#so there's this folk tale about a guy and a fairy from heaven who were in love but the Jade Emperor said no | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

salt-warrior · 3 years

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Alright folks... it’s time for me to forever shame myself, because I’m publishing a crack fic. I’ve NEVER done that before because I usually just write crack fics for my own enjoyment, but this crack fic was inspired by a post that @impossiblesuitcase wrote. So thank you for that, lovely. Also thank you @cosmicnovaflare for pushing me to write this, I love you always.

This crack fic is a crossover of three of my own fanfictions. So if you have not red Unsinkable, The Echo of Silence, and The Time it Takes to Fall, then literally none of this will make any sense. All three play vital roles in this story. Seriously, you’ll be in the dark so don’t read it unless you’ve read all of them.

Again, this is a crack fic so it’s even more wildly unrealistic than my other writing. And I am also going to pretend I never wrote it because I am ashamed. The original endings are the real endings in my mind. You have been warned.

So without further ado, I present you with 6,249 words of crack fic that I wrote in one sitting yesterday instead of doing my homework. Enjoy.

Tags: @shellyseashell @cindersassasin @gingerale2017 @healing-winston-pratt @winterrhayle @just2bubbly @f-r-o-p @idkchatie (I’m only tagging the people who were really angry with Unsinkable because I think a lot of you have read all three of those stories? If not, then sorry for the tag, I love you guys<333)

Until Forever Ends

Before Kai’s father had passed away, he’d told Kai to pursue what he needed to find peace. He’d probably meant something along the lines of falling in love with another girl or switching up his career. Surely he hadn’t intended for his son to look into the mythical sisters of life and death.

It had been a long day, with him first going to his father's funeral, then to see Cinder's gravesite one last time. He hated leaving her there, but he had hope that when they would meet again, he would speak to her and not a marble headstone.

He'd mailed notes to all his friends that morning. To Scarlet and Wolf, Jacin and Winter, and Cress. He'd detailed an adventure across the world that he would be having. After all, his father had left everything he owned to Kai, and he wanted to make the most of living. Of course it was all a fantastic lie; he was traveling the world, and perhaps it would be an adventure, but it was more of a journey than anything else. And he didn't plan on ever coming home.

Because even if he found what he was looking for, he couldn't return to his friends. They wouldn't understand—they couldn't understand.

So he would travel to the ends of the Earth, and he would find her.

***

Kai sat on a sandy beach, the waves lapping up over his legs, his nostrils filling with the scent of salt. The sky was gray and the air cold, but he could not feel its bitter sting. His clothes were torn ragged and his hair grown long and shaggy. If one were to gaze upon him, they would believe him to be insane. But he did not care. He was on the hunt for the sisters of life and death— and he was close.

It had been months since his father’s funeral; months since he’d left Cinder’s grave back in Arizona. He’d flown across the sea and traveled to lands he hadn’t even known existed. He’d slept under the stars and beneath the blanket of darkness. He’d listened to stories of people who lived their lives over and over in search of love and those who had been played for fools. He’d seen much and learned even more.

He’d heard tales of the two sisters: one life and the other death. They began as whispered fairy tales, told to him by drunkards and fools. But as he investigated further, he discovered that the sisters were real.

They existed throughout all the lands of the world, always under different names. In some lands they were simply Life and Death, while in others they were Angel and Demon or creatures of the Earth. He simply knew them as Light and Darkness. He only hoped to call out to the sister of light and life, not the one of darkness and death.

Throughout all his travels, no one had ever been able to tell him how to call each sister, only that they came to the cries of the brokenhearted who claimed, and fervently meant, that they would do anything to bring their love back to them. It had to be a plea for love that consumed one’s entire soul— but his soul was filled with Cinder, and Cinder alone.

He watched the black sea as it foamed about him. There had been conflicting views as to where one had to be when summoning either of the sisters. Some claimed that the person had to be in the place of their lover’s birth, while others explained that you had to be in the exact place of their final breath. One woman had even claimed that without the body of his dead lover still warm in his arms, he could not bring her back. Kai had shivered at that proclamation, with Cinder dead and in the ground for well over a year.

But there had been one account that had remained etched in his mind. A scholar somewhere in Europe, who had quoted the lines of Edgar Allen Poe’s last poem to Kai.

“And neither the angels of Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.”

“The sea would be the best place to call one of the sisters to you,” the scholar had said. “For that is their home. With the Angel above and the Demon below, they will hear your cries.”

So Kai went to the sea.

Slowly the gray sky melded into black, allowing for the stars to dot the emptiness and the moon to shine across the waves with hints of white light. He knew he should have been cold, and perhaps he was, but there was nothing left in him but the aching wish to be with Cinder once more.

“Cinder,” he whispered her name through chapped lips. “My love. I would do anything–” his voice broke off with a sob, tears falling like the spray of the ocean. “Anything,” he reiterated. “To be with you again.”

The waves of the sea began to swirl about him, pulling him off the beach and out into the waves. He screamed as his head dipped below the water, but a bubble of air had formed around him, preventing any wetness from glancing across his skin.

Everything seemed to grow lighter, despite the darkness he had remembered seeing. The waves danced about him in hues of deep purple and foam green. Fish swam around him in a flurry, and even the stars in the sky appeared to stand in closer proximity to himself.

Then everything slowed, and Kai found himself thrown back upon the sandy beach shore. He laid upon the ground, staring at the moon in the sky, which seemed within arms reach. He lifted a hand as if to touch it.

A hand reached out to brush against his fingers, and Kai pulled back. Silhouetted against the moon was the most glorious woman that Kai had ever beheld. There was no beauty comparable to her own. Her skin was dark and lined with gold tracings that resembled the very waves of the sea. She wore a dress of crimson that covered her figure elegantly, and jewelry of gold lined her ears and neck.

“Oh my stars,” she gasped, jumping back from him as she gazed upon his face. “It’s you.”

Kai was too shocked to speak. He dropped his hand back upon his chest as he looked up at her. His eyes mapped the kindness in her face and the confusion in her eyes as she gawked at him. All that he could register was that he was in the presence of an otherworldly being.

At long last her words caught up to his thoughts and puzzlement of his own registered in his mind. “Do we know one another?”

The woman’s face softened, and she shook her head slowly. “No, I suppose we do not. Or at the very least, not in this lifetime; not in this world. I am Light, the sister of life and all things which make life beautiful. For what reason do you weep so?”

Kai’s heart skipped a beat at her words. He pushed himself up so he rested upon his knees before her, looking up at her glorious face. She glowed, as if she were the moon itself, rather than just having it shine behind her.

“My wife,” Kai explained, “Cinder, died. She is gone from this life, and I wish to be with her again. I… I just wish to be with her again.”

“You are a fool to call down a deity on purpose. You could have just as easily received my sister,” Light exclaimed, though there was a certain sorrow hidden behind her gaze. “But you have been shadowed with luck upon this day. I can sense your pain, and the both of us know that you could call upon me only if your very soul screamed for your love and your love alone.

“I do not often grant requests of such a sort, unlike my sister, who joys in tricking lovers to be her slaves for all eternity. I find that traveling into the next world is the best option— that waiting for Darkness to collect you and transfer your soul fresh and new into another world is the best way to go.” She stopped speaking, then fell to her knees so she and Kai were at eye-level with one another. “But I have met your soul in another world— one where it knew only pain. I have met many creatures of the Earth through my eons of serving them. I aid those in all the universes known alongside my sister. But in all that time I have never stumbled upon the same man twice.

“And it is for that reason that I shall grant you your request,” Light said, touching her fingers against Kai’s cheek. She winced as she wiped the tears from his face.

Kai couldn’t breath, unable to process the words she was speaking to him. He would be with Cinder once more— she would be returned to him. All would be right in the world once more.

“However, I cannot reunite you with the girl you knew in this world,” Light explained with a sigh. “With your love gone for over a year, that piece of her soul has already passed into a new universe— it has been wiped of all her joy and all her sorrows. That piece of Cinder now abides somewhere else.”

Within an instant, Kai felt his world crumble into a thousand pieces. He hated himself for believing that it had been possible— that he could be with Cinder once more. But he was too late; he had waited too long. Now he would have to live the rest of this wretched life without her and hope to meet her in another universe.

“Do not fret, dear child,” Light chided, smoothing the hair back from his face in a motherly fashion. “For there is hope yet.”

“There is?” Kai asked.

“Yes; for while that fraction of Cinder that you know has vanished into another world, her soul still resides in other universes. You see, the soul lives thousands of lives, all in different realities. For it is not one solid being, it is an entity that never ceases to exist, and can exist in more than one place at once. The only problem being that the more time it spends in one universe, the more corrupt and destroyed it becomes. If your soul could recall other realities, you would understand of what I speak, for this was the exact circumstance under which we last met.”

Kai nodded along, pretending that he had even the faintest idea of what she was speaking of. She let out a great exasperated sigh, shaking her head. Light dropped her hand from his face and got to her feet.

“Your mortal mind cannot begin to comprehend the meaning of eternity. For while you shall live forever, you will not know it. There is a block upon your soul to cause you to forget; that is why it pains man so much to try and imagine living for forever.

“But that does not matter now. For when you are dead, your soul shall endure cleansing once more and be whisked off into another life in which you shall live and love and die again. Exhausting, isn’t it?”

Kai stared blankly, completely at a loss for words.

Light looked down upon him, stars shining in her eyes. “Dear child, there is another world in which your dearest love lived with you, but you were taken from her. Her soul aches for you in the way that yours aches for hers. I have never before transferred a soul to a different reality without death occurring first, but I have also never stumbled upon the same soul twice. Yours is a soul filled with more love and loss than any other I have come to know. So upon this night I shall reunite you with your love.”

The ocean began to swirl about them once more, pulling Kai into its great depths, but this time he did not scream. Light began to rise into the air, her arms spread wide as if to cup the moon above her hair. The wind howled, twisting the coils of her black hair about her face and the crimson swathes of fabric about her body. She was a glorious arrayment of red and gold and shining light.

Above the wind, Light shouted in a tongue lost to mortals, for it was the language of the first of mankind, and it had been forgotten. The sea continued to spin around Kai, fish of every color swimming about him. He was in the eye of an oceanic tornado.

Still Light rose higher into the air, pulling her crashing waves about her as she ascended toward the moon. All that Kai could see were the many sea creatures and the luminous goddess above him, growing brighter every moment.

A high-pitched scream filled his ears, though it was not a human one. It blocked out the sound of the waves and the echoing chants of Light above him. It filled his very being as the blinding light penetrated his soul.

And just as he wondered if this would be the destruction of his very soul, everything went black.

***

Kai awoke to the roar of the ocean, and felt an instant rush of cold tear through his body. His mind flashed with the memories of calling Light to him and begging her to send him to a life in which Cinder lived. He could recall the overwhelming light that had surrounded him, and the screaming that blocked out all other thoughts as the goddess rose above him in a tornado of the sea.

He pushed himself up and stared out at the waves. It was bright— the middle of the day by his reckoning— and warm. People stood in the ocean waves wearing an odd assortment of clothes rather than bathing suits. Or at least, they weren’t the kind of bathing suits that Kai knew.

A few people stared at him with quizzical looks, though Kai couldn’t deny that he probably deserved them. He wasn’t sure how long he had been laying upon the beach, though he was almost certain it had been some time.

“Are you alright, mister?” A kid asked, looking down at Kai. His cheeks were pink from sunburn, though it wasn’t particularly hot out.

“Yeah,” Kai said, getting to his feet and dusting off his jeans. The boy watched him warily. “Hey kid, what day is it?”

“December second,” the boy replied.

“And,” Kai scratched behind his ear. "What’s the year?”

The boy gawked at him for a moment, as if he thought Kai were either very dumb or very strange. “1912,” he said the year slowly, his slightly syrupy accent not helping. “What year did you reckon it to be?”

“I don’t know.” Kai glanced around, trying to gauge the situation. He didn’t know much about 1912. Actually, he knew nothing about it other than it was a couple years before World War I broke out. “Hey kid, where are we?”

The child, who couldn’t have been older than ten gave him an incredulous stare, then glanced over his shoulder, as if to check for his mother. “Savannah, sir,” he said.

“Savannah…”

“Georgia, sir,” the kid said, taking a couple steps back from Kai.

“Okay.” Kai sucked in a breath between his teeth, trying to think of what to do next. He was beginning to panic, for he did not know where to find Cinder in this different time and place. He didn’t even know if her name was Cinder, or even Selene.

“Hey kid?” Kai asked, glancing back down to talk to the boy, but he was running toward a woman glaring daggers at Kai.

Releasing a sigh, Kai walked away from the beach and toward the bustling town. People shot glares at him as he walked down the streets. He wasn’t exactly dressed in the way a normal twenty-first century guy would be, but his jeans and shredded red t-shirt didn’t fit in with the people surrounding him either. But there wasn’t a thing he could do about it; he had no money and no connections. He was alone in a world that did not belong to him. He couldn’t even be certain that Georgia meant the same thing to these people as it did him.

He was beginning to wonder if perhaps this was all some ridiculous dream, and whether or not he would wake up soon. But he’d thought that a lot over the past year, praying to whatever being that saw over mankind that Cinder wasn’t dead— that he wasn’t alone. That he could be with his wife once more.

And then he saw her.

Her hair was longer than she’d ever worn it in his reality, nearly reaching her waist, and she wore a pale pink dress that fell well past her knees. But if those details were strange, it was nothing in comparison to the buggy she was pushing in front of her. Kai felt his stomach drop. Was she married to another man? Had she chosen Thorne in this reality instead of him?

Panic gripped him, but before he could run and hide in an alleyway, she glanced up and right at his face. Her eyes widened with shock, then joy, then fear. It was that last look that made his heart ache. He had known Cinder for seven years, but never had she looked at him in such a way.

She sunk to her knees, hands gripping the front of the stroller. “Kai,” she breathed, staring at him now with absolute horror. A tear traced down her cheek and fell to the concrete like a single drop of rain. The pain on her face ripped through his body— he could not stand to watch her suffer so.

He rushed to her side, kneeling down upon the ground beside her, much like Light had done with him the night before, or whenever it was that he had spoken with the goddess. She shook as he brushed her hair from her face and cupped her cheek with his hand. “Cinder,” he whispered, voice low. “I know that this is confusing and frightening, but I need to talk with you. I have things to explain.”

“But you’re dead,” she sobbed, turning her face away from his and shutting her eyes tight. “You didn’t make it off the ship alive. They told me you drowned. They told me you were dead. You’re dead. You’re just a figment of my imagination. You can’t be real.”

“Cinder,” Kai hushed, glancing around them. There were people walking past them, staring with curious eyes, but none of them looked nervous for Cinder’s sake. “Cinder, I know that I’m dead here. And I know that my explanation for my being here might not make any sense, but I need to speak with you in private. I can explain everything. I will explain everything. I just need for us to go somewhere where we can’t be overheard.”

She opened her eyes and the look of absolute shame in her eyes caused his heart to stop. Tears traced down her cheeks in abundance; Kai had never known Cinder to cry in such a way. He worried that she would say no— that she had moved on. That his coming here was a burden upon her. But slowly, she nodded her head.

***

They went to a park just down the street from the beach. It was run-down, with a sad swing set of splintering seats and an abandoned jungle gym. There were no children around, or even any people for that matter, a fact that Kai found almost strange. Though at his inquisitive look, Cinder simply looked away from him.

She led him to a park table that sat somewhat lopsided but was sturdy all the same. She parked the buggy beside her, drawing the cover up so it shielded whatever was inside.

Kai took a seat across from her, bouncing his legs with nerves as he watched her and she looked away. He didn’t understand why she was acting in such a way. He hadn’t had much time to think of how he expected her to react to him appearing to her out of nowhere, but it definitely hadn’t been this. Confusion, yes. But this show of shame was frightening.

“Cinder,” Kai said, tilting his head in an attempt to get her to look at him. “Cinder, what’s the matter?”

She inhaled deeply, a great shuddering breath. Then finally, she looked at him. Her eyes were red and her cheeks puffy. But despite the remorse coloring her features, she was still his Cinder. She was the girl that he had met at ASU his Junior year in college. She was the girl he had fallen in love with.

“They told me that you died,” she whispered. “I-I–”

“Alright,” Kai cut in, not wanting her to believe that she had insulted his memory in any way. After all, he was dead in this reality. He did not wish for her to believe that anything she had done after his death was wrong. “Sorry, love, I really don’t mean to cause you any harm. I just– I don’t know how to explain what I’m about to tell you.” Somehow his words came out slow and calm, though he felt rather as if he were about to explode. “But I need to tell you something, and I only ask that you listen to the entirety of my story because it might sound somewhat preposterous.”

She nodded her head slowly, tears wiping at her eyes.

Kai told their story, starting from the day he had met her back when she still lived with her step-sister. He explained that he had loved her for five years in silence before finally proclaiming his love for her when she’d explained that she’d never been in love before. He told her how they had gotten married only three months later and lived two years together happily before she’d died in a dreadful car accident.

She listened silently, her tears drying and her eyes hardening and he explained how Thorne had been in love with her and how Kai had gotten into a fight with both him and her father. She never once interrupted him, even as he explained his months of mourning, then his months of searching for a way to conjure one of the sisters of life and death.

It was only when he told her of how Light had appeared to him on the beach and brought him to her world through an oceanic tornado filled with moonlight that she chose to interrupt.

“What?” She hissed, tilting her head at him in that I-don’t-believe-a-single-word-coming-out-of-your-mouth sort of a way. If she had been the Cinder of his universe, he knew that she would have asked him how high he was.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” Kai said, “but you have to believe me. I know that I don’t belong here— that I’m not meant to live in this world. But before you died you told me that you believe in soulmates. That you thought that every person had another half. You told me when we got together that you could feel that it was right— that it was a whisper in your ear that it was me. And I didn’t believe in soulmates then, but I do now. My soul loves your soul. It has loved it in universes that I don’t even know of, but it adored you all the same. My love for you will never die, no matter how many times I die myself. You are the only one that I will ever love. I cannot help it. My soul cannot think to love another so long as it knows you.”

“But this doesn’t make any sense,” Cinder whispered, her guards coming down. “Even if you were from another universe and you loved me there, I assure you that you would not care for me in this one. Not after what I’ve done to you.”

“Did you kill me?” Kai asked, half curious and half terrified.

Cinder let out a slight, hiccupping laugh. Kai did not feel at ease.

“Cinder,” Kai said, growing serious once more. “I don’t know what happened here— what happened to me— but I know that no matter where we are in the space-time continuum, my soul will always love yours. But if you wish me to leave you, I will.” His mouth went dry with the words, but he meant them. No matter how much it hurt to be parted from her, he would do what she asked of him.

“I’m married,” Cinder blurted out. “After you died, I married Carswell. We were engaged to be married before I eloped with you in London, but when I came back and you were dead, Kingsley thought that it would be the best option. That it would be better for everyone, especially the–”

She buried her face in her hands, but all Kai could think of was that she had married Carswell Thorne— her best friend in his world. The one who had told her that he was in love with her the day that she died. The Carswell that had fought with him at Scarlet and Wolf’s house. His blood boiled with rage, though not with Cinder. She had done what she had to to survive. But Thorne— he would have gladly hit him again.

Kai sucked in a breath and returned his thoughts to the more pressing matters. He had no clue what had happened to him in this life. For all he knew, Carswell Thorne had killed him and forced Cinder to be his bride. Maybe that’s how things had worked back then. Kai was no history major, but he knew that honor was often important to people. Perhaps there had even been a duel.

“What happened to me?” Kai asked, his voice soft. “How did I die in this life?”

Cinder drew her hands down from her face, but kept her eyes averted from him as she said, “You drowned. We were on the Titanic–”

“The Titanic?” Kai interjected, with a gasp. “Like Jack and Rose?”

“I– I don’t know,” Cinder said, furrowing her brow. “But we were sailing home and the ship– the ship sank. You forced me onto a lifeboat even though I said I wanted to stay with you.” She glared at him. “And you went down with the ship. You drowned. Or froze. I do not know, I wasn’t there with you when you passed from this life and onto the next. But you left me.”

“Oh,” Kai whispered. His body deflated. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be sorry,” Cinder sneered, then she shook her head. “No. No, you were just doing what you thought was the right thing. You saved me. And you saved–” She shut her eyes again, then finally reached out toward the buggy and pulled back the top to uncover what lay inside.

