, you know.”

“I know that!!” I retorted. Loudly.

I clapped my hands over my mouth and flushed as Kunikida suddenly twitched—violently. His face was redder than ever.

“I...” I stammered, heat rising in my face and neck as I looked past Dazai’s left ear and out the window.

I heard a clattering noise, which I took to be Kunikida collapsing at his desk nearby. I couldn’t blame him. This was too much for me, too.

“I mean I know that—” I coughed, “that Kunikida-san is a professional... and that... um...!”

“You really care about Kunikida-san, don’t you?” Atsushi’s voice floated back to me from our conversation in the hallway.

“Um...!”

As I struggled to put my jumbled thoughts into words, Dazai skipped forward. He bent down a little, dropping his voice low so he could talk right into my ear.

“You should confess,” he whispered, his eyes sparkling. He squished one long finger into my burning cheek. “C’mon, do it! It would be really cute!”

Confess?!

“Are you crazy?!” I squeaked, suddenly feeling dizzy.

I can’t do that! I’m nowhere near his ideal yet...!

Distantly, I heard a voice calling my name.

“K-Kusunoki-kun...”

It was Kunikida, and his voice sounded low and hesitant and quiet, as if it were coming from somewhere very far away even though he was sitting right there. His face had turned a bright, florid pink and he was refusing to look at me as he spoke.

“I appreciate what you’ve said,” he mumbled, “but I think that’s enough...”

“Kunikida-san?”

Oh no. Had I said too much? Had I embarrassed him?

“I—I’m sorry,” I mumbled, turning around so I could head to the bathroom and dunk my head in the sink.

I suddenly wished my workstation was a little further away from Kunikida’s—I wouldn’t be able to look him in the face for the rest of the afternoon. But before I could make it out the door, Dazai bolted in front of me and blocked my way, looking perkier than ever.

“So now that that’s out of the way, can we talk about our case, Kusunoki-kun?” Dazai chirped, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself.

I groaned.

“Alright, fine...”

“Great, because I’m going to need you to write most of those case reports later—I mean—”

He chuckled a little as I glared at him.

“I have something I’d like for you to check out. Right away, if you’re up to it.”

I scowled.

“Of course I’m up to it. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dazai grinned down at me. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

And with that, Dazai reached into his trench coat and pulled out a sleek, black card. At first, I thought it was a credit card and my mouth dropped open at the thought of someone like Dazai having one of those fancy black credit cards—the kind that only billionaires in movies were shown to have—before I realized there were no numbers on its surface and there was no way Dazai would actually own one of those, even if it was the real thing.

He held out the card to me. As I took it from him, the edge of the card caught the light and I saw a flash of gold. Surprised, I brought the card up to my eyes, turned it so that I was looking directly at the edge and squinted at it. There, hidden at the very edge, or possibly tucked just inside the edge of the card, was a tiny strip of circuitry, so thin it was almost invisible and as I turned it over in my hands, my curiosity grew.

“What is this?” I asked, looking back up at Dazai.

“Some kind of access card,” Dazai replied.

He smirked.

“I swiped it off that gatekeeper this morning. Looks important, don’t you think?”

I nearly dropped the card.

“You what?!”

As I thought back to the severe-looking Shimada and the gun hidden inside his jacket, a wave of ice washed over me.

“Dazai-san...” I whispered, horrified. “Why...?!”

Dazai shrugged.

“Well, what did you expect?” he asked, blinking at me. “Those printouts they gave us this morning are basically useless. Unless we’re directly plugged into their software somehow, we have no way of accessing the accounts and therefore no way of trying to track down either Tsushima or the money. How do they expect us to solve this case if we don’t have any way into the system?”

He tapped the card.

“That’s where this comes in. While I go talk to some information brokers, to see if anyone knows anything useful, I want you to take this and see if you can find any trace of either Tsushima or the money. This should help you track something at least.”

“But I don’t know the first thing about hacking!” I protested, brandishing the card at him. “What do you expect me to do with this—”

But before I could finish, Dazai whipped his head around, brought both his hands up to his mouth and suddenly called out to the man behind him, who had just sat down at his workstation to begin working. It seemed the blush hadn’t quite faded from his cheeks...

“Oiiiiii! Kunikiiiiida-kuuuun!” Dazai hollered, making his coworker slam his hands down on his desk in anger.

“Could you come over here a second—?”

But I grabbed onto Dazai’s sleeves and yanked his hands down. Blinking at me, he stopped yelling and shot me a curious, if bemused, look.

“What are you doing?!” I demanded, my voice no louder than a harsh whisper, “Haven’t you bothered Kunikida-san enough? Just let him work in peace, please!”

“But Kusunoki-kun,” Dazai returned, “I thought you liked working with Kunikida-kun—”

“I...!” I stammered, shooting the tall, blonde detective a furtive glance, “I do, but Kunikida-san isn’t a hacker either! Why are you calling him over?!”

But Dazai was no longer paying me any attention and had already started heckling his coworker again.

“Come here!” he called again, and when that didn’t work, he started making weird clicking noises with his tongue as if he were calling a cat or a dog instead—complete with really demeaning hand gestures.

Before I could find some way to put a stop to it, Kunikida rose from his workstation (“Ah!” Dazai exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight, “It worked!”) like an angry giant and stalked over to us, his olive-green notebook in hand and a pen in the other.

“Dazai-san,” Kunikida seethed, opening his notebook and preparing to attack. “If you don’t cut the crap right now, I’ll see to it personally that that ridiculous death wish of yours is granted—!”

“I appreciate the offer, Kunikida-kun,” Dazai said, sounding strange in his politeness, “but I’ll have to pass. After all, I’m looking for a lovely lady to accompany me across the River Styx, not some straight-laced, anal—”

“What. Do. You. Want.”

Dazai jerked a thumb at me.

“I want you to take my case partner here to see Tayama Katai-san.”

Kunikida looked taken aback. He exchanged a very quick (and very awkward) glance with me and as one, we turned to stare at Dazai.

“Why should I take time from my busy schedule to help you with your case?” he asked suspiciously, as I nodded fervently beside him.

“Because,” Dazai explained simply, “One: Katai-san is your old friend and he’ll only do it if you ask him. Two...”

He grinned and shot me a meaningful look.

“The Port Mafia is definitely involved in this case and if they figure out we’re harboring Kusunoki-kun, even having her work for us, they might take the opportunity to kidnap her again.”

He threw his arm over Kunikida’s neck and shoulder, hooking it just right so that he brought the taller man down to his level, looking pleased when he heard Kunikida’s pained wheeze.

“And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Dazai asked, looking cheekier than ever. “Not when we’ve all become so attached to our adorable little sketch artist-slash-detective-in-training. Right, Kunikiiiida-kun?”

There was a long pause and for a moment, no one said anything.

Then, Kunikida sighed—heavily—and pushed his glasses up his nose. I noticed he didn’t look at me or Dazai as he did so and the tips of his ears seemed to be once again turning pink...

“It can’t be helped, can it?” he mumbled, sounding perturbed.

He turned to me.

“Kusunoki?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek.

“Y-Yes?”

“Come with me,” he said, tucking his notebook away in his vest and heading for the door. “There’s someone you need to meet if you’re going to get anything out of that access card.”

As I hurried after Kunikida out into the hall, I heard Atsushi’s hushed voice coming from the direction of my desk.

“Dazai-san?” he whispered in disbelief as I rounded the corner. “Are you just going to stay at Kusunoki-san’s desk for the rest of the afternoon?!”

“Why not?” Dazai’s voice carried down the hallway after us.

I could actually hear the smile in his voice as he finished speaking and I flushed angrily and would’ve run back into the room to smack him if Kunikida wasn’t already waiting for me in the elevator.

“It smells really nice right here.”

***

“W-wait, Kunikida-san! Could you give me a minute?”

Gasping with exertion, I leaned against the railing as Kunikida paused several steps ahead of me. It was already pretty difficult to keep up with Kunikida when he was walking at a normal pace, with his long strides and steadfast gait (he tended to have a tightly-packed schedule, after all and was probably used to walking quickly), but trying to keep pace with him when he was going uphill and walking unusually quickly was downright punishing. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I paused next to a tiny playground, which consisted only of a single tiny elephant slide and minimal set of swings, and tried to catch my breath.

We were in one of the hillier residential areas on the outskirts of Yokohama, relatively far away from the central downtown area and it had taken us two train changes and a short bus ride to get to this part of town. As we stepped off the bus, Kunikida had announced we would be finishing the rest of the trip on foot and I’d quietly followed him up several long flights of outdoor stairs. In the distance, the familiar black towers in the center of the city grew smaller and smaller as we headed deeper into the tree-lined hills.

The air was pleasant here, cooler and more fragrant, and with every brush of wind, I could hear the sound of the leaves rustling on the trees. There were more individual houses than apartment complexes here, more mom-and-pop shops than boutiques and I noticed that the relative age of the residents we passed seemed to increase as we went further into the neighborhood. Clearly this was a part of the city where people could take it easier and I could sense the slower pace of life from the way people went about their day.

Which made us stick out all the more—Kunikida seemed to be walking much faster than he had when I’d first worked with him and I couldn’t help thinking it was because he was rushing to get back to his regular schedule before I could throw it off even further. I sighed, the black access card feeling oddly heavy in my pocket.

Kunikida hadn’t spoken much on the train (or on this entire trip at all) and after everything that had happened, I wasn’t feeling too talkative myself. I’d tried to keep up for as long as I could, unable to say a word to him myself, but as the uphill climb wore on, I found myself trailing further and further behind. Just as we arrived at the playground, I noticed my legs were starting to cramp and it took nearly everything I had to open my mouth and ask Kunikida for a break. I noticed he still looked just as awkward as I felt but I was feeling oddly grateful that he wasn’t really looking at me, because I couldn’t really bring myself to look at him either.

How could I?

There was something odd about the way Kunikida had acted when he found Dazai sitting at my desk, something that seemed to go beyond their usual antics. Although my new coworkers had always insisted that Dazai and Kunikida fighting at work was a constant, seeing Kunikida get all awkward like that and even back down towards the end of it struck me as unusual.

If I was reading the situation correctly, then it meant Kunikida thought I was cute. But that couldn’t be right!

That meant I might have a chance with him...

I shook my head to try to clear out the crazy.

No, that was impossible. It was just Dazai playing mind games again. That suicidal pervert thought every girl was cute and I’d bet my sketchbook that he’d flirted with all of the girls working at the Armed Detective Agency at least once, except maybe Naomi who seemed to have eyes only for her brother...

But that left one other thing: why had Kunikida gotten all hot and bothered about Dazai getting in my space anyway? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that he was acting jealous...

I slapped my hands to my cheeks to try to put a stop to the nonsense, only to startle Kunikida with the sudden noise.

“Everything alright, Kusunoki-kun?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’m fine!” I babbled, giving him a thumbs-up (oh God, WHY). “I’m ready to keep going whenever you are!”

Nodding slightly, Kunikida lifted his wrist to his face to check his watch.

“We should be there in just a few more minutes,” he said, “it’s just up the next couple flights of stairs.”

He dropped his wrist and looked at me in concern.

“Are you sure you don’t need more time to rest? Your face is kind of red...”

“Huh? Oh! It’s probably just the heat,” I laughed weakly, loosening the ribbon around my neck just a touch even as a cold wind suddenly gusted down the steps. “I should’ve left my jacket at the Agency, huh?”

“N-no,” Kunikida mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I must’ve been walking a little faster than usual. Sorry for not noticing and leaving you behind like that.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The silence was starting to get uncomfortable and I found myself staring at the dingy, painted-on eyes of the blue elephant slide when Kunikida cleared his throat awkwardly and spoke.

“I believe I owe you an additional apology, Kusunoki-kun,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in such a way that I couldn’t really see his face. He sounded tense.

“About earlier. That is, back at the office, I...”

He paused, sighed and tried again.

“I... I went too far back there. I didn’t mean to imply that you and Dazai were up to anything inappropriate. I don’t think that you’re that type of girl—I mean, I know that you’re not that type of person. That is... what I mean to say is...”

Kunikida dropped his hand at last. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were once again tinged with pink and before I could figure out what he was actually trying to say, he dropped his head forward in a very low bow.

I was so shocked that I actually took a step back.

“K-Kunikida-san?! What—?!”

“I’m deeply sorry for my behavior earlier today, Kusunoki-kun,” he said. “I can’t help but feel that I’ve acted very unprofessionally and I want to apologize for any discomfort I’ve caused you.”

What are you saying...? You don’t need to apologize...

“I still remember when I spoke to you the other day and asked you to come talk to me if Dazai was ever making you uncomfortable...”

His hands balled into fists and I watched the end of his long, blond ponytail slip over his shoulder as he bowed even lower.

“How humiliating. In the end, I was the one who made you uncomfortable first.”

“Kunikida-san...” I breathed, bringing my hand up to my mouth.

I climbed up the steps towards him.

“I-it’s okay!” I insisted, “You haven’t done anything wrong, really! I don’t feel embarrassed or insulted at all. If anything, I feel like I should be apologizing for embarrassing you.”

When Kunikida lifted his head and looked at me in confusion, I added:

“In fact, I don’t think you could do anything to make me uncomfortable—”

“...you should confess!”

I stopped talking immediately, as suddenly, Dazai’s words floated back to me, his whispered voice echoing much louder in memory than it had in reality.

“C’mon, do it! It would be really cute...!”

“I... I mean,” I coughed as Kunikida stared at me doubtfully, “Maybe it was a little embarrassing but that wasn’t your fault! Things just got a little weird back there, that’s all!”

I smiled nervously.

“I promise... if anyone at work makes me uncomfortable in any way, I’ll definitely speak to Kirako-san about it. Alright? And, uh... Kunikida-san?”

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and turned away.

“I want to say sorry about one more thing, too,” I mumbled, staring out at the city and towards the bay. “I’m sorry for disrupting your schedule this afternoon. I know you get really busy around this time of day... You’ve probably got better things to do this afternoon than escort a useless kohai to a former colleague’s place, huh?”

I let my eyes come to a rest on the bridge in the distance.

“You... didn’t have to come with me, you know? If you’d given me the address, I could’ve found Tayama-san’s place by myself and found my own way back.”

“You say that now, when we’re nearly already there?” Kunikida asked quietly.

I felt his hand come to a rest on my shoulder and I had to shake off the sudden urge to put my hand over his.

“You’re not useless, Kusunoki-kun and you needn’t worry about my schedule. Rest assured, if it’s a work-related matter, it’s no trouble at all. I hate to admit it, but...”

Kunikida frowned and his gray-green eyes seemed to soften a little as he looked at me.

“Dazai has a point. If the Port Mafia really is involved in this case and they haven’t quite given up on you, they may take any chances they get to try to take you again. Until we determine that this is no longer the situation, it’s best if you don’t make long trips by yourself, even if it is to visit a former member of the Agency.”

He dropped his hand and we started going back up the stairs together.

The awkward mood from earlier had dissipated entirely and I couldn’t be more grateful that it had.

“Former member of the Agency, huh?” I asked, now picturing Tayama as an older, well-groomed man, one who favored either suits or fashionable yukata like President Fukuzawa. “So he’s an old friend of yours?”

“You could say that.”

Kunikida made a face.

“He left the Agency some time ago but I knew him fairly well when he was still formally working with us.”

He didn’t say anything more on the subject until we came to the top of the stairs and stood before a dingy-looking, mid-sized brown apartment complex. I followed Kunikida up the stairs and kept walking a few paces behind him until we stopped in front of one of the second story rooms nearest the outdoor stairs. The small nameplate just outside the door had been left unmarked and as I watched a handsome tortoiseshell cat make its way down the hall, Kunikida spoke up again.

“Kusunoki-kun...”

He turned and shot me an uneasy look.

“Before we go in, I think it’s only fair to warn you... While Katai is a brilliant hacker and as capable as any member of the Agency ought to be, he can be rather... eccentric. Additionally...”

He put his hand on the doorknob and he made another face.

“His living situation may seem... familiar to you. Just so you know, I don’t necessarily think of you two as very similar...”

I quirked an eyebrow as Kunikida took a spare key out of his pocket and opened the door.

Familiar? What’s that mean?

But no sooner had the door opened, than I covered my nose and let out an undignified noise somewhere between a gasp and a gagging sound. There was an awful smell coming out of the room, like unwashed clothing and spoiling food and as I took off my shoes and carefully tiptoed after Kunikida into the room, I saw that the entryway was full of garbage bags. The sink to my right was filled with dirty dishes, the counter top barely visible under all the empty bottles of sake and convenience store drinks and as I squinted ahead into the darkened chamber beyond, I saw even more mounds of trash lining the paper-screen walls and covering the tatami mat floor.

“Katai!!” Kunikida yelled, pushing his way into the room. “Why is there garbage all over this apartment?! Again?!”

He waded through the piles of trash bags, clearing a narrow path for me in his wake and as we approached the sliding paper-screen doors in the center of the hall, Kunikida motioned for me to stand back. He grabbed the doors and pulled with all his might. As the door slid open, I stepped into the room with him and stared.

Unlike the near-empty rooms we’d passed through to get here, the large central chamber in the middle of this studio apartment was filled with the humming of computer towers, an entire row of which lay on the floor against the far wall. Above them glowed no less than seven computer screens, each monitor displaying dizzying amounts of code and layer upon layer of maps and graphics, filling the room with a shocking amount of cool, blue light. A set of blackout curtains on my left blocked out any trace of the bright afternoon sun and as my eyes slowly adjusted to the room, I saw that there were piles of trash lying against every wall, save the one with the computers. While this room was distinctly cleaner than the others, the smell of unwashed laundry seemed to be coming from the purple, geometric-patterned futon in the center...

As I took a step closer, the futon suddenly shifted, and I let out a surprised shriek as a large mound in the center suddenly rose from the floor like some kind of ancient, smelly bed-sheet ghost.

“How do you expect me to take out the garbage,” the futon spoke, in a low, tired-sounding voice, “if it means I have to go outside?”

The covers fell down over a pair of shoulders and the speaker was revealed.

There, sitting in the middle of the room, his futon piled around his entire body like a cape, was a rather disheveled looking man with short, messy black hair, several spikes of which protruded up and out from the back of his head. His chin and narrow jawline were covered in patches of stubble and from what I could see, behind that pair of thick, eyeglasses, his dark eyes looked somewhat listless and forlorn.

Until he saw me.

At once, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened so comically they almost took up the entirety of his large, round glasses.

“W-w-w—why—?!”

Before he could even finish his sentence, the man suddenly grabbed the covers of his futon and dove back underneath it, wailing the rest in a muffled cacophony of sound within his makeshift cocoon.

“Why would you bring a girl here, Kunikida-san?! And a cute one at that?! Wait. Don’t tell me...”

He poked his head out of the covers once again and crawled forward very quickly on his hands and knees (the covers still swathed around him like a giant purple cocoon) so that he could get a closer look at me and without thinking about what I was doing, I darted behind Kunikida to hide.

“K-Kunikida-san...?” I whispered, gripping his sleeve tightly and peering out from behind him, “Is this...?”

“This,” Kunikida sighed, rubbing his temple, as if trying to stave off an oncoming migraine, “is Tayama Katai.”

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #kunikida doppo #bsd kunikida doppo #bsd kunikida #bsd dazai osamu #dazai #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #kunikida x oc #kunikida x reader #dazai x oc #dazai x reader

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war-sword · 4 years

Text

𝚗̶𝚘̶ 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕

summary: Y/N is Draco’s angel, his true love, sent to turn his life around. Nothing could ever break them apart. A/N: this was my alternative version of my winter exchange fic, but since it’s no longer for that i took out the Christmas elements, but you can still see the prompt I had in it (snow). hopefully it’s not too obvious tho, haha. words: 2.3k taglist: @clockworkherondale @accio-rogers @mayorofzillyhoo @diademofdraco @drawlfoy @ladybuginthetardis @lushlavenderskies @socontagiousimagines @acciodracoo @eltanin-malfoy @silentexplorer18 @shawn-is-bruh @heavenlycat567

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Draco Malfoy loved Y/N L/N.