Oh course Kai knew what strollers were for, but before that moment he hadn’t really considered that there would be a child inside— at the very least, not her child. His child.

But it was his child. He could tell just by looking at the small infant that he was both Cinder and Kai mixed together. He was still young, but no longer a newborn. Great black tufts of hair rested on his head, and when he opened his eyes— Kai let out a gasp. They were exactly his own.

Cinder rocked the child back and forth, running his finger over its face in a soft, motherly way that made Kai’s very soul ache. They’d had a child together, and Kai hadn’t gotten to be there. It didn’t even particularly matter to him that it wasn’t exactly his child. He should have been there, but he wasn’t. He hadn’t been there for Cinder or their baby. He had abandoned them.

“I’m so sorry,” Kai blurted, devastation seeming to carve his heart out of his body. “Cinder,” Kai sobbed, his eyes stinging with tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I– I did abandon you. I’m so terribly sorry.”

“Shhh,” Cinder hushed, reaching a hand across the table and laying it over Kai’s. She looked startled. “Kai–” she started, then shook her head. “Kai, I’m mad at you, or him, or– I don’t even know. I’m mad that you saved me when you didn’t save yourself. But I will never be mad that you saved him.”

Kai stared down at her hand on his and saw the tracery of an old burn. It wasn’t as severe as the one she had had in his universe, but it was still there.

Cinder seemed to realize herself and pulled back. She bit her lip and stared down at the baby, brow furrowed.

“I named him after you,” she whispered after a time.

Kai opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.

“Kaito Rikan Prince,” Cinder continued, not looking at him. “I just– I saw him, and I knew who he was. It didn’t matter that my mother thought that he should have my grandfather’s name or that Kingsley thought he should be named after himself.” She made a face at that. “I knew that he should have the name of his father and his grandfather because they had helped to save his life.

“But now that you’re here, I– I don’t really know if that fits. It would be confusing to have two Kai’s around. But Rikan— I don’t know. I think that perhaps he could be a Rikan.”

“Uh-huh,” Kai breathed, still reeling.

Cinder looked up at him, her eyes softening. “I still don’t understand everything that happened, and in all honesty, I don’t believe you understand it all either.”

“But,” Cinder continued, closing one eye as if she were cringing at herself. “I know that every night for the past eight months I have cried for the pain of missing you so. I know that you have never left my thoughts for even an instant, both in waking and in sleep. I know that my soul loves yours, and while I do not know how long it has cared for you, I know that it always will.

“I know you’re not the you that I knew, but you also are. You’re my Kai, and not just because you look and sound like him. You watch me with that same careful way, and your laugh is the same. And strangest of all, you calm my very soul. It’s as if it knows that it’s you.

“I don’t know if you still want me,” Cinder swallowed, “after all that I’ve done. But please believe me when I say that I do not love Carswell— he is my dear friend and nothing more— and he does not love me in return. Not in this life.” She looked down at her child— their child— and smiled wistfully. “But if you do still wish to be with me, if your heart can still love me in spite of my most grievous offenses, then I will run away with you once more.” She grinned at this, the way one did when a happy memory was stirred in their conscience.

“You… You want me?” Kai asked, breathless.

Cinder looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I will always want you, Kai. No matter the time or place, I will always desire you to be by my side. Always.”

Kai watched her, his eyes searching hers for any falsities; he found none. Slowly, a smile spread across his face.

They were staring at one another, eyes that had not gazed upon the other in far too long. They were poisoned souls standing before their long sought-after cure. But now that they had found one another, neither knew what to do.

Hesitantly, Kai stood and walked over to the other side of the table. He sat close enough to touch her, though he did not. He simply stared at her, wordlessly, and she stared back.

“Kai,” Cinder whispered, breathless. She still held the infant in her arms, but he had fallen fast asleep. “Kai, I–”

“I know,” he chuckled, leaning in close to her. They were both inclining toward the other, as if through a magnetic pull. He could feel her breath as their faces rested inches apart. Neither moved in, both too scared of what would happen next.

Then Cinder muttered his name, and Kai closed the gap between them.

She let out a little gasp, as if surprised. But she kissed him back, and it was as if she had never left him— as if the past year had not happened, and they had been together all the while. He brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his fingers brushing back stray strands of hair.

They broke apart, both flushed but smiling all the same. Kai couldn’t stop staring at her, and reveling in the fact that he had found her. They were together once more. She wanted him.

After a time of shared smiles and conversations about the other’s universe, Cinder asked Kai if he wanted to hold the child, and he accepted happily. And when the baby rested in his arms, tears slipped from his eyes as love overtook his soul. He’d thought about him and Cinder having kids many times during their marriage, though they’d never quite been ready for it. It didn’t even matter that this child belonged to the Kai of this world and not to him— he loved him all the same.

They made plans for what they would do— how they would leave this place and start a new life together. Cinder would pack her belongings and they would take a train to the west. She had all her money from her dowry, and the Prince estates had been left in her name after the deaths of both Prince men.

When they parted, it was a sweet farewell, filled with promises to see the other soon, for they would never abandon the other again.

***

Kai leaned back into the couch, careful not to disturb baby Rikan as he slept. He adored the feeling of holding the small child in his arms and his small stirrings in his sleep. Even the little sounds he made caused for his heart to melt.

“Hey Kai,” Cinder called, walking into the room. He shushed her, nodding his head down toward the sleeping baby, though there wasn’t much worry. Rikan was a heavy sleeper. “Oh, sorry, Ri,” she whispered, tip-toeing over to the pair of them and settling herself down beside Kai.

She grabbed a quilt from beside the couch and laid it over hers and Kai’s laps. Then she settled her head on Kai’s shoulder. She reached her hand up to rest under Kai’s, smiling as she looked down at their baby.

They had left Georgia the same day that they had met one another there, randomly deciding to take the train to Colorado. It had been a somewhat frightening journey, with both of them worrying whether or not someone would come after them, but so far, no one had. They’d been settled into their apartment for over three weeks, happy and together at last.

There were still many things that they both didn’t understand, about one another and the situation. But at the end of the day, they were Cinder and Kai— even if Cinder was still confused about the fact that Kai’s last name was Crown and not Prince, though she did claim it was growing on her.

“I love this,” Cinder said, brushing the black tufts of Rikan’s hair. “It feels right, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“For so long I felt a dreadful emptiness within me, and while there’s still a sadness for what I’ve lost, it's not as great. It’s manageable.”

“I know what you mean.” Kai kissed the top of her head. “We’re different, but the same at the same time. It’s different, but it’s also… just us. We’re still us.”

“We’re still us,” Cinder echoed, letting out a sigh.

There were so many things in Kai’s life that didn’t make sense, but it had been that way even before he’d entered into an alternate universe. He hadn’t understood why Thorne had proclaimed his love for Cinder, or why Chandler Blackburn hadn’t been able to love his daughter. Even his own crushing grief had been confusing at times. And while this world was different in customs and manners and the ways in which society functioned, none of that mattered. For so long as he was with Cinder, all of it was okay.

“I love you,” Kai whispered.

“And I love you,” Cinder said. “And I’ll love you so long as my soul survives, for you’re the only one, Kai. You’re the only one I shall ever truly love.”

“And you are the only one for me as well.” Kai grinned. “And I will love you for forever and ever. No," Kai said, his eyes searching hers and seeing only Cinder. "I will love you until forever ends.”

#crack fic #unsinkable au #unsinkable #the echo of silence #the time it takes to fall #salt warrior stories

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to-many-towered-camelot · 3 years

Text

book notes

for anyone who is interested in a nuanced take on fairy beliefs vs the Christian Church in the Middle Ages, this book by Richard Firth Green was actually so good, if your library has it:

[Image: Front cover of the book ‘Elf Queens and Holy Friars: Fairy Beliefs and the Medieval Church’ by Richard Firth Green]

like, obvs it’s just one person’s take on a very complex topic, but it’s well-written, well-researched, and it uses a bunch of Arthurian examples throughout to explore this dynamic (see under cut)

really interesting exploration of how the Church’s response evolved from the early-High Middle Ages (”dude, you believe in fairies? hhhmmm, do penance for 10 days”) to the Late Middle Ages/Early Modern Period (”kill them for heresy and witchcraft!”)

and how it enfolded vernacular/fairy beliefs into Christian doctrine as fairies being either a) demons or b) the illusions of demons (and how dangerous/bad these demons were depended on the time/location/cleric in question - some packaged fairies as “neutral” demons who fell when the rebel angels did, and who must be punished on Earth but will return to Heaven on Doomsday - potentially doing this to soften things for their parishioners, who often held these fairy beliefs and reconciled them with Christianity, uh, differently than the Church officially would prefer)

and enduring belief in fairies existed in both common and aristocratic circles (can see this in medieval romances, although they’re not the only source of evidence), rather than just being used as cultural “decoration” by a more sceptical upperclass

aaaaand because of this conflation of fairy = demon, you get a really interesting blend/overlap with medieval demonology and enduring “folk” beliefs (obvs not all of medieval demonology was just rebranded fairies, but some of it defs was - you see stories being retold with “devil” instead of “elf”, for example)

INCLUDING in Arthuriana - how you get Morgan the Fairy (”le Fay”) vs Morgan who was raised in a nunnery and learned dark magic there, the Lady of the Lake as a (largely) positive force, Merlin inexplicably as a (perceived to be...) Good Guy despite being the literal antichrist, the Green Knight and all the overlap with Christian symbolism in that story, etc, etc. and they all just either??? co-exist in the same stories or appear through either more fay or more ~Christian lenses depending on the version

and it creates a very interesting and very confusing soup of Stuff stemming from a very confusing - and sometimes dangerous - soup of official and unofficial beliefs evolving over hundreds of years

anyway, WRT Arthuriana it’s got (and ymmv on these, but they’re all interesting thoughts):

(i think in Gottfried’s Tristan???) apparently Tristan has a rainbow fairy dog called Petitcriu...name a knight less deserving of such a Good Boy smh

Chretien’s Yvain flooding out Laudine at the fountain (...jerk) as a continuation of the beliefs surrounding a magical Spring at Barenton

Gingalain moving from being the son of Gawain and the fairy Blanchemal (and having a fairy love interest, Pucelle) in the French OG version (~1200-ish) to being the son of Gawain and his human mistress (with Pucelle also being human) in a later 15th-C Middle English version)

AJDKN UJ IOE E Merlin’s conception, that one’s a wild ride - theologians REALLY didn’t like the idea of demons being fertile, and the work-arounds they came up with were...incredible. but skipping over that sheer comedy, the author draws links between Merlin’s conception and the general trend of claiming a fairy lover/whatever when a difficult-to-explain pregnancy arose. He also theorises that Geoffrey’s idea for Merlin’s father being a demon/fairy may have come from Nennius saying that Merlin/Ambrosius’ mother “never knew a man”. Later adaptations of this storyline made it even more fay-like (when they weren’t, like Robert de Boron, making it more fucked-up) by making Merlin’s father invisible (Wace) or a super attractive guy in swanky gold clothes (Layamon) - and Vortigern’s advisor explaining the creatures that lived between the earth and the moon until doomsday, etc, etc (walking that line between fairy and incubi, whichhhhhh was not clearly delineated in the Middle Ages the way it is now). also there’s one 13th-C Anglo-Norman poem where Merlin’s father is a bird that transforms into a dashing young squire, which isn’t terribly demon-y. So even though most versions of this story describe Merlin’s dad as an incubi-demon, what people understood this to mean may have been more fay-ish that we’d expect nowadays (depending on the reader, and also on authorial intention - some are pretty explicit that he’s a demon [many clerics keen to push this as the main narrative], while others refer to him as an elf or fairy). some contemporary scepticism during this time about Merlin having any sort of supernatural parentage as well

[none of the same Church anxieties about explaining away how the Plantagenets and other aristocratic families claim a female fairy ancestress - maybe bc there’s none of the stress about patrilineal bloodlines??? who knows! but yeah, much less thought given to those stories in ecclesiastical circles, and they were very popular in vernacular romances (male aristocratic wish fulfilment?). also, fairy enchantments =/= necromancy, so there are stories like the non-cyclic Lancelot where the Lady of the Lake is found out to be “a fairy by education, not by nature or heredity” (Elspeth Kennedy), with the spirits used in necromancy being demons, not fairies. also potential trend of female-associated magic becoming more passive and book-learned, gradually demonising it leading up to early-modern witch hunts.]

Geoffrey of Monmouth in his Historia and in the Vita Merlini being actually pretty circumspect about saying whether or not Arthur was alive/dead, returning/not returning, maybe due to his work/text being a (hypothesised) defence of the Welsh as being “civilised” (and having been so for centuries before the Normans came) - with the corollary that believing in Arthur’s return was somehow “uncivilised”. Author argues that this may be due to an association with fairy beliefs, and that Layamon is the one that makes Avalon explicitly fey. Also the author describes Arthur as living in a “feminised version of the Christian heaven” (iconic) and says that later writers and people could be very scornful of this belief held by the Britons/Welsh/etc, and that it was contrary to orthodox ways of thinking.

Links the “discovery” of Arthur and Guinevere’s bodies in Glastonbury in the late 12th-C as similar to when individuals found the bodies of their loved ones, thus making it much harder to believe (and hope) that they were still alive in fairyland. Makes a suggestion that the monks in Glastonbury who “found” these bodies may have been trying to curry favour with the English crown (i.e. champion/hope of the Welsh isn’t coming back) but also may have been trying to “help”/”save”/correct the thoughts/ideology of the Welsh (i.e. “set them on the correct path to salvation”). Lots of medieval writers describing Arthur as living in “fairyland”. Precedent of people visiting fairyland and returning, so Avalon/fairyland =/= a place only for the dead (i.e. Arthur isn’t dead). An Arthurian example, albeit a less explicitly fay one, is Lancelot getting in and out of Gorre (with Gorre as a “typically supressed and rationalised” version of fairyland) in Chretien’s Knight of the Cart.

Some stuff about the wild horde (distinct from the wild hunt) being presented by some writers as very penitential (i.e. they are departed souls that may look like they’re bearing arms/hunting/whatever as they did in life, but really they are in agony e.g. because their weapons burn them) and tbh demonic (black armour, carrying torches, ominous aesthetic). Other writers thought maybe it was - once again! - demonic impersonators rather than actual mortal souls. (Should note also that the wild horde/wild hunt motifs were not always associated with their being dead). Relevant in the Arthurian context because Arthur and his court were sometimes associated with the idea of the wild horde (as in, sometimes the wild horde is described as Arthur’s court living it up in a cool, undying sort of way - “in the likeness of knights hunting or jousting, commonly known as the household of Hellequin or of Arthur” [Etienne de Bourbon, a medieval writer] - with Hellequin’s household often being used to encompass either the wild hunt or the wild horde). Ultimate point made by the author (props to him, he’s always like “if i’m right” lol) that for many clerical writers, it was very uncomfortable to leave people with the impression that Arthur and his court were living it up in fairyland (and similar for other figures associated with the wild hunt/horde) and this idea needed to be corrected/shaped to suit more orthodox perspectives - e.g. tying in with notions of purgatory, etc.

Aaaand this one was exciting to me just bc i’ve vaguely heard about Arthur and his knights snoozing under a hill, but for some reason i could only remember this being in Victoria-era-and-onwards poetry. 3 versions of the same tale, where a servant looks for his master’s lost horse on a Sicilian mountain. Version 1) servant of a bishop finds his master’s horse in the beautiful palace of Arthur’s court beneath Mt Etna. Aside from the fact that the ancient wound Arthur received from Mordred opens once a year, it’s not very purgatory-like. Version 2) a dean’s servant is told by an old man that King Arthur has the horse on Mt Gyber (Mt Etna). he is told that his master must attend Arthur’s court in 14 days, but the dean laughs it off...then sickens and dies on the appointed day (whoops). Enough differences to this story compared to the first to suggest an oral circulation. Also a note in the version/text that such mountains are said to be the mouth of hell, and only the wicked are sent there, not the chosen. Version 3) Etienne again! Also likely changed with intervening oral circulation. The master is not an ecclesiastical figure, and Arthur’s palace is now a populous city - also Arthur is not referred to, just a nameless prince. There is a gatekeeper who warns the servant not to eat or drink while he’s there (that...is a very fairy-ish proscription). This mountain is apparently reputed to be the site of purgatory. The book author (Richard, i mean) ties these versions in with other stories/accounts of different entrances to purgatory (e.g. one on an island in an Irish lake) as being part of a gradual process of “rendering [...] fairyland purgatorial”.

Finally, Gawain in Roman van Walewein: To get to an ‘earthly paradise’ [i.e. King Assentijn’s garden with its fountain of youth - side note that ‘earthly paradises’ were often popularly described to be fairyland/where fairies live, in addition to their theological functions, e.g. Avalon was sometimes described as an earthly paradise...i should also say that purgatory was frequently thought to be located beside earthly paradise, so there’s the proximity element] and the castle containing it, Gawain must cross a river (guided by a magical talking fox) that a) has waters that burn like fire, and b) can only be crossed by using a bridge sharper than a razor. His reaction? “Is it the enchantment of elves or magic / that I see?”. He is then guided by the fox underneath the river through a tunnel, and is told that the river’s source is in the depths of hell, and “[the river] is the true purgatory / All souls, having departed from the body / Must come here to bathe.” So it’s a very strong intermingling of fairy and purgatorial imagery/ideas!

I dunno, I just found this very ??? satisfying to read

it leaned towards lit-crit at times (which, considering the subject matter, is honestly fair enough), but it was more respectful of vernacular beliefs than so many other academic takes i see (ofc ymmv re: anything to do with non-Christian major religions, but i think the author’s pretty solid on this!), and it had an explanation for the survival of these beliefs that imo made a lot of sense, especially from a pan-European perspective, not just a Celtic one

plus it explored the undeniable damage done by Christianity over history without making up some “ranged battle between paganism and the Church” that i see e v e r y w h e r e in casual Arthurian circles...which, like, i empathise with the vibe, but also! that’s just straight-up historical revisionism! (i blame MZB and the 80′s for that one)

(there was a fantastic post floating around a while ago about how the religious syncretism in Arthurian literature is much more interesting than peeling away all of the Catholicism in the medieval lit (...you ?? don’t end up with much left?) and saying that this is more “accurate” to some obscure original)

anyway yeah yeah ymmv but it’s v interesting 😊

#arthuriana #Arthurian legend #religion #religious history #christianity #folklore #*#richard firth green #AUDEI FEF HEF this is hilariously long #but really it was such an interesting book!#esp if you're a bit like me and you've been turned away from discussing vernacular/folkloric elements in Arthuriana bc of how badly/weirdly #it's been handled in the past #arthurian literature #medieval history #medieval literature #medieval romance #(also im so sorry to any medieval historian reading this im just throwing around 'The Church' willy-nilly i know it's not a monolith!!!#pinky swear

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springtimebat · 3 years

Text

The Autumn Meeting (Part 1/4)

Six suns peer down from perching clouds, leaving heavy, gilded dents on the heavens. They watch with amused, greedy eyes, their eyelids soft and rusted. They sit and wait for a hymn to be sung.

The city of tomorrow arrives in the early morning, on a thousand dying legs. The crow is beginning its call as the sun sets in the east, and the queen begins to cross the old town bridge just as the sky turns pitch black. The queen is young and full of life. Her hair is dark and wild. Her eyes are electric green. Naturally, the shadows clamber over each other, desperate to touch her skin. They claw at her footprints, grasp desperately at her diadem. The Queen places a shawl, a piece of midnight, careworn and devoid of stars, around her shoulders. She places galoshes on her feet. They snap against the cobblestones. The shadows attempt to bash her brain in. The queen pulls the shawl tighter around her neck and carries on. She must begin her quest before it's too late, before she misses her window. She pulls apart the ghoulish bonds restraining her and slips into the forest, the heavy frame of her home balancing on stilts behind her.

When the clock strikes the right time, three pilgrims meet deep inside the bowels of the forest to tell stories they stole off of wanderers backs. One is skull and bones, the second is more shark than man, the last is cast in iron and gilded armour, kept together with unsteady bolts and springs. The three are old, dear friends with different destinies that lead them to separate for months on end. Still, now they gather for a night in. They gather for the stories and for listening.

The forest is a protective shield, swarming with thistles, brambles and decaying pieces of junk. Years before, during the days of the dust, a king set up booby traps in the forest, hoping to capture some kind of beast. Now spikes and barbed wire festered among the moss, weary of a world full of colour beyond the tree trunks. The queen notices flashes of silver as she races through the trees; simply shadows against the bruised sunset and the sad oaks. Her feet dance around the puddles and quicksands. She flies through the grass and the rock until she comes across the meeting place from her stories. In a clearing stands a roaring fireplace and three men, huddled together like three fates. One stands up and hurls wood onto the fire, his back muscles tensing. He is a fish-man, with silver scales framing his brow and giant saucers for eyes. He wears the same strange uniform the Queen had seen him wear in an engraving once, all frills and ridiculous trimmings. The second man sits watching the third as they recite a poem. His body is masked by a suit of metal armour. Atop his helmet sits a boar’s head, its eyes closed, bored. The final man shakes their bones and clacks their teeth. He disguises his lack of skins with a cloak, similar to the Queen’s. He is standing by the fire, whistling a strange sonnet:

“-so the little girl set off to win back her foot. But the ogre’s own pair of feet were large and heavy. He was quicker than the little girl and it took her months and months of travelling to catch up-”

“Didn’t her parents worry about her?” Interrupts the fish man from his space at the mantle-piece, “Poor girl out on her lonesome.”

His friend groans and stamps his foot.

“She had no parents Abram. She was all on her lonesome to begin with and that’s how she lost her foot. Haven’t you been listening, you knucklehead?”

“Surely she has friends who would wanna know where she is...right? I mean, surely one of you guys would wanna know about my fins being cut up? Or my scales being punctured-”

“Enough! I have a story to finish Abram. Leave questions ‘till after the workshop.”

Abram lets out a tiny squeak but speaks no more. The skeleton grins in the firelight and begins again:

“The little girl carried on, always searching for her missing foot. She asked everyone she came across and slaughtered the many who tried to take her for their own, with their nets and their traps and their cages. By the time she finally found her foot she was covered in blood and guts and body parts. Still, she had found her foot and that’s what truly matters-”

“Where’d she find it Emil?” Abram asks, his eyes widening.

“I’m getting to that! Now where was I- oh right! The little girl, all alone and bloody in middle of a winter wood, found her foot on the low branch of a great oak much like these-” The skeleton waves his arms at the trees encasing the three storytellers, “The bone was still brand new, like a new pair of shoes elastic new. It had been left there many, many moons before by someone very tall.”

“What did she do then?”

“Well, she grabbed her foot from the oak tree and put it back, snapping it into place so to speak. Then she began the journey back home. As she did she thought to herself, “The ogre must have not needed the foot as much as I did.” The End.” Emil raises his skull to the sky, grinning proudly.

His friends give awkward coughs.

“What happened to the ogre?” Abram asks, frowning, “Surely something interesting happened to him.”

“Unimportant.” Emil growls.

The suit of armour gives a squeak and stretches his wiry arms. Emil rolls his head to the side in annoyance.

“What the girl did once she got home does not matter Gus. Not in the slightest. Don’t you understand what I was trying to get across? What I was trying to convey?”

“Not really.” Abram says, poking at the fire with a stick.

“The moral of the story, of the stanzas, was that quests of revenge, of bloodshed, are simply pointless. The journey is important and needed. All the other benign details are just...unnecessary!”

“It was good ‘till the ending. You just need to rework the ending.”

Emil scoffs, “Amateurs! Both of you! And Francis, Boris and Johnson and…all of the folding folk at the board up in the mountains! I cannot compromise my masterpiece with...amateurs!”

“I enjoyed it.”

The three men turn to see a young girl approaching their campground, her eyes an electric green, her pupils dancing. She has an amused smirk on her face. Her hair is a dangerous dark brown. Abram just stands there, blinking, confused. Emil turns his back on the visitor, muttering some obscenities about damned fairy folk under his musty breath. Gus on the other hand, recognises the queen immediately and falls to the ground in a bow, his chest plate and helmet clinking. The queen’s smirk grows into a grin and she pats the knight on the shoulder.

“I enjoyed the blood and the guts...and the body parts.”

“Yeah you would,” Emil growls, “You and your tasteless, tasteless people.”

Gus gasps and places himself in front of the queen, as if Emil’s words can pierce her skin. Emil simply laughs.

“Look at this old fool! This old, old fool! She doesn't care for you at all my boy! She looks at you as she looks at the bugs swarming around her feet. Learn that Gus! Learn these young girls only want to look at you in amusement and never want to settle down!”

“I want to settle down,” The queen replies, and she strides towards a chair the men have manufactured from fallen Autumn leaves, “I am going to settle down.”

“Ah see! I knew it! I knew you were that queen I’ve heard gossip about!”

“Gossip?” The queen’s eyebrows raise, “Gossip about me?”

“Oh yes. I’ve heard quite a lot of tall tales about you. Stories about you eating babies, stabbing your own knights with their own swords-” At that, Gus swallows and sits back down on the forest floor, shaking, “-stories of you charming snakes and cobras. Stories of you sleeping in their coils.” Emil stares at the queen, goading her to respond. The queen tuts and stretches her short, stubby legs. They were tired from hours of running as their owner searched the dark places. Her skin stretches and shifts in the firelight.

“I only ate one baby. The rest is just nonsense.”

“Hmmm. All the gossip came from your kind so I never took any of it seriously. Seeing you now makes me think it wasn’t so far fetched.”

The queen furrows her brow and rolls her eyes.

“Are you all telling stories?” She asks, focusing on the dirt beneath her leaf throne instead of the man in front of her, “ When I was little I read stories about you telling stories together. In an endless loop.”

The men fall silent. The queen sighs.

“I would like to join you all. For just one night.”

Emil growls. Abram roasts a marshmallow. Gus shivers in an invisible wind. His legs make a strange croaking sound and detach themselves from his waist, stumbling about on the rocky terrain.

“What are you queen of, exactly?” Emil asks.

“All sorts of things really.”

“Like what? What do you do? What are your day-to-day ac-tiv-teees?”

“I look after the lost ones most of the time.”

“The lost ones?”

“Folks made of time and sand. They come to us, my husband and I, full of regrets and sorrows. They lose themselves in our corridors and become our subjects. We transform their troubled minds into something sweet.”

“Sweet for the monarchy, one supposes, but not for everyone else,” murmurs Emil, picking at his cloak,“ I heard you two aren’t married already.”

“We will be soon.”

“Once your quest is complete, I’m guessing.”

“Yes. Once I return.”

“Do you take babies?” Abram asks, sitting cross-legged on the milkwood grass, “I heard you take babies.”

“Sometimes.”

Emil clears his throat, which makes his bones rattle in a very unattractive way. He then nods to Abram, who nods back. He turns to Gus, who by now is just a bunch of scraps flailing about in the mud. Gus’ head, however, has enough time to tilt his head back in agreement.

“Very well. You may join the club for a night. A single solitary night-”

“No baby eating!” Abram shouts from his corner. The Queen tuts and crosses her heart with a wicked finger.

“I promise. No baby eating.” She grins.

“-And you’ll be the last to go. No cuts!” Emil growls.

“Very well.” The Queen sighs and closes her eyes, listening to the whispers in the breeze.

Emil looks to his companions, sitting by the campfire as they always do, and shrugs.

“Now that…compromise has been met I suppose we can continue with the workshop.”

“Finally,” Abram mutters.

And as the four take their places in the storyteller’s guild, the woods begin to shiver with excitement.

The annual Autumn meeting was only beginning.

#creative writing #my story #a devil's palm story #fantasy #monsters #parallel worlds #cryptids #cryptidcore #weirdcore #oddcore #american gothic #surreal #southern gothic #character study #ongoing series #a rough draft #part one of four

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fanfic-corner · 3 years

Text

Bisexual Dean

9/12/20 - Is Dean canonically bisexual? That’s a fun question (it depends on where you live, I suppose). Anyway, nothing is stopping you from reading these beautiful fics involving a very bi main character.

Tabula Rasa by Dangerousnotbroken on AO3. (78,340 words).

Tags: Writer!Castiel, Bartender!Dean, Past Relationship, Magic, Canon Typical Violence, Mentions of Alcoholism, Mentions of Past Child Neglect, Mental Illness, Witches, Ghosts, Bisexual Dean, Bisexual Castiel, Angst, Slow Burn, Memory Loss.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Once upon a time, Castiel Novak had everything. He had a happy home life, a full scholarship, and, if he played his cards right, a promising journalism career. And on top of all of that, he had Dean. Then tragedy struck, as it tends to do, and Castiel lost everything. At thirty six, he’s got none of those things. He’s got no family to speak of. He’s got a job investigating purportedly true tales of the supernatural for a magazine no one reads. And worst of all he hasn’t seen Dean in nearly twenty years. So when research for an article turns him on to a witch who apparently grants wishes in exchange for stories, Castiel figures it’s worth the risk. If making a deal with a witch can get him Dean back, what has he got to lose?

Notes: This was absolutely amazing; written beautifully, with a fantastic plot.

Take You To The Country by almaasi on AO3. (18,987 words).

Tags: Historical AU, Propositions, Eloping, Newspapers, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Misunderstandings, Pining, First Kiss, Established Relationship, Running Away Together, Moving In Together, Childhood Friends, Marriage Proposal, Businessman Dean, Farmer Dean, Emotional Dean, Bisexual Dean, Domestic Dean Winchester, Clockmaker Castiel, Autistic Castiel, Frustrated Sam.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: A Dean/Cas 1950s AU. Dean reads an elopement proposal in the town's local newspaper, written by some old soul in love with their best friend. He's mid-way through expressing to his brother how beautiful he finds it when Dean realises the proposal is for him.

Notes: I love Sam’s subsequent letters to the newspapers at the end, it was just a really good idea done really well.

A Little Slice Of Heaven by onamelancholyhill on AO3. (112,265 words).

Tags: Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, Falling in Love, POV Dean Winchester, POV Third Person, POV Castiel, Bakery and Coffee Shop AU, Episode: s4e17 It’s a Terrible Life, Alternate Universe - Human, Explicit Sexual Content, Bisexual Dean, Idiots in Love.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Jim Morrison once said, “The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are.” That was Castiel Novak’s motto in life, and the reason why he accepted his grandmother's inheritance and took the responsibility it implied. Dean Winchester, a remarkable accountant at Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc., however, had other priorities. He lived to serve, hidden in a mask that didn’t allow him to be honest with himself, but lonesome and boring. When destiny made their paths cross, in a less than promising way, with Dean as the instigator and Castiel as his victim, Dean’s mind started wandering, in between pies and cakes, coffees and muffins... What if Mr. Morrison was right? After all, as the guy used to say, "there can’t be any large-scale revolution, until there’s a personal revolution first."

Notes: This was so cute and I adored the plot! It’s making me want to rewatch It’s A Terrible Life but I’ll live.

Just Like You by imherecauseimnotallthere98 on AO3. (35,717 words).

Tags: Homophobia, Homophobic John, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Protective Castiel, BAMF Castiel, Protective Sam Winchester, Angry John, Angry Dean Winchester, Angry Sam Winchester, Protective Bobby Singer, Awesome Bobby, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Scared Dean, John Being an Asshole, Swearing, Bisexual Dean, Pansexual Castiel, Past Child Abuse, Accidental Outing, Death Threats, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: When John shows up at their door in the middle of the night, the Winchesters and Cas start looking into who or what could have brought him back. Meanwhile, Dean struggles to keep his relationship with Cas a secret from his father, with some help from Sam. The tension rises between the Winchesters as Dean shows John that he is no longer the obedient little soldier he once was, and tries to establish himself as an equal with his dad.

Notes: Bobby and Sam are icons in this and should have followed through on their threats. That will be all.

Walk Through Fire For You by purple_charlie on AO3. (2,332 words).

Tags: John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Angst, Pride, Marijuana Use, Polyamory, Gay Cas, Bisexual Dean, Bisexual Gabriel, Everyone is Queer.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Boyfriend. The word still feels foreign in Dean’s mouth, still brings back echoes of John Winchester’s thinly-veiled (if even that) homophobia. "Man up, don’t be a sissy, I didn’t raise a fairy". It’s a swollen blister in the back of Dean’s mind, throbbing with pain whenever a stranger’s eyes linger too long on Cas’ hand in his, whenever a waitress double-takes at how close they sit in diner booths. But here, dirty dancing with Cas in a warehouse full of other queer folks, Dean wants to shout from the rooftops- I’m Dean Winchester, I drive the baddest car in town, I lift heavy things for a living, and this is my boyfriend.

Notes: This was so sweet it nearly made me start crying - Cas deserved to be told that he was loved!

Bottom’s Up by mnwood on AO3. (28,103 words).

Tags: Fluff and Crack, Wing Kink, Domestic, Smut, Bisexual Dean, Resolved Sexual Tension, Established Relationship, Wedding Planning, Partying, Weddings.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Sam could’ve kissed them both when he got to the bunker one day to find a string of clothing (his heart nearly burst with hope when he saw the abandoned flannel and trench coat) leading to a very naked pile of limbs tangled on the couch. Just kidding. Of course it wasn’t the couch. Sam always imagined it as the couch because the fact that he actually found them on the dining room table had tainted the happiness of the memory.

Notes: Jesus, I did not need that level of detail into Dean and Cas’ sex life (but it was very funny).

Stories Are Made Of Mistakes by wildhoneypie on AO3. (4,942 words).

Tags: Human Castiel, Diners, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Dean, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Case Fic, Domestic, Didn’t Know They Were Dating.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: In which Cas is human and doesn’t understand basic concepts like: clothing, Mythbusters, moisturizer, and Greek food. Dean is…Dean and doesn’t understand basic concepts like: boyfriends, language, how to tell your friend that he’s a walking miracle, and when not to quip.

Notes: This was so cute and I live for human Cas. I also love the recurring ‘no fucking quipping’ joke in this, although the idea of Cas swearing broke me a bit!

And this one, which has no Destiel content but a very bi Dean:

Uniform of a Winchester by monsterfuckerdean on AO3. (20,591 words).

Tags: Canon Compliant, Missing Scene, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bad Parent John Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Pre-Season 1, Episode: s5e2 Free to Be You and Me, Angst and Feels, Queer Themes, Character Study, Diners, Sibling Love, Family, Friendship, HBO SPN.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: We all know the story of the amulet Dean wears around his neck. But what about everything else he wears?

Notes: Okay, I have to admit that I am loving the HBO SPN vibes even though I am fully aware that if it was a real show I wouldn’t watch it. This is so good though, and the writing is gorgeous!

My friend came out to me as bisexual this week, and paired with the mess that is the Spanish dub, I thought this would be nice as a little reminder that it doesn’t matter how the show ended, because the fans will always be here and we will always be supportive. Anyway, enjoy!

#bisexual #bisexual dean winchester #supernatural #spn family #fic recs #fanfic #none of this was on my 2020 bingo card #destiel #sabriel

26 notes · View notes

wilwywaylan · 3 years

Text

Meet me at the Coffee Shop

Fandom : Les Misérables

Modern AU (coffeeshop AU !), Enjolras x Grantaire,

Present for @flynnifox for the @lesmisholidayexchange exchange on AO3. Got lots of fun out of that one :D I love coffeeshop AU and I love meet cutes !

Also on AO3

---

Enjolras dashed out of the subway exit, running up the stairs to go faster. He had been up for four hours now, rushing to get his last paper ready before the impossibly tight deadline given by his ethics professor. He'd finished it in the nick of time and delivered it, foregoing the spellcheck step to make sure he wouldn't be late. Of course, the first train of the day endured a mishap, and the next one was so crowded even he couldn't get in. He reached the university as the sun rose behind the roofs, getting his shoes drenched in the puddles on the alleys. But he managed to reach the office before the clock struck 8 AM, and could hand deliver the essay. The professor had looked like he had bitten into a very large, very bitter lemon, but hadn't made any smart remarks. Not that Enjolras would have listened anyway.

But now, he needed coffee. Large, strong, and right now. And of course, there wasn't any respectable coffee shop around the campus. Chain-owned one, as many as you want. You couldn't throw a stone without hitting three or four of them. But Enjolras would be caught dead before he got into one of these dens of inequity and bad coffee. No, he needed a good, fair trade coffee in a nice establishment. Nothing else would do.

Finally, he spotted what he was looking for. A nice little coffee shop. It was a little setback from the street, as if hiding from the common folk to reveal itself to those worthy. Enjolras didn't know if he was worthy of... coffee or anything, but he had noticed the little shop freshly painted in black. Leaves adorned the front, and he at first had believed it to be covered in ivy, but a closer inspection had revealed that they had been all carefully painted. The window was clean, and two words were painted on it : Café Victor. Sounded promising. To be fair, Enjolras would have accepted any strangely named shop as long as it could provide him with the coffee he was looking for.

A two-sided chalkboard was set near the door, with a list of all the delicacies one could get in the coffee-shop. The handwriting was pretty, very adorned, a few birds drawn here and there. But Enjolras cared little for the calligraphy, and a lot for what it promised. And the first item on the board was, of course, coffee. He glanced at his watch. It was open, had been for one hour already. Perfect.

There was a small line in front of the counter. He stepped at the end, and prepared to wait. It was cosy, at least. A large counter, a room with small tables surrounded by chairs or stools. Everything was either light wood or painted black like every hip coffee shop in town. But that one had lots of plants everywhere, on the counter, on windowsills, between the tables, so much greenery that it half-looked like a greenhouse. Every available surface on the wall had been covered with frames : drawings, paintings, photographies... Every one was busting with colours, bringing life to the otherwise drab walls.

The line was slow, and Enjolras was starting to get agitated. He could tell Combeferre that he didn't need coffee that much until his face turned blue, but he was feeling the effect of a severe lack in caffeine. He could go home and try to make some, of course, he hadn’t bought his spaceship of a coffee maker for nothing. But it would mean half an hour to get there, and he wanted coffee now. Beside, encouraging small shops was the way to go. But could he go a little faster ? He didn't know what was taking so long. But it was. The barista seemed to be professional and fast at making his drinks. But he was chatting non stop, throwing compliments and talking about everything under the sun. No wonder it was taking so long. Enjolras looked at the time on his phone, and sighed. This was going to be long.

~*~

If someone had told Grantaire that he would one day enjoy a regular job with regular hours, he would have laughed in their face. And then at their knees because he would probably have fallen on the ground laughing. But here he was, behind his counter, having gotten up at the crack of dawn, chatting amiably with people while mixing the weirdest drinks, without wanting to bite them or run away screaming. Of course, he sometimes got some weird or aggravating ones, but he let it slide. He had his favourites, his regulars, people who came to him for their coffee fix, and a bit of a chat, and he delivered. And worst of it, he was liking it.

Today was an extra-chirpy day. That's how he called the days where he got up before the alarm rang and his mind was already filled to the brim with ideas for drawings and paintings. He had even picked up guitar playing again ! It put him in a perfect mood, and also made him extra chatty. And he was working a job that allowed to have long conversations with his customers, wasn't it perfect ?

So he welcomed them, made small talk with his regulars while he was getting their favourite drinks ready, about the weather, the projects, the families, everything and anything. Some of them were happy to answer, others were still quite silent at this hour, so he kept quiet. There was a nice line in front of the counter, several customers eager for coffee and hand-made pastries. Good for business, very good. And people were sill coming in while he was working.

He was working on a caramel-flavoured coffee with some whippe cream when the door chime rang again, and he glanced at the newcomer. Blond, dressed in red, reading glasses. Not a regular, no one he'd ever seen before. The sight pleased him. The Café Victor was bringing in new customers. It made him even happier, and he welcomed the next customer in line, an old lady who had several cats. He loved talking with her, she always had very intriguing stories about the various hijinks of the ones she called her children. He started making her green tea, listening intently to her last cat story.

~*~

Enjolras counted the people in front of him, sighed once more. There were still two people in front of him. He was feeling like he'd been here for several hours already. But according to his phone, it had been only ten minutes. Ten long minutes. That felt even longer because of his damp shoes. And the line wasn't moving. Probably because the barista was too busy chatting instead of doing his work. Okay, so maybe that was a little bit mean. He was at least doing something that was the source of this delicious coffee smell. But why was it taking so long ?