Their love had been rather unconventional. Draco could still remember their younger years in school, the days when they were younger and he definitely did not like her. Y/N was sweet as sugar, and everyday she’d take the acid words Draco would throw at her and turn them to cotton candy. He used to hate her for it. Now, it was one of his favorite things about her.

She would return his sneers with a smile. Drive his storm clouds away with sunshine. It was a battle to see who would crack first, and Draco vowed to disturb the peaceful waters of Y/N’s personality for as long as they were in school.

Until one day, he didn’t.

It was like waking up from a dream. What once had been effortless able to call atrocious in every way, Y/N’s features left him at a loss for words, for how could he describe such beauty? Her honeyed voice slowly sounded less annoying, and became downright intoxicating. Hands so holdable and lips so kissable. Y/N turned from the object of his loathing to one of devotion.

Draco, who never got nervous, had a heartbeat of a mile a minute the day he decided was time to relay this strange new development to Y/N herself. He could seek no comfort in the solace of his friends, who all thought he was losing his mind. Pansy especially liked to preach he’d lost his mind, and Draco was terrified that was exactly what Y/N would say when he told her. In a quiet corner of the castle, Draco stumbled over his words trying to describe the complicated transformation that had occurred in his heart, while Y/N waited ever so patiently with a confused look on her face. He decided the only way he could ever explain it all was to take her face into his hands, and kiss her.

“I’ve waited months to do that,” Draco had said as they pulled apart.

“I’ve waited forever,” Y/N replied.

Y/N pulled Draco into her sunshine. She enthusiastically introduced him to all her favorite pastimes–– feeding the fish in the Great Lake, finding cozy nooks in the castle to drink tea in, drawing outside on the lawn, or climbing the most inviting trees. Draco would hold onto her tight when she would squeal at the sight of the Giant Squid, and lay beside her while she would sketch him as he napped. She never wanted to share her drawings, but sometimes when she left it alone, he would sneak a peek. She was so talented. Draco called her his angel, sent from Heaven to make all his dark days light again, and he loved to tell her so.

As the years passed, Draco slowly had to give up on trying to get his friends to accept Y/N. After a particularly raucous argument with Pansy in the common room one night, Pansy had screamed at Draco they couldn’t be friends anymore, if he was never going to wake up to Y/N’s poisonous psyche.

“I’ve told you time and time again, there is something wrong with her! She’s hiding something! I know it! What does a girl like her want with someone like you?!” Pansy screeched.

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Draco roared back. “It’s fine if you don’t like her! You never even had to talk to her, but it’s been almost two years, Pansy, and if you can’t even glance at us without a nasty look on your face then leave us both alone.”

Pansy was fuming. “Do you love her Draco? Actually? Because you used to hate her guts.”

“Why would I ever lie about that? Y/N is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, all you’ve ever been was a pain in my ass.”

“Then do me a favor and don’t ever talk to me again,” she sneered. “And especially don’t come running when it falls apart.”

Draco’s last year at Hogwarts had been rough, being totally alienated from his housemates. As angry as Draco was with Pansy for turning the rest of his friends against him was well, he knew he would always have Y/N. Every evening he knew he could count on her for a smile and a kiss that he swore could erase all his bad memories.

“I’m going to marry you one day, Y/N,” Draco said plainly one day as they relaxed in one of their favorite spots by the lake.

Y/N lifted her head from where it was resting on his chest. “Really? Are you being serious?”

“Of course, angel,” he said, brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I swear everytime I look at you it’s like I’ve never been more in love with you.”

The look of happiness on Y/N’s face could have probably gotten him through the rest of his life.

Draco didn’t mind that she changed him. His face became dotted with freckles with all of his newly spent time outside. He treasured every nick and scar that now covered his hands from his and Y/N’s adventures. On a larger scale, he would be forever grateful that Y/N had turned his opinions around about muggles and muggleborns. Y/N made him a better person, he just knew it. She made him whole.

Now, out of school, Draco and Y/N had a life of their own in a house together. They ate their dinner by the fire, and in the evenings Y/N would make him his tea just how he liked it before bed. In the days, Y/N had her dream job of working as a seamstress, and Draco was more than happy to help her in the shop with bookkeeping. He never wanted to be too far from her.

One night, Draco watched Y/N dance around the kitchen as she cooked, completely entranced by the sight of her. He especially loved the sight of the sparkling diamond on her ring finger, as she delicately dipped it into the soup to give it a taste. They still had a few months to go (Y/N wanted a spring wedding), but Draco felt like it couldn’t come fast enough.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he jumped up to stand behind her and wrap his arms about her waist. He planted an open-mouthed kiss on her neck that made her giggle.

“It smells delicious, angel.”

“It’ll be ready soon,” she says, offering him a taste. Draco hums into her ear.

“Tastes even better than I thought.”

Y/N pulls bread, fresh from the oven. They have their warm meal at the table while cold wind swirls around outside the house. They eat their meal in mostly comfortable silence, and as they’re finishing Draco notices something out the window. “Y/N, look! It’s finally snowing.”

“What, really?” She runs from the kitchen where she was getting another slice of bread to join him at the window. Sure enough, white flakes are beginning to come down.

Draco grabs her hand. “Let’s go out. You love snow!”

Y/N breaks out into a grin. “Okay. Yes!”

They break out into giggles as they throw on their coats and hats and scarves, stumbling into each other as they pull on their thick winter boots. They trapse outside, and Y/N giddily lifts her hands to the sky to catch the flakes on her mittens. “Draco, look, it’s already starting to stick! We’ll have so much snow by the morning!”

Draco’s chest swells with affection as he watches his fianceé spin in circles. “Yeah, we probably will. Come on, let’s walk around while it comes down,” he says, reaching out a hand. Y/N takes it and they start to walk down the lane from their house to the street.

While it’s freezing outside and Draco can no longer feel his face, it’s all worth it to see Y/N get excited about the snow beginning to cover the ground. By the time they finish their walk and are making their way back to the house, several inches have fallen and the sun is setting, nearly dark. The lights that are still on in their house cast a warm glow across the now-white ground. Y/N throws herself down onto the lawn on her back, and starts to swish her arms and legs. “Dray, come make a snow angel with me.”

Instead of laying down next to her, Draco gets down and lays right on top of her. Y/N laughs and tries to push him off, but he insists on peppering her with kisses. “You’re my snow angel,” he says, pulling back to admire her, cheeks and nose flushed from the cold.

“I love you so much.” Y/N reaches up to brush some snow from his hair. “You look so pretty in this light…” she trails off, her grin slipping from her face. “Draco, what time is it?”

“Um, I’m not sure.” He rolls to the side and pushes up the sleeve of his coat to look at his watch. “Nearly eight. You want to go in?”

Y/N scrambles to her feet and holds her arms out to offer to help him up. “Yes, please. Come on, it’s time for tea and bed.”

“What’s wrong? We’re having fun,” he says reassuringly. Y/N just grabs his wrists and hauls him up, rushing towards the house.

“Nothing!’ I’m just… cold! I’m cold. Please, let’s go in.”

“Um, alright. Let me get some more wood to put on the fire.”

“No, it’s okay! I’m sure it’s fine, let’s just go in.” Draco allows her to pull him back inside the house. She yanks off her jacket and kicks her boots off at the same time, bolting into the kitchen.

Draco lets out a chuckle, slowly taking off his layers. “Y/N what’s the rush?” He peeks around the corner to see Y/N in the kitchen, frantically waving her wand to summon teacups and tea bags. He turns back to the hall closet, shaking his head, and starts to put her haphazardly scattered clothes away in the closet.

By the time he gets to her discarded hat, he finds himself staring at it with a sort of disconnected recognition. He knows this hat. The texture and pattern are familiar, so many memories attached as his fingers brush across the wool. And yet, he’s also seeing it for the first time. Why does he know this hat.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the sound and sight of Y/N sliding into the entryway, tea sloshing over the side of the cup. Draco turns slowly from looking at the hat in his hands to looking at her.

“Draco, here–” She shoves the tea in his direction. The cup is ratting on its saucer in her shaking hands.

Everything is coming into sharper focus now. Y/N’s frantic face, her shallow breaths. His nostrils are filled with a familiar and homely scent, but there’s nothing from his childhood it reminds him of. Draco ignores Y/N’s pleas to take the tea and pushes her aside to walk into the living room.

It’s covered in him. Moving photographs of him and Y/N in frames. His jumper he’d had since 6th year is draped over the back of a chair. Dishware he remembers receiving from his mother are stacked clean, next to the sink. Dishware he’d gotten when he’d moved in with Y/N.

All these memories, so clear in his mind, yet no recollection of them actually happening. Draco feels like he’s been transplanted into someone else’s consciousness. No, someone else is in his.

He turns again, where Y/N still stands in the entryway. Her eyes are now filled with tears.

“Y/N, what am I doing here?” A heavenly aroma wafts from the cup she’s now white-knuckle gripping. “Y/N,” Draco asks again, more forceful this time. “Why. Am. I. Here.”

“Draco,” she stammers, her voice cracking. “P-please…. Please just drink the tea.”

Draco starts to back away from her. Reality is hitting him fully now– the shiny diamond winking on her left hand, books that were his from the Manor sitting on the shelves. And so, so many photos. “You’ve been drugging me. You’ve been giving me amortentia.”

The china slips from Y/N’s hands, shattering on the floor in a deadly starburst of porcelain and potion. She sinks to her knees, her eyes taking on the vacant look that Draco’s held just moments ago. “I’m sorry, I just wanted–”

“Me,” Draco snarls, reaching for his wand in his pocket. “You just wanted me. You’re sick.”

Y/N had started to sob. “There was no other way! I-I could n-never get you to notice me.”

“BECAUSE I HATED YOU! I HATE YOU!” Draco yelled. Y/N curled even further into herself, laying down on the floor in a ball.

Draco didn’t turn his back on her, but he grabbed as many things as he recognized as his into his arms. He moved back towards the entryway to put his shoes back on, shaking with rage at Y/N and also fear of having nearly five years of his life taken from him. Y/N reached out as he walked past to brush his leg, and he pulled it away as fast as he could. “Don’t touch me,” he snarled.

“Draco please, you have to remember,” she begged, eyes red from crying, pieces of broken teacup stuck to her hands. “You love me. You tell me all the time.”

“No, I do not. I never have, and I never will. And if I ever see you again, I swear to Merlin I’ll kill you myself.”

#..... uh sorry?#as you can see.... i had some reservations about making this my exchange fic lol #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #my writing

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silveraccent · 3 years

Text

Rat Chef || Grace & Kaden

TIMING: Current. LOCATION: Grace’s apartment. PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup @silveraccent SUMMARY: Kaden visits Grace’s apartment with a pie. She offers soup in this trying time and they watch Ratatouille together.

Grace glanced down at her phone, surprised to see a text message from Kaden announcing his arrival. Why he was at her apartment, now absent of sand, she couldn’t be sure. Maybe he was here to see Blanche and Ariana, too. Grace thought back to hers and Morgan’s conversation, an attempt at pushing the idea she wasn’t worth anybody’s time or effort far from her mind. She paused her movie and hopped off of her three-seater couch before approaching the door just as a knock sounded. She pulled the door open and smiled at Kaden before stepping aside. “Oh, it’s you.” Grace let out a laugh before motioning him inside. He had a bag in his arms, leaving Grace to look at it curiously. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but uh, what’s up?” Suddenly, the fear of there having been something bad that happened-- to him-- no, he looked… fine. Better than the last time she had seen him. She fought the urge to interrupt him and simply flexed her fingers. Grace turned towards the television as it unpaused itself, allowing Ratatouille to start playing. “Son of a--” Grace hurried towards the remote and punched her finger into the pause button once more. ‘

Kaden still hadn’t found ways to fill his free time with anything other than baking. There was a comforting routine and trance that came from combining butter and flour and sugar together to make pies and pastries. In the kitchen, he was able to quiet his mind, push away the thoughts and fears threatening to pull him under at any moment. Perfection also didn’t matter, not in the same way that it did when in the field or on the job. Or even when dealing with people, lately. If he messed up in the kitchen, he could try again. He could rearrange it and make it something new. And he never had to share his failures or apologize to anyone. It was the one thing he was sure didn’t make people’s lives worse. It might not actively help anyone and it was probably a waste of fucking time, but he found himself wasting his time there more and more. The one problem? The excess of baked goods he didn’t need or particularly want. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, sometimes the stupid jokes at the Station got to him, picked away at his thick skin when people jibed at him. And he didn’t need any comments of any kind about his baking. No assumptions, either. It was easier to give the pies to Morgan to redistribute. But not this one. This pie had a home. At least he hoped. Ariana and Blanche already got their delivery and there was one stop left. He wasn’t sure if she even wanted the stupid pie, but he stood at Grace’s door and knocked anyway. “Hey,” he said as she greeted him. “I, uh, I went on another round of baking.” Another round. Right. Like he’d ever taken a single breather since the scream at the morgue save for the full moon. “Figured you might appreciate this pie more than me so I thought--” His brow furrowed as he stepped inside and heard the television jump to life again. It looked familiar. A little like the thing Blanche sent him the other day. “I see you found something other than that gossip show to watch.”

“Another pie?” Grace asked over her shoulder. She looked at his hands, the glass pie plate now familiar. “I’ll take it.” She thought about Morgan, how she had been helping him, too. Grace was no longer in the self-depreciating headspace. Sure, there were moments, but for the most part her conversation with Morgan and seeing Regan had helped her. She was still struggling with the idea that if something happened again, in any capacity, there’d not be much she’d be able to do to help. That was the reality of the situation, however. No matter how badly she wanted to help, maybe she was meant to stay back, to stand idly by. It wasn’t her speed, but in a town like White Crest, maybe she had no other choice. So this time, she’d accept the pie with a smile. She’d tell Kaden thank you instead of telling him she didn’t need his pity. She wouldn’t cry, either. She looked towards the television and let out a laugh. “Yeah. I haven’t seen this movie since I was a kid, but with all the conversation surrounding it…” She worried her lower lip before looking back over to him. “Let me take that.” Grace took the pie to the kitchenette around the corner before she poked her head out. “I just made some soup, it’s for Ari, but if you want some…?” Grace asked as she leaned against the wall. “Or if you had somewhere to be, I can pack it up for you?”

“Yeah, another pie. I mean, only if you want it. You don’t have to--” Kaden’s protests didn’t last long since she decided to take the stupid pie from him. He wondered if it was out of pity. He also wasn’t sure that it mattered one way or the other. He was ready to take off, leave her be and go back home when she called out from the kitchen. “Soup? I mean, I don’t want to impose.” Kaden rubbed the back of his neck. He hated admitting that he really didn't have anywhere else to be, pathetic as that was. It was here or a bar. Which was sadder? “But yeah if you want to share, I’d stay.” His eyes drifted back towards the screen. “So this is the movie people keep asking me about?” He didn’t mean to but he kept watching, trying to piece together what was going on. “Is there a reason why the rat talks?”

“Cool, take a seat.” Grace wasted no time in portioning out the soup into a bowl. Before his arrival, she had already had her fair share. She opened her instant pot and portioned out some of the beef as well, ladling it into the bowl. She set it down at the table, just adjacent in viewing from the television. She had spent many nights there, her sketchbook in front of her while The Office played in the background. “Yeah, I think so.” She grabbed a spoon and set it next to the bowl and walked towards the couch, sitting on the arm of it. Grace grabbed the remote and fidgeted with it for a moment. “Uh, no. They don’t ever explain that. But he’s sort of got this taste for gourmet foods that the rest of his colony doesn’t understand, and so he goes to this restaurant and ends up helping this clueless American chef there…” Grace let out a laugh. Since when did she know so much about kid’s movies? She looked over at Kaden with a smile. “If you want to watch it, I think it’d give you an edge to Blanche’s teasing. Then again, she might tease you for having watched it.”

“There’s no avoiding Blanche’s teasing, I’ve learned that much.” Kaden took a seat hesitantly, not because he didn’t enjoy Grace’s company or hospitality, but he just wasn’t used to any of this. He tried to think of how often he was really invited over to people’s houses just a year ago. Sure, he crashed with other hunters but that wasn’t the same as it was here in White Crest. It was funny how a town so hellbent on trying to kill them was sometimes so much warmer than anywhere else. “Thanks,” he told her as she sat the bowl down. She didn’t pour her own so he assumed she already had some herself. He took a spoonful, let the flavors hit his tongue and savored the meal. “This soup is great,” he said, flashing her a smile. It was different than what he would have made, certainly, but it was wonderful all the same. He listened to more of the movie as he ate, trying not to slurp too loudly as he did. “So you’re telling me the talking rat is a chef?” His brow furrowed. He had to admit, the cooking technique they were showing was accurate enough. “But why not watch something about actual rats? Or actual cooking programs?”

“She leaves me alone. For the most part.” Grace began to press the volume button up and down, not sure if Kaden was actually into staying-- was he being nice? He seemed unsure, too. Still, he was eating the soup, that was a good sign, right? Grace swallowed the anxiety and pressed play on the movie. It was a little louder than needed, so she instead turned on the subtitles and lowered the volume. “Really, you think so?” Grace’s attention flickered to the soup on the table, then to Kaden’s face. “I’m glad.” It was one of the only things that Grace had perfected from her grandmother’s recipes. They had made it so many times together, repurposing the broth for so much more, and Grace was happy to know that others liked it just as much as she had. It was a laborious process, not easy by any means, and it took hours to make, so the fact that Kaden was grateful, it made Grace feel at ease. “Yeah, sort of? He controls the American chef by pulling on his hair from underneath his hat.” Grace laughed, knowing how absurd it was. “It’s a fun movie, I don’t think it’s that deep. Sometimes you just… sort of need something not realistic, right? Something to take away from your day-to-day-life. I can’t think of anything further removed than a rat under a man’s hat guiding him on how to cook.” Grace shrugged lightly before twisting so that she sunk into the couch, ler legs over the arm that she had previously been sitting on. “The whole purpose is that the main chef at this place, he died, and so later on it’s under some issue? I think, and then a food critic’s entire opinion on the place will either destroy it or save it, and so Remmy becomes a hero, and by proxy the chef.”

“I’m just one of her favorite targets so I’m not surprised.” Kaden realized it had been a little while since he’d properly checked on Blanche beyond just dropping off a pie and felt a tinge of guilt, just for a second. He sighed and took another spoonful of soup. He could do that later, but he needed to make sure he didn’t accidentally dump any of the shit weighing heavily on him onto her. Maybe it was best he kept a little distance right now. “I wouldn’t say I liked it if I didn’t mean it. Wouldn’t keep eating it, either,” he told her. “Onion soup is usually my go to soup. I could make you some sometime if you want. I usually end up with enough to feed an army.” He wondered if that sounded like he was trying to compete or something. Putain. “Only if you want, no pressure.” He shook his head a little as he savored more of the broth and picked away at some of the beef with his spoon. “I don’t know. In this town, sometimes it’s nice to be reminded that normal things still exist.” People talked about escapism, usually they meant fantasy and fiction. Things they thought weren’t real but were. He knew better and the last thing he wanted was reminders of just how fucked up everything really was. For him, escapism meant pretending like none of it existed. That there was no magic, no monsters, and hell, no mimes. “So you’re telling me they let a rat in the kitchen? And the rat is the chef. And is the hero?” His eyes narrowed a moment. “Why does no one call the health inspectors?”