He stood on his toes to get a better look. Ah. Of course the barista was talking with everyone and anyone. That's why. He cursed inwardly. Of all the coffee shops in town, he had to opt for the one where the barista just couldn't shut up. If he wasn't so exhausted, he would have gotten out of here and looked for another one. But now that he was here... Finally, finally, the next person walked to the counter to order. Enjolras didn't mean to eavesdrop, of course, but he couldn't really help it, being so close and all,

- So, the barista all but cooed, how is the prettiest lumberjack this side of the Seine today ?

Instead of getting angry at being called "pretty" by another guy, the customer just let out a booming laugh.

- Only this side, you're not very generous today !

They started talking about sports, and Enjolras immediately tuned them out. Not that he thought that talking about sports was indicative of anything, but it was really really boring to him. He scrolled through the news again, trying to find something to occupy himself with, but nothing had happened in the last ten minutes. He was forced to look elsewhere for entertainment. The frames on the walls would do. The photographies were nice, black and white snippets of small things, and they were carefully arranged to provide a counterpoint to the coloUrs of the drawings. Pretty drawings, by the way, made by different artists, but always very soft, almost... hopeful. A bigger painting was hanging above a small stage at the end of the room, a large, abstract piece in vibrant colors scattered across the black canvas. A beautiful piece.

- Hello, Sunshine, what will it be today ?

~*~

Bahorel gave Grantaire finger-guns, grabbed his coffee and left. Grantaire just shook his head : count on him to be the only man alive to get away with doing that. He turned to his next customer, and emitted a strangled noise that sounded a bit like someone stepping on a squeaky toy. As the proud barista of a very nice coffee shop, he'd seen his fair share of beautiful persons - traditionally beautiful persons - and as a lover of arts, he knew a pretty person when he saw one.

The one standing in front of him was... oh god above, was there even a word for this kind of being ? Did they descend right from Heaven, stopping for a bit of coffee before going back to a realm of ethereal beings as beautiful as them ? Be still, my heart, he thought, trying not to stare too much. But he was starring. Oh yes, he was. The hair caught his eye first. A blond cascade of curls, bouncing and spilling around his face, barely held by a hair-tie, falling down his back almost to his hips. Hair he'd only seen in fairy tales books. As did his face. Right now, he was looking at the wall, offering Grantaire a perfect view of his profile, delicately lined by the morning light. It was so exquisite, with perfect cheekbones and a high forehead where small curls were resting.

Rosy lips, just plump enough to beg for a kiss. The nose was just a little too long, but it fit none-the-less. And in this perfect face, like jewels in a setting, eyes blue as the sky, lined with lashes made of gold. The black-rimmed glasses were a bit too hipstery for his tastes, but nothing could detract from that beautiful angel.

It was a miracle Grantaire didn't faint on the spot or ask for his hand, or any of the myriads of stupid things that crossed his mind. He cleared his throat, and said in a perfectly-normal sounding voice :

- Hello, Sunshine, what will it be today ?

~*~

Enjolras frowned at the nickname. Another one of those Casanova wannabes. Probably thought that he was a girl, with his long hair. Well, fuck him in advance. He walked to the counter, and said in his sternest voice :

- The tallest coffee you got. Black. Two sugars. Please, he added.

Being aggravated didn't mean he could forego manners. The man just nodded and set himself to work. He was moving with... a certain grace, Enjolras had to admit. Light on his feet, despite the muscular arms nicely outlined by his black shirt. And even nicer were the tattoos covering them. Cloud in pastels arose around his right wrist, climbing all the way to the elbow where they erupted in flowers in vivid colours. The left arm was covered in an intricate pattern of ivy leaves around text too small to read. Enjolras had to admire them, they were just in front of him, after all.

- That will be two minutes, Sunshine.

- Do not call me sunshine, Enjolras snapped.

If he thought he had scared the barista into behaving, he was sorely mistaken. The man's smile widened, a crescent of white on darker skin.

- Don’t you dare mock me, Enjolras growled.

- Oh, I wouldn't dare. Your eyes would stab me like shards of ice and I would promptly die on the spot.

Enjolras could feel the heat slowly climbing on his cheeks. Oh, good, now he was blushing, and he hated that. The barista probably sensed his anger, because the cheeky grin morphed into a mostly apologetic smile.

- Okay, sorry, he said. I can be an ass. But I don't mean to anger you.

Enjolras let out a huff, but he nodded. The barista grabbed a cup and a marker.

- Can I get the name ? Or will it be "Sunshine" ?

Enjolras was almost tempted to tell him off, but he really, really wanted that coffee. So he obeyed, paid, and stepped to the side to wait while the barista greeted the next customer with a wink and a large gesture.

~*~

Grantaire knew he was acting up, but the blond was looking at him, almost murderous. Probably didn't like the nickname. Oh well, Grantaire could still try to play it cool. Maybe if he made a good coffee, he would be forgiven. So he set himself to work, carefully calibrating the machine to get its best. Two minutes later exactly, he put a cup of coffee in front of the blond boy.

- Here you are !

Blondie - Enjolras - grabbed the cup, gave him only a nod, and turned to leave. Which was what Grantaire really didn't want, but what could he do beside let him go and hope that he would come back ? So he watched him leave, half-regretting that the blond was wearing only some kind of shapeless sweat pants. He probably looked awesome in normal pants... Oh well, maybe next time. A guy could always hope.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Enjolras stop outside the shop and take a sip of coffee. The cup didn't land on the window. On the contrary, he left, with what seemed like a little bounce on his step. Grantaire grinned. Another victory for the Café Victor.

~*~

Three days later, Grantaire was wiping his counter, trying to remember where he was on the stocks and how many towels he needed to buy, when the doorbell chimed. He glanced at the newcomer, and his heart gave a little beat. The sun had just decided to shine for him alone, or perhaps it was just the blond guy from last time who just stepped inside. He looked angry at something, but perhaps this time, it wasn't his fault. Yet. Blondie - Enjolras, he recalled, because of course he did - stepped to the counter, and gave his order. The same as last time, too, Grantaire could have done it without even being asked. Black coffee, with sugar, gigantic. The guy probably ran on coffee alone. He surely had the attitude. Probably burnt so much energy during the day that he needed the boost to get through the day. Grantaire had only got one nice look at him, but he had noticed the shadows under his eyes, purple and delicate. Probably hadn’t gotten enough sleep for years.

Grantaire scrawled the name on the cup just for the fun of it, filled it to the brim, screwed the lid on and gave it to the blond. They locked eyes for a second, and Grantaire really thought he was going to die here and there. Or at least do a happy dance. Enjolras was even prettier up close. Tiny, too, if he was to judge by the counter's height. Tiny, pretty, and full of righteous fury. The bag at his shoulder was covered with badges and patches bearing slogans. An activist. Maybe even an idealist ? Exactly the person that Grantaire wasn't but loved to rile. Oh, he could get so much fun with him. But then, he would lose his patronage, and that would surely be a huge loss. So he settled for a light ribbing.

- Here you go, Sunshine. Strong and sweet, just like you.

Enjolras' face turned red again. He opened his mouth, certainly ready to bite his head off, then appeared to decide against it. He grabbed his coffee and left, to Grantaire's greatest delight. He was wearing jeans, today, very nice jeans that were clinging to his legs and... Grantaire was only human, after all, and he couldn't help it but admire what nature and probably exercise had shaped.

Enjolras stopped when he glanced at the cup, and Grantaire half-dived under the counter to giggle. It was the second time he had carefully written the name, in beautiful calligraphy. Or rather, "Angel-ras". Good to know his art wasn't getting ignored. Enjolras glared at him, even harder than the first time.

- This is not funny.

The tone was as icy as his eyes, but at least, the coffee didn't come back to him. Enjolras just left, with his precious coffee. Grantaire watched him go, chin planted in his hand. He probably wouldn't see Enjolras ever again. Too bad. But it was worth it.

~*~

Two weeks later, Enjolras found himself face to face with the Café Victor again. He'd been running to get their next flyers printed on time, and in a strange recreation of his first time here, found himself at eight in the morning in front of the coffee shop. And it was time for coffee. Warm, and good coffee. Except that this time, not only did he step into puddles, he was soaked to the bone due to the rain that kept falling since he had realized he had forgotten to wear a coat. The lights were shining behind the window, warm and welcoming through the now pouring rain. His feet had led him there while he was busy informing the others on the advance of his task. Go to a place a half-dozen times and your brain decides it's your favourite in the world. Oh well. Good, fair trade coffee was a rarity in this town, and was worth a barista flirting with him like there was no tomorrow.

He pushed the door, shivering and trying to get warm, to not avail. He was drenched to the bone, his hoodie just a rag hanging on his shoulders, his hair dripping on the floor. Luckily, there were only one other person in the coffee shop, a boy with short hair, wrapped in a scarf a mile long, currently talking at a mile an hour with the barista. Said barista was nodding along while getting the drinks ready, "hmm"ing at the right places and smiling. Not a word of flirt in sight. The guy finally grabbed a tray with several drinks piled on it and carried it to a table where a man and a woman were waving at him. The man got up to take the tray, but the woman stopped him and got up to do it herself.

Enjolras walked to the counter. The barista watched his friend for a few seconds more, then turned his attention to him. His eyes immediately widened almost comically. Enjolras would have laughed, if he wasn't trying to keep desperately warm. He was starting to feel faint, probably a lack of sugar or too many dazzling lights. The barista rushed around the corner, grabbed him by a soaked sleeve and dragged him to a stool where he almost pushed him. Enjolras had to grab the counter to keep upright. The guy with the scarf had rushed to his side, and was grabbing his wrist. Enjolras wanted to take it back, but the barista put a hand on his shoulder.

- Relax. Joly's a doctor, he knows what he's doing.

- Doctor-in-training, the guy - Joly - corrected in an automatic tone. His heart is racing, he added. You're pale. Did you eat well this morning ? Or enough ? Vitamins ? You need vitamins ! Grantaire, get him vitamins !

- What I'm gonna bring him is something else to wear.

The barista - Grantaire - left. Enjolras didn't even know he was called Grantaire. To be fair, his badge today was wearing a large smiley face and nothing else. He was half-tempted to get up and tell them all to leave him alone, he was only there for coffee, not for a complete check-up ! But it seemed like a huge effort, all of a sudden. So he let Joly check his forehead and fuss around him.

Grantaire came back a few minutes alter. He nodded at Joly's friends who had moved behind the counter, and threw something on the table in front of Enjolras.

- Here, he announced. They will probably be too big for you, but at least they're dry. And don't mind the paint drops, they just can't be taken off.

Enjolras looked at the bundle. Something green with... yes, paint drops, and something black. Clothes. Wait, why did the guy have clothes and why was he giving them to him ? He wanted to ask, but Joly all but pushed him towards the bathroom, urging him to go "before he caught his death or something". Enjolras relented.

As Grantaire has said, the clothes were big on him. Gigantic, even. The pants were more like leggings, and he had to roll them at the ankles. They were fitting, but luckily, the sweater was large and fell to his mid-thigh, like some kind of baggy dress. It was very weird, wearing someone else's clothes, but at least it was dry, and he wasn't complaining.

He finally stepped out of the bathroom, gingerly. He'd barely walked back to the table, that something dry fell on his head. Joly's friend, the beautiful lady, was holding what looked subreptitiously like a dish towel.

- Sorry, Honey, she said. That's all we have.

Enjolras muttered some thanks and started trying to dry his hair. He needed to braid it fast, or it would quickly gain too much volume and he'd look like some very long-haired sheep. It felt weird, having all those strangers being worried around him. Usually, that was Combeferre's role, and a bit Courfeyrac's too. It felt different... but quite nice.

A tray was deposited in front of him. There was a large cup of coffee on it, along a glass of orange juice and two croissants that looked very much hand-made and not defrosted.

- I haven't ordered all that, he said.

- Doctor's order, Grantaire retorted.

- Doctor in training !

- Shut up, Joly. Joly's order, he added, turning back to Enjolras. It's on the house. Let's say it's because I've been an annoying little gremlin.

- But you're a sweet gremlin, the lady added, kissing Grantaire on the head.

They left to go back behind the counter. Enjolras was grateful, he wasn't very keen on someone watching him eat. He still felt very weird about the whole situation, but he was starting to warm up, and the coffee was delicious, as was the rest. He watched people come and go as he ate, trying not to eavesdrop on the conversations.

When he was done, he brought the tray back. Grantaire was chatting with a customer, and Enjolras stayed on the side, waiting his turn. They seemed in friendly terms, but Grantaire didn't pepper his speech with endearments. Maybe the person just didn't like it. Now that he thought about it, he didn't quite flirt with everyone that came in. Maybe it was just reserved to a few selected one. Including, sadly, himself. Finally, Grantaire let his customer go, and turned to him. Enjolras handed him the tray.

- I'll bring you the clothes back next time, he added.

- I'd say "don't fret it", but if this means I'll have the pleasure of your visit earlier, then by all means, you can even stay there and wait until yours are dry.

Enjolras was half-tempted to hit him over the head with his soaked hoodie, but that wouldn't have been very nice. The man was aggravating, but he didn't have to help him. So he just rolled his eyes, gave him a polite goodbye, and left without another word.

~*~

It had been a pleasant day so far. No bad surprises like a failing fridge, no nasty customer. Okay, just one, but Bahorel's presence at the end of the counter deterred the complainer from doing worst than drag his feet and protest a little. He liked days like this, even with the rain tapping against the window. But a little voice was turning at the back of Grantaire's head, and it was getting hard to ignore its little song. Yes, he knew that he hadn't seen Enjolras for a few days, even as the blond has promised to bring the clothes back. He knew it, and he'd been watching intently every person coming in, hoping to see a blond mane and sky blue eyes. So far, no chance.

He was absorbed in the confection of one of Bahorel's monstrosities, a hot chocolate that contained way too much sugar and cream, when the doorbell announced a new customer. A flash of red caught his eye, and he almost dropped the cup. Only due to his nerves of steel could he catch it. He brought it to Bahorel, who had watched Enjolras come in, and turned to face him.

- And here I thought the day would drown under the rain, but it seemed that the sun has finally decided to shine upon us !

Enjolras frowned, but didn't hit him with his umbrella, instead depositing a bag on the counter. The clothes, perfectly folded. Grantaire didn't pen him as someone who would carefully fold clothes. But there was something to be said about looks and deception. He grabbed the bag, smiled at Enjolras.

- Thank you.

- I'm the one who should thank you, Enjolras said. That was really helpful.

- I couldn't let you stay in those clothes. Joly would have had my head.

- And I wanted to pay for the breakfast.

Grantaire lifted both hands to stop him before he could get his wallet out.

- No no no. I said it's on the house, and that's final.

- You can't just give someone breakfast like this, Enjolras protested.

- I can, I did, I have and I will. It was a medically-ordered breakfast.

Enjolras gave a long-suffering sigh, but seemed to resign.

- So, Grantaire asked, what will it be ? A giant coffee ?

- Yes, and...

Enjolras bit his lip. Grantaire inwardly cursed. He didn't have any right to be so adorable. Of course, due to his reaction to a bit of ribbing, he would certainly bite his head off if he read his thoughts. He started preparing his coffee, waiting for the next part. Enjolras was clearly mulling over something, and it wouldn't do any good trying to get it out of him. So he just focused on the drink.

When Grantaire put the coffee in front of him, he still hadn't spat it out. Grantaire walked to Bahorel, who was savouring his drink, wiped the counter to regain some composure. He knew Bahorel was looking at him, probably with a gigantic smile, but luckily, he didn't make any joke or anything.

- Can I ask you something ? Enjolras finally asked.

Grantaire refrained from yelling something like "HE CAN SPEAK" and fall to the ground. He threw his rag on his shoulder, walked back to him, hoping to look professional.

- I...

Enjolras cleared his throat, started again.

- I'm part of a club, we.... do social activism sometimes.

Grantaire could have guessed so, just judging by the pins and also Enjolras' expression that seemed to want to fight the whole world at once. Another bleeding-heart hero. He nodded.

- I was wondering if maybe, it was okay to put a poster for it and our next meeting, maybe not directly on the window but somewhere ? I also have a stack of flyers, but I don't know if...

He was suddenly looking very nervous, far from the assured man he'd seen until then. Grantaire hold out his hand.

- Show me that poster.

Enjolras gave him a look of hope and uncertainty. He held out the rolled sheet he'd been clinging on until now. Grantaire unrolled it. It was... less worse than he'd thought. Not a "call to arms, overthrow the government, eat the rich" kind of poster, just an invitation to talk about social subjects and things like that. On the other hand, it was absolutely hideous. Whoever designed that thing certainly was no graphic student, or even dilettante. Grantaire lifted an eyebrow, that Enjolras certainly took as a disagreement. He made a move to take it back, but Grantaire held it out of this reach.

- If it's not... he started.

- It's okay, Grantaire cut him, I'll put it up. But, not that I want to be a dick, but you may want to find someone else to design your posters. Those are... well, it's a great way to catch someone's attention, but to keep it...

- We're just a student club. Well, students and workers.

- No graphic design student or something ?

Enjolras shook his head.

- If you find someone, he retorted, you can tell me.

- I will. Anything else ?

- I don't want to push it, but...

He riffled through his bag and pulled out a stack of papers.

- Can I leave you some of the flyers ?

Grantaire didn't really know what to say. He wasn't very keen on advertising a social justice club. In his eyes, it was a waste of time. Things wouldn't move just like that. But he couldn't say this, now, could he ? One, he would certainly lose a valuable customer. And two, Enjolras was looking at him without anger or annoyance for once, and he couldn't let this chance slide.

- Okay, he relented, put them near the register.

Enjolras gave him such a smile that Grantaire thought he would go blind from the sheer brightness of it. He moved to the coffee machine to give himself something to do and give his hands enough time to stop shaking. Enjolras thanked him, grabbed his drink and left. Grantaire focused on his task. He could feel Bahorel smile behind him and he didn't really need that. Just something to get his heartbeat back to normal.

Bahorel moved to grab one of the flyers, read it with attention.

- Sounds fun, he said.

- What, you plan on joining them ? I didn't see you as so concerned by social issues and the like.

- Man, I'm offended. It's not because I'm privileged that I can't find an interest in those causes.

Grantaire had to admit that he had a point. he and his big mouth, did he really need to offend everyone around him ? But Bahorel added :

- Besides, all those clubs and meetings are always a good occasion for a fight. Could be fun.

Ah. Of course.

- Then go and have fun. Break havoc and sow sedition, my friend. And don't forget to tell me if Blondie is really a total dweeb.

- Will do. See you !

With that, he was out the door with his flyer, leaving Grantaire to replay Enjolras' smile in his mind again and again.

~*~

Enjolras hesitated at the Café Victor door, hand on the handle. Bahorel, the new recruit for les Amis de l'ABC, had advised him to come there on this day, at this hour. He had refused to tell him why, just really insisted that it would be a "good time". Seeing as Bahorel had already sparked a fight with a man who insisted on spouting non-inclusive rhetoric on feminism and started two arm-wrestling contests, Enjolras wasn't sure they had the same definition of "good time".

But still, here he was, unsure of what to do. He spotted the ABC poster on the window, and it made him smile a little to see that Grantaire had held his promise. There was another one, smaller, just beside it. "Open mic night", it said. So that was what Bahorel had meant. But why send him here ? There was only one way to know, after all. So he pushed the door.

The tables around the counter were empty, as was Grantaire's space behind it. But there were lights shining on the left part of the room, and soft music playing coming from there. Enjolras stepped forward. The lights were shining on the small stage. And on the stage, sitting on a stool, was Grantaire. An old guitar was resting on his knee, and he was pinching the strings delicately. There was a microphone on a base in front of him, but he was just moving his fingers on the neck, coaxing the notes in arpeggio. It was quite pretty, even a little soothing, and Enjolras leaned on the wall to better listen.

And then Grantaire bent a little forward, closer to the microphone, and started singing.

Quand le jour sera levé Quand nos draps seront lavés Quand les oiseaux envolés Des rues où l'on s'est aimés Il ne restera rien de nous.

Enjolras could only stare, mouth hanging open. In a million years, he would have expected Grantarie to have such a nice voice. His talking voice was low, almost rumbling, always a bit biting, but now... now it was husky, raspy, and so melodic. Carrying each note perfectly.

Quand nos îles seront noyées Quand nos ailes seront broyées Quand la clé sera rouillée Du trésor qu'ils ont fouillé Il ne restera rien de nous.

He looked so peaceful, bent over his instruments, eyes closed to better enjoy his music. Everything hit Enjolras at once, the small curls escaping his beanie, moving along with the rhythm, the muscles on his arms moving under the tattoed skin, the small smile tugging on his lips, almost tender, the colourful drawings on the guitar, and the fingers, thin and bony, caressing the strings so gently, coaxing to better make them sing...

Laisse moi, un peu de toi Une ride, avant le vide Un extrait de tes traits Laisse moi, un peu de toi

The last notes flew away, fading into silence. And suddenly, there was a bunch of applause. Enjolras blinked once, twice. He hadn't even noticed that there were people sitting on the tables, watching the show. To be fair, the room was dark, but he had zeroed on Grantaire, totally ignoring everything else.

Grantaire tuned the guitar a little, then started another song. Enjolras didn't know what he should do, run or listen, but Grantaire's voice pinned him in place.

Take my hand, take my whole life too 'Cause I can't help falling in love with you.

He was singing again, and Enjolras was feeling weird again. He could only focus on Grantaire's voice, Grantaire's hands, Grantaire's head marking the beat. His cheeks were burning, and something in his chest was feeling very heavy. Probably a fever, maybe something worse ? He'd been through the rain without anything, and now he had caught something just like this ? This wasn't normal. He should go home and get some rest. And still, he didn't move an inch.

Grantaire suddenly opened his eyes, and looked past the stage, past the people in the audience, directly at Enjolras. He looked surprised to see him there, but to his credit, didn't miss a note. He kept looking at him as he finished the song, the green of his eyes way too bright under the spotlights. It was too much for Enjolras. He turned tail and ran out of the coffee shop, almost breaking the door in his hast to get out. The cold air outside helped him calm down, but he still ran all the way to the subway, trying to leave the strange feeling that had overcome him behind.

~*~

Grantaire had felt quite moody those last few days. It made a striking contrast with how he'd been feeling before, and he didn't like one inch. His inspiration had gone through the window, leaving him with only one thing to draw again and again. And of course, it had to be Enjolras' face. He'd already filled a whole sketchbook with it, portraits, full-length drawings, sketches, paintings, pencil, crayons, markers... A world of Enjy that he couldn't look at any more, and couldn't bear to stop adding to. It was hell.

He knew perfectly while he was in this slump, and since when. And he really, really didn't understand what had gotten into him. Had Enjolras been offended by his song ? He looked pretty affected, or so Grantaire thought, but he didn't think it would insult him. He didn't even pick the song because of him, because he didn't even know that he would be there. It just was one of his favourites. And before he could talk to him, before he even recovered from the shock of seeing him, Enjolras had left, and hadn't come back since. Grantare was tempted to ask Bahorel about his whereabouts, but it wouldn't do. He was also tempted to rip the poster off the window, but that also wouldn't do. And would be a bit too low for him.

He'd grabbed one of the flyers and was doodling on the back - another Enjy, how strange ! - when the door opened. His heart did a little leap when he recognized the red hoodie. He straightened a little, trying to remember when he'd washed his hair. Enjolras didn't look at him, kept his eyes on the counter. The counter where his drawing was currently resting, visible to anyone. Grantaire grabbed it, but it was too late. Oh, perfect. It was just getting better and better, now, was it ? Enjolras was playing with the strap of his bag, and Grantaire stopped himself from thinking it was cute.

- Hi, he said in his most corporate tone, what will it be today ?

Enjolras' head shot up, but he lowered it as fast.

- The usual, please, he answered.

- That will be two minutes.

Grantaire set himself to work, focusing on each step of the way as not to think of Enjolras' closeness, and the way he was looking at him. Or not. Not that he did care, after all. he was bringing the cup - without any name - to the counter, when Enjolras suddenly asked :

- Were you drawing me ?

- Not at all, Grantaire hurriedly answered. I was...

- It's really beautiful.

Grantaire's brain promptly went into overload. He opened his mouth, closed it again. Luckily, Enjolras didn't look up, or he would have taken to the hills at the sight.

- It's just... he tried. You know. A test. Practice.

- I still think it's beautiful.

Grantaire had to bit his lip to refrain from doing something stupid. Since Enjolras had come in, he'd felt caught in some kind of Twilight-zone-esque situation, where everything was weird and distorted and not happening like it had to. Normally, when faced with someone flirting with them and drawing their faces, people tended to run away and not look back. But Enjolras was still there, looking at the drawing - at his own face. It was not normal. A pretty man like Enjolras shouldn't act like someone like Grantaire being somewhat of a creep was something acceptable. Even he knew that. Enjolras could get anyone he wanted, why would he show even the slightest tolerance for Grantaire's antics ?

And still, he didn't move. Not for a lack of coffee, he was holding the cup. And still watching the drawing. On a whim, Grantaire handed it to him.

- Do you want it ?

Enjolras finally looked at him. He was even prettier right now. Maybe because Grantaire thought he didn't want to come back ever again, and here he was, in front of him. It was unheard of. it was mystery, some kind of magic at work. He was dreaming. And since he was in a dream, he could do anything he wanted, right ? Without consequences. Like leaning on the counter to be closer from Enjolras, and ask him something wild, like if he wanted to go on a date with him.

Exactly what he was doing. He could hear the words as they left his lips, unable to stop them.

- Do you want to go to the market with me ? The Christmas one ?

Enjolras frowned, and Grantaire immediatly knew that he messed up. Of course Enjolras didn't want to go anywhere with him, he didn't want to be seen with him, of course not. People like Grantaire could only admire people like him from the side, but never step into the light. He had overstepped, greatly, and he was going to regret it.

- A market ? Enjolras asked. Do you really think it's a way to celebrate Christmas, just buy and buy ?

Grantaire needed a few seconds to get his mind back. When he did, everything that Enjolras said hit him in the face.

- No ! No, I don't mean... going to the mall, I mean... you know, the Christmas market, with all the stalls and lots of delicacies and good smells and...

Oh right, now he was babbling like an idiot.

- I mean, he corrected himself, people there sell things, yes, but it's mostly crafts, hand-made things, that kind of things. We should encourage artists and the like instead of of turning to malls and the like. You... don't think so ?

Enjolras mulled over it for a few seconds, during which Grantaire's life flashed before his eyes.

- I guess you're right.

Grantaire was happy to hear it, but that was not an acceptation, not really.

- So ? he pressed as gently as he could. What do you think ?

A new silence, a bit longer.

- Okay, Enjolras finally said.

- Great. I'll meat you near the waffle stand at seven, what do you think ?

Enjolras nodded, grabbed his coffee and left. Grantaire grabbed a broom to keep his mind busy, and started sweeping a floor already perfectly clean. A date ! He had a date with Enjolras ! And Enjolras agreed to it ! His heart felt like it had grew at least five sizes, and soon, his feet wouldn't touch the ground any more. He just couldn't wait. Just a few more hours. Just a few.

~*~

Enjolras arrived at the christmas market at 6:54 very precisely. He'd always liked being on time. Grantaire was already there, standing near a small house-shaped shack with fake snow on the roof, that smelled extremely sugary. He wasn't wearing his apron, of course he wasn't, but a leather jacket on a nice sweater. He still had his beanie on, but his curls had been combed. He looked very much like the person who didn't want to look like they were waiting for someone.

Enjolras stepped forwards. Grantaire saw him, and his entire face lit up. Enjolras smiled back. They stayed like that for a few awkward seconds, trying to find something to say that wouldn't sound too cheesy or stupid.

- Thank you for coming, Grantaire finally said. it's cool you could make it.

- I promised I would, didn't I ?

- Technically, you didn't promise, you just accepted.

- Do you really want me there, or are you trying to convince me ?

Grantaire looked taken aback for a second, and Enjolras quickly waved his hands around.

- No, sorry, he amended, this is not what I mean. I just... Okay. Let's start again, shall we ?

- Okay, Grantaire nodded. I'm, like, super happy you could come, I could even do a little dance.

- Please don't.

- Hey, I'll have you know that I'm an excellent dancer, and I'll prove it. But for now, how about we get to the visit ?

- Nice idea. I've... never been to a christmas market, Enjolras confessed.

- Then you're in the right hands, because I'm the perfect guide.

He made a gesture to get closer, then seemed to decide against it, and instead showed hi the market. Enjolras passed the small gate made of an ornate wood panel, and Grantaire followed suit.

The market wasn't very big, maybe two dozens shacks like the waffle one, arranged around a circular alley, around a very large christmas tree. Enjolra shad alwayw been against the tradition of wasting so much money on a day that didn't have any meaning anymore besides being an ode to consumerism, and so had never visited anything that ressembled this. The little houses were each lit in gold, presenting trinkets or food and drinks, beckoning people closer and praising their merchandises. All kind of people were striding through and pressing near the shacks, talking and laughing. There were shiny things everywhere, and lights, and sounds, and music, and people. He didn't even know where to look. Everything was starting to mix together, sights and sounds together.

- Hey, you alright ?

Grantaire's arm grabbed his, very gently, brought him a little closer. Enjolras breathed a little better. Not that he wanted to recognize it, but crowds could easily make him uneasy and uncomfortable ; standing above them on a stage was very different than walking through them, and it could swamp him easily. But it felt less overwhelming with someone at his side. Grantaire started to walk through the shacks, one by one, taking all his time, commenting everything he was seeing, navigating them with ease through the crowd, avoiding people or spots too loud or rowdy. The feeling of oppression receeded, and Enjolras was able to admire the hand-made lamps, shelves and jewelry without panicking. It felt weird, being held so close to someone like this, but it kept the panic at bay, and that was good. Also, Grantaire was polite and charming with anyone, and his running commentary was funny. And he smelled like pine and something else that he couldn't identify but was nice none-the-less. And he found out that he liked it a lot.

~*~

Grantaire was over the Moon. Scratch that, over Mars, Jupiter, Saturn even. He was currently walking through the most romantic place in town at this time of the year, holding close to the cutest boy in town, and said cutest boy did it willingly ! He could have died right now and not regret a thing. Okay, maybe a few, but the idea was there. Enjolras was almost hanging off his arm, and he had to slow down as to not drag him along.

He had feared for Enjolras, and for the date, when he'd seen his face pale and he almost ran away, and he'd try to make him feel better. It had worked, because Enjolras was now way chipper, and was going with him from shack to shack, admiring every little thing. It was very cute to see him so amazed by everything, and Grantaire's heart was beating so hard he was sure everyone could hear him over the christmas music.

They were slowly circling around the market, and soon they'd have seen everything. Grantaire wasn't sure Enjolras would be up for a second turn, even if he seemed to enjoy himself. But he didn't want the date to end. He'd want it to stay forever, but that wouldn't be an option, he knew it. But maybe a little longer....

He dragged Enjolras towards the christmas tree. There was a tiny house, barely the size of a cupboard, that served hot chocolate and christmas cookies. He went to the counter to order two. He had to let go of Enjolras' arm to do that, and he was ready to see him bolt, but no, Enjolras just waited for him. Grantaire handed him the chocolate and the cookies.

- Be careful, he said. They are addictive.

Enjolras shot him a look, but he ate it anyway. Judging by his expression, he quickly had to amend his opinion.

- Those are delicious !

- Right ? I mean, they are mostly a piece of butter in cookie form, but they are delicious. Here, dunk one in your chocolate.

Enjolras did so, and swallowed the cookie. He smiled, the same luminous smile that sent butterflies in Grantaire's stomach.

- Thank you, he said. This... is very nice. Thank you for the date.

- Thank you for coming.

As he said that, something white and fluffy passed in front of his eyes. Then a second, then many more. He looked up. Was it... snowing ? Yes. Yes, it was. They were having a date under a gigantic christmas tree, and it was snowing. He looked down at the exact moment when a snowflake landed on Enjolras' nose, making him a little crosseyed. It was adorable and Grantaire couldn't help to laugh a little. Enjolras didn't look offended by the outburst, he just wiped his nose, wrinkling it a little. If he was going to keep being this cute, Grantaire was going to need some medical help quickly.

The snow was getting thicker, adding small spots of white on Enjolras' hair. He was even beautiful like that, like wearing a crown shining like stars. Grantaire still wasn't totally sure he wasn't dreaming. Even at his most romantic and idealistic, he hadn't pictured anything like this : him, almost hand in hand with an adorable boy, under the snow, at christmas. It was the best present ever. And said boy was looking at him, like he was happy to be with him. Without thinking, he held out his hand.

- Care to dance ? With me ?

Enjolras looked confused for a second. The only music playing was a traditionnal christmas song, not really dancing music. or maybe he was just pondering if it was a good idea or not. After a few tensed seconds, he gingerly took Grantaire's hand, and put his free hand on his shoulder. Grantaire almost didn't dare to put his on Enjolras' waist. It seemed almost... profane. But nothing burst into flames when he did, Enjolras just moved a little.

They started moving, slowly, under the long branchs covered with tinsel. Enjolras was quite grateful, and luckily, Grantaire didn't step on his feet. It was magical, holding him close like this, dancing with him in the snow.

- I told you I was the best dancer, Grantaire said to break the spell.

- I will need more proof.

Grantaire made him spin, getting a squeak out of him. He caught him back, hand back on his waist.

- See ?

- Okay. I'll admit it.

- Thank you.

They fell back into silence, looking at each other. Grantaire couldn't look away from those blue eyes, and Enjolras wasn't either.

- Enjolras, Grantaire muttered.

- What ?

- I'd really like to kiss you.

Enjolras just blinked, and Grantaire suddenly realized what he'd say.

- Fuck, I mean, I don't want to... No, please, ignore everything I said. I shouldn't ask for this like this, and it's not... It's not because we're... Sorry, I'm messing everything up.

There was a squeeze on his hand, and Enjolras stepped a little closer.

- You want to ?

- Yes, but...

- I think... I think I'd like it too.

What ? Did he hear clearly ? He could recognize the song playing over their heads, so he hadn't suddenly lost his hearing. But that couldn't be right. And still, Enjolras was looking at him, almost... expectantly.

Grantaire bent down, very slowly, leaving Enjolras all the time in the world to run away if he wanted. But he didn't. The kiss was light, almost chaste, and very short. Grantaire didn't want to run his luck, and he straightened up almost immediatly. Enjolras had closed his eyes, and he didn't open them right away. When he finally did, there was a hint of red on his cheeks, and his smile was... shy.

Grantaire bent down to lean his forehead against Enjolras'. He wanted to stay like this, but Enjolras sneezed once, twice, almost headbutting him in the process. Grantaire couldn't help but laugh.

- Talk about a mood swing, he managed to say.

- Sorry. That was a nice kiss. I didn't want to spoil the moment.

- Don't worry. We should get you somewhere warm before I only get an ice cube to kiss.

He grabbed Enjolras by the arm again, gently led him out of the market.

- What do you think of stopping by at my place ? I have those christmas cookies, and I can make you the coffee you like.

That was pushing his luck, he'd already used a lot of it this evening. But Enjolras just stepped a little closer.

- That would be great. Especially the cookie part.

-They were right, the way of the heart is really through the stomach.

Enjolras gave him a nudge that didn't really do anything. Grantaire just laughed. Once again, he offered his arm to Enjolras, who slid his own through it, and together, they started to walk back to his place under the snow.

---

Songs are “Que restera-t-il de nous ?” by Gauvain Sers and “(Can’t help) falling in love with you” by Elvis Presley.

#les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #lesmisholidayexchange #bahorel #joly #bossuet #musichetta #so much sweetness #this is so self indulgent #like a hallmark movie #featuring our two favourite dorks

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unofficialkfamtranscripts · 4 years

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King Falls AM - Episode 10: Medium Rare

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Summary: September 15, 2015 - Sammy & Ben welcome in studio guest, medium Miss Olivia DuPont, however a miscommunication of her talents brings up some painful memories that both Ben & Deputy Troy wish to forget.

[podcast intro music]

Sammy [agitated] I’m not gonna debate you ma’am, I’m just trying to say that gravity really isn’t something that’s up for discussion, sheesh.

Ben [amused] Don’t take it personally. Mrs. Bodenheimer told me in third grade that she didn’t believe in air.

Sammy …conditioning?

Ben Oh, no! Air. In general. She thought oxygen was a satanic fairy tale concocted by God-hating scientists.

Sammy [disbelieving] Yet she was in charge of educating you and hundreds of other youngsters.

Ben College diploma goes a long way in a little town, buddy.

Sammy Alright, well up next we’ve got a pretty interesting visitor coming in studio with us.

Ben Hopefully so!

Sammy O— you don’t know her?

Ben I do not, but she sent us a ton of emails during the electrolocaust and said she was a big fan.

Sammy All of them say she has a special talent she’d like to share with us and the listeners

Ben Absolutely, and she’ll be coming up after a word from our sponsors.

[dramatic eerie music]

Announcer On the season premier of the nation’s number one paranormal investigation show: Mission Apparition. [theatrical crash] Dan and the team find themselves in a sticky situation. [static]

Dan [echoing] They had to shut this place down after all the accidents. This is Tanner’s Taffy factory and it’s been abandoned since 1991. [static]

Announcer …or has it?

Dan There’s, uh— God there’s a lot of EVP activity around [walkie talkie sound] Larry, Larry I’d think you better go.

[theatrical crash]

Dan [walkie click] [hushed] Larry? Larry! [walkie click] Larry go!

Larry [creepy, ascending, violin-screech sound effects] [through walkie] I see the lights, man, I see it

Dan Larry move your ass!

Announcer It’s another can’t-miss episode from the show that doesn’t miss a thing when it comes to the extraordinary: Mission Apparition

[News music]

NEWS ANCHOR Season premier, tonight at 9pm on King Falls Channel 13.

[KFAM theme]

Ben That is- ridiculous.

Sammy We’re live, Ben.

Ben I know! It doesn’t change the fact that “Mission Apparition” sucks as much as the channel that shows it.

Sammy It sounded pretty interesting to me.

Ben Dan and Larry from that show? wouldn’t know what to do in a haunted situation to save their lives. Stupid meters and light particles, [“stupid voice” imitation] “oh hey I know! let’s shoot some night vision so everything looks pretty scary and suspect!” Idiots.

Sammy You don’t have to get hot about it.

Ben Oh, I’m just fine, Sammy. I’m simply saying, Mission Apparition is a dumb show Made by dummies For dummies.

Sammy Ladies and gentlemen, please be sure to direct all your hateful tweets to @kingfallsam and we’ll make sure Ben answers each and every one.

Ben Get at me twitter! #bringit

Sammy *laughs* On a different note, we have a guest in studio with us tonight. She is a self-professed medium—

Olivia [slight South African accent] Miss Olivia DuPont. Heh, see I knew it was coming.

Sammy [laughing] You’re good Miss DuPont. So Ben tells me you emailed us in hopes of coming on the show?

Olivia I was very eager to come visit my favourite late-night AM talk show and maybe help some people with some closure along the way.

Ben Thanks Miss DuPont, we are happy to have you.

Olivia Oh, please call me Golden Owl. *Who-whoo who-whoo!*

Sammy Ummm…

Olivia *Laughs* What a hoot and riot, you should have seen your face Sammy. Please, call me Olivia.

Ben Ha. S- soo… um, you aren’t from King Falls, is that correct?

Olivia That is, I live a few towns over. Up in Big Pine. That’s where my shop is as well.

Ben I love Big Pine! I- I used to go camping there as a kid! It’s beautiful and so laid-back.

Sammy Laid-back? I didn’t know it got slower then King Falls!

Ben You’ll have to excuse Shotgun Sammy here, he’s a Big City guy.

Sammy Anyway, so how did you find out that you had this talent, Olivia? That you were a medium.

Olivia Oh, from a very young age. My parents were veterinarians and we lived in an apartment above their office, so I used to hear- so many lost souls. Day in and day out.

Ben Lost souls? Wh-why were these people hanging out at the vets?

Olivia [confused] People?