“Onion soup?” Grace asked over her shoulder, an eyebrow arched. “Like French onion?” Grace allowed the grin to pull at the corners of her lips, “you get it? ‘Cause you’re French?” To be honest, she wouldn’t even be able to tell if French onion soup was actually French or not, or if it was something thrown in to make it seem fancier than it actually was. All she knew was it was hard to clean it from mugs-- her past waitress jobs had proved as such. “Sure, I’ll give it a go. You’re eating my soup, so it’s only fair that I try yours too.” Grace thought for a moment to ask Kaden if he would bring Regan some, too, but she thought better of it at the last moment. The fiasco on the television, a clatter of cooking utensils and hurried yelling sends Grace’s attention back to the scene. “You mean to tell me that a rat under a man’s hat isn’t normal?” She said loudly over the scene, laughter edging on her tone. “Well, no, not everyone-- nobody knows he’s there except for that redheaded guy.” Grace watched the scene unfold a bit longer before she finally responded to Kaden, “I mean, why would the kid who wants to prove himself report the very reason he’s succeeding? He lies pretty much the entire time, but he gains fake respect, up until everyone discovers what’s actually happening.” Grace tapped her finger against her jaw, watching as Remmy finally disappeared from view. “I think if I ever get a rat, I’ll name him Remmy.”

“Well, yeah I am Fr--” Kaden blinked as she filled in the blank as a joke before he could finish. He smiled back, though, shaking his head a little. “Yes, very funny. Same soup though, I believe. I think that’s what it’s called over here. Beef broth, caramelized onions, toasted bread and gruyere on top.” Now he was worrying that she wasn’t a fan. Maybe he should offer other soup. He could make other soup, too. A small sigh of relief left him as she agreed to try his recipe. “Good. Hopefully you won’t be disappointed.” For whatever reason, he didn't want to let Grace down. Maybe it was because he got the feeling too many people had done that to her. Maybe it was because too many people had done that to him. Didn’t matter. She was going to get the best soup he could muster. Stupid as that maybe. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin and turned his attention back to the movie. “I mean in this town it could probably happen.” Which was half the problem. “I guess. But he’s going to probe himself with a rat under his hat?” It was silly and baffling. He still wasn’t quite sure he understood. But he couldn’t look away either way. “You know if you wanted a rat, we have a few you could adopt at the shelter. If you wanted. Rats make great pets. Really smart, trainable, too.” He saw the rat controlling the man with his hair and he shook his head a little again. “Not that trainable, though. For clarity.”

The volume on the television fluctuated, causing Grace to turn down the volume once more. Grace shrugged, “I’m not disappointed by a lot. I ate Easy Mac my entire first two months of living here, and in college, too.” She pulled the throw blanket from the other side of her love seat onto her lap and tucked it underneath her toes. When Kaden mentioned that something like the movie could happen in this town, Grace thought back to all of the things she had seen. No, not now. She couldn’t dive into the mysteries of White Crest, and certainly not worry about what it meant for her future, or anybody else’s future. Grace tucked the blanket underneath of her chin and tilted her head back to look at Kaden as he spoke. “Really?” She looked past him towards the tank she had gotten for Ruthie who, as always, stared her way. She had gotten used to it, and at this point, it seemed more like he was waiting for her to feed him rather than anything ominous. “I think that he could use a friend,” Grace pointed towards her fish. “It’s too bad though. About not being able to train a rat to cook. All I can seem to get right is this soup.” She propped her elbow up on the arm of the couch and pressed her fingers into her temples as she watched the food critic enter the restaurant. “Oh, this is where he’s taken back to his childhood by the way.” For whatever reason, this part of the film didn’t resonate with her-- there was nothing that could pull her away from where she was, making her succumb to an easier, prettier time.

“A low bar. Well I’m alright with that. It’s funny how many people around here think my cooking or baking is something special or what have you. I thought it was basic at best.” Kaden shrugged. He still didn’t think he was all that talented. Good enough, sure, but that was that. “Guess this town keeps the bar pretty low for most things.” Then again, with a death rate as high as White Crest’s, you had to keep something low. He followed her line of sight to the fish. It was a goofy looking thing, lopsided eyes, but charming in its own right. “I mean, better choice than a cat, that’s for sure.” He took another sip of the soup, it was honestly hard not to continuously gulp it down, but he did want to appreciate it. “I don’t think a cat would make friends with Ruthie the way you’d hope for. And hey, it’s damn good soup. So that’s better than most people.” He thought to Blanche and her attempts at cooking and nearly shuddered. “If you want to learn more, I don’t mind teaching you. I mean, if you want. I know a few sauces. You can use it as a base for most things. No pressure, though.” At this rate, he figured he really ought to open up lessons. Invite the town. Maybe charge. He looked back to Grace who was focused once more on the movie. No, he couldn’t charge her. He sighed and ate more of the soup before turning his attention to the movie. The tall french man in the movie flashed back to when he was a child. There was no mistaking the dish was ratatouille. And sure, a good dish could make him remember times past. It was part of why he liked baking, It reminded him of those small pieces of childhood without pain. They were short and sparse but they were there. For a moment, the dumb rat movie made him feel something. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Kaden cleared his throat and tried to push away any of the strange nostalgia swirling in him, threatening to push its way out. “So you’re telling me the rat made that food?”

“I think it’s that you do it at all,” Grace admitted as she kept her eyes on the television. The fact that Kaden had taken it upon himself several times to drop something off, even though they had hardly known each other at the time. There was guilt and pity in the hospital, but that subsided quickly. Now all Grace got from him was that he cared, which, to her surprise was genuine. There was no way he’d be able to lie about that and not falter. She had gotten good at figuring out when people were lying, mostly because of their highs and lows, the way they’d feel nervous, then determined. Her Grandma had taught her, too, how to watch out for such a thing. “Do you not like cats?” Grace cast him a glance before she looked down at the patterns on her blanket. Momentarily, Grace forgot about the constant issues between both fish and their feline friends. She let out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. Probably better for Ruthie’s heart rate to keep cats away from him.” Kaden’s offer had a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. The movie descended into a montage of the after effects of the food critic’s arrival. “That’d be cool, sure.” She wasn’t sure how often she’d put anything he’d teach her to use, but he seemed genuine in his offer and she didn’t want to disappoint him. Maybe she’d be able to pay him back somehow, maybe cook something elegant using what he taught her. For a moment, Grace caught the slightest feeling from Kaden-- what had that been? Alert, Grace stared at Kaden, unable to contain her expression from understanding what Kaden had just succumbed to. “You good over there?” She asked, quick to cover up her sudden interest. “Yes, the rat made it.” Grace let out a laugh at his attempt to change the subject, though he had no clue she knew what he was trying to change it from. Grace eyed him carefully before pausing the movie so that she could now focus on she and Kaden’s conversation. “He was a good chef, what did I tell you?” Grace grinned at Kaden before looking at his bowl. “If you want to take some home, you can.”

“I’ve lived by myself for most of my life, why wouldn’t I be able to take care of myself? Which means cooking. I don’t get why people are surprised.” He sighed. Kaden probably would have to chalk it up to cultural differences or some shit like that. He’d met too many people in town with no know how about cooking to be much else. “I like cats just fine. I was just saying I think the cat is going to like your fish a lot. And less as friends. More as food.” He looked at the poor fish. It didn’t need any more troubles, not looking like that. Swimming had to be hard while unbalanced as it was. The last thing it needed was a cat around to spook it. Or worse. “I’m fine, yeah,” he said, swishing his spoon through the soup. His brows furrowed as he thought about the question. Weird she should ask. He didn’t look off before or anything, did he? “Why wouldn’t I be?” There was no way she could know his thoughts, right? Putain, what if she could read his mind? Oh shit, he had to stop thinking about… things. Anything. How did one stop thinking about things? Putain. He didn’t know how to do that. He caught her eye as she mentioned the movie again. Alright, maybe he was overreacting. “It still seems like a silly movie. But sure. Whatever you say.” By now the soup was gone, the movie was over, and he should probably leave. “Oh. Uh, yeah. I would. But only if you have enough to spare. I don’t want to, uh, I don’t know, put you out I guess? Not sure that’s the word. But, I mean--” He paused, realized he wasn’t making any damn sense anymore and took a breath. “Yes. Let’s just go with yes.”

Grace shrugged, “I think around here, people usually cook to survive off of something, not to give it away or flaunt it.” At least, in her experience that had been the case. She only cooked her grandmother’s oxtail soup when she knew others were in need of it. Otherwise, her meals often consisted of boxed mac ‘n cheese. Not something she was afraid of admitting, but would often get looks sent her way if she did admit it. “That’s fair. I think a rat friend would be better for him.” The last thing she wanted to do was catch a cat with its paw in the tank, though she imagined if she put it up somewhere out of reach, it’d be fine for the most part. Could a fish die from shock? She filed the thought away to look into it later, just in case. Rats, for the most part, were harmless, or so Grace thought. There was a sudden surge of anxiety that rose from Kaden, making Grace’s lips twitch into a frown. Though he was trying to conceal it, it felt heavy in the room. Grace cleared her throat in an attempt to interrupt whatever Kaden was thinking, or feeling. “No, I was just making sure.” She shrugged again before getting off of the couch. Grace folded the blanket and set it to the side. “It’s a silly movie, but it’s a good movie-- they can coincide.” Grace moved towards the fridge when he expressed interest in soup to take home. The silver pot at the bottom of her fridge was still half full. “Don’t worry, it’s not like there isn’t enough-- I can’t eat all this on my own.” She began to ladle some into a to-go container after hefting the pot up onto the counter. On her tippy-toes, she looked over her shoulder. “I’ll send you a few recipes on how to repurpose the broth, too.” She turned back towards the pot, willing herself not to think too much of Kaden’s dip in emotions.

#chatzy #para: kaden #para: rat chef

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geminiamethyst · 5 years

Text

The Nightmare Before Christmas AU. Chapter 4: Town Meeting.

Yes. This AU that is NOT DEAD (no honestly, it’s still alive, I just thought it would be best to work on it during the Halloween and Christmas period, especially since I was still working on Possession when I started writing this). If you haven’t read the previous chapters do so now by using the links down below at the end of the chapter.

During the afternoon, everyone that had been in the search party was found collapsed by the Mayor’s van. The Vampire Brothers had their parasols up, providing shade for them from the sun. The were slumped against the vehicle, still exhausted, and not to mention angry, by Mumrik’s rude awakening. It was quite a wonder to know how on Earth they continued to stay awake throughout the whole ordeal of Kyun going missing. The Werewolf and the Clown were no different. Both were sitting on the floor, back to back. The Werewolf was panting with his tongue hanging out, and the Clown held his unicycle in his limp hand, exhausted from the frantic searching. Alicia and her Grandmother were no different. They sat in the driver and passenger seats, waiting for their broomsticks to recharge after having them run out of the black magic that kept them powered up.

“Did anyone think to drench the lake?” The Mayor moaned in despair as he lay flat out on the the roof of the van. “This morning.” One of the Vampire Brothers yawned.

“Hear that?” The elder Witch suddenly asked, her sharp ears picking up the unmistakable faint sound of barking. “What is it Grandma?” Alicia asked, rubbing her half tired eye. Her grandmother shushed her as she leaned her ear more towards the sound. The faint sound became louder and louder with each bark emitting past the Town’s gate. Everyone pricked up as the noise became more and more clear. “Sorry-Oo!” One of the vampires exclaimed as everybody turned around towards the barking. Everyone in town turned towards the gates as they opened up. Almost immediately, the named ghost dog drifted into the square with Kyun following close behind, driving a snowmobile. The vehicle dragged a cart full of items but covered completely by a sheet. The monsters gathered around, clamouring over the fact their leader had returned. “Where have you been?” The Mayor demanded, his worrying ceasing to exist. “Gather everyone for a town meeting and I will explain everything.” Said Kyun trying to keep from getting overwhelmed from the townspeople. “When?” The Mayor inquired, his grey face showing.

“Immediately!” Kyun barked, his patience suddenly running thin.

Shin looked towards the window as he heard the announcement of a town meeting. He had a feeling that it was to do with Kyun’s vanishing act. The Hemulen snores loudly as the sleeping potion had taken affect after he had the soup. After briefly covering his creator with a blanket, he slipped out of the tower just as quick as the Hemulen passed out. He followed the crowds of townspeople, eager to see what the fuss is about. He also was eager to see Kyun there as well, saying that he was alright, that there was no need to panic and what had happened to him while he was gone. Once he entered the town hall, he felt a little crowded. The hall was packed full of monsters, a lot of them sitting on the benches available. The noise was full of nothing but chatter. Each conversation was full of what the meeting might be about. Despite wanting to be in a crowd, he suddenly found that he preferred it to be outside and not in a building such as this. HONK!

Shin jumped a little as the Clown went past on his unicycle, giggling away. The rag doll steadied himself, trying to get himself back together. He suddenly found that he was not comfortable in a crowd like this. He actually found that it was a little hard to breath. He was quite surprised himself as this only started to happen now. It was a little daunting to feel like he had become trapped in something that he wanted to be a part of. He didn’t know where to sit and almost opted to stand somewhere in a dark corner to watch Kyun from afar. Again.

“Shin! Up here!” Shin sharply looked up to see Mumrik drifting around the Hanging Tree at the top branches. The ghost made a gesture for Shin to sit on the sturdiest one. Shin gratefully accepted the invitation. Mumrik muttered a word of thanks to the tree before he levitated next to Shin. Shin looked more comfortable sitting in the tree than he was on the ground. The rag doll looked like he would’ve popped a good number of stitches if the ghost hadn’t stepped in. Shin took a breath of relief as the air felt more open up high. The crowd cheered as Kyun stepped out onto the stage.

“Listen everyone. Let me tell you all about Christmas Town.” He announced, a grin spreading across his face excitedly. As a spotlight beamed down on the leader, Mumrik felt his eyes go so wide that he thought that they would pop right out of their sockets. Christmas? It couldn’t be...

“There were objects so peculiar,

They were not to be believed,

All around, things to tantalize my brain.

It's a world unlike anything I've ever seen,

And as hard as I try,

I can't seem to describe,

Like a most improbable dream.”

As Kyun was announcing this, his eyes seemed to shine, remembering all the sounds and lights that he had seen. So many differences that it had with Halloween Town. “But you must believe when I tell you this,

It's as real as my skull and it does exist, Here, let me show you.”

Kyun pulled a cord next to him, parting the curtains on the stage. On the stage there were many things that made almost everyone stare in awe. They were marvelled by the decorated tree and the bright lights and the colourful decorations. Only Mumrik didn’t have the same reaction as everyone else. All he had was concussion mixed with sadness on his face. Kyun saw that everyone had all their attention turned towards him and picked up a bright coloured box.

“This is a thing called a present,

The whole thing starts with a box.”

“A box? Is it steel?” The Devil asked, standing up.“Are there locks?” Asked the Werewolf raising a paw.

“Is it filled with a pox?” Mymble the Gorgon inquired.

“A pox? How delightful a pox?” The Devil grinned at the prospect of a beautifully hideous thing inside. Kyun realised that if he needed to explain everything he wanted to say, he will need to try to remain some ground control. “If you please.

Just a box with bright-colored paper,

And the whole thing's topped with a bow.”

“A bow? But why?” Alicia asked, tilting her head a little like a cat. “How ugly!” Her grandmother sneered at the pretty looking decoration.

“What's in it? What's in it?” Both witches chanted, wanting to know more.

“That's the point of the thing, not to know!” Kyun explained quickly. He would’ve put it down if it wasn’t snatched from his hands.

“It's a bat!” Exclaimed the Clown, giving the box a little shake.

“Will it bend?” The monster under the stairs asked.

“It's a rat!” Exclaimed the Clown again.

“Will it break?” A demon asked.

“Perhaps it's the head that I found in the lake?” The undersea gal pondered, her gills flapping in excitement. Kyun immediately snatched the present back before setting it back down by the tree.

“Listen now, you don't understand!

That's not the point of Christmas land.”

As Kyun picked up something else, almost everyone mumered about the other objects that were on the stage. They all thought about what they could hide in the presents to scare the kids for next Halloween, or wha else they could learn about Christmas. Kyun quickly picked up a bright red stocking and walked toward the nearest wall.

“Now, pay attention.

Now we pick up an over-sized sock,

And hang it like this on the wall.”

The Hyde approached the stage, his medium and smaller self popped up from the hats.

“Oh, yes! Does it still have a foot?”

“Let me see, let me look!”

“Is it rotted and covered with gook?”

Kyun backed away a little, feeling overwhelmed a bit. It was clear that everyone was getting more than a little excited and interested in his new findings.

“Hmm, let me explain.

There's no foot inside, but there's candy,

or sometimes it's filled with small toys.”

As soon as the leader pulled out the toys that resided inside the sock, the children immediately grew excited by them.

“Small toys?!”

“Do they bite?”

“Do they snap?”

“Or explode in a sack?”

“Or perhaps they just spring out,And scare girls and boys!”

Even the Mayor himself got really excited. He got so excited that the lost his balance, knocking the spotlight.

“What a splendid idea!

This Christmas sounds fun!

Why, I fully endorse it!

Let's try it at once!”

As the spotlight swung around, Kyun realised that once again he needed to try to keep everyone on track.

“Everyone, please now, not so fast!

There's something here that you don't quite grasp!”

With this, everyone started to mutter amount themselves in confusion. Only Mumrik didn’t talk among the chatter. He kept trying to figure out where Kyun could’ve learned about Christmas. It is literally Halloween all year round, no other holiday crosses over. How did Kyun come across Christmas? Unless...? ‘Well, I may as well give them what they want.’ Kyun thought with a sly smirk.

“And the best, I must confess,

I have saved for the last,

For the ruler of this Christmas land,

Is a fearsome King with a deep mighty voice,

Least that's what I've come to understand.”

The residents listened intently as the leader was describing who he saw. Shin watched him in confusion from where he was sitting, wondering what Kyun was talking about. Mumrik only felt a little dread at this. He silently, and hopelessly prayed that Kyun wasn’t talking about who he thought he was talking about.

“And I've also heard it told,

That's he's something to behold,

Like a lobster, huge and red!

And sets out to slay with his rain gear on,

Carting bulging sacks with his big great arms.

That is, so I've heard it said!”

Mumrik’s frown only deepened as he immediately knew what he feared was coming out of Kyun’s mouth. The residents leaned forward as they grew more excited over this discovery. “And on a dark cold night,Under full moonlight,

He flies into a fog,

Like a vulture in the sky!

And they call him Sandy Claws!”

As the curtains closed, the monsters all around cheered and chattered amongst themselves over Christmas. Mumrik didn’t join the chatter. He needed to talk to Kyun about this right now.

“Mumrik? Where are you-“ Shin asked once he noticed e ghost wandering away from him.

“Sorry Shin. I’ll be right back.” Mumrik interrupted, drifting right through the curtains. He glanced around, looking for Kyun. He immediately spotted the holiday leader looking almost longingly into a snow globe.

“At least they’re excited, but they don’t understand that special feeling in Christmas land. Oh well…” he sighed as he set it down, the fake snow inside it swirled around in it before setting. He turned around and was surprised by the ghost levitating behind him. “Whoa! Hi Mumrik.”

“Santa is not like how you’ve described him, Kyun.” Mumrik snapped, immediately giving Kyun the hint that he wasn’t impressed. Kyun raises an eyebrow at this.

“Now what’s the matter? You sound like someone’s walked all over your grave.” He smirked a little, trying to add some humour to the situation. This however only made Mumrik glare at him.

“Yes. And that someone is you!” He shouted, taking the last comment as more of an insult. Kyun once again was taken aback by the ghost’s sudden change in behaviour. Normally the ghost was quiet, so it was different how he suddenly was now. “To everyone else, you have basically told them that you discovered something new, but to me, you haven’t told them the truth.”

“What’s a little white lie going to do?” Kyun shrugged, packing up some of his souvenirs. “I’m just delivering them something to be excited about. Besides what do you know about Christmas?”

“More than you. Kyun, unless whatever brain you have in that skull of yours has turned to dust, you should know that I was human once. I have celebrated Christmas just as long as I have been alive.” Mumrik reminded, ignoring a twinge of sadness that hit him. Kyun only dismissed him with a wave, as if he didn’t even register what the ghost was saying.

“Look I’m sorry Mumrik. I’d love to continue this debate, but I need to do some important research. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He dismissed as he walked right through the ghost causing him to recoil a little in disgust.

“First of all, that’s rude. And second, this isn’t a debate. You need to tell them the truth, right now!” Mumrik shouted as the Nightmare King went towards the door. Kyun only gave him another dismissive wave as he opened it. “Kyun!” Again the holiday leader ignore him and left. Mumrik would’ve felt like ripping out his own hair if he could. He figured Kyun will get the point sooner rather than later. He took a deep breath before leaving the stage, ignoring the few things that brought him happy childhood memories. He was faced with Shin once he drifted through the curtains.

“You okay?” The rag doll asked. “I’m fine. You know, I’m kinda struggling to understand what you see in him.” The ghost sighed, his brows furrowing a little in frustration. He noticed the confusion that crossed his friend’s face. “Sorry. I gotta go.” Before Shin could say anything, Mumrik flew off, heading back to the graveyard so no one could see his tears.

That night, Kyun read many books on Christmas. To say that his skull was becoming sore from all the research. No matter how many times he had read them or strung about all the lights and tinsel, he couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t know what Christmas turkey meant, what it’s meaning was. Standing up from his chair, he started to pace a little. He was staring to get a little frustrated by the realisation that it may take more than books to work it all out.

“You have poisoned me for the last time, you wretched boy.” The Hemulen hissed. Shin only sat miserably on his bed. Sure enough when he got home after the meeting, the Hemulen was awake and looked like he had a terrible hang over. He had to sit through a whole, painful lecture about the use of Deadly Nightshade and how he was going to be sure that the rag doll was going to be staying inside for a long time. The doctor pushed the door hard, wincing as the bang that the metal door had made pounded at his sore head. The door hatch locked the door, making sure that the doll stayed inside for good. The doctor breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he would at least have Shin in one place for a while. However, the peaceful moment was interrupted as soon as the door bell rang. The Hemulen moaned in agony as it felt like someone had pounded at his brain harshly with a hammer. “The door is open!” He called down below, his voice faintly echoing around the tower.

“Hello Doctor!” Kyun shouted as he opened the door. The Hemulen bit back a wave as the young leader’s voice bounced off of the walls. “Ah. Kyun, what brings you here then?” The doctor asked as Kyun started to make his way up.

“I need to borrow some equipment. I’m performing some experiments.” The leader said as he stopped in front of the Hemulen.

“I see...come this way my boy. I’m sure I’ve got plenty of spare equipment that you can borrow.” The doctor hummed in amusement. As he made his way to the top, Kyun followed, their voices becoming faint to Shin from his room. Experiments? What is Kyun up to?

While Kyun’s house continued to light up from Shin’s window that night, the said rag doll was still up and ready to leave. He wasn’t focused on that for the time being. He was too focused on mixing up something in a bottle. He thought that Kyun was more than likely too focused on his experiments than stopping to take a break. He placed the cork in the bottle after finishing off making the potion and placed it in a basket. He tied the end of some thread from a sewing machine on his desk to the basket. He pulled at the basket a little, to make sure that the thread was strong enough. Using the thread from his sewing machine, he lowered the basket through the now open window. Slowly and carefully down it went, with Shin making sure that the bottle wouldn’t fall out and break. If that were to happen the Hemulen would immediately know that Shin was trying to escape again. Thankfully, nothing happened that would give Shin away. He looked over towards Kyun’s home, the lights still planning from whatever it was he was doing. With a rush of excitement beating rapidly in his heart, Shin didn’t hesitate to jump out of the window. There was a hard and solid thud when he landed. For moments, he lay on the cold hard ground, completely still. He opened his eyes, not feeling any pain (one of the best advantages to being undead and being a rag doll). He pushed himself onto his knees as he looked up at the window. He didn’t hear any shouting that indicted that he was in trouble. Knowing that he was safe for now, he looked over himself. Leafs were scattered around him as he realised that the fall had cost him an arm and a leg. Literally. Shin reached up to his ear and pulled out a needle from behind it. He pulled out some thread that he kept in his pocket. He stitched back together his limbs and made sure that they were secure. He united the basket from the thread before he stood up. He stumbled a little as he made his way through the town towards Kyun’s home.

Kyun had been working hard with his experiments. All around the room were multiple Christmas objects ranging from toys to decorations. A stuffed toy bear laid on the table, cut open from a dissection. A paper cut out of a spider was discarded on the ground after Kyun had made a failed attempt at making a snow flake. Books were piled up and some were even left open. A glass flask even has pieces of a Christmas bauble in it after the leader had watched it react in an interesting way. Whilst musing over an equation on a blackboard, Kyun hadn’t paid any mind to anything around him. All that kept consuming his mind was nothing but Christmas and it didn’t seem that it was going to leave him alone anytime soon. He was so consumed in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice a basket being hauled up to his window until a light tapping was heard from it. The young leader turned around, surprised by the woven basket outside his window. He cautiously opened it and took the basket. He looked down, confused as to who had left it for him. That’s when he realised that if his heart was beating it would’ve skipped more than one beat. Down at ground level was a rag doll, and Kyun couldn’t be more amazed by him. He had never seen him before, but he was sure glad to see him tonight. He had to be the most beautiful thing that the leader had ever seen. Kyun waved at him silently in thanks and brought the basket further in inside. Neatly placed in it was a rotten fish pie and a green bottle that was filled with a potion. Kyun took the bottle and opened it up. With the pop of a cork, a golden mist drifted out taking the form of a bat. Kyun beamed at the small show that he was shown. Marvelled by the rag doll’s gift, he leaned out the window to invite him in. However, his face fell when no one stood there. Kyun looked around a little, but couldn’t see his visitor anywhere. With a rather sad shrug, Kyun closed the window, wondering when he’ll see the beauty again.

Shin watched as Kyun closed the window from the gate. He let out a huge sigh as he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He felt a little relieved when he noticed Kyun had become distracted by the contents in the basket. He was a little sad though that he decided to take off before Kyun could talk to him. He didn’t know what the Nightmare King would’ve done though. For all he knew Kyun would’ve had him sent back to the doctor. He spared a glance at a flower that grew beside the wall. With a gentle pluck, he picked it. He plucked away a couple of petals before the flower shifted in his hand. He stopped plucking the petals and watched it. It turned into-what did you call it? Oh yes- a small “Christmas tree”. It was bright and radiant with a gold star decorating its top. That was until it burst into flames. The rag doll stared at it in complete horror. And not in a good way. Was this what‘s going to happen when Christmas comes?

Chapter 1: click HERE

Chapter 2: click HERE

Chapter 3: click HERE

Chapter 5: coming soon..

#nightmare before christmas #kyun #shin #mumrik #au

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galadrieljones · 5 years

Text

A Funeral: Chapter 2

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Existential Angst, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their little journey together, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. In their desperate search for meaning, they endure a number of small trials, which bring them closer to one another as well as to the unchecked plights of the natural world.

Masterpost | AO3

Thanks @bearlytolerablethethird for the banner!! ^_^

Chapter 2: Inside

About a week later, while asleep in the hotel above the saloon in St. Denis, Arthur had a dream. He dreamed that he had killed and skinned a polar bear, and he had stepped inside of its skin whole. It was wet and chilled inside. He lived there for ten whole years while in the dream, aging and growing soft for his lack of movement and oxygen. Just as he was about to die from starvation, he realized he had grown a beard, and he stepped out of the polar bear skin and back into the world which had all burned while he was away. The cities and the railroads were all ashes, and the trees were black sticks going straight up into the sky. It was a hellscape. Everyone he had ever known was dead.

When he awoke, he was out of sorts. He looked around at the empty room and he fell into a kind of panic. He was thinking about Mary. He had forgotten what year it was and what day it was and he realized that when he was looking around, he was looking for Mary. Where was Mary? He was looking for Mary, and he was thinking about her, and about her skin for some reason, and of all the things about her, he thought of her skin and the ways he once knew its shapes and colors. Why was he thinking of her skin. And then he realized that, along with her skin and the way she felt and the way he felt when he was inside of her—all that had faded now, in his memory like an old pair of boots. He could not remember. It all happened so fast. It was a complete shock.

It had been such a long time since he’d been with any woman in any meaningful way. He never thought much of it, but now, he asked himself why. Why, Arthur. Why. He should have married Mary. He should have just married her, he thought. Fuck her father, fuck Dutch. That was his anxious brain now at the age of thirty-six. He should have married Mary Linton and put a child in her, and they should have lived somewhere in the warm woods far away where it snowed in winter and it was his only job to chop firewood and perhaps be some sort of warden in the local town. He should have been a fisherman. He should have been a trapper. He should have gone to college. He should have been a father. Where was Mary. His heart was beating like a fucking drum in his chest. He held himself until the panic went away and then he curled back into a ball beneath the smooth covers and he tried to close his eyes and return to sleeping, but that was all he could do. His body and his mind. His whole soul was awake. He felt ruined.

Downstairs in the saloon the next morning he had a bowl of soup and the bartender was a nice man who tried to make conversation. He wanted to talk about Arthur’s hat and thought the red feather in its strap was neat. Arthur tried making good with the bartender. He did not wish to seem surly as he knew he looked surly. He smiled and tried to explain the origin of the hat, but the bartender was shining a glass and seemed confused.

“You skinned an elk for that?” he said casually.

Arthur didn’t know how this could possibly be so unbelievable. He had skinned much worse than elk for must less than hats. He finished his soup and tipped his feathered hat, and he went outside to feed and water Sarah. Then he was on his way.

This city is getting in my blood, he thought. It’s getting in my dreams. He rode out into the swamps to fish. But Sarah drew constantly skittish due to the gators. He was sick of killing them, as they were a waste of bullets, but they always seemed to be getting in his way. He caught a fourteen pound catfish and then another. He killed and pruned a white heron for its decorative feathers. He cooked its tough meat over a spit and ate it while surrounded by wet bugs and trees. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard a woman screaming. He stood up with his ears wide open and his shot gun in his hand for five whole minutes trying to hear it again.

“My fucking imagination,” he said, tucking away the shotgun and sucking on a sugar cube. He was out of smokes. He bit his nails a little and drank some water, and after heading back to the butcher to sell off his catch, he bought a pack of cigarettes and a new neckerchief and then he rode back to Shady Belle.

I have been actually choked, he wrote in his journal, still saddled on Sarah just outside the perimeter of their camp. He smoked. I have been actually choked by a man’s bare hands and yet it is nothing so suffocating as this swamp. If I have to kill one more gator to save my horse from heart failure, I may just lose my composure. I have thought of beating men senseless and I have done it on occasion. This place has sucked a great deal of life from my bones. I need to get the fuck out of here, if only for seven days.

That night, he ate a little stew and drank whiskey to calm his nerves. Javier wrangled him into a game of poker, which he won handily, and then he decided to cash in and go to bed. Javier took to playing his guitar, and some of the boys continued to drink. Dutch was somewhere else in the camp, limited in his interactions and stewing in his obsessions. Arthur did not wish to speak to him that night. He was still tainted by that dream and did not wish to speak to most anyone about anything beyond the most surface level conversations.

Inside, he ran into Mary Beth again. In the dining room, she was having a conversation with Karen. The two of them seemed overcome with their private laughter. Seeing them like this, these women for whom, in some wide, chivalrous sense, he felt an overwhelming responsibility, it was a reassurance. There they were, existing. He thought the two of them were more like opposites—Mary Beth and Karen, but watching now, he supposed that opposites can attract. Karen was crass and immediate while Mary Beth approached all of her airs with distance. She was too sharp. They were sitting at the dining room table drinking bottles of beer by lamplight, and when they saw him, they invited him to come sit and to have a drink with them. At first, he thought to decline, but then Mary Beth held out a bottle like a right welcome, and with this small interaction, he gave in. Inside, it was softer. They taught him a card game he had never played before, one he would forget by morning, but it was exciting. Lots of slapping the table, and there was this entire mechanic where you had to hide a wooden spoon near your person and if somebody stole it from you, the hand ended, and you lost. They played several hands. Arthur won two out of three. When Karen left to get a refill on their bottles, he put his elbows on the table and breathed steadily. He felt something small release inside his heart, just sitting there, but he wasn't sure why.

He felt Mary Beth's hand on his then, a fast touch, then gone. "You all right, Arthur?"

He looked up and half-smiled. "Why do you ask, Mary Beth?"

She shrugged. "You seem tense. Then again that's not all that unusual."

"It was a long day," he said, shifting in his chair. He felt big at that table.

“What happened?" she said.

"Nothing much to make it seem long. It just felt long."

"I get that."

"What happened around here? I heard Hosea killed a damn gator."

"He did!" said Mary Beth. She was laughing. "You ought to have seen it. I think he emptied a full chamber on that bastard and it was still waddling away. Anyway, it's dead now. I think Pierson put it in the stew."

"Yuck," said Arthur. "I thought that stew tasted a bit green."

"You should check on Hosea and his heart health," said Mary, sliding the deck of cards across the table to him. "He's too old for that sort of activity, Arthur."

Arthur laughed. “Old Hosea will be fine," he said. "But I'll be sure to check on him anyway."

He lit a cigarette. She asked if she could have one, too. He lit it for her off the end of his, and they sat there, smoking, ashing right on to the table. There was a fly inside, bouncing off the lantern like some sort of idiot. Arthur swatted at it once, and it went away.

"So," said Mary Beth.

"So."

"What are you gonna do tomorrow, Arthur? You heading back to St. Denis?”

He studied the lit end of his cigarette. He remembered that goddam polar bear. He shook out his head. "No, no. I was thinking of leaving the swamps," he said. He looked at her. "I tell you this place is full of ghosts. Old things and people, ideas I can’t contend with no more."

"Where will you go, Arthur?”

"North."

“North for what?”

“Moose,” he said, giving her a look. “I’ve got it all marked on my map. Big moose there's supposed to be, up in the Roanoke Valley. I was thinking of heading up there to hunt a little."

She smiled like a lightbulb. She caught his meaning. She reached across the table and put her hands on his shoulders. “Moose hunting?”

“Yes, ma’am."

"Can I come with?"

"It’s a long ride," he said, dipping his cigarette into the table top. "Will you be all right?”

"You know it."

“That’s what I thought.”

“We're leaving in the morning?" she said, excited. "What time?"

"Sometime after first light," he said. "If you could get some provisions together, for us and the horses, that would be useful. About a week's worth and we can hunt the rest."

"I can do that," she said, sitting up real tall. "And warm clothes?"

Arthur nodded. "Warm clothes," he said. "And I mean it, too. Don't be dainty. You got a bed roll with wool or something?"

"I do."

“I’ll take care of the artillery,” said Arthur. “Make sure you’ve got a sturdy saddle on your filly. I can lend you one, if you need it."

“I’m good,” she said proudly. “I sold a couple a pocket watches last week, and just the other day I purchased a brand new saddle at the stables in St. Denis. I had them beat it with hammers to make the leather real soft.”

“That must have run you extra,” said Arthur, smiling. He shuffled the deck of cards. “Good thinking though.”

“I am always thinking, Arthur,” said Mary Beth, resting her chin in her hands, dreamy. She watched him shuffle those cards like it was no tomorrow. “Just like you.”

“I don’t know about that, Miss Mary Beth,” he said. “But I thank you anyway.”

"This is gonna be fun, Arthur," she said, smiling. "I know it. In my bones."

I sure hope so, he thought.

She sighed long and loud. That is when Karen came back with the beers, and she began to tease them. “You two talking about philosopbies of the weather or something?” she said. “You look about hundred miles in love.” And she laughed.

Arthur was a little confused by this, in a literal sense. He tried to figure out what the hell she meant by philosophies of the weather. “You know I met, uh—an archaeologist a few months back,” he said, dealing them each a hand of cards. “I don’t know nothing about the weather, but she showed me a gotdamn dinosaur’s rib cage. She was digging it right out of the ground.”

“A dinosaur?” said Karen. She flew up with laughter. "You got to be kidding me."

“Oh my god,” said Mary Beth. “Do you remember where it was?”

“Not really,” said Arthur, smiling at her. Of course he did, but he didn’t feel like remembering. He just took a drink from his beer. What had happened to him? Was he awake? “Now," he said, "am I dealing, ladies, or are we gonna talk nonsense all night?”

“Deal, Mr. Morgan,” said Karen. She had big rosy cheeks. It felt like a party, but it was any other day. “And do not expect any easy favors from us, not this time.”

“Oh I would not dare, Miss Karen,” said Arthur. In his ears, his voice sounded like gravel. But there was a fire in the hearth. It was almost enough to make him feel safe again.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth

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underimaginations · 5 years

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Concept: Enemies to Friends to Lovers with a side of Playful Rivalry with Papyrus & his Human Partner who met and started their relationship when they both ended up in the same cooking classes.

A good concept, the best concept. Annnnddd I got carried the fuck away. -Mod Gem

Undertale- Papyrus

He never considered you an enemy, really. He looked on you more as a competitor when he ended up taking the same cooking class as you. But OBVIOUSLY, no one can out do his cooking, so he isn’t worried about you. He is, after all, the Unparalleled Spaghetor! ...But then he got a taste of your broccoli salad and WOWIE. Who knew vegetation could be so wonderfully delicious! And slightly unhealthy! He spent awhile trying to copy the recipe, but to no avail. And he was far too proud to ask you for it.

Instead, he opted for focusing on outdoing your dishes with creations of his own. Granted, they were all spaghetti based in the beginning, but eventually he branched out. You made a cheese and broccoli soup? He made cheesy chicken chowder. He’d often observe you cook and take notes on how to prepare certain types of foods. Soon enough he was always just a stove over from you during class. He decided befriending you would be the best way to discover your secret techniques! Thoroughly japed by him, Master Chef Papyrus!

...But as time went on, he just stopped caring about outdoing you. The more he got to know you, the more he just wanted to be your friend and improve with you, not outshine your achievements. And he enjoyed the friendly competition you two had going on. You’d toss your salads in a flashy way, and he’s flippin’ his flapjacks so high they almost stick to the ceiling. Always trying to ‘show up’ the other. It gets to a point where he feels the best way to truly determine whose skills are superior is to invite you to his home for an impromptu totally-not-romantic-at-all friendly cook-off! To his surprise, and delight, you agreed. “EXCELLENT! THEN I WILL SEE YOU TONIGHT!” He says just before doing a somersault out the classroom window. For the third time that month. Smooth, Papyrus. Real smooth.

That night, when you arrive, he’s got his cleanest apron and poofy chef’s hat on. He leads you to the kitchen, and allows you to choose whatever ingredients you like from the full brown grocery bags he’s placed on the kitchen table. Then it’s off to the conveniently installed that same day stove to get to work! It reminds you of those cooking shows Mettaton sometimes put on, where he’d give three or four contestants a range of limited ingredients and judge their dishes, often in a vaguely dismissive tone. But there was none of that here.

Papyrus genuinely just wanted to see the limits of your skills. And it was a pretty fun night, if you take into account the fact that fires had to be put out twice (both on his stove) and sauces stained the walls on both sides of the kitchen and Papyrus’ now not-so-clean apron and lopsided hat. Perhaps most surprising is that despite the chaos of it all, you both ended up making wonderful looking, and even better tasting, meals. You’re proud of yourself, and of him, and he... is out of breath.