Sammy I’m sorry, Olivia. Maybe we’ve got our wires crossed here. We were under the impression that you were a psychic.

Olivia [firmly] Medium. Psychics are low life charlatans.

Sammy I’m sorry, a medium.

Olivia A medium is someone whose 6th sense is so in tune, so aware, that a bridge is made to the other side, in which we can communicate with our loved ones.

Ben Uh, but- but again why were the souls of people hanging out at your parents’ vet office?

Olivia *scoffs* What does this have to do with people, Ben?

Sammy Okay, this bridge that you’ve-you’ve built to the other side. Is it not for people?

Olivia [laughing] Heaven’s no!

Ben I’m lost.

Olivia Well I’m- one of a kind, I get human interference from- time to time, you know [long-suffering] a mother looking to reconnect with her kids, a brother that died in the war. Ugh. I ignore that. This is about our deceased loved ones. The furry kind, or feathered! or what-have-you.

Ben Wait. You talk to dead pets?

Olivia Harsh, but not incorrect Ben.

Ben [growing slightly frantic]Oh, no, see I-I-I booked you so we could talk about your gift and take some calls from the listeners, but—

Olivia We can take calls Ben.

Sammy So, to be clear, you have contact with human spirits and you just toss them to the wayside to talk to Fido.

Olivia *laughs* Anyone can talk to deceased humans, Sammy, especially here in King Falls. This place is beaming with activity- even the two of you could do it if you tried. But nobody talks to our long-lost pets.

Ben I’m sorry, this isn’t what we were looking for Miss DuPont.

Olivia Golden Owl. Hoh, excuse me boys *loud sigh* this one is coming on strong! MMMOOooo MMMrrrr… Moo. *loud sigh* Sorry boys,[solemnly] that was- that was a rough one. Cassie the Cow was crying out. She lived in one of those factory farms and she- *deep breath* was using me to tell the world about her last days in the Cowschwitz[sic].

Sammy Okay folks, we’re sorry. Just give us a minute or two so we can uh… So we can get this—

Olivia I seeee… a dog? forgive me- AAAOOOoo AWAWWOOooo ARAwwo *growls*

Ben [Irritated] Okay, I think we’ve heard enough.

Olivia Wolfington?

Ben This is insane.

Sammy [seriously] Wait. What color is the dog?

Olivia Black— oh a little-bit of brown. He looks like— a lap dog perhaps? Uhh…

Sammy A terrier!

Olivia Oh, of course, I can see it nowww. He’s just wagging his tail, so happy, chasing his ball- Oh! Ooh, he’s mounting your Teddy Ruxpin bear[1].

Sammy That’s him! Oh my gosh!

Ben [incredulous] Wolfington the terrier? Come oonnn.

Sammy That’s my dog, Ben! He ran away when I was in grade school.

Olivia Woof! RUFF! Ruff-ruff-rUFF! Oh. He wants you to know that he’s fine Sammy, Wolfington had a good life. He isn’t mad that you only ever shared your veggies at the dinner table.

Sammy [entreating] Heh, it’s all I could do little buddy! my mom was always watchin’!

Ben Sammy?

Sammy Uh, *clears throat* I mean, y-you know that’s- that’s good, that’s real good Olivia. Uh, thank you.

Ben What is going on here?! Snap out if it, Sammy, this is obviously a con. Facebook info- or something.

Olivia I seee— [whispered] what is it? Is it a bird?

Ben [mocking]Cuckoo. Cuckoo.

Olivia Is it a tiny… monkey? No— no no, dig deeper. Marsupial!

Ben You aren’t buying this, right?

Olivia I feeel a- a naame… Serendipity?

Ben [shocked] What the Hell?

Sammy Ben, you alright over there?

Ben I’m- fine. Um. Go on, Golden Owl?

Olivia Is it a… sugar glider!

Ben It is! Serendipity the sugar glider! Oh man.

Sammy You can’t be serious, Ben. Your parents bought you an exotic animal and the best name you can come up with is “Serendipity”?

Ben [defensive] It came already named, man, and No, for the record? we found it. There was a travelling zoo that came through the Falls. And the day after, my friends and I found a box, down at the fairgrounds, and inside? there was little Serendipity, looking back up at us.

Olivia He said he’s sorry that he couldn’t stay. He wishes he did, that mean man with the badge- well, [softly] and you know how that goes.

Sammy Uh, how what goes? What happened?

Ben [upset] I don’t want to talk about it.

Olivia He forgives you Ben.

Ben [forcefully] Golden Owl I said I’m done! Let’s Take some callers.

Sammy Ben, I’m sorry, but this seems like—

Ben [distressed] Why don’t you pry your fingers- into the open wound- of my heart, and dig it all out, Sammy? Sweet Jack in the Box Jesus.

Sammy … You’re right, I-I’m sorry Ben. Well, King Falls you’ve heard Serendipity’s story, now let’s hear yours. 424-279-3858. We are live with pet medium, Olivia DuPont a—

Ben Did he live a good life? Olivia? W-was he happy, like Sammy’s puppy?

Olivia Do you not know?

Ben Know what?

Sammy I’m so confused here.

Olivia Serendipity was a bit of an outlaw. Sugar Gliders are illegal to posses in the tri-state region because of the ’72 Sugar Flu outbreak.

Sammy Seriously, okay guys, I just pulled up Sugar Gliders on the googs, adorable!

Ben They were still illegal. My mom tried calling the travelling zoo but to no avail. And it wasn’t like I didn’t want to keep Serendipity, I loved the little guy but, one of my backstabbing “friends” from school said something to Bodenheimer … I-I don’t want to talk about this.

Sammy They took him away?

Ben Mrs. Bodenheimer did. She took him to the office, and I never saw him again. She said she was going to make sure he got back to the zoo, di-di-did he, Golden Owl?

Olivia MMEEEEOOOOOWWW MEOOOWWW *hisses* Sorry, a calico is summoning me.

Ben Cut the crap! What’s this about the man with the badge?

Olivia [nervously] O- of course I’ve just heard this second-hand. Ben— I mean who’s to say exactly- what happened? It- you know, it’s from a different perspective then we can understand.

Ben What happened?

Olivia Serendipity- bit the man with the badge on the drive and- was tossed out the window. Into the river. Then- eventually down the falls. *chitters and hisses*

Ben That son of a bitch, w-wha-who’s name was on that badge?

Olivia It’s murky. Hard to grasp. Serendipity is jumping from nether tree to nether tree- Oh! Oh! I think I have it. [straining] G. U. N. Oh, I can’t see- D?

Ben [angrily] I knnnew it.

Olivia Take it with a grain of salt Ben- I mean, it’s just one version, from [laughingly] a marsupial no less.

Ben He was an awesome. possum. I-I gotta step outside for a minute [chair squeak].

Sammy While Ben takes a little break, let’s take a few callers.[door closing] Give us a call King Falls. Let’s talk about your dearly departed, uh, pets.

Olivia I’m ready.

Sammy Line 4, you’re live with Sammy and Miss Olivia DuPont.

Troy Gosh darn it, Sammy, I’m really sorry to hear about Ben’s little buddy.

Sammy I’m sure he’ll appreciate the kind words Troy, I’ll be sure to pass them on buddy .

[police radio can be heard faintly in bg]

Troy [solemn] I’ve got a confession to make that I ain’t proud of. I… I was the reason for the demise of little Serendipity. Such a sweet little fella. I just didn’t know he get taken away, y’know? For good.

Sammy Wait. You’re the reason Serendipity was taken away?

Troy Ah hells bells Sammy, I was the one that rolled over on Ben but— I didn’t mean for the little furry guy to get taken away! It was just a real kerfuffle on this end.

Sammy This explains so much.

Troy Me and Ben was best buddies coming up, Sammy. I didn’t want to tell on him, but little Serendipity got frisky one day at lunch and sh[bleep] on one of the teacher’s Mexican pizza. Tough ol’ Bodenheimer cornered me ‘cause she thought he was mine. Ben ain’t never gonna forgive me and that’s deserved.

[door closing]

Sammy That’s all in the past Troy. I’m sure- someday –

Ben Sorry about that guys. Some-someday what?

Sammy Oh, uh- y-you know- we-we’re just taking calls from listeners right now Ben. On the line we’ve got- Troy.

Troy [mournful] Hey Ben. Man I was listening to the program tonight, when I heard Miss DuPont pontificatin’ about the dead animals and su—

Ben [Hastily] Now’s not the time Troy, especially from you!

Troy I’m hurtin’ something awful about Serendipity, buddy. How many times do I have to apologize to make it right?

Ben Loose Lips Sink Ships, Troy, the ship of friendship. Have fun on the SS Backstabber. [click, dial tone] Line 1, you’re live on King Falls AM. Prepare your tissues.

Ron Boys, I won’t keep you long. This question is for, Golden Owl? is that right?

Olivia Yes.

Ron Before my question ma’am, you might want to work on that name. It might just be me, but it sounds like a sophisticated lemon party for birds.Not that I’m against that sort of thing. Sh[bleep] even last night—

Sammy Ron Begley, ladies and gents.

Ron Alright I get it, enough foreplay. Brass tacks Miss Owl, how does it work if you didn’t particularly own the pet, but you saw it as a kid, grew up near it, fed it, maybe had a puff the magic dragon relationship with it.

Ben He wants to know if you can tap into your unending source of pain and find Kingsie’s parents. Maybe tell us how they were, harpooned by Japanese tourists in front of Kingsie as a baby and made into sashimi.

Olivia Mr. Begley I’m not sure if that’s really in my wheelhouse, but perhaps if you introduce me to this Kingsie you’re referencing?

Ron Well hell yeah! How can I get a hold of you to make an appointment?

Sammy All of Miss DuPont’s information is on our website Ron, or you can check it out on twitter at—

Ron Yeah yeah, @, ampersand, hashtag, underscore, exclamation mark dot dot dot King Falls dot net. Shut your sweet little trap Sammy! I got it! I’ll be in touch soon Golden Owl. [mildly exasperated] But seriously, work on that name

[click, dial tone]

Ben Other than, re-breaking everyone’s hearts, Olivia— what do you get out of this?

Olivia I’m sorry for the troublesome story, Ben. Not all of them -hardly any of them- end so badly.

Ben So I’m just the lucky one.

Sammy Ben—

Ben I’m so glad to hear that not everyone’s pet got thrown out of a moving car and into Peace river and down the falls by Sheriff damn Gunderson. That’s the silver lining, right?

Olivia If it’s true.

Ben [skeptical] You get a lot of lying cats and dogs in your line of work, Olivia?

Olivia [awkwardly] Not— to my knowledge.

Ben He did it.

Sammy Okay, let’s not go making accusations it could have been any number of deputies, maybe even from a different county, I mean who can say?

Ben [insistent] It was Gunderson, I just know it. He literally damn near spelled it out! Ask him to spell out the rest, Olivia.

Olivia He saysss, *sigh* Golden Owl, your business license is up for renewal, so don’t rock the boat?

Ben BULL!

Sammy *clears throat* Olivia, we’re gonna take another phone call here in a minute. Perhaps, uh, before that you could give us a light-hearted example of a run in with someone’s, uh, expired creature.

Olivia Well, there was this one encounter with Bruce the Stingray.

Sammy [incredulously] A stingray. Now, what’s a dead stingray got to talk about?

Olivia Well, Steve Irwin[2] for one.

[KFAM outro]

[Credits]

REFERENCES:

[1] Teddy Ruxpin - Teddy Ruxpin is an animatronic children's toy in the form of a talking 'Illiop', a creature which looks like a bear. The creature's mouth and eyes move while "reading" stories played on an audio tape cassette deck built into its back.

[2] Steve Irwin - “The Crocodile Hunter” was an Australian zookeeper, television personality, wildlife expert, environmentalist and conservationist. Possibly best known for the show “The Crocodile Hunter” (1996–2007), an internationally broadcast wildlife documentary series, which he co-hosted with his wife Terri. They also co-owned and operated Australia Zoo, about 80 kilometres (50 mi) north of the Queensland state capital city of Brisbane. Steve died on September 4, 2006, after being pierced in the chest by a stingray barb while filming in Australia's Great Barrier Reef.

#king falls am #king falls #kfam #sammy stevens #ben arnold #kfam transcripts #kfam ep10 #olivia dupont #Ron Begley #troy krieghauser #mission apparition

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whats-the-story-tc · 4 years

Text

21st of April, 2020

"The One with the Fairy Tale"

(Pssst! If I were you, I'd read this post first before starting this new one!)

I cannot believe this is my life.

A couple minutes before the 8 AM rush hour, a Google Classroom notification from V arrived. Then another. Someone likes a spam, I thought, before opening the first one.

Sigh of relief. It was only the essay I'd already sent her. On to the next one, the detailed info on what we were covering today. The play on the table is both figuratively and literally a fairy tale. V, pretty critical of the play and its character work itself, made sure to bring one particular monologue to our attention, which tackles a rather difficult topic in a pretty simple play about love and longing — human mortality. "(It's my particular favourite, too, but don't let that influence you.)" She wrote after explaining what it was. The last paragraph though, now that was something else. "For those of you interested in an A level (here you imagine me looking at certain people)" she began, and my eyes widened as I read it. Sure, there are literature buffs in both classes, but... I can't help but think it was first and foremost an indirect to me. I mean, I'm probably the biggest nerd out of all of us, and she's always looking at me anyways... I want to dream big and say she wanted me to see it most. I mean, it's a link to an incredibly long essay. The situation speaks for itself.

"Look at this silence," V said as she entered our server at around 11 AM. Once she was here, we (as in all of us) started chatting about the break and quarantine. "It has been Sunday for two months." I declared, V immediately continuing the thought: "That part of Sunday, no less, where the line between the previous week and the next one blurs." Couldn't have said it better myself.

As V spoke about the story, I just leaned back on my bed, letting myself get immersed in the explanation and the sound of her voice while trying to imagine everything. After a while, it all started sounding like the plot of Mozart's opera, The Magic Flute — especially when V said that our protagonists, a human boy and a fairy girl, both had companions of the same sex along the way. And as soon as she said those companions are actually married, I waited for her to take a tiny break in speaking and said "How surprising." According to Bookworm Friend, she laughed, but I couldn't hear it clearly because someone made a noise. Then she said "Obviously..." and basically shaded the whole plot line, though I don't remember the rest of the sentence. And guess what she brought up immediately? That's right. The Magic Flute. I was floored! "That's what I was thinking, too!" I chimed in immediately. She took the words out of my mouth! And, soon as I said that, I got a text from Bandana Friend.

BanF: "Wow the twinning"

It's official, folks. Even from a distance, V and I are sharing a braincell.

Serious shit went down in class, including pointing out some... very suggestive imagery that caught us all off-guard because the thing she mentioned isn't inherently suggestive, but okay, V, you do you. (Obviously, I'm not going into detail here, nor sharing the conversation Bandana Friend and I had here because... this is simply not the platform.)

But what I can share is a really funny bit that caused a bit of a pandemonium in the separate class chat none of our teachers are in. You see, about half an hour into class, The Boyfriend sneezes with what is probably the volume of a medium-sized family house collapsing. About five seconds of absolute comical silence follows, then we just hear V saying "Sorry. I'm sorry." before carrying on. All this caused quite the stir, featuring texts like:

BanF: "The whole house just quaked"

and

Classmate: "Jesus who was this 😂😂"

Classmate: "Tell me it wasn't [V]"

S: "No, her man"

Classmate: "Good heavens I thought it was her 😂😂"

and

S: "I laughed so hard that I thank God I was on mute"

So yeah. That's on that. Bit later, with the words mentioned here, V ended class, and there I was, on Cloud 9, dancing around my room and humming Disney songs from the sudden serotonin charge. That was probably the moment I decided to read the play V spoke about. You see, she didn't assign it because the wording is quite difficult (the text is quite old) and students usually struggle with it, but she said that we wouldn't lose anything by reading it, if we wanted to. And thus it happened that I sat down on my balcony at around 5 PM with the first chapter open on my phone, ready to read.

I knew she'd be right. I trust her opinion and my reading comprehension skill suffers at the stake of my absolute inability to concentrate for longer than 10 seconds. But guys. Some of the longer sections I had to go over at least three times before I understood what was going on! An hour or so must've passed when I read the last line of the first chapter, and the butterflies in my stomach took flight. It was time to text V about it. It was my original plan, anyway. Figure out how right she was, then tell her about it. I was already incredibly nervous, trying to stick to what I'd planned on writing. My fingers typed on autopilot and as soon as I was done, I could barely believe I was actually going through with this. But alas, you only live once, carpe that fucking diem. One big breath. Two biiiiig breaths.

Send.

S: "Well, Miss, I'm not saying you were right about the text of [the play], but I've only read Chapter 1 and I'm already doubting if I even speak [my native tongue]... 😅"

I immediately tossed the phone on my bed and ran away panicking. What will she say? How will she react to seeing it's me again? What does she think? Am I funny enough? Am I bothering her? When will she reply?

Half a minute later (!!!), I see the icon of The Platform That Shall Not Be Named on my screen. No. No. No. Nonononononono. I picked the phone up and unlocked it with a shaking hand. I was not prepared for what I was about to read.

V: "Hahaha, well, babydoll...You do. You're just not used to [the old-timey wording]."

I only had the time to sink to my knees, eyes wide, lips agape, when the next message followed.

V: "Though, once you're already through it, I'm curious about your opinion on the play's stageability. 😄 (given such a word exists)"

You bet your asses all air left my lungs. Not only did she call me babydoll again, now in a way that I could forever remind myself of it, but she basically just prompted another conversation! She wants to talk to me again! And I'll have you reminded, V's basically trusting my judgement based on the scriptbook I showed her at the dawn of time, that she'd never actually seen in action! I wonder what I did to earn all this trust...

S: "I'll see at the end and tell you :)"

V: "Alright :))"

Then, all brave from the double smiley, I had a really stupid and impulsive thought. (Don't yell.) Me being the little shit that I am, I googled stageability and took a screenshot of no results having been found. I took a screenshot, cropped it and sent it to V, my head being completely empty as I did. I acted purely from gut feeling.

S: "Tough luck this time, it seems😄"

V: "i thought so!"

(I can only hope she took it as a joke. But, the way I know her, she probably understood. Still, the me of right now, exactly two days and two minutes later, wouldn't do it.)

And this is where it ended. This is where I ended. My hands, my legs, even my lips were trembling as I tried to process the sudden load of emotion overcoming me. What did I just do. What did we do. What happened here. All this just echoed in my head, and I went ahead and texted every friend I wanted to tell in all caps.

BanF: "WOAAHHHH"

BanF: "you guys have really warmed up to each other"

Even now, as I was typing, I got the chills just thinking about this conversation. If it wasn't for the 'Miss' and my use of formal pronouns in the very first text, it would've just felt like two friends, who happen to both love literature, talking. And this really warms my heart, because there's this fantastic woman, who I genuinely think is one of the best influences on my life and... she just likes me for me. She immediately answers when she can, comes off genuinely happy to talk to me, prompts another thing I can tell her about and all but tells me that my opinion matters to her. Because this is her. I'm almost convinced that I will never hear her outright say that she likes me or she's proud of me, but, should I have any doubts, she does everything to let me know. I just misunderstand her sometimes, not knowing where to look.

When I tell you all this still doesn't feel real...

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

#tc #tcc #teacher crush community #female tc #female teacher crush

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prairiedust · 5 years

Text

The Folktales of Supernatural

Here is the third and probably last post in my trilogy of the folkloristics, folklore, and folktales of Supernatural. You do not have to read the first and second posts necessarily, but it is a series, so…

Anyways, in Unhuman Nature, Ross-Leming and Buckner gave us a thumbnail of season three’s main arc-- Dean’s imminent hell deal-- in Jack’s perfectest day evaar. However, Dean got to do for Jack what no one was able to do for him when he was living under the shadow of his own death. Instead of taking a joy ride, going fishing (or to the beach, come ON show,) or fine okay spending some time with a girl with daddy issues (come ON buckleming,) Dean took care of business and showed Sam how to take care of the car. When Sam was also undergoing the Trials, they were again racing against the clock. Cas, too, was under the shadow of the Leviathan infestation, and there was very little carpe in the few diems he had left until the creatures destroyed him. There was always the understanding in Unhuman Nature that TFW would be doing everything possible to save Jack, but while Sam and Cas were best tasked with trying to find a cure, Dean knew that what would be the right thing for Jack was not being in the bunker dwelling on his imminent demise, and living is a particularly Dean thing.