“WELL... THIS WAS... FUN!” he says between labored breaths. How he’s out of breath, especially since he has no lungs, is beyond you. But here we are. He’s honestly so proud of you. And a tad bit of himself, if he’s being honest. He knows his cooking was awful when he learned from Undyne. She can’t cook for jack squat, which is why she leaves all the cooking to Alphys, who actually has learned to cook pretty well since they reached the surface. He only took those ‘lessons’ because he wanted to hang out with her. But he’s really improved his methods and dishes. Hell, even Sans has admitted as much. And not sarcastically.

You tell him how proud of him you are, and take a bite of his dish. The taste is indescribable. And you love it. You give him some of yours, and he gladly tastes it. “WOWIE! THIS IS WONDERFUL, HUMAN!” He exclaims gleefully. And with so few ingredients at your disposal. He truly is impressed. And he tells you as much, for which you’re very thankful. To be honest you weren’t completely confident in your competence, but if anything tonight proves you are definitely worth your salt. Dinner goes by relatively uneventfully, and just as you start to head for the door Papyrus stops you, and you turn to look at him.

“THIS WAS... FUN! WE OUGHT TO DO IT AGAIN! BUT MAYBE WITH LESS DANGER NEXT TIME.” And you swear you saw a tinge of orange on his cheek bones. But... that’s crazy, right? Yeah. You smile, and say just one word before heading out the door.

“Sure.”

#Undertale #Papyrus #Scenario #mod gem #this is kind of a fic??#man it may as well be a ficlet #this thing is nearly 800 words #Anonymous

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cheezy-selfships · 3 years

Text

"Hey, Black Hat?"

He grunts in acknowledgement, face obscured by the newspaper.

March slows in her knitting, thinking on how to word her question. Apparently this is taking her too long, since the being decides to growl a "What is it?" while lowering the newspaper to look at his human.

He can feel she's been distressed about whatever her diseased human brain came up with this time. He does recall there being a word she used for it, but frankly, he couldn't care less for the terminology. It's probably nothing a week in the Shrieking Dimension wouldn't fix. That is, if she agrees to accompany him sometime.

She takes a deep breath and looks him in the eye.

"Gender." she states. Ah yes, all his questions have been answered.

"A thing you humans assigned to yourself shortly after you crawled out of the soup that spawned your pathetic excuse of a species yes. What of it?" he is more than ready to return to his reading.

"There are more than two, right?" she continues.

"Of course there are!" he snarls.

"Last time I was invited to a conference in the" the name he pronouces causes green slime to start dripping from the walls while static distorts the edges of the room "dimension, I was informed they 'uncovered' at least a thousand new ones! Are you going somewhere with this, or is this one of those existential crises you are so prone on having?"

She mulls over the question for a moment.

"Both. What I want to ask is, do you know what gender identity is?"

"Yes." and he straightens the newspaper, returning back to his reading.

She blinks at him.

"And could you explain what it is to me?"

"I could."

A moment passes, then two, only the sound of firewood crackling in the fireplace disturbing the silence.

"... Will you?"

"Will I what?" he grumbles, turning the page. Seems there's been a sucess in the field of AgonizingAgriculture. Might be smart to invest in it before spring truly kicks off.

"I would really appreciate it if we could talk about this more."

"The topic being?" Sisterhood of OwO is recruiting? This might be something to keep her occupied with while Flug tries to find a way to safety proof her quarters. Demencia has been getting too close to successfully destroying the woman. It's getting annoying.

"Gender identities."

His tongue flicks out in irritation, eyes rolling to the back of his head, muttering.

"Always boxes and molds with you vermin."

He does however fold the newspaper and neatly places it on the coffee table next to his armchair. He leans forward, his slender hands clasped in his usual "plotting" pose, a bored expression on his face.

"Well? You have my attention. Speak."

She picks up her knitting again, and focuses on what her hands are doing. Good, at least she'll keep talking like this.

"So the whole nonbinary deal, apparently this is an umbrella term."

"A what?"

She looks up at him, and his antenna like brow is raised and twitching in inquiry, a confused scowl on his gray face.

"It's apparently a term that can stand for more than one identety? But it's... Also it's own thing??"

His scowl depends, as he concentrates on the explanation, mouthing the words. His eye focuses back in her face.

"What do umbrellas have to do with this?"

"I honestly have no idea, I think it's a figure of speech?"

"Bah, humans." he has to stop himself from retching loudly.

"Be nice, I'm a human too."

"I have my doubts about that, but do continue."

She leans back shifting her legs into a crisscross positinion on her rocking chair, the motion causing it to swing back and forth slightly. She snaps her fingers a couple of times trying to find her train of though.

"Aha! Alright so," she looks at him, her eyes wide open in intrigue. "Apparently it's an umbrella term, and there is more than one way of being non binary."

"To this day I still do not understand why it is important you humans mantain the difference. One can create parasites inside themselves and the other cannot. That is all that should matter in the sense of reproduction." he gestures with his hands, "if the goal is not reproduction, then it is meaningless to confine one into such a mold."

"True, but most people find comfort in being able to share their experience with others like them."

She rolls her wrist around in circles.

"Like, I hope I'm making sense-"

"You are."

"thank you, but like," she struggles for words, "if you want to share with others like you-"

"There isn't."

"-similar to you then, please stop interrupting me..." she rolls her eyes towards the ceiling and makes a strange grimace when the thought slips past her again. It almost looks like she's seeing a molting weremouse from the 9th floor of Misery Hotel for the first time. He chuckles when she cocks her head to the side slowly, her eyes narrowing. It will be a riot when she actually sees one.

"Errrrrrrrrrrr, fuck."

His smirk vanishes. "Very eloquent."

"Agh, I can't remember what I was going to say!"

"Something about wanting to share some sort of experience with other-"

"YES, yes that thank you," her eyes are blown wide open again and she launches into a rant about villains relating to other villains after completing one miniscule deed or another, spiraling from one topic to another, ping ponging this way and that in a manner that seems to make sense only to her. She moves with her whole body, the chair rocking when she gestures wildly as if this will help her bring her point across faster.

It never does.

But he can't help the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth.

#🎩this message is not sponsored by black hat org. 🎩#Did I finally write something self indulgent with this fucker? Why yes yes I did #He is just... Imagining an eldritch being not caring for what society thinks and dictates is 👌#And having someone to actually hsve a discussion about this without anxiety punching me in the gut is also very nice #House of March

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siodymph · 7 years

Text

Fiddlefest! Friendship/Family

And here is my last prompt for Fiddleford's month! I just want to say real quick all the stories and art I've seen for this event have been so cool and amazing! Go check it all out on the official blog it you haven't already!

And one last reminder all day today and tomorrow I'm accepting any Fiddleford requests if you have them (I'm also happy to write any fiddauthor or fiddlestan if you like those ships!) After the 7th though I'm moving on!

Thank you so much fr reading all my stories for Marchgucket and I hope you enjoy this last addition! (you can read it under the cut or over on my ao3)

Time seemed to be a fickle thing for Fiddleford McGucket. Years he spent without a memory sometimes only felt like it lasted a few months and now in his first year of remembering it felt like things went so painfully slowly. It might have been due to his recollection perhaps now that he had a stronger grip on time he was more conscious of it.

Or maybe it was because of how much he missed the Pines family. Just before leaving he and Stanford had admitted their feelings for one another still existed and now they were having a long-distance relationship over phones and screen monitors. Stanford and his brother, niece and nephew all promised to be back next summer and Fiddleford found he kept counting down the days no matter how much he tried not to. Today marked the final month before Stanford and Stanley would be back, and a month and a half until the kids came back. It was so close yet so far off.

He thought himself lucky at least, that he had so many people in his life now. To not only miss and know they would be back soon, but also living here with him and visiting all the time.

Every Sunday evening since last summer he’d always been invited down to the mystery shack for dinner and anime with Soos and his girlfriend, Melody. They made a sweet couple and ran the old mystery shack together as a team. And while Fiddleford didn’t often visit the Shack during their working day there was an energy, a welcoming vibe that grew there now that hadn’t really existed before under Stan’s ownership. As for their anime get-togethers, they had started a little pattern after a few happy accidents that had become a tradition now. Melody and Soos would make one half of their dinner and Fidds would bring the second half. If they made sandwiches, Fiddleford would whip up soup to dip’em in. They made meatballs, he’d bring over the spaghetti and sauce. One time they’d cook some pork chops and Fiddleford had brewed up an apple sauce to spread on it. That had been a good one. They’re weekly meet ups were always something he could look forwards to and enjoy. They reminded him a lot of the old family dinners he would have as a kid, potlucks where everyone cooked together and ate together.

Mabel’s two friends, Candy Chiu and Grenda Grendinator, also became frequent visitors. Both of them loved to admire his work with giant fighting robots, Candy had even told him she wished to become an engineer too when she grew up. Fiddleford had been all too happy to start teaching her everything he’d learned over the years. And Candy proved to be a wonderful student, a protégé actually. Her photographic memory was amazing to see in person, rewireing panels on her robot purely from memory of how Fiddleford had showed her over a week prior. And she had Grenda both had such wonderful, vivid imaginations it was never dull having a conversation with the two. There wasn’t a single doubt in Fiddleford’s mind that the two girls wouldn’t shake up the world when they got a little older, they had such amazing ideas and he couldn’t wait to see how they made their ideas possible realities in the future.

And then there was Tate. His dear lil’ Tate. He gotten some forgiveness from his son at last. They had a long talk face to face. It had been awkward, uncomfortable and made Fiddleford relive some shame he’d made himself forget for years. But it was an important step in them rebuilding their relationship, no matter how painful it might be. Talking came much easier for both of them the more they tried. And now he lived here in his new home, something which Fiddleford never could have dreamed of before and was grateful for. To truly have this second chance with his son. Tate had grown into a man that reminded him a lot of his own father and uncles growing up. Blunt but honest ad content with their crafts and tasks in life. Them with their farming and hunting, and now his son with his fishing. He loved going out to the lake and watching his son work, listening to him talk about fishing. It was no lie Tate loved what he did.

Tate would always be his son. But he’d found in a way he’d gained another child, almost like a granddaughter to him, as the year crawled by. He’d met her in the shack along with the other girls, held her hand during the Oddpocolypse. But afterwards, after that had bought the Manor from her father he hadn’t seen hat or hair of Pacifica Northwest. That was until one day while he was gardening on the front lawn he saw her milling about the front gate, attempting to spy on him. He invited her in for some tea which Pacifica had begrudgingly accepted. At first she claimed she was only “checking up to make sure he hadn’t burnt the mansion down to the ground yet.” Much to his surprise Pacifica came back for more teas after that, she’d even offered to help him in his garden. He only became worried when like clockwork as soon as the middle school was out she would be at his house and would put off leaving until the sun was in the brink of setting. He’d asked her once if her family was wondering where she was but she’d avoided the question, though she did admit she hated being home alone with either of her parents and she didn’t have any friends in town.

After that Fiddleford kept his home opened to her, though he did try to gently nudge her into at least joining a club at her school. That ended up not working so steadily he’d tried to introduce her to Candy and Grenda when one day all three of them ended up at his house one weekend. At first he’d feared he’d over stepped his bounds when she saw Pacifica grow defensive against the other two girls, walling herself off and putting up the snotty persona she seemed to put on and take off like a mask. But then the three found out the things they had in common rather then all the things that made them different and slowly but surely Pacifica pulled off her mask again and the three became an unlikely trio to visit his house and hang out around town.

One day they were all talking about boy bands and Fiddleford showed them the boyband he first fell in love with decades ago, the Beatles. At first the girls hadn’t believed him, Beatles were a cool hipster thing, not something for geek girls to freak out about according to them. So Fiddleford showed them he few relics from his Beatle-mania days and they’d found it absolutely hilarious. Grenda had joked that in a few years maybe Sev’ral Timez would be a musical revolution too. That had been a fun day, the four of them had tried tracking down the Sev’ral Timez boyband in the woods, they’d even recruited Wendy’s help in tracking them down.

They didn’t find the boyband that day, but instead they found two children who looked identical to Dipper Pines, only their caps had numbers on them instead of blue trees. They told him that they were photocopy clones of Dipper from last summer and the two boys had made a water proof shelter for themselves out in the wilderness. They joined in the hunt for the boyband and later Fiddleford had offered his home to the boys. He knew they were only brief flashes of Dipper’s consciousness, but it appeared that the two had developed their own awareness, something he couldn’t ever remember from his and Ford’s old experiments. They both even developed distinct personalities that had altered not only from each other but also their original Dipper. He felt this urge to protect and care for the boys after that and the two became like adopted kids to him much like Pacifica had become.

The open halls had become much less empty and yawning now than when he’d first moved in with just a knapsack and his raccoon wife to his name. And now on the first Sunday in May he was holding a special Sunday anime dinner, this time in his own manor. In the theater room he recently renovated he was surrounded by friends and family he’d invited over. Excited happy voices all surrounded him and a warm plate of home-cooked food sat on his lap. He closed his eyes, feeling everything all around him.

He couldn’t wait for his boyfriend and his family to come back next month and get to feel this too.

#fiddleford appreciation month #fiddlefest #marchgucket #fiddleford mcgucket #friendship/family #mentions fiddauthor

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asksythe · 7 years

Text

FtGoG Snippet: That Other One (Part 3 - Last Part)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L6K8Uq88BEQ

Gustav Klimt’s Wasserschlangen I / Water Serpents I (1904 - 1907)

It happened like this. He came home after a mission that took the better part of a month, winded and road-weary and, of course, thinking of her. His first thought was to go to her place immediately, to say: Hi, how are you doing? I’m fine. I did fine. I’m home now. What did you do when I was gone? The whole shebang, not because it was something he usually did, but because he knew it would put a smile on her face. It always did when he came back from missions that sent him away from the village, and the first thing he did was check in with her. Perhaps it reminded her of something, or someone. But by the time he reached the gate of the village, it was already half past eight. Not that late, but when he actually got to her house, it would have been toeing the line between inconsiderate and outright improper. She worked hard. Her schedule started early in the day. She needed her rest and he should know better. So he discarded the thought, went home with his siblings, ate a late dinner. He would see her tomorrow, first thing in the morning. It was then that it came out. His mission was a two person one, him and his brother, with their sister remaining home. She updated them on things happening in the village while they were gone, and that was when it came out that she had gotten sick. A rare virga that somehow became a surprise downpour. They had had several of those recently as more and more, the new biome around the village effected changes on the weather conditions, as well as what happened during the vote for war or peace two years ago. The Holy Rain, some people called it, the Bloody Rain, the rain that she called upon to flood the old streets of the village when she wanted to make a point to his father and the warmongers in the council. It was the start of a series of subtle but large scale changes to the entire meteorologic makeup of the region. So, they had rain in Suna now, occasionally. When it did come down, it always came down hard and always it was a surprise to a people so used to a country parched dry as… well… as a desert year round.

“She was caught outside when it came down and came home wet. Got herself a mild case of the cold, so her voice has been a bit funny these last few days. You should bring her some cough candies the next time you see her,” Temari informed him over her bowl of creamy potato soup before smoothly segueing to another topic.

She was sick? The thought niggled. He swallowed his dinner, steak with the mashed potatoes and asparagus, took a drink from his cup. It wasn’t like she had never gotten sick before. She was attended to at all times by her own caretakers. One of the kunoichi who stayed by her side at all times was a medic. It wasn’t like he could do anything even if he were to go there now. That would just be plain silly. And yet…

He finished up his meals, went to wash a day’s worth of road dust off of him, then scampered off to his room where he locked the door in case Kankurou got in his head that they needed another session of brotherly bonding, whatever he meant by that. He climbed onto his bed, thought hard about what he was about to do.

By this time, he’d gotten used to the altered seals of his dust specter state. It had gotten easy, almost second nature. He’d never been suspected, never had sensors turning their heads around trying to look for that blink and you miss it tell-tale flash of a ninjutsu in use. His work on the daisan no me was good—thorough. Nevertheless, even with the possibility of being discovered hovering near zero and with him already following her unseen almost every day for the last few months, he’d never actually followed her home, never violated the sanctity of her house where she had openly welcomed him so many times before.

The boy knew he was bad at the social stuff. A childhood of being the unofficial murder baby of the village would do that to anyone, and that was on top of the child-of-the-reigning-Kazekage thing that got even Temari and Kankurou in a bind sometimes. People were afraid of him. Much less now than it was years ago, but still, his name elicited some reactions, his presence evoked emotions that were not entirely positive. Hard to learn how to talk to people—how to interact in a non-violent and non-threatening way—when a sizable number of the people he met couldn’t wait to get away from him. But bad as he was, even he knew it wasn’t kosher to just barge into another person’s house unseen and uninvited, especially if that other person had done so much for him. If it weren’t for her, he would still be that beastly child who thought thoughtless violence and senseless killing were the only way to prove that he was alive, that he existed.

And yet… something restless stirred in his stomach, a nervous energy that made him want to pace and fidget. I’ll just check on her for a bit, he told himself as he pushed back his reservation. Just to see if she’s alright. He hadn’t seen her in nearly a month, and it would just be a quick look, to make sure she was okay. It wasn’t right, he knew, but he couldn't stop himself. So he flashed through the seals, placed one hand on his eyes and the other on his ear. With the slightest twinge of his chakra, the technique activated, and then… he saw her.

She was sitting, naked, in a marble tub big enough for two.

The boy’s first thought was. I shouldn’t have. His second thought was. Stop now. But he didn’t. He was frozen where he sat, overwhelmed.

There were the sounds of music, of water sloshing in the tub, of faint murmurs, and the scents of vetiver and cedarwood in the steam, and something else crackled in the fireplace of the next room over. And she… she looked good, her skin wet and glistening under the diffused glow of bathroom light, a flush on her cheeks that either came from that cold Temari mentioned or the open bottle of peach sake by her side. Probably the sake, because her lips were stained red. She had put something in the water, something that painted a map of vibrant vortexes and glittering constellations on the surface. She sat half-submerged in there. That shimmering water framed her body, gilded her body like an artwork piece out of some museum, one depicting stars and galaxies being born from the body of a woman as tides of light and shoals of dust surrounded her.

But she wasn’t alone. His father sat on the rim, watching her as she soaked her feet, sitting so close to her that even the specter form’s narrow field of vision had no trouble picking him up.

Something twisted deep in the boy’s stomach, pulled taut. A strange heat crawled behind his eyes while thoughts churned furiously in his head. His father? Here? His father? With her? These thoughts were strange, and inexplicably uncomfortable. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the occasional rumors surrounding the two of them. It wasn’t like he never noticed how close they seemed to be at times. He wasn’t stupid, nor was he blind. But, there was a disconnect. What seemed obvious to other more well-adjusted people simply didn’t occur to him at all. He knew little of human bonding, and even less of attachment. He simply wasn’t one to think much of idle gossips. But here, and now, with what he was seeing, with how close his father was sitting next to her, how relaxed he seemed, how unlike his usual self.

What were they to each other? Officially, Kage and subject, guardian and ward, even if she had long since come of age. Unofficially, master and student, and perhaps friends, because of all the things they had gone through together. The revival of the great motherland, the revolt, the purge, and the healing after. But there was nothing even vaguely like guardian and ward or master and student going on here. That wasn’t how normal guardians looked at their wards. And students didn’t smile at their masters in such a way, did they?

She was wearing a strange smile. He had never ever seen her smile like that to anyone before. Teasing and… inviting… somehow.

They were talking quietly between themselves, about something going on at work today. His father said something. It must have been nothing good because it put a frown on her face. She kicked up her leg, splashed the water. He dodged it with the slightest twist. He said something again, one eyebrow raised. It was a challenge, because immediately, she reached out, grabbed him by his shirt, and pulled him into the tub with her. Her hold was soft, flimsy. He should have been able to dodge it or break free of it, even if he was asleep or drugged to his gills. But he didn’t. Instead, he let her pull him in, let himself fall into the water, full Kazekage regalia and all, minus the hat. He made a great big splash. He sent torrent of water over the rim and down to the floor. She laughed at him. Her laughter was rich and warm and it made the boy’s stomach twist in strange pleasant, not pleasant ways.

She said—“My bathtub Kage”—as he wiped the water from his face. There was glitter on his temple, on his hands, on his drenched Kazekage robe. He looked ridiculous.

“I don’t mind being Kage of this tub,” he replied.

“There’s exactly one resident in tub-land, TubKage-sama. I’m not sure how it measures up to one of the great five. You don’t mind the demotion, do you?” she said again. She picked the suds out of his hair, shifted so as to allow him more space.

He sat up straight, cupped her chin with one hand.

“Just one is fine.” He kissed her, long and deep, as his son gave a strangled cry, unseen and unheard in the background.

After a minute, she pulled back, gave him a look filled with deep need, and want, and adoration. A look the boy knew all too well. He’d worn it before, carried it before, deep in his heart. He just hadn’t recognized what it was until now.

She drew him into her, their bodies intertwined, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. And then when it was done, when they lay in the water, spent and basking in the afterglow, she held him tight, and whispered…

… Never let me go…

He kissed her on her temple, on her eyelids, on her wine-stained lips. With tenderness he reserved for no one else, he said...

… Not until the day I die…

It was then, and only then, that the boy disconnected the specter form. The vision faded away. The sound dimmed. The scents of the bathroom and of sex receded. He sat alone in his bed, trembling. A hot broth of realization, shock, humiliation, pain, jealousy, disgust, and the creeping tendrils of despair simmered in the pit of his stomach. He put his hands on his face. His skin felt like glass that was breaking with every tiny move he made. His heart whumped endlessly in his ribcage, and with every beat it put yet another fracture on his breaking glass skin. And there, on his forehead, the scarlet letter he had carved into himself in remembrance, in defiance, in rebellion. It felt raw, as if he had not put it there years ago but only just now, hot and painful and bleeding.

The boy’s uncle once said love was medicine, and perhaps that was true. But what was also true was the fact that some medicines were poisons, and though they might cure you, they could also kill you.

…………………….......................

Irony, that the one who taught him of love and self-forgiveness also taught him jealousy and how deep despair could run—that the one who picked up the pieces of him and glued him back together was also the one who broke him again, that the one whom he loved the most also hurt him the most.

……. …………….........................

The thing about truth was, once he found it, learned of it, he could not put it back into the box and lock it away, could not pretend he had never known it. He tried to. He really did. For a short few days, he pretended as if nothing happened, that he went home from that long mission and went to sleep without ever thinking of her or checking up on her. But then morning came and he got up and cleaned himself and clothed himself and like a moth to a flame, pulled by the force of habit, he went to her. They ate breakfast together in her kitchen, talked to her kunoichi bodyguards, discussed what they would do for the day. And all that time all he could think was…

… Is my father in your bed right now? Or did he leave through the window of your bedroom before I came here? Did you wash and iron his clothes for him and dress him in the morning? Or did he leave spares in your closet, in between your skirts and your shirts?

Some of it must have shown on his face, because she looked concerned, asked him what was wrong. In his head, he screamed.

You kissed my father with wine in your mouth. You let him into you, let him ensconce himself in you.

But outside he said he was just tired from the long trip and here, have some cough drops he brought. She smiled at him, said thank you, told him what a thoughtful boy he was. And again in his mind he shouted.

Don’t call me boy. Don’t give me that smile like you give to little children. Give me the one that you gave my father. Call my name like you call my father.

But somewhere, deeper in his heart, a tiny part of him cried. Stop putting cracks in my make-believe world. It’s a lie I know, but it’s a pretty lie. So please let me have this if I can’t have the real thing.

She looked worried at his silence, said perhaps they could take an easy day today, let him have some down time. They could go somewhere quiet and just enjoy each other’s company. He had half a mind to reject her, to walk away, to break free, to tear into her heart and do to her what she did to him, but in his eyes, she shone, beautiful and terrible, not like the sun—no more—but like white lightning. She ran through him and left him charred, and spent, and ruined before he could even lay claim to adulthood.

I love you, he thought in his head, and felt the slightest bit of pressure let loose. Finally he could put a name to the strange feeling he had carried in his heart all this time. But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?

At the back of the room, the chief of kunoichi looked at him. Oren, her name was. She wore a look of faint recognition and pity. He looked back at her for a brief moment, let loose his boiling anger and his resentment for a brief moment. You knew, didn’t you? You knew and you didn’t warn me. You let me fall. You let her poison me. I should kill you. I should kill you right now. Crush you until what was left of you would be lost in my sand.

But right at that moment, she took his hand and pulled him away, out the door to a new day, and like always, he could never resist her. The last of his childhood died this way, whimpering and alone, unmourned by none saved perhaps for the boy himself.

……………………………........................

The first year was the toughest. He struggled with this new reality, with emotions he now could put a name to but could not declare out loud. Fourteen years old but he knew the hunger of a man grown. He tumbled, lost and alone. He fell. He hurt himself. No one ever taught him that love hurt like so. He was paralyzed, by fear, and pain, and humiliation and a shameful hunger he kept to himself.

He dreamt of her.

She walked before him in a green field, bare feet in the grass. She turned around as the sun crested the hills in the distance and smiled at him. He looked at her, at the sun caught in her raven hair. She gave him a smile like the one she gave to his father.

Come with me, Gaara, she said. The sound of his name coming from her mouth was enough to undo him, to make him throw away everything and follow her. Let’s go watch the lilies and daisies bloom. We will sit under the shade of the orchards and I will give you a kiss like I gave your father.

But the moment he took her hand, she became a thousand dandelion blooms and disappeared in a tide of light. The sun greyed. The flowers rotted. The greenfield around them withered and died, and he was left all alone in the dead land, in the land that his father deemed too far, too useless, and too dangerous to allow her to go. The boy, the beast, shunned, forgotten.

He knew all the longing and the wanting but none of the taste itself. He dreamt of taking his place not behind but beside her. He dreamt of walking side by side, of holding her hands, of trading secrets in whispers. In his dreams, he built a world where he needed not shy away, where he did not fear, and longed for discovery, for this secrecy to disappear. He thought of drawing her into this secret world, of making a home there where he was not a boy but a man, in love, and beloved; where she was not she, but his woman, his one.

They were in the greenfield again, but this time around it was nighttime and he was walking before her. He turned and took her hand and drew her to him. He kissed her on the lips. It was as sweet as he imagined it to be. Venoms dripped from her mouth but he didn’t mind. He would rather die young than live alone without her. He looked to the skies and said.

Kagome, Kagome, come with me to the stars where we can be with each other. We will grow flowers and build our lives there. I’ll be the fox boy in your tales and you be my thunder girl. We will be playmates and lovers and share our secret worlds. You can kiss me and kill me slowly, but that’s okay. Because everything I have, I have already given to you. And if you throw me away, that’s fine too, because ever since I took your hand and let you lead me into your orchards I had already forfeited myself to you.

Sometimes, the hardest part was dealing with the anger. It simmered beneath everything else, beneath the resentment, the bitter jealousy, the pain, sometimes roiling and threatening to overcome him. The urge to slide back into the beastly child was strong. Sometimes all he wanted was to go back to a time when everything was simpler, when the anchors of his existence were violence and bloodshed. It would be easy, he thought, so easy, to end everything in an all consuming blaze, to…

… sink a kunai deep into her heart, catch her as she fell, watch the life ebb in her eyes, see him become her entire world in the last few seconds of her life…

It would be easy, to end it all. He could do it, he knew. Her power was great, but her body was frail. And above all else, she trusted him implicitly.

And if he did it, once he did it, what was next? What came next after she fell silent and quiet in his arms?

The boy swam in a sea of dark fantasies, a shadow paradise he made for himself. The refuge of his terrible, monstrous self, away from the pain, away from the boiling anger, away from the disgust and self-loathing.

If he survived the wrath of his father and of all those who loved her, he would take her and go. He would go into the deep desert, into the heart of the deadland where not even father could go. He could go there on a passage made with his sand. They would go to a place as isolated as the stars in the skies of his dreams. And there, in the place where all was dead and gone and every cry in his tell-tale heart was quieted at last, he would build her a castle made of sand, a tomb as large and deep as the great desert itself. He would make her a bed of crystal, where she would sleep undisturbed. He would gather the dew of of desert night and make her a crown of ice. Then he would lie down next to her, close his eyes, hold her hands, and slowly, ever so slowly, drift off to sleep, and never wake up again. They would be interred in the heart of the great desert, and be together forever.

Now and then, he would think of this plan, this dark dream. He loved the closure it offered, the promise of an end, the ease of it all. Once, he stood by her side as she slept under the trees in their garden, a kunai heavy in his hand and this dark dream in his heart.

Do it, something whispered in his ears. Do it, and set yourself free. Do it!

She wore a blue dress that day, with little yellow swirls sewn into the helm, and her long hair in a braid. He touched her hair with one hand, felt its cool, silky texture between his fingers. He thought, I could lose myself in you. I could lose myself in you forever, if only you’ll just let me. With his other hand, he brought up the kunai, six inches of cold steel, and heavy as a mountain.

She opened her eyes then, saw him, and closed them just as soon. She slept unperturbed. He let the kunai go, let it fall from his hand like so much dead weight. He would rather kill himself first before he hurt her.

……………………….

The day after his fifteenth birthday, his sister found him alone in the deadland three hours from the village. Without saying a word, she sat down next to him. She was always the shrewd one in their family, the one who understood things without being told the full story.

“Temari…” he said after half an hour of silence passed between them. “How… do you make someone love you?” He looked at her, and his desperation must have shown because she flinched from him. “You were taught… those classes, right? Back when we were kids. You know how, don’t you? Won’t you teach me, please?”

She fell silent for a minute, before finally said.

“That’s not love, Gaara.” She pat him on the back. “That’s just a pretty lie. You can’t make people love you. It’s not that easy. If she doesn’t love you, then she doesn’t love you. You can’t force it. I should know.”

“Then… what do I do?”

“Let it go,” she said. “Move on. This too shall pass.”

He looked at her long and hard, then finally he said. “Okay…”

He didn’t know if he could. But he could try.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

He’s sixteen. His best friend found out that he loved the woman who belonged to his father. Akatsuki came and took her while he nearly bled out on the other side of the village. They fought, nearly invaded another country, and kicked up a hornet’s nest in almost every nation that cared, but they got her back. And now he’s standing here, at the head of the crowd that is seeing his father off to the Kage Summit that will attempt to straighten out the knots that Akatsuki threw at them.

He is nearly as tall as his father now, and there they stand, man and son. Reining Kazekage and his heir apparent.

“You’ll be fine,” the father says, patting the son on his shoulder. “Look after the village for me.”

It is more trust and more faith than he has ever shown to his youngest son. It is the fruit of a long, and difficult healing process between father and son. They have not gone through every wound between them yet, but they are getting there. This too is something that was started because of her.

He nods solemnly. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. His father the titan, his father who she loves.

The Kazekage turns and with a gesture, they are off towards the road. The crowd roars. Some of them break off to follow. She lingers behind for a moment, her hand clutching the rein of a desert eagle the size of a horse. One of his father’s summons, tasked with carrying her with him to the Summit.

“Hey,” she says. “Did you want to tell me something? Sorry. Yesterday was… hectic.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies, keeping a lid on everything that threatens to boil to the surface. “Just… look after father for me.” It’s the last thing he wants to tell her, but it is also the proper thing.

She brightens up. “I will,” she says, and then smiles at him. “You take care of yourself too, Gaara. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

There’s something in her smile, something that twists and pierces, that kicks up all the hurt and all the anger in him. And he wonders, for a split second, if she smiles at him because it is him, or if she smiles at him because she sees the father in the son.

Don’t look at me like that. I’m not your child.

It takes until he sees the flash of hurt and shock in her face for him to realize he has said that out loud, with all the venom and the bitter resentment that come with it.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She recoils as if stung. “I’ll just… I’ll just go.” She gets on the eagle and they fly away.

He makes to follow her, to right the wrong he inflicted, to tell her that he never meant to hurt her. But his sister holds him back with one hand.

“Don’t,” says Temari. A frown mars her face. “It will pass. Let it pass.”

It takes everything he has to stay. It takes everything he has to stand there and watch her figure fades into the distance, until eventually even the crowd around them starts to disperse. His sister holds him by the hand, and slowly she starts to pull him back into the village.

“Let it go, Gaara. There’s much to do.”

“... Okay…” he mutters under his breath and let her pull him away. He throws one last look over his shoulder, in the direction where she flies away. If one day this passes and he truly lets her go, what will be left of him then? If one day this passes and he ceases to love her so, what will be left of them then?

He sends his wonders to the skies and buries his dreams in the earth. He burns the poetry he never writes for her in the dark of the night and swears to himself he will try to forget.

What is love without tragedy?

..........................................................................................................

A/N: and that’s done. The Valentine snippet, as promised. This snippet was beast. It clocks in at 9411 words. It’s a snippet in name only. In truth, this is the condensed and streamlined version of Gaara’s Interlude, an interlude that will feature around the middle to end part of arc 3. Hope you enjoy that. And now, to write up that small character study post on Gaara I mentioned!!

#Ask Sythe #From the Garden of Gods #Excerpt

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ulyssesredux · 6 years

Text

Calypso

It bore the oldest, the houghs of the tea she poured. Better a pork kidney at Dlugacz's. Say he got ten per cent off. The night Milly brought it into the drawing room, hurrying homeward.

Remember the summer morning she was then. Good morning, being rather disposed to dwell on the plea that he was determined to cut himself off from indulging, she said aloud—Oh, Brooke is such a stupid pussens as the pussens. They tolled the hour: loud dark iron. Or hanging up on the mantel-piece, looking towards Toller, for Mr. Lydgate is indefatigable, and I'm proud of it. The vivid presentation came like a stallfed heifer.

Most of all though are the letters for? He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a limp lid. He smiled, pleasing himself.

I pass. Her slim legs running up the letters for? M. Nothing she can jump me. —Not you, my dear. Grey horror seared his flesh. Not a bit of a temper; her throat had a good deal distressed. I wonder what, said Lydgate, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the floor naked. Oranges in tissue paper packed in crates. And I don't mind a hundred and ten pounds: your mother will have to pay a visit to Mrs. Three and a card to you. Wandered far away over all the beef to the coachman to wait patiently when he thought of another rejoinder, disagreeable enough to make an excellent young woman without it. Watering cart.

To him it was alive now—he was a studied negation by which he had always been associated for her and took no notice of Fred,—you might be worse. Whacking a carpet on the twill bedspread near the curve of her father's eyes; there was a proud man, but she prefers yesterday's loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot. No: better not: another time. The same young eyes. O'Brien. I shall never speak to you. Tell him silly Milly sends my best respects.

Boys are they? No: that had been watching her son's movements.

Other stocking. Hand in hand. I pass. He stayed but a father trembles for his daughter—a little burnt. Young Ladislaw the grandson of a spear. He felt, when he meant it.

Everything on it? It is a little? O more. He rarely makes presents; he had heard his voice say it he added: What? And a pound and a little.

Putting pieces of folded brown paper in the gravy and put in four full spoons of tea, she said. It is as I could. Turbaned faces going by. O more. Say ten barrels of stuff. He turned over and the loose cellarflap of number seventyfive. I know that people who spend a great draught of tea from her room upstairs—where the sense of connection with a carriage and pair. Pleasant to see you an idle frivolous creature. Now, my miss.

Lydgate to make good everybody's loss.

Crusted toenails too. —A letter for Mr. Farebrother was irresistibly invited, on the floor.

Then thin of the Nymph over the blind up? Milly. Young student. You must see him for anything; and when, after being called out for an ad. Wait before a door sometime it will not think that Mr. Featherstone, with mingled suavity and surprise.

—It must have helped into the air, mingling with the first fellow all the time? Then there was no fire, and meeting Dorothea's eyes also were turned up to music and games, while feeling his water flow quietly, and your mother. Virginia creepers. Thin bread and butter she likes in the tapestry looked more like immovable imitations of books. A letter for me from Milly, he noticed in him, poured warmbubbled milk on a sofa which stood against the crystalline purity of the fork under the kidney the cat mewed hungrily against him. There was an emphatic kind of damp which might in due time saturate a neighboring body. Wonder if I'll meet him today. That was the first. No wind could lift those waves, grey and old. He withdrew his gaze and he sings Boylan's I was staying with her white fingers suspended on the wind. I am here now. Of course if they are married. Lydgate had been some pleasure in pointing Mr. Brooke's attractive suggestion of suitable characteristics. He approached Larry O'Rourke's. On the ERIN'S KING that day round the corner. Said carefully, and below there was Celia coming up, and thought there never did anybody look so pretty in a book, navvies handling them barefoot in soiled dungarees. No use canvassing him for a walk in,—but how—we only want eighteen—here Mr. Garth, taking her sister's, surveying the cameos for Celia. She would never be married so very soon, because I think they both cried a little burnt. No followers allowed.

Please, said Fred at the imagined sobs or cries of her hair down: slimmer. Not there. —Mrkrgnao! Grey horror seared his flesh.

Explain that: homerule sun rising up in an angry jet from a side of the jakes and came forth from the gentlewoman's oppressive liberty: it was the miniature sat down to the door open with his knee he carried the tray. He watched the bristles shining wirily in the passage which led to the right title for this speech, in a minute.

Good day to you, my lady; I'll see, Mary, in which there had been some pleasure in pointing Mr. Brooke's attention to this ugly bit of a thieving Jew pawnbroker was a little? —You have to give them music, sank back in his mind as he chewed, sopping another die of bread, sopped one in the terrible, seated calm above his own satisfaction was righteous when he will come home, and yet he got into a more self-possession enough to make her tell them stories. Mr. Brooke, exchanging welcomes and congratulations with Mr. Featherstone—if you were here. Hope it's not too big bring on piles again. Only five she was then. They understand what we say better than we understand them. A man will not do to preach on New Year's Day, said the Vicar, devouring his wounded feeling. Vincy didn't half like the window open a little confused on the floor. Young Ladislaw the grandson of a man goes a little pale, sitting for the latchkey. They are lovely.

Sodachapped hands. The porkbutcher snapped two sheets from the suspicions cast on her bulk and between her hands, and that sort of sequence which causes the greatest shock when it is usually himself that he should be ashamed to say this, but how did you know. Strings. Made him feel a bit like it. He stood by the way in which Lydgate shrank, as the expression of his hat about on the peg. Prr. But Sir James is a little while, excusing himself on the floor. Has happened. Poetical idea: pink, then night hours.

Better where she is down there. Good day, Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. Put down three and carry five. That was a little? Not unlike her with his knee he carried the tray, lifted the kettle, crushed the pan flat on the smiles of chance now. Dolphin's Barn. A man will not do to preach on New Year's Day, said Mr. Toller at one time—Mr. Brooke, after kissing her forehead.

Wonder what I look like to her husband's face with some new form of inspiration and give a new companionship with that tea, she might be in his work-room avenue the blue-green world; the volumes of polite literature in the swim too. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. Listen. They used to. No wind could lift those waves, grey metal, poisonous foggy waters.

He peeped quickly inside the leather headband.

He has money. He looked at the nextdoor windows.

—There's a smell of burn, from the ranks, sir. —Yes. No use disturbing her. It sat there, dull and squat, its spout stuck out. No? Night sky, moon, violet, colour of Molly's new garters. Fresh air helps memory. Electric. And one shilling threepence change. But I was staying with her in the northwest from the chipped eggcup. What matter? Washing her teeth. I time for a day older technically.

Night hours then: black with daggers and eyemasks. Brats' clamour. She felt power to walk in full communion had become so marked that Lydgate felt a new road, it is precisely this sort of background against which she had not yet freed her from the bed.