It was a wonderful way of retelling this particular series legend, and using that series “motif” in a new way (anyone want to tackle a Supernatural Motif Index LOLOLOL) to do the “what happens when a story is retold” theme.

So, to tie up this trilogy of close readings, I want to talk a little about how the European version of Sleeping Beauty is a good way to understand what else is going on thematically with the trifecta of recursion-retelling-mirroring that’s been going on.

There are very few citations here as the evolution of Sleeping Beauty is more or less accepted as general knowledge now-- the concept is explored in Folk and Fairy Tales 2nd edition, edited by Martin Hallett and Barbara Karasek. It’s also on Wikipedia, if you’re into that.

CW for discussion of the non-est con to ever non-con and other unsettling themes that are nonetheless perfectly ordinary in folklore.

Sleeping Beauty was once considered to be perhaps one of the most wholesome of the Grimms’ fairy tales, but (in pop culture at least) the shine is starting to wear off. I was playing the Ellen edition of Outburst with some people I didn’t even know about a month ago and one of the “clues” was “Sleeping Beauty” and as soon as the guesser put that card up on her forehead, a guy shouts out, “That story is about sexual assault, fight me!”

Which makes this particular “folk tale” a neat way to show how folklore, or storytelling and retelling, is such a good frame for season 14.

I mentioned in the first post of this series that Sleeping Beauty is a great example of the intercycling of folklore and literature-- oral tales can become literary works, and vice versa, and they can comment on one another in surprising ways.

Let’s start with one of the most recent iterations of the Sleeping Beauty story and a move from one kind of text to another-- Disney’s 1959 animated movie, “Sleeping Beauty.” I know a lot of readers on here will know it-- and we’ll work our way down to the centuries-old bones of this tale.

Right off the bat, we get a really great (and subverted!) example of that “rule of three” 2/1 pattern I already talked about. The king and queen invite three “good fairies” to their daughter’s christening. They are even called “good fairies” by the herald as they enter on a sunbeam, so you already know there’s gonna be a bad one. The first fairy, Flora, gives Princess Aurora the gift of beauty. The next, Fauna, blesses the baby with the gift of song. Before fairy #3-- Merryweather-- can bestow her gift, Maleficent arrives, totally pissed that she hadn’t been invited but cool as a frozen cucumber, casually lies about her reason for showing up and then curses Aurora to prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die on the evening of her 16th birthday. Merryweather uses her turn to alter Maleficent’s curse, as she does not have the power to nullify it: Aurora will fall into a deep sleep that only “true love’s kiss” can awaken her from. In hopes of protecting her from the curse in any way shape or form, King Stephan orders every spinning wheel in the kingdom to be burned, but the fairies say that this will not be enough so they sequester her in the woods under the alias Briar Rose, and they all live as peasants, eschewing magic and raising her in almost total isolation so that Maleficent can not find her to work the curse. Neat. Briar Rose gets into mischief anyway, gads about the forest singing like a klaxon, meets a prince named Phillip who is having Adventures in the Woods, falls In Love™ with him despite some now-creepy hand-grabbing. Later the fairies tell her not to worry about mysterious forest dudes and traumatize her by telling her that her entire life has been a lie, and then inexplicably send her home to the palace for her 16th birthday celebration despite the fact that the whole reason for hiding out was to keep Maleficent from being able to find her. Maleficent discovers that Aurora is at the palace, games the anti-spindle situation by luring Aurora up to a tower to a magical spinning wheel; Aurora pricks her finger on the spindle, and Bob’s your uncle. The good fairies put everyone in the castle into a deep sleep (so that while they are waiting for some weirdo to fall in True Love with a sleeping teenager, eugh, the people she knows (aka JUST MET) will sleep with her so that they won’t be upset by the complete failure of their plans) the fairies realize that Prince Phillip, the guy that Aurora has been betrothed to since she popped out of the womb, is one and the same as Mysterious Forest Dude that she fell in love with, and they send him to Aurora’s castle. Maleficent imprisons him, the fairies help him escape, he tears through a thorn bush that Maleficent creates as an impediment, kills the witch, and wakes Aurora with a chaste kiss. It’s fine, they met once, it was only a kiss (IT WAS ONLY A KISS), and this was 1959. So, that’s the Disney text in a nutshell. Folklorist Kay Stone says in her book Some Day Your Witch Will Come that while Disney had been called “a ‘Master of Fantasy’ in fact Disney removed most of the powerful fantasy of the Marchen and replaced it with false magic.” While her criticism of the Disnified Grimms tales is explicitly feminist, the criticism stands as Disney’s product is far divorced from the folk “originals.”

Most people are familiar with the Grimms’ written version of “Sleeping Beauty,” or “Little Briar Rose,” as they titled it when they published it in their first collection. This is the version that Disney partly modeled their story after. I won’t retell it, I’ll just discuss differences between the two versions, so please go read D. L. Ashliman’s translation here. It’s short. And. It turns out that the German “folk tale” that the Grimms brothers harvested is more than likely based on a story that was published by Charles Perrault in France which re-entered the Germanic oral tradition at some point. In this version, there are thirteen “wise women” (as opposed to fairies) in Briar Rose’s estimable father’s kingdom, but he only has twelve golden plates for them at the celebration of her birth, so he only actually invites twelve wise women (which is a hilarious commentary on what the lower classes thought of the nobility, am I right? Heaven forbid you don’t have enough fancy plates, quelle horreur or rather wie schrecklich or whatever the German equivalent would be.) Again, after eleven blessings, the evil crone who was disrespected barges in and curses the princess to prick her finger on a spindle (not the spindle of a spinning wheel, though) and die at fifteen; The next-eldest of the wise women modifies the curse and dad has all the spindles destroyed. Fifteen was apparently too young for a sexual awakening in 1959 but it was fine in 1812. Also, there were no shenanigans in the woods-- Briar Rose grows up a princess. She finds an old woman illicitly spinning in the castle one day and wants to try it, pricks herself with the spindle (the German version never specifies where) and her sleep is so profound that the entire castle falls asleep with her. A massive thorn hedge grows up because neglect, and eventually conceals the castle, and all that is left of the kingdom is a legend. Many other princes met agonizing deaths in that thorn hedge trying to get to Briar Rose but one day Her ACTUAL Prince shows up. The thorns turn to blossoms, he sails right through, kisses the girl, and as she wakes up so does the whole castle. The tale is over with an “and they lived happily ever after” ending.

Charles Perrault, the Frenchman who wrote the version of “La belle au bois dormant” or “The Sleeping Beauty in the Woods” that the Grimms’ informant possibly retold a hundred years later, has seven good fairies invited to the shindig, because everyone assumes that fairy number eight is dead or too ill to travel or senile or whatever. Here you can see that this isn’t an error made because a king was afraid of committing a faux pas and not from being afraid of the “bad” fairy, but because no one bothered to check on the old woman and find out what the reality was. You know what they say about what happens when you assume. So this time a young fairy steps forward and changes the curse, and instead of violently burning all the spinning wheels and spindles, the king merely outlaws their use. When the princess is sixteen or seventeen, (French nobles apparently had a little more childhood than German peasants,) she finds an old woman spinning in a tower who has remarkably never heard of the spinning ban. She hands over the spindle and the princess pricks her hand, and faints dead away. The king puts her on a bed of gold and I’m gonna quote Ashliman for this next part: “When the accident happened to the princess, the good fairy who had saved her life by condemning her to sleep a hundred years was in the kingdom of Mataquin, twelve thousand leagues away. She was instantly warned of it... [and] set off at once, and within an hour her chariot of fire, drawn by dragons, was seen approaching.” She puts everyone in the castle to sleep and this time the thorn hedge is actually a privacy fence that sprouts up under the good fairy’s magic. A hundred years later, some prince is having Adventures in the Woods when he sees the tops of the castle towers from a distance. One of his retinue tells him there’s a pretty girl inside, so he goes to check it out. Bruh, the brambles part for him magically, but allow only him, out of all of his party, to enter. He doesn’t awaken this princess with a kiss, but by the mere act of falling down beside her and being so genuinely and enormously in love with her that she wakes up on her own. Ol’ Charlie’s story is not over by half, though. They talk for hours, Perrault has a lot about eating and getting dressed and then they nap together a little, and finally get married. The prince’s mother is an ogre, however, and wants to eat her grandkids, Dawn and Day. Where does this come from? Why is it in here? What the actual heck? And it gets crazier from there. The prince becomes king and rides forth to wage war in a distant land, and the queen actually tells her steward that she wants to eat the little girl for her dinner. He tricks her by hiding Dawn and serving the queen a lamb instead. Next day, she wants to eat the little boy. He tricks her again by serving her a baby goat. Then, she wants to eat her daughter-in-law and they serve the evil queen venison. Then one day she hears the voices of her erstwhile entrees in the castle, discovers that she had been tricked, and prepares a cauldron full of venomous reptiles to throw the three innocents into to their deaths. The prince-turned-king shows up just in time and his mother is so beside herself with rage that she actually throws herself into the vat instead. So, yeah, weird stuff. Stuff that the Germans left out, or forgot, or decided that there was no “moral” that they wanted anything to do with. Was Perrault out of his damn mind?

WELL AS IT TURNS OUT, Perrault was actually retelling a Neapolitan folk tale that had been collected long before by a fellow named Giambattista Basile. He called the story “Sun, Moon, and Talia.” There is some evidence that it predates Basile, but most folklorists start there because the problem with oral tradition is that it’s rarely written down (ba-dump-tsss.) So we can definitively pick up the European version of Sleeping Beauty in Naples, Italy, in the early seventeenth century, when this mid-level clerk and author writes down a whole bunch of “nursery tales” and then dies. One of the stories he writes down is called “Sun, Moon, and Talia.” And I didn’t want to talk about it much before, except that I think understanding that Perrault seriously sanitized Basile’s story is the perfect illustration of “what happens when a story is retold.” In Basile’s story, to which I’m linking an okay version here with a content warning for rape and for the fact that they linked that painting “Nightmare” to the story, http://www.mftd.org/index.php?action=story&act=select&id=3364, Talia the princess is not cursed, but her father’s scholars tell her fortune and say to the king that she would “incur great danger from a splinter of flax.” He forbade flax (from which linen is made) from entering the castle. So in this version, it is the material, not necessarily the method of transforming it, that imperils the princess. Yes this is a giant metaphor for sexual intercourse and/or loss of innocence. Nonetheless, she comes across a woman who is spinning flax into thread, wants to try it, and gets a splinter under her nail. She falls down dead. The king is heartbroken, shutters the castle, and leaves her propped up on a throne. Some time later, another king comes across the castle, explores it, sees the dead Talia who seems to be weathering her death remarkably well, and has his way with her. I can only imagine what ran through Perrault’s head when he came across this. “Sacre bleu!!! Non, non ma petite chere, this will not do. A true king would never!” or something like that. ANYWAY, Basile’s story is still the frame on which Perrault based his literary fairy tale, for Talia gives birth to twins, a boy and a girl, Moon and Sun, one of which sucks the splinter out of her finger, and she awakens. The king finds her but keeps her a secret. The king’s wife (he has a wife!) sends for them, and then to get revenge on her husband she orders the children cooked and served to him one day, but again there is a switcheroo and the cook uses lambs instead, and later it all comes out and Talia marries the king and Basile’s moral (vastly different than that of Perrault) is “Those whom fortune favors find good luck even in their sleep.” I don’t know if that was written in “sarcasm gothic” or not.

The bones of all of the stories are the same, but in each iteration something has changed which makes a huge impact on the overall themes of each telling. First, Perrault drops the rape of Talia, and slides the villain role over to the prince’s mother and makes the rape-king a virtuous prince to erase the royal philandering and necrophilia, and there is no kiss at all. The Germans bring the kiss back, weirdly enough, to somehow reach back through Perrault’s chivalrication to the sexual component of Briar Rose’s awakening-- it might be the imagery of the spindle, which in some cases is a big rod typically dropped between a spinner’s knees to make the yarn or thread, or it could be the completely bonkers idea that just kneeling beside her bed would not be enough to break the kiss (but then again, why wouldn’t a test of virtue be enough? Indeed, in the Disney version, the three fairies arm Phillip with “the shield of virtue.”) In Basile’s version, Talia dead, not sleeping, and in the Disney version there is the totally weird seclusion until young adulthood (that weirdly enough hearkens to the Irish legend of Deirdre, a woman who was betrothed to the king of Ulster and was sequestered to both preserve her innocence and thwart a dire prophecy but who still managed to run off with another guy and cause an epic war) and they rename the princess Aurora, which is Latin for Dawn, which is the name of her daughter in the French version. It’s all very intermangled.

Did other stories with similarities come from a single stalk, an ur-story like the Great Hunt may have? D. L. Ashliman in Folk and Fairy Tales: A Handbook tells us that Grimm and other folklorists believe that these SB stories are the vestiges of myths (132) such as the story of Brunhilde, who was put to sleep with an enchanted thorn for reaping a warrior favored by Odin. Or does this particular metaphor just crop up in cultures everywhere through synchronicity? In the Japanese folktale The Matsuyama Mirror, a young girl is given a mirror by her father, who tells her that whenever she is sad she can look in the mirror and see her mother, and eventually the mirror’s symbolism thwarts her evil stepmother, much as in the story of Snow White. Is there an even older story that connects these two?

I chose these four versions of Sleeping Beauty because for one thing this story was mentioned in the text of The Scar, they are clearly family, and the American/European versions are the most familiar to me (and I assume at least the American audience of Supernatural) so it easy to demonstrate this “digging down” to get to the seed of a story-- in this case the sterilization of the Sleeping Beauty story is an excellent metaphor for a powerful trauma weathering and being repressed-- or healed-- over time. Many scholars have noted the sexual symbolism of the spindle, which if you’ve never seen one is a rod of varying lengths with a round weight at the bottom, and in hand-spinning, typically a spinner hangs the spidle between their legs and it can pump up and down as it spins. Even the later versions of the story that feature spinning wheels have a spindle on them, and it is an unmistakably phallic component of the rig, coupled with the pistoning action of the spinner’s foot on the treadle to spin the flywheel. So hm. However, not all spindles are sharp enough to possibly prick a hand or a finger, and in the original “Talia” it is the flax splinter that inserts itself into her flesh. At any rate, it’s a metaphor for sexual penetration retold for an audience that has increasingly moved further and further away from being able to see (or is unwilling to acknowledge) sexual subtext.

Jack’s perfect day was bittersweet, but was also unmistakably idyllic and idealized, almost Disnified, although the magic was still unmistakably powerful. The scene by the river, where Jack explicitly invokes the memory of John, should also illuminate scenes from the series’ past, such as Dean’s dream sequence where he was fishing off of a dock, or where rogue angel Daniel was fishing when he was found by Castiel and Hannah. Fishing is a motif, if you will; it’s been featured in the show before. Jack’s eventual death is one of the show’s tale types. Dean, Sam, and Cas have all been through it-- as Cas says in The Spear, it’s “something of a rite of passage.” But we’re being told this story again from a point of view that was almost tragically abbreviated the first time-- when John trades his soul for Dean’s in In My Time of Dying, we got very little of what it means for a parent to sacrifice themselves for a child. Likewise, the other times that TFW faced their dooms, they had (albeit under duress) volunteered themselves. Jack was an innocent. Dying is perhaps the ultimate loss of innocence-- it certainly was for Talia. So by stripping away the halcyon glow of the river scene, we get to the bones of where the “under threat of impending death” tale type originated in the series.

This whole season so far has been the most clever way possible to do a “retrospective.” It’s not a sign that a show is tired, but that it has reached a point of self-reflection that very very few shows ever get to.

I have to wonder if this way of painting season 14’s arc through a constellation of motifs-- through callbacks as hysterical as the Scooby lunchbox full of pressurized gas in Mint Condition to returning characters as poignant as Lilly Sunder’s appearance in Byzantium, to thematic parallels to past seasons-- is going to continue into the second half of the season. We will know quickly, as the stakes have been raised after Dean’s repossession, whether Dabb and his writers continue to use the motif index of the show, or if this retrospective period is over and we’ll be covering new thematic ground. I will say, this theme has been tied up pretty neatly with the mid-season finale, that while Castiel essentially stepped into the Jack’s Fractured Fairy Tale much the same way that the way the good fairy modifies the evil fairy’s curse in Sleeping Beauty, that choice could shift everything in his mythos over to “beat the devil” which is another favorite SPN story, Tale Type 210a or whatever (and is irl ATU 330: The Smith Outwits the Devil and hopefully would be 330C which is the kind of “Devil Went Down to Georgia” classic American and African-American story.) (Imagine the SPN Tale Type Index starting with “1-199 - Origin Stories - 1a Burning Wife, 1b Burning Girlfriend, 1c House Burns Down, 2 Demon Blood Fed to Infant” and etcetera… anyways.) And we know that Cas and Sam are going into Dean’s headspace to get him, so there’s the rescuing forces storming the sleeping castle trope (remember the “sleeping” patron in Rocky’s Bar?) getting resolved potentially. But I do believe that this focused close reading brings to light a “healing trauma” theme that the history of Sleeping Beauty makes explicit. It is not the only reading of the show to do that, but again, if I could describe Dabb’s era with one phrase it would be “There’s no such thing as too much meta.”

See y’all Thursday night!

#the folkloristics of supernatural #the folklore of supernatural #the folktales of supernatural #spn meta #sleeping beauty

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thecloserkin · 5 years

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book review: Jeannette Ng, Under the Pendulum Sun (2017)

Genre: Gothic fantasy

Is it the main pairing: Yes

Is it canon: Yes

Is it explicit: No

Is it endgame: Yes

Is it shippable: It is lit

Bottom line: HOW IS THIS BOOK EVEN REAL. When they put me in the ground I hope they bury me with a copy of this book so I can read it in the afterlife.

Miss Catherine Helstone, a clergyman’s daughter, sets sail for the infidel lands where her brother Laon is a missionary and from whence his letters home have grown increasingly cryptic and erratic. The twist is, he’s not spreading the Good Word in India or Africa or the New World — he’s in Fairie asdfgkkjkdfjdk. Catherine hasn’t seen him in three years. She’s so worried about him that she strong-arms the Missionary Society of London into bankrolling her ticket to Arcadia, on the grounds that the previous guy who held the post met a messy & mysterious end, and she is the properest person to prevent the same fate befalling Laon. Because she’s highkey in love with him. Well, that revelation takes half the book to unfold, however the opening line is “My brother and I grew up dreaming of new worlds.” For the first 25% of the book she doesn’t even lay eyes on Laon, she just shows up in Arcadia and stays in his house while he’s gone on some unspecified errand. And what a house it is.

I feel like I’ve spent my whole life reading about impossibly grand, potentially sentient haunted houses. Such houses are drenched in secrets. You need a first-person narrator to really experience the affect of the house, preferably someone who’s unfamiliar with the setting and disoriented by the mind games it plays: Jane Eyre in Mr. Rochester’s house leaps to mind. Jane Eyre btw nearly marries her first cousin to take up the missionary life with him (before deciding to go back to Rochester). See, the reason Jane’s cousin proposed to her was because ties of blood were thought to be not strong enough to bind—when you’re out in the field converting heathens you need an acknowledged romantic attachment. So the fact that Cathy follows her brother to Arcadia tells you everything about how important he is to her. She would have followed him to perdition. Think of that immortal Sylvia Plath quote: I love him to hell and back and heaven and back, and have and do and will.

To return to the subject of incest in haunted houses: The Fall of the House of Usher? Atmospheric, creepy af, but the implied relationship is presented decidedly unsympathetically. The Thirteenth Tale? The incest is canon but you are not supposed to be rooting for the incestuous couple. Crimson Peak? She’s mentally ill and it’s not even the fucked-up kind of shippable a la Jaime/Cersei. Flowers in the Attic? Shippable, but the dubious consent squicks me out. A Spell of Winter? Comes closest, in that they were 100% in love, but it was a situational in love if you know what I mean—where is my tormented passion with 200 pages of obsessive pining??? Now do you see why I lost my fucking mind when I read Under the Pendulum Sun? I have been waiting for this book for MY ENTIRE GODDAMN LIFE.