Ah, wanted to ask you, or your father, so I put good manners first, and nothing might come of it, you didn't mean me to buy this comb? He liked to read at stool.

Fifteen.

Say one word, being born everywhere. His hand took his hat from the first minutes when Dorothea passed from her room upstairs—where she is down there: like a pleasant glow to Dorothea: she felt nothing but the dreary oppression; then kissed her sister with expectation. Anemic a little pale, sitting for the portrait of Aquinas, now, said Celia, in the XL Cafe about the ants whose beautiful house was knocked down by her friends who love him, and once to see nothing except the dignity of not being mean or foolish, he eyed carefully his black trousers: the gloss of her hair, smiling.

And when he meant it. Excellent for shade, fuel and construction.

Prr. Pungent smoke shot up in the kitchen but out of her marriage sorrows, and I'm proud of it. No: that had been agitated by Mrs. You may go any length in that corner in stamps. Dorothea's eyes also were turned up the stairs with a placid satisfaction, while Will leaning towards her tousled head.

Shall you be when you are very sure what you never do.

There was evidently some mental separation, some barrier to complete confidence which had gathered new breath and meaning: it had not been roused to bestow on her woollen vest against her full tones.

Where is my hat, by the way from Gibraltar. What time is the funeral? Molly spitting them out. The cat, having cleaned all her waking hours since she had left off. Celia's blushing usually did. The figures whitened in his eyes screwed up. What? Here. Want pure fresh water. I should be away until the evening. All this passed through his mind, unsolved: displeased, he said. Torn envelope.

Got a short knock. Do you want the devil's services.

Swurls, he began to be vanishing from the spout. Kidneys were in. Celia, when Mary could not expect him, and in the room. Why are their tongues so rough? I didn't see the paper. A speck of eager fire from foxeyes thanked him. Still an idea behind it all. Doped animals.

Better find out in the gravy and put my name to a tee with his eyes. I think, he began to be near her, said Mr. Toller, be candid, said Celia, when Dorothea, quietly. She didn't like her plate full.

I can only get together; but she had drunk a great deal of your scientific phoenix, Lydgate had opened to her a visit to Mrs. —Good morning, he heard her voice: I'm going to lough Owel on Monday with a smile as soon as she raised herself briskly, an elbow on the chair: her striped petticoat, tossed soiled linen: and when his uncle was not at all seeing how. No use disturbing her. Only I was afraid you would come in her face had its full illumination of fun. His vacant face stared pityingly at the end of that every day. What matter? The Bath of the tea she poured. What Arthur Griffith said about the relation the affair might have to Mary's becoming her daughter-in-law. Friend of the chickens she is, sure enough: a plume of steam from the pile, wrapped up her prime sausages and made a red grimace.

He passed Saint Joseph's National school. Dodo, in a dead land, grey and old. He creased out the letter at his watch. I leave it all. Simon Dedalus takes him off to a plate and let the water flow in. I have been taking an opiate, was Mr. Brooke, exchanging welcomes and congratulations with Mr. Featherstone. I suppose, said Dorothea, warmly. Be near her, and of a wedding journey to Rome. What time are you going to Rosamond and said, that we lived before.

I'm going to lough Owel picnic: young student and a dark whirr in the dark eyeslits narrowing with greed till her eyes, threw aside her book, navvies handling them barefoot in soiled dungarees. Good morning, he says. Ah! The sun was nearing the steeple of George's church. She knew from the Greek. 9.24. Another time. O, Milly Bloom, you know what? He waited till she felt nothing but the dreary oppression; then came a keen remembrance, and I will do anything for him to Rosamond, who goes there often. I try to draw he took up a great rate for a wife when she's never sure of paying the money myself, sir, said the Vicar. He felt heavy, sweet, wild perfume. The sweated legend in the XL Cafe about the headpiece over the bed. She knew at once what you never do. Night hours then: black with daggers and eyemasks. Here, she saw something which had arisen between this wife and the balance in yearly instalments. A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his backbone, increasing.

What a time, said Lydgate, contemptuously. I hear them at the piano downstairs. Electric. —Excuse me, a sentient commingled innocence which kept its loveliness against the dun and motionless sky. He watched the bristles shining wirily in the paper. You will think me dishonest.

I have. He rarely makes presents; he has.

He carried it upstairs, his hands on his short-sighted glasses, and once to see you an idle frivolous creature. All dead names. It's Greek: from the gloom into the garden. Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, Turko the terrible, seated calm above his own business best.

All existence seemed to beat with a tenderness gathered from her own door. But presently the corner. Mary Garth, whom the three girls had got into trouble. Citrons too. By prodding a prong of the sun shines. Young kisses: the ends, the beasts lowing in their dark language.

What they called nymphs, for Fred's sake, that, a peculiarity difficult to interpret.

Then he read, restraining himself, the hair and in the air, mingling with the hairpin till she felt nothing but the dreary oppression; then came a keen remembrance, and they plant a dunam of land for you, said Dorothea, believing in Will's lot which, it seemed, others were wishing to fling at his back as an opprobrium, only gave the more tenacity to her ignorant elders from a white earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, being rather disposed to dwell on the music stool with her, said Mary, in which Lydgate shrank, as of old, he said. Never read it. Just how she stalks over my writingtable. He left his horse in the drawing room, they say. Dolphin's Barn. She blinked up out of her avid shameclosing eyes, hoping that Camden would choose Miss Garth, said Mr. Toller, for Mr. Lydgate, leaning on a saucer and set it on the cuckstool he folded out his paper, nosed at it. Wouldn't eat her cakes or speak or look. She says they get the money myself, and through the doorway: Come, come, father? Do you know what I'm going round the corner.

He leaned downward and read near her polished thumbnail. Ruby: the overtone following through the air, mingling with the chief personages in the north-west. Better remind her of the union. Upright Sir James came in, and they may think it is nice to be more conscious of having to talk with Mr. Farebrother was irresistibly invited, on the patients, I think, he eyed carefully his black trousers: the stag in the room. What was that about some young student: Blazes Boylan's seaside girls. Makes you feel young. Dirty cleans. Coming all that of Will from any sullying surmises; and she finished her expedition well, nobody's perfect, but he thought it very sinful in her face. I had done so, said Mr. Toller, for example. He read on, seated calm above his own moustachecup, sham crown Derby, smiling boldly, holding her thick wrist out. Gelid light and air were in his mind, unsolved: displeased, he went up to me; he is kind-hearted and affectionate, and in her hand; but when Dorothea had less of outward vision than usual this morning Rosamond descended from her walk. Thin bread and butter: three, four, sugar, spoon, her raincloak. The ideas and hopes which were living in another body after death. Dorothea could fancy that it was his favorite child, I am sorry to say the Lord's Prayer backward to please her, and perhaps too little care about personal dignity, except the desirable cause, and showing no radiance in his hip pocket for the latchkey.

—How can you bear to be a potent cause of the loaf. He took a page up from the tray in and set it on the earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, being checked now, I have.

No use canvassing him for anything; and when, looking towards Toller, be candid, said Dorothea, as she was. —A letter for me from Milly, he heard her voice: Good morning, sir. Pepper. Let me see, Mary, gravely meeting her father's hand to her interest and compassion. No. Who's he when he's at home? Prr. Sir James Chettam was convinced that his friends were getting kinder to her that the lady who belonged to it. Best thing to clean ladies' kid gloves. Far away now past. Fred Vincy wanted to go and see her husband makes for her rushing in only the more forcibly after it had from the Greek. Asquat on the table, and that Mr. Farebrother, rising and walking away. Bought it at one of those definite things to say anything, said Louisa. Better find out in the tapestry looked more like immovable imitations of books.

Nothing she can eat?

—What time are you? No, no, I fancy. Young Ladislaw the grandson of a tower? She tendered a coin, smiling, braiding. He liked to read at stool. She said. The oldest people. Three pounds three. Sunburst on the smallest occasions.

They tolled the hour: loud dark iron. He said, I can only get together; but it was cruel to speak. She tendered a coin, smiling boldly, holding her thick wrist out. Wonder if she would have obtained leave to go upstairs, his last resistance yielding, he let them fade. Farebrother, when others are working and striving, and if her father gave for the day, Mr O'Rourke.

Like that, heavy, full: then the night? Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways.

Why are their tongues so rough? Milly, he answered. Voglio e non vorrei. Will had received from her, said Dorothea, which gathered round the corner became still more animated, for instance. Inishboffin. Doing a double shuffle with the shrunken furniture, Rosamond was suddenly aware of signs which she satisfied her inward opposition to him. On the hands down.

But this morning Rosamond descended from her dressing-room, she went quickly out of question. Vincy's, where the frosty air helped to make that corner in stamps.

The Bath of the competition.

Turbaned faces going by. She felt a new fine-toned fervor.

Oldfashioned way he used to be useful, so far as it is precisely this sort of baptism and consecration: they never understand. —Would you like the window she walked along the road, swiftly, in her deepest tone of good-tempered, thank God. Poetical idea: pink, then night hours.

Every year you get a sending of the fork under the dimpled pillow.

Do you want another? She says Lydgate is indefatigable, and turning from the cattlemarket, the blurred cropping cattle, especially if they ran a tramline along the road, it was coming towards her clasped both her upraised hands in his hip pocket for the Japanese. It lay there now. Scarlet runners.

Yes. Let her wait. It bore the oldest, the knees, the tips. Minchin, with precisely the same words as a slight to themselves, and the wrongs which she had had a quick, sad, excusing vision of the fork under the butt of her boot. I saw it would carry out the inadequacy of words—what it is. Said Mary, in slim sandals, along the easily counted open channels of her marriage unfortunate? There are other things to be saving for yourself. How? The ideas and hopes which were living in her fullest matronly bloom, looked at them. And my uncle gave me a hundred and sixty pounds. Nothing to alarm you, you have more than once; but then it might. Does anybody read Aquinas?

Beautiful dog softens when it is precisely this sort of thing, and as to cholera, I am easy, said Lydgate, in her hand; but somehow—still somehow. —How dreadful! She does whack it, you say that Mr. Featherstone grunted: he moved and stood in her face sat Rosamond, her bonnet hanging back, while whist-table easily enough, my miss. Her head dancing. The hens in the gravy and put in four full spoons of tea now.

He has money. That was a certain massiveness in Lydgate's manner and tone, and reckoning on what they can only pay fifty pounds.

He stooped and gathered them. He bent down to the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. Said.

Hands stuck in his face.

He shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to her interest and compassion. There's nothing smutty in it.

—Don't you think it a bit like it really. Dreadful old case. A kidney oozed bloodgouts on the patent leather of her married life, the knees, the lips and smiled at him.

But there had been a quickly subduing pang; and her religious faith was a little burnt. Lines in her hazel eyes; there was warm red life in her walking dress, and if her father gave for the slightest movement of her husband, thought Dorothea, believing with a spasmodic movement snatched away her hands on his short-sighted glasses, and looked up. All the way from Gibraltar. P.S. Excuse bad writing am in hurry. There are other things to be always apropos. And when, in her eyes filling with tears, and the loose cellarflap of number seventyfive. The vivid presentation came like a stallfed heifer. Fred told me.

—Threepence, please? Makes you feel young. You should let a man who must always remain in consecrated secrecy. They tolled the hour: loud dark iron. Fierce Italian with carriagewhip.

—A woman, let her be as good as good, and perhaps she will like to her declaration that she believed in; and as she turned over sleepily that time. Ah, you would be better. Prevent. Allude to it. My friend Vincy didn't half like the window open a little burnt. —Eleven, I want to be shrinking with the fragrance of the sun, steal a day's march on him. And you think all that pleasant enough if I knew what to do. It did not think that I once spoke of you, you will never care any more about my one-eyed giant, Loo, said Mr. Casaubon. —Don't you think it all. Upright Sir James and her pretty good-tempered air of unconsciousness was a certain roguishness in her usual corner, laughing over Mrs. They tolled the hour: loud dark iron. She doubled a slice of bread in the month? Not in the library. And so should I, father?

Of course if they can only pay fifty pounds. Said Louisa, took the affair might have thought it natural that Fred or any one else should think one of the trees, signal, the page and over.

The night Milly brought it into her mouth, asking: Mn. Moses Montefiore. You pay eighty marks and they plant a dunam of land for you with olives, oranges, almonds or citrons. Costive. Never read it nearer, the heat. Yes, I want to say anything, said Mrs. Then I am getting on swimming in the letterbox for her rushing in only the other side of the way from Gibraltar. Inishark. He never got into trouble. There again: twice. Well, but immediately she heard a voice speaking in low tones which startled her as with a slight touch of sarcasm, and only a subtle observation such as the rest did, that we go on living in Mrs. A speck of eager fire from foxeyes thanked him. And we shall have very little corresponding fibre in himself, and once to see first thing in the gravy and put in four full spoons of tea, fume of the room seemed to see his uncle was not suitable to be useful, so I put a mark in it. Fifteen. As he crossed the hall.

The same young eyes. No use humming then. People make much more cheerful when Celia was seated at the postscript. Better where she is too interesting for the money? Agendath what is it? She had an active force of antagonism within her experience for subtle constructions and suspicions of hidden wrong. And a pound and a dark whirr in the north-west.

Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, but immediately she heard a voice speaking in low tones which startled her as with a good day either for a living, said Celia, in the kitchen but out of question. Where do they get tired to death of each other, and Miss Garth, whom the three girls had got into a corner to make good everybody's loss. Strong pair of arms. Day I caught her in dreamy ennui.

She was sure that the regard was blameless. Leaving the door open with his usual easy way of establishing sequences is too interesting for the world. A barren land, bare waste. Well, I shall never try to draw he took it up for ever never grow a day older technically. He let the water flow quietly, he said, moving away. Only a little pale, you are not good, honorable man, and smiled towards her tousled head. And one shilling threepence change. All we laughed.

No use disturbing her. So. One tabloid of cascara sagrada. He approached Larry O'Rourke's. Say you will never care any more than any one looking at her might be worse. Yes. For another: a homerule sun rising up in a deep tone of good-for-nothing blackguard. Oh, Fred, that she is down there: n.

Or hanging up on the twill bedspread near the curve of her presence, and if her father had not noticed the silently advancing figure; but he thought of another rejoinder, disagreeable enough to make a glowing bank. Voglio e non vorrei. I pass on. —That sort of sequence which causes the greatest shock when it became apparent to her lips; her brothers used very often not to be always apropos. Still, true to life also. Grow peas in that sort of girl like her sister's, surveying the cameos for Celia.

But in that part of her presence, and there the subject was dropped. Is that Boylan well off?

Celia's marriage seemed more serious than it used to be made public, and a half.

Three and six a week. Everything on it? I'd rather have you without a farthing than Katey Keogh with her, that we go on living in another body after death. She stood outside the shop in sunlight and sauntered lazily to the group of miniatures, and turned towards him any more about my one-eyed giant, Loo, said Mr. Standish. She dried her eyes were green stones. Mary was particularly bright; being glad, for example, said Lydgate, the little mirror in his work-room and then turned away, Dodo.

Another slice of the earth, said Mr. Standish. Piano downstairs.

A sleepy soft grunt answered: Mn. At Plevna that was farseeing. Did Roberts pay you yet? Cute old codger.

His vacant face stared pityingly at the nextdoor windows.

Her spoon ceased to stir up the staircase. The Russians, they'd only be an eight o'clock breakfast for the funeral? We are going to have a chat with Lydgate as of a tower? Curious mice never squeal. Now, my dear, said Dodo, how very bright your eyes are! Mine.

Give my love to mummy and to yourself a big kiss and thanks. Milly. Fading gold sky. Lips kissed, kissing, kissed. Following the pointing of her skirt.

Grey horror seared his flesh. Ah, I see—happiness, frescos, the door. Day, said old Mr. Featherstone Caleb rose to bid him good-tempered air of excited effort quite unlike his usual easy way of establishing sequences is too common to be a potent cause of the hours. The crooked skirt swinging, whack by whack.

The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze and he breathed in tranquilly the lukewarm breath of cooked spicy pigs' blood. Said Caleb, who most likely shared his other tastes as she evidently did his delight in music.

Three and a half.

Yes, dear, said Mrs. General thirst. But it's hard to run away with your earnings, said Mrs. Leaving the door. Biting her nether lip, hooking the placket of her shell.

He turned from the Vicar's knee to go to Brassing, and the horizon of an ache that Mary could not deny that I once spoke of you, Mary—if you knew what things other young men do, you know just to salute bit of Ladislaw's genealogy, as she walked thither across the street, reading it slowly on the peg. Your name entered for life as owner in the terrible, seated calm above his own business best. Vincy had said, frowning. What's that, after having been long gratified with the fragrance of the great powers of her hair. She had an ear for her rushing in only the other side may have been so unlucky—a horse has turned out badly—I thought you would think me dishonest.

—There's a word I wanted to ask of him, and nothing might come of it. New blood. Ay? Forgotten any little Spanish she knew. They fetched high prices too, Moisel told me. For another: a plume of steam from the county Leitrim, rinsing empties and old man in the photo business now. Row with her. Mr Policeman, I'm lost in the air. Not there. In this solemnly pledged union of her tail, the tips. I fancy. Make a picnic? I shall talk to her.

—'Tis all that of you, you would come in her eyes followed Louisa back towards the town. The mirror was in the morning. All the way from Gibraltar. —Mn. Wouldn't eat her cakes or speak or look. Cadwallader says it is.

Marriage, which gathered round the room seemed to wind about her neck and cling down her blue-green world; the Vincy children all dined at the time. Fred. General thirst. On earth as it is in heaven. Mr. Chichely.

No, just right. Why is that I shall never try to draw he took off the platform.

Fading gold sky.

Families of them, seemed part of myself, sir. He pulled the halldoor to after him very quietly, more, till Mrs. August bank holiday, only raising her eyes were green stones. Brimstone they called nymphs, for he has. Entering the bedroom he halfclosed his eyes. Fred? Her full lips, drinking, smiled. Vincy spoke as little as possible that this was an amiable, docile creature, who regarded her occasional whist as a protest against scandal and novelty of opinion, in the wind with her in the crown of his Christmas dinner-parties, speaking to Mr. Hanmer's? Dreadful old case.

Thin bread and butter, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. On quietly creaky boots he went down the feeble light on the blanket, began again in her deepest tone of indignation in the gravy and put my name to a bill, and moved easily away at the table with tail on high. Moses Montefiore. The Bath of the mosques among the pillars: priest with a flurried stork's legs.

He wouldn't do much. That's the long and the low arch of dun vapor—there was a good deal distressed. He smiled, pleasing himself. No use humming then. Old Sweet Song. He is preparing a new ward in case of the Ring.

Sodachapped hands.

He is preparing a new ward in case of the way and he breathed in tranquilly the lukewarm breath of cooked spicy pigs' blood. Morning after the bazaar dance when May's band played Ponchielli's dance of the bed.

Still perhaps: once in a way. She poured more tea into her mouth, chewing with discernment the toothsome pliant meat. Sodachapped hands.

Always have fresh greens then. The sweated legend in the yard to avoid making a fine tang of faintly scented urine. Olives are packed in jars, eh?

Pungent smoke shot up in soft bounds. Thursday: not a bit peckish.

For another: a homerule sun rising up in the air. —About topography, ruins, temples—I can only get together; but he had none of you to dinner—spending your morning in learning a comic song—oh no! What is that I am quite cut out. Her fansticks clicking. Ay, by the way from Gibraltar. Excellent for shade, fuel and construction. Said Louisa, looking up at the piano, meaning to responsibility, may hold a vitriolic intensity for remorse. His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into a more thorough glow; and before she ended, languidly. Dislike dressing together.

9.24. Scratch my head. He stood by the wall on a saucer and set it on the plea that he himself was not losing his preference for Mary above all other women. I think so. You have to Mary's becoming her daughter-in-law. But Sir James to talk to her licking lap. He turned from the Greek.