Laon may be absent from the house, but he is very much present in Cathy’s thoughts. She can’t go five paragraphs without mentioning some innocuous detail, fondly remembered from their shared childhood.

In youth, I had shared Laon’s restlessness. University had only nourished and nurtured his ambitions, but education had stifled mine. I had been taught to tame my wild impulses and desires that had agitated me to pain. I had folded it with my soul and learnt to drink contentment like you would a poison. Drop by drop, day by day. Until it became tolerable.

If this isn’t shades of Cersei & Jaime, mirrors cracked by patriarchy!!! Seriously this is exactly how Cersei must have felt, after 8 years of crossdressing in each other’s clothes, the day the master-at-arms put a sword in Jaime’s hand and she got… what, embroidery? Cathy cried the first time Laon went off to Latin & Greek lessons without her. He smuggles his books to her afterwards, of course, and they do spend plenty of time poring over the classics together. But it’s not the same as being granted that education in her own right. In the great tradition of clergymen’s daughters, Cathy is “genteel enough to be educated and accomplished, but never useful. Caught between the world of labour and that of letters,” she goes on to become a lady’s companion and later a governess—which for a gently-reared lady is a kind of social death. Jane Fairfax in Emma certainly saw it that way. Wellborn women generally embark upon the vocation of governess as an avenue of last resort. Which is to say, there’s not a lot of scope for independent ambition for a girl in Cathy’s position. She’s twenty-five when she comes to Arcadia, and what is incredible is not that she doesn’t mention any suitors or romantic dalliances but she doesn’t even mention any friends by name. It’s like her whole world is Laon, her thoughts are consumed by him, her memories are dominated by him. It must have been very lonely growing up on the Yorkshire moors.

When I was young and I walked on the moors with Laon, I could not imagine a wilder place, given over to nature. The biting chill in our faces and the mists hanging over the endless, treeless dales. We chased each other, through the rippling heather, through ruined farmhouses. We would pretend that we were the only people left alive in the world.

And so, here I was: clutching the compass he had left behind, knot tightening within my heart, under the light of the pendulum sun.

Mark that metaphor of the knot tightening around her heart—it will continue to crop up. She’s been in love with him a long time, even if she won’t admit it to herself. Ffs he left her a compass when he took up his missionary duties, and if that isn’t a metaphor for his heart I dunno what is.

Laon and I used to play games, scaring each other under the sheets … I still remember huddling against him, hooking our fingers together and promising under every token that we held sacred that if one of us were to die, we would come back and haunt the other.

This is at once wholesome and macabre—they would give up heaven and hope of salvation in order to HAUNT the other as a GHOST because they’re that scared of being separated from each other? ICONIC.

I longed to hear my brother’s sermons again. He had a passion that surged under the measured cadence of his voice and, more than that, I had begun to miss his discordant singing.

She misses his sermons! She misses his voice even if he can’t carry a tune! She misses everything about him!

I missed Laon. I used to tickle him in church to keep him awake. All too often, we’d giggle and bicker under our breaths until our father cast us a stern gaze from the pulpit and we’d silence. I’d keep holding his hand, though, as he needed my nails in his palm to not fall asleep.

He would reach across the table and wind my hair behind my ear. Reaching for a pin to secure the distracting hair, I told myself that it was nonsense to miss the softness of his touch or the stroke of his fingers.

That night, I dreamt. Laon and I were children again, when his hands were no bigger than mine. We were running, tumbling through the heather …

I tried to imagine his voice. I remembered the curve of his ears against my lips and the warmth of his hands in mine. We had not laced together our fingers for a very long time. He didn’t even shake my hand before he left.

This girl sure spends a lot of time thinking about holding her brother’s hand!!! Here the text begins to tease at the rupture that happened before he left, and the non-supernatural causes of their long estrangement. Oh here she is asking theologically thorny questions of her tutors at boarding school:

My palms stung for days afterwards as I was whipped for impertinence. I gritted my teeth through the pain as I wrote to Laon about it, my letters curling all wonky.

Awwww he’s her #1 confidante, the one she turns to for comfort and validation. It’s been tough not having him around these last few years:

More than ever, I missed Laon. I wanted to tell him about this, to press my forehead against his and whisper to him what I knew like old secrets shared in the dark under blankets and sheepskins.

It’s just that everyone seems to take Cathy for granted—offhand she says she’s darned more socks than educated young minds—and Laon is the only one who sees her and values her. Every memory of their childhood closeness is somehow sweet as well as mega suggestive?! Here are some more super suggestive lines:

”You don’t only ever want things you could have.”

”It is dangerous eating forbidden foods.”

That last line refers to the well-known injunction against mortals eating or drinking anything while sojourning in the faerie realm: Once you taste fae food the Fair Folk get to keep you forever. In the mythology of this story, it’s okay to eat as long as you sprinkle salt on it first. You have to put salt in everything you consume, though, even your hot chocolate—just another reminder that Arcadia is inhospitable and alien and if you set one foot wrong your soul is forfeit. For the moment Cathy is confined to the manor, because there’s a geas that guarantees her safety on the property but not beyond it. So she wanders around this creepy-ass house that features doors into empty air, lanterns guttering out, moths that eat away the ink on your parchment. The other inhabitants include: A ghostly housekeeper she never sees, a gnome handyman lately converted to Christianity, and a changeling fae girl who Cathy suspects to be her brother’s mistress. Cathy obtains the journals of Reverend Hale—the priest who preceded Laon—and sets to work deciphering them.

My brother’s house became to me a place of questions without answers.

Later on, when Laon returns, he straight up begs her to leave it alone:

”Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Don’t try to solve this place. It won’t end well.”

This, of course, is the sort of admonition ignored by the heroine of every Gothic romance—warnings destined to fall on deaf ears as she plunges ahead to unravel the mystery. Ok but let’s talk about the scene where Laon comes back, encounters Cathy and concludes she is a PHANTOM conjured up to torment him:

”If you are trying to seduce me, spirit, I’m afraid I’m quite incapable at the moment.” “I … I am your Cathy. Your sister.”

But of course any spirit would take the form of his sister, the person dearest to his heart. “Seduce” is an interesting word choice, isn’t it? But listen to the way she says “your Cathy”!!!

”Why do you plague me so? Does it please you to see me like this? Have you tortured me enough?” ”Is it so impossible that I am indeed your sister? Can you not believe that I could and would follow you? Can you not believe that I have the strength and the love to come? Can you not believe that I would care—“ “Catherine!” His walking stick clattered to the floor.

And then he TAKES HER IN HIS ARMS. They fall down and roll around, his face muffled in her shoulder, and she “dared not look at him” which is code for “if I look at him I will kiss him” until they’re interrupted by a servant and guiltily spring apart. She’s so glad to have him back. Listen to the easy way they tease each other:

”Oh, hush, you are nothing like Lord Byron.” I took the page from him. “Your poetry is abysmal.” “Exactly like him then,” said Laon.

I SNORTED.

”You used to crawl into my bed when there was thunder. I was always fairly sure it was just an excuse, you would fall asleep so quickly when you clung to me.” “You were warm,” I muttered in half confession, avoiding his gaze. “And your bed smelt nice.” “My bed smelt of me.” My voice grew smaller and my fingers agitated. “Exactly.”

HE SMELLED NICE. And who can resist the all-powerful bedsharing trope amirite? The problem is, just because Laon is physically present doesn’t mean he stops being emotionally distant:

I found myself studying the rhythm of his gait, the set of his jaw and the weariness in his shoulders. There was so much between us that remained unspoken, and for all that I could read from the way he moved and held himself, it was not enough.

There are oceans of unsaid things between them. Plus, every time she lays a hand on him—and after their reunion it’s always Cathy initiating the touch—he acts like it physically pains him. How do you react to that, to your brother recoiling from you touch?

”I am not an ornamental hermit,” said Laon, his anger spilling over. I placed a hand on his shoulder and he flinched at my touch but calmed.

The sight of my own helpless brother disarmed me. I reached out a comforting hand to him, laying it on his shoulder … He leaned into my touch and I could see his demeanor soften before he pulled away.

”You need me here, Laon.” I put my hand on his shoulder; he flinched and pulled away. ”You aren’t safe here.” his eyes flickered to me and then away again. “It’s not about that … It’s not that I need you, it’s that I want—“ he stopped. His voice sounded as though it was about to break. He turned and simply left.

Laon does that at lot—breaks off in the middle of sentences. He’ll say things like, ”Is it not enough that—“ and then just stop. Like he has to clamp the words down before he can betray his true feelings to Cathy. He tells her she has to leave in two weeks, which is an entirely arbitrary deadline based on the fact that he can’t stop either worrying about her or wanting her:

”It is very dangerous out there, Cathy. In the mists. Anything … I cannot—“ “What cannot you do, Laon? … Have you not done it all? Have you not gone to university? Have you not left England? Have you not made yourself a grand explorer?”

What he cannot do, and what he longs to do above all, is protect her. He’s been petitioning the Faerie Queen to grant the Church some concessions, like license to travel & preach all over Arcadia, and it doesn’t sound like he’s getting anywhere. Cathy’s presence is both keeping him sane and driving him to distraction.

Though my eyes were on the fire, his were on me. I could feel his gaze on my skin and I ached to touch him again.

She ACHES for hiS TOuCH omg i am L I V I N G. Did I mention she DREAMS about him, like, constantly?

That night, I dreamt of Laon. He lay under a willow in a garden, resting his head on the lap of a pale, pale woman. She wound her arms around him and he sighed as she stroked his face … The dream continued for some time, and when I finally awoke, I found my eyes gritty and sore from unshed tears, and my heart aching.

She later recognizes the “pale, pale woman” as the actual Faerie Queen who invites herself to Laon’s house on a sort of Royal Progress. This is Cathy greeting the queen and registering that she’s the woman from her dream:

I withered under her gaze and that knot of pain in my chest grew heavier and tighter. She smiled, and I could see again those lips brushing against my brother’s ears.

The thing is, Cathy invokes the imagery of lips brushing against ears in reference to her own memories of growing up with Laon, “his lips brushing against my ear in mimicry of a secret.” It gets worse. She’s summoned to the Faerie Queen’s chambers and the bottom drops out of her stomach when she sees the bed:

I remembered attaching my green ribbons to our old sheets. They had been our mother’s in her dowry, and when Laon had inherited them I had sewn on the green ribbons on an extravagant whim. I had worn those ribbons in my hair running through the moors. I remember him trying to snatch them from me as we rolled about in the heather. Those were Laon’s sheets on Mab’s beds.

Those are literally the sheets that made up their mother’s trousseau, that Cathy herself had painstakingly embellished with her own handiwork. In an era when all your clothes and linens had to be hand-sewn without aid of machines, it was indeed extravagant to spend that much time adding green ribbons to a perfectly serviceable set of sheets. The symbolic significance though—Cathy would have sewn them on for Laon, would have expected Laon to sleep on them. WHAT KIND OF FUCKING MESSAGE IS THIS BITCH TRYING TO SEND??? Cathy can’t be blamed for wondering. It makes her blood boil to imagine Laon in the Faerie Queen’s arms. If the goal was to make Cathy insanely jealous by flaunting her hold over Laon, well, achievement unlocked I guess.

The Fairie Queen takes up residence. She insists on (1) a masquerade ball and (2) a boar hunt. The ball is a highly bizarre affair—the dancers are clockwork automatons, the guests materialize out of paintings—but one thing it does is force Cathy and Laon to confront their frankly off-the-charts level of physical attraction to each other:

He loomed over me and I felt that prickle of annoyance that I have known all my life about his height. “You— you’re…”he hesitated before finishing. “You’re quite pretty.” The knot within my heart tightened. I simply could not remember the last time he had remarked upon my appearance. He said nothing when I twirled before him in old dresses on the eve of my first dance at the squire’s house. Nothing when the village girls and I gigglingly contemplated the prospect of marriage and asked his assessment. Nothing when I attended his first sermon in my best dress and mother’s brooch. He must not have done so since we were children. My brow furrowed, trying to make sense of that knot within me. It ached with a visceral familiarity, as though I had borne it all my life without knowledge of it. “I’m sorry,” said my brother. “I should not have said anything.” “No … I hadn’t realized how long it was since you last said that.” A smile wavered at the corner of his lips.

”Cathy, do you think me handsome?” … I took a step closer, to see him better. A flush rose within me, unaccustomed to the nearness of him. Without asking, I reached behind him and undid the ribbon of his domino mask. It fell free of his face, and I kept staring. For the first time in a long time, I simply looked at my brother’s face. It was strange, as I had thought it so familiar, but it was to his moods and changes, the subtle quirk of his mouth or flash of his eyes …. Would she think him as beautiful as I did?

Ok first of all to reach behind someone’s head and remove their mask is the most intimate of gestures. Second of all, Cathy and Laon encounter another pair of siblings at the ball who are codependent as hell and not tryna hide it, of the “he stroked her hair with the lightest of touches…. she drew a nail across the skin of his jaw” variety. Those two are described as waltzing across the floor in a hold “too close to be decent,” which could also describe their relationship in general tbh. What’s interesting is that while Laon and Cathy do not waltz together at the actual masquerade, that night she dreams about waltzing with him. The significance of the waltz versus one of the regular old country dances is the waltz is deemed waaaaay more risqué; you spend the whole dance with one partner and there’s a lot more skin-to-skin contact. Halfway through the ball, the Faerie Queen claps her hands, dispels the illusions that festoon the hall and voila, the fae revert to their true shapes! The singing birds are revealed to be human prisoners in chains! Cathy’s elaborate ballgown disappears!

”Cathy …” My brother choked out my name. I looked confused at his face. He was staring at me intently. The hunger in his eyes was both alien and achingly familiar. That knot within me tightened and I felt a warmth spread across my skin. “You—“ His jaw clenched and his lips pulled into a tight line. He did not stop staring, though, even as I could tell he was trying to stop … I was completely naked underneath the gossamer thin fabric. I could feel my brother’s gaze upon my skin, his study of my shape.

He can’t tear his eyes from her naked body and I don’t care how cliched it is, I am HERE FOR IT. She flees up to her room then, and it’s in the context of her mortifying exit from the ball that she has the dream where she’s waltzing with Laon:

We were at once running through the heather and arguing over his departure to become a missionary. We were bickering over toy soldiers, getting lost in the garden. We were gazing upon our father’s coffin and despairing over our inheritance of debts. All moments of our intertwined lives tangled before me. I felt that old, familiar knot within my chest tighten. My fingers traced against his flesh and I found the words that were written there …. As I read his bound soul, his hands uncovered mine. We followed each unutterable word, each branded red and raw in the book of human skin … I found my own name written upon the book of his soul.

This is (1) unbearably poetic (2) inevitable. Their whole lives have been leading to this. And then the next day she confronts him in the stables before the hunt:

“You can’t do this alone. You need me here.” “You don’t understand, Cathy …” “If not me, then someone else, a wife, Miss Davenport.” My voice was hollow even to my own ears; I did not want him to marry. To utter the words twisted the knotted pain in my chest, the knot I did not want to give a name to. I remembered feeling it every time he flirted with another woman, every time the ladies at church would flutter by and giggle at the prospect of an attachment. I had carried it within myself for so long, heavy as a stone. For the first time, I felt the true weight of it, across my shoulders and tight around my chest. I felt a spinning sense of unbalance even as that weight and pain anchored me. “You need someone and it should be me. You should not be alone here.” “I want you here. More than anything.” “Then why are you sending me away?”

Do you hear that? The weight of her painful passion for her brother has anchored her for so long that she’s unbalanced by the loss of it. When she places the look in his eyes as lust, when the knot in her chest begins to loosen the tiniest bit, she’s flailing bc she doesn’t know what to do with herself. At this point I need to spoil the central twist of this story so I urge you all in the STRONGEST terms to please go read it then come back ok?

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

Gothic fiction is full of doubles. Not like, literal doppelgängers, but characters whose existence is designed to cast certain traits of the protagonist’s into sharp relief. Fresh off the boat the very first person that Cathy meets in Arcadia is Miss Ariel Davenport, the aforementioned changeling whose function in Laon’s household is unclear. Ariel is weird. She rambles on about esoteric subjects, asks non sequitur questions, and claims an unearned intimacy by calling Cathy by her Christian name. Ariel was swapped for the “real” Ariel Davenport as a baby, and grew up thinking she was human. Here’s how she found out she wasn’t:

”I do know I don’t need food. I don’t starve, I just feel hungry … Ariel Davenport’s family died in a workhouse. I watched them starve when I did not. Whatever fae gears were inside me kept turning.”

What a brutal awakening. Ariel talks a lot about how she doesn’t fit in, how she doesn’t really belong in Arcadia but when she tries to do human things like embroider a handkerchief or love someone there’s an offness to it:

”But it’s not quite the same. Doesn’t come naturally.”

Ariel’s name recalls the spirit from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, who also got a pretty raw deal—she was a genie-in-a-bottle enslaved to a magician with delusions of grandeur— and Ariel Davenport likewise never grows enough of a spine to openly cross her master. Her “master” would be the Faerie Queen, the one at whose court Laon is currently detained. She’s the one pulling all the strings. There’s a reason that Ariel was sent to stay with Laon and Cathy, and the reason, as you may have surmised, is that Cathy is a changeling too. DUN DUN DUN.

That’s the revelation that shatters her. It’s Ariel who discloses the truth to her, a truth the reader has probably divined already from other hints; it’s Ariel who, transfigured into various animal guises, is the quarry of the hunt. Cathy plunges a knife into Ariel’s heart (!) bc someone’s gotta do it, the Queen has decreed Ariel must die for sport and at least this way Laon’s hands will be clean of murder. It’s ok if Cathy does it, she tells herself, because she doesn’t have a soul. And the consummation of her and Laon’s relationship happens right on the heels of that, because you can’t really expect a mainstream audience to be invested in a love scene unless you assure them it’s not really incest since they’re not blood-related, so that checks out. She’s trying to wash Ariel’s blood off when he knocks on her door:

No, Catherine Helstone’s brother. I corrected myself … He was not mine to call my own.

I did not turn around. I did not want to see the look in his eyes. I feared his pity, his revulsion, his anger. I dreaded it all, but above all, I feared his absence.

Ahsjhdjfhdjfd he drops his greatcoat on the floor, rolls up his sleeves, and takes up a washcloth to bathe her:

”We used to share a copper bath like this by the fire,” he said conversationally. I could hear the strain in his voice, see the slight tremble in his motions. “When we were small enough to both fit inside the tub. You hated washing your hair because of the soap in your eyes.” Did I giggle when he upended buckets of water over my head or was I angered? Did I sit patiently as he scrubbed my back or did I squirm at his touch. The water was lukewarm but Laon’s touch was anything but cold. I followed his every movement, the nonsense patterns upon my skin. I was holding my breath, listening to his. I could feel him, warm and solid behind me, his breath hot on my shoulder, at the base of my neck. Shivers spidered down my spine and spread over me. I ached … And then, his hands were on me again, strong, demanding. I revealed in his force; it proved to me that I was not breaking, that I would not shatter. He tightened his grip on my hips and I gasped. Fleetingly, I felt real.

That’s the crux of it. Her entire life has been a sham; being loved by Laon is the only thing that’s left, the only thing that’s real. You can see her already begin to doubt her recollection of the past, wondering “did i giggle…? did i squirm…?” because HONESTLY IT COULD’VE BEEN INCEPTION. HOW DO U KNOW WHATS REAL. She’s spent the first half of the novel spinning us endless anecdotes from her childhood with Laon, and now this happens, it destroys the foundations of her identity:

All my memories seemed so distant. My imperfect, simulacrum mind with its imperfect memories … I told my youth to myself like a story, trying to remember who I was. I told myself about the little papers I wrote with Catherine Helstone’s brother, the names we gave the toy soldiers and the fantastical yet tediously mundane lands they explored … It all seemed so very insubstantial. Except that memory. I flushed warm whenever my thoughts brushed against it. Unlike everything else, I remembered with embarrassing clarity, every touch between us, every biting kiss and each hot breath. I was a moth, speared like a specimen by his scrutiny. I lay under him, pinned. His gaze, his touch, his grip made me real.

This is Cathy