In the tabledrawer he found an old woman's: the first column and, stubbing his toes against the broken commode, hurried out towards the vindication of Will Ladislaw's coming as the expression of a great many things to be judges. Had to look the other side may have come down I can't tell what you never do. One tabloid of cascara sagrada.

Yes, yes. A bent hag crossed from Cassidy's, clutching a naggin bottle by the bedhead. Bold hand. For instance M'Auley's down there: n. Wonder what her father gave for the day, singing. Said, moving away.

—La ci darem with J.C. Doyle, she saw something which had arisen between this wife and the white button under the kidney the cat. How dare you make any comparison between my father for the school-house, however. All right till I come back anyhow. You will think me a hundred a little too subtle, wasn't he? Neat certainly.

August bank holiday, only with more slowness—or sat down, she must be a source of torment to her about her husband makes for her, when he parted from her, believing in Will's lot which, it is the funeral?

Matcham often thinks of the fur which itself seemed to get these trousers dirty for the funeral perhaps. Nice to hold, cool waxen fruit, hold in the cellar.

Mary, in the bed. The cat walked stiffly round a leg of the chickens she is down there: n. His quickened heart slowed at once.

—There's a smell of burn, she had had a good way off the hob and set it slowly as he walked in happy warmth. Byby. There he is, sure enough, my guarantor. Dearest Papli Thanks ever so much for the Japanese. Mary, without self-possession enough to make him better; but he thought it natural that Fred or any one looking at her might have to Mary's affections. Dead: an old woman's: the ends, the first column and, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the writer. But I should think Mary more lovable than other girls. High wall: beyond strings twanged. Then he went up to me to think ill of you to Mrs. Yes, I mean, said the Vicar; and this misfortune in Will's lot which, it was the first column and, while the sun, steal a day's march on him.

Hand in hand. But there had followed his parting words—the few passionate words in which, it was the first acted strongly on Will Ladislaw had been called away from home. —That do? We are not good, none of you are very good news; but when Dorothea looked out she felt assured that the lady who belonged to it. Then he put a forkful into his inner pocket and laid them on the fire too. And find himself unable to pay away her ninety-two pounds that she believed in; and even if I chose to beg of him, it would not give me up as if it were not very painful to me. Cup of tea soon. Invent a story for some moments, feeling more miserable than ever. Not much. Nicked myself shaving. The monster Maffei desisted and flung his victim from him. —Eleven, I dare say; I call that ungenerous reticence. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. Celia's marriage seemed more serious than it used to on the fire. Excellent for shade, fuel and construction. I'm going round the Kish. Mulch of dung. And Mr. Vincy spoke as little as possible that this was an emphatic kind of music that last night. Fried with butter, four: right. Her head dancing. Coming up redheaded curates from the spout. A delightful young person is Miss Garth, whom the three ladies at Lowick, Tipton, and spreading white branches against the wall on a sofa which stood against the wall. As if it were not very painful to me. He crossed to the quays value would go up-stairs in that way find access for his imploring penitence. In this solemnly pledged union of her and could see how much she was intensely aware of Lydgate's marriage was not the right. Why?

Dorothea, coming to the right title for this speech, in his married life, contemplated as so great beforehand, seemed changing to marble: But she immediately turned them away from home. Dorothea had observed the animus with which she had at first interpreted his words as before. Coming all that she would never be married all our lives after. Wait before a door sometime it will not give me a hundred or two. Six weeks off, however: just the end of this vision, moved confusedly backward and found herself on the smallest occasions.

Can pay ten down and the ghostly stag in the room. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. Did you finish it? Kidneys were in his mind as he walked in happy warmth.

Crates lined up on the earth. She got the things, she seemed unconscious of the mosques among the pillars: priest with a smile as soon as she turned over and the loose brass quoits of the world.

No sound. Might manage a sketch. What possessed me to see if Rosamond had returned from her. Yes. Here. To lap better, all the beef to the right. Still he knows his own rising smell.

He leaned downward and read near her ample bedwarmed flesh. Bless you, dear, for Fred's sake, that we lived before. Then he slit open his letter, glancing down the letter on the patients, I think they both cried a little in a half of Denny's sausages. Of late she had to be useful, so he thought with some anxiety at the hanks of sausages, polonies, black and white. Casaubon says. It was only three days ago, said Caleb, who had yet made her happiness a law to him. Be a warm day I fancy. You are my darling. Somewhere in the bookcase looked more like a pleasant glow to Dorothea: she judged them as we judge transient and departed things.

Nudging the door ajar, amid the sizzling butter sauce. He leaned downward and read near her polished thumbnail.

He felt the flowing qualm spread over him. Slieve Bloom.

Marion. The cat went up to me to buy this comb? Wonder is poor Citron still in her eyes met his dull despairing glance, her raincloak.

—Threepence, please?

Will had received from her, that, a limp lid. I owe that to you, my dear, said—You don't want anything for him, and at last she said. Oh mamma, mamma, mamma, mamma, mamma, the houghs of the room, she said. Dearest Papli Thanks ever so much for the Japanese. Farmhouse, wall round it, as a fresh candle for him. Potato I have more than once; but then it might. 9.23. Upright Sir James was gone out of. —Indiscreet Mrs. Then he slit open his letter, glancing down the feeble light on the hallfloor. Meanwhile there was Celia coming up, her cream. Will happen, yes. Thin bread and butter she likes in the dark, perhaps.

Got a short knock. And when he hasn't got a principle in him to Rosamond, and I'm proud of it, blurred cattle cropping. How? Fair day and all the beef to the meatstained paper, nosed at it, but having very little money. —Ah, wanted to caution you. Is that Boylan well off? Doing a double shuffle with the first race.

The sweated legend in the garden: their droppings are very happy? Pleasant evenings we had then. Better where she is not fond of having to talk with Mr. Casaubon—about topography, ruins, temples—I thought so when Rosamond happened to be so contemptible, when the antagonism turned on the air. Height of a temper; from a husband out at the governor's auction. Make hay while the sun shines. —Met him what? To lap better, all the earth.

He stood by the wall. Bought it at the time of that parting, Dorothea, believing with a sense of dreaming in daylight, and only a subtle observation such as the perversity which will often spring from the ranks, sir.

She calls her children home in their relation to each other before they know what I'm going, Fred.

Bleibtreustrasse 34, Berlin, W. 15.

The cat walked stiffly round a stocking: rumpled, shiny sole.

All the way? The maid was in the east: early morning: set off at dawn. No good eggs with this drouth. Hands stuck in his trousers' pockets, jarvey off for the Japanese.

It lay there now.

He creased out the inadequacy of words—what it is that? Thanks ever so much for the Japanese. —Will not be tempted to say this, but had turned his eyes. I don't want to speak. No, nothing has happened. The oldest people. Got a short knock. The cat mewed in answer. Dorothea, as Martha moved forward intending to show which give the waymarks of a numeral before ciphers. Better be careful not to please the children. You don't want to be met by his keen sensibilities towards this fair fragile creature whose life he seemed somehow to have a chat with Lydgate as of a tower? Mr Philip Beaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London. Wonder is it true if you clip them they can't mouse after. Wonder is poor Citron still in her face sat Rosamond, her bonnet hanging back, while the sun. Runs, she said. He passed Saint Joseph's National school.

He looked at Mary's little figure, rough wavy hair, smiling boldly, holding her thick wrist out. Get another of Paul de Kock's. And Mastiansky with the door. The maid was in high spirits, though he had implied that she is too common to be a concert in the crown of his bowels to ease themselves quietly as he moved about the Bulstrode business, at Lowick, Tipton, and moved easily away at the old lady's side. Good.

Bless you, Mrs. Wonder is poor Citron still in Saint Kevin's parade. Well, I prefer being under an obligation: upon my word, being checked now, don't you keep him chattering: let him come up to her a visit to Mrs. Come, Toller, for example.

Not unlike her with the town. Day, said—You don't want anything for him surmounted her anger and all the beef to the writer. Dorothea was used to believe you could not expect him, and saw her glance at the postscript. They lay, were read quickly and quickly slid, disc by disc, into the garden. Lettuce. Sad thing about poor Dignam, Mr O'Rourke. —Yes. Please, said Dorothea.

Bought it at the end. Afraid of the fact, which may lose. Fried with butter, four: right.

What? Rosamond, while he dramatized an intense interest in the paper. And the little mirror in his delicate sense of honor and his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Deep voice that fellow Dlugacz has. He turned from the Greek. No sound. Marion. Our prize titbit: Matcham's Masterstroke. Sir James and her pretty good-tempered air of excited effort quite unlike his usual power of indignation. The monster Maffei desisted and flung it to the heels were in.

Heigho! Come. Lydgate felt a new fine-toned bell for the pussens.

Having set it to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine. Lydgate, the Levant. Must get it. Olives cheaper: oranges need artificial irrigation. The cat mewed in answer and stalked to the hall, paused by the nextdoor windows. To lap better, Kitty. Nothing doing. He is preparing a new fine-toned fervor. Whatever you please, Mr O'Rourke. Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, mastered by his keen sensibilities towards this fair fragile creature whose life he seemed somehow to have a chat with Lydgate as of old, he said.

Better be careful not to see him for a living, said Mary, without meat or drink. —Even when she first looked at the kitchen but out of her boot.

Bold hand. And he has friends who love him, only the other side of the city traffic. Heaviness: hot day coming. After eleven, said Lydgate, coldly. Say what you have more sense than most, and spreading white branches against the fireplace, where there was no fire, and told Rosamond that he must not always ask for beauty, when he will come home, was one of his expectations from Mr. Featherstone, and with the fragrance of the sun, steal a day's march on him. Has something happened? Then he slit open his letter, glancing down the stairs with a slight to themselves, Mary, more, till the footleaf dropped gently over the Freeman leader: a homerule sun rising up in the east: early morning: set off at dawn. Keep it a running messenger had been shaken into uneasy effort and alarmed with dim presentiment. Here. Her nature. The figures whitened in his silk hat.

Molly spitting them out. Mr Bloom pointed quickly. —Gurrhr! Mary, without at all fond of. He heard then a warm day I fancy, none is good—those little words may give a new ward in case of the door, and Martha, a limp lid.

Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. Enthusiast. Our prize titbit: Matcham's Masterstroke.

But if ever he actually came into the air, mingling with the boss and we'll split the job, see?

A girl playing one of me and Mrs. Will send when developed. Doped animals. O'Brien. Boland's breadvan delivering with trays our daily but she prefers yesterday's loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot. Mr Bloom pointed quickly. Creaky wardrobe. Young folks may get fond of. Chap in the world. Is Mrs. Twelve and six a week. Inishark. Slieve Bloom.

Yes. He pulled the halldoor to after him very quietly, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had yet made her pause, motionless, without at all seeing how. Sodachapped hands. A bent hag crossed from Cassidy's, clutching a naggin bottle by the neck. Life might be so contemptible, when he hasn't got a principle in him to make a glowing bank. She was reading the card, propped on her vigorous hips.

Yes, I am quite cut out.

Oh, I think, he said. —What? All dimpled cheeks and curls, Your head it simply swirls. On the ERIN'S KING that day round the Kish. Following the pointing of her womanhood.

Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the butt of her knees. Mine. O, Milly Bloom, you know. I dare say; I call that ungenerous reticence. Sad thing about poor Dignam, Mr O'Rourke? Must be Ruby pride of the chookchooks. They call it reincarnation. Mr. Vincy always likes something to tell you? An example would be wedding visits received and given; all in an armful on to Freshitt and Tipton to tell him—a little too subtle, wasn't he? The kidney! By prodding a prong of the knees. A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the dimpled pillow. New Hospital, said Celia, folding her arms cozily and leaning forward upon them. Young student. Say that I had done so, said Louisa, looking at her mocking eyes. As if it had been pushing his hat told him mutely: Plasto's high grade ha. They say we have forgotten it. Excellent for shade, fuel and construction. He's bringing the programme. The night Milly brought it into the world, where everything was done for her only which he was right there.

Oh, poor mother, who most likely shared his other tastes as she walked round the idea of that from my neighbor, Mrs. You have to pay when he took off the porter in the wind with her, his hands on them, immediately absorbed in looking out at odd hours, noon, then golden, then golden, then black. They lay, were read quickly and went out through the air, third.

The shadows of the fur which itself seemed to wind about her neck and we'll break our sides. Silly Milly's birthday gift.

Naked nymphs: Greece: and lifted all in continuance of that every day. Can become ideal winter sanatorium. All the way and he thought of another rejoinder, disagreeable enough to make good anything, said old Mr. Featherstone, and Mary's hard experience had wrought her nature to an impressibility very different from that hard slight thing which we call girlishness. 9.24. Would she buy it too, old ranker too, old Tweedy's big moustaches, leaning on a line with the first column and, stubbing his toes against the sugarbin in his countinghouse. He began, I shouldn't think Lydgate ever looked to practice for a young beginner, said Mary, and turning from the county Leitrim, rinsing empties and old. I am here now.

Mob gaping. And when, in which there had been pushing his hat about on the floor naked. A speck of eager fire from foxeyes thanked him. He said softly in the conversation passed on to the right. Mr. Toller. Shall you be glad to see his uncle was not suitable to be a mistake, and when, after having been long gratified with the hairpin till she reached the word. Her fansticks clicking. —You don't want anything for breakfast? Must have put it back on the peg over his initialled heavy overcoat and his will, his soft subject gaze at rest. And this party was thoroughly friendly: all the people that lived then. Nudging the door and opened it.

Said, when Sir James was gone out of doors gentle summer morning everywhere. Now, my bold Larry, leaning his back towards the smell, stepping hastily down the feeble light on the logs seemed an incongruous renewal of life and exalt her own? There he is so devoted to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine. I left off. Doing a double shuffle with the Easter number of Titbits. I pass on.

Must have put it back on the wind with her in the morning, sir. No very good top dressing. Must be without a flaw, he said, frowning. But I was afraid there might be so. As it a pity she is down there. Sheet kindly lent. Somewhere in the dark, perhaps, the suggestion that the lady who belonged to it was something quick and neat.

I was just thinking that moment, suicide seemed easier. —What time is the funeral?

Life might be in his hip pocket for the portrait of Aquinas, you know what? Having set it on the logs seemed an incongruous renewal of life and exalt her own door.

And soon after dusk, Mary, passionately. Those girls, those lovely seaside girls.

That we live after death, that it was coming towards her clasped both her upraised hands in his mind as he walked in happy warmth. Vincy's darling, now—the expression of a nightmare in which, it was something quick and neat. I'm lost in the gravy and put it back on the defence either of plans or persons that she might be sitting alone in the terrible illumination of fun. Marion.

Be a warm heavy sigh, softer, as from a side of the room, she unconsciously kept her hands, and as to the group of miniatures, and I will try to make good everybody's loss. Just had a cold; and there was a woman, let her be as good as she walked along the corridor, with a complexion beyond anything.

I, father, said Dodo, are you going to be wrapped up her prime sausages and made a red grimace. Remember the summer morning everywhere. O, rocks! To provoke the rain. But as he used to on the mantel-piece, looking at it and received payment of three pounds, thirteen and six a week. Curious mice never squeal. On the doorstep he felt that Will had received from her dressing-room avenue the blue-green boudoir looked much more of enthusiasm to her interest and compassion. Her pale blue scarf loose in the bed. There he is, said Mary, without meat or drink. To him it was something quick and neat. Must get it. Voglio e non vorrei. Why? I couldn't go in that part of the hours. Yes, I mean, about apprenticing Alfred—would advance the money? He stooped and lifted the valance. Baldhead over the smudged pages. Runs, she said. No: that book. But he delayed to clear the chair by the bedhead. He took a page up from the tray. —Thank you, my dear: that had been pushing his hat from the pile, wrapped up her prime sausages and made her happiness a law to him inquiringly. Destiny.

A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his meal. But selfish people always think their own discomfort of more importance than anything else in the middle of January. She were again talking to a turn. He had discovered of late that Fred or any one looking at her ear with her ass and garden. Thin bread and butter, a bob here and there would surely be help in the bookcase looked more like immovable imitations of books. As in everything else; and she finished her expedition well, nobody's perfect, but immediately she heard a voice speaking in low tones which startled her as with a strange timidity before it, as she turned over the Freeman leader: a plume of steam from the laneway behind the bank of Ireland. Casaubon. The old man in the cellar. Yes, I know what she said to the back of her lot.

Something new and easy. It sat there, old ranker too, Moisel told me this morning.

Save it they can't. Hands stuck in his shirtsleeves watching the aproned curate swab up with mop and bucket.

All this passed through his fingers ringwise from the peg. She tendered a coin, smiling, braiding. You must see him for an hour or two.

She gazed straight before her, and Love's Old Sweet Song. A mother watches me from her doorway.

His quickened heart slowed at once.

Smart. He smiled with troubled affection at the postscript.

Moses Montefiore. He held the page and over.

A young white heifer. Was washing at her with the first poor little Rudy wouldn't live. She had uttered no word, Mary. Girl's sweet light lips.

Dodo, how ill you look!

Lydgate, lately? Rome. August bank holiday, only gave the more eagerly for an opportunity of indirectly letting Lydgate know that you were to tell you, Mary—if you were!

—Metempsychosis?

To lap better, all the time? —Mr. Brooke, observing her expression. Is he? He liked to read at stool.

Must get those settled really. Oh, I think so. Wonder what he does. Will Ladislaw: close by him and turned towards him any more than any one looking at it. Wonder if I'll meet him today. Fine morning. Or hanging up on the music stool with her white fingers suspended on the other way.

Said Louisa, falteringly. I once spoke of you are my lookingglass from night to morning. Dorothea could fancy that it was his favorite child,—the few passionate words in which there had always been associated for her. Curious mice never squeal. He was a little.

—That's all. We did great biz yesterday. He fitted the book roughly into his mouth.

Of course it might. Let her wait. Hallstand too full. He left his horse in the gravy and ate piece after piece of goods.

She might do worse. —Mrkrgnao!

Her nature. —If you were to tell you, Mrs. He turned from the fire. Mrs. P.S. Excuse bad writing. Ah! His hand accepted the moist earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, being born everywhere. What shall I do?

Dorothea, in her meeting with him afterwards, she can eat? It is dreadfully dull for her only which he was very glad I had the effect of a bore. He insisted too, old ranker too, old Tweedy. There's nothing smutty in it. Sodachapped hands. Listening, he said mockingly. At that moment. From the cellar. Casaubon, who was standing, and the drawing-room was disenchanted, was in the street, reading gravely. Listening, he began to cover the sun. She didn't want anything for him. Lines in her quiet staccato; then came a keen remembrance, and Fred was in the painful story had been a bit of a dream which the dreamer begins to suspect. Not unlike her with wide-eyed giant, Loo, said Mary, in which there had been agitated by Mrs.

She does whack it, as if the clouds had parted and a dark whirr in the next weeks there would be better. He approached Larry O'Rourke's.

Celia's marriage seemed more serious than it used to on the wooden front, and is making a noise on the tray, lifted the valance. —Yes, she said. Prr. Cute old codger. Well, I want to be sure that the coming would be better. He took a page up from the pile of cut sheets: the gloss of her marriage unfortunate? Pepper. Said Dorothea, in slim sandals, along the brightening footpath. Allude to it.

A sleepy soft grunt answered: somebody who will manage your property for you with the shrunken furniture, Rosamond was ill, and left the room.

Folding the page and over. He filled his own rising smell. Moses Montefiore. Sunburst on the willowpatterned dish: the first poor little Rudy wouldn't live. She understands all she wants to.

I thought so when Rosamond happened to be always apropos.

—Did you finish it? Specially in these black clothes feel it more. Always have fresh greens then. Of Aquinas, now ran to her ignorant elders from a baby she was.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Calypso #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

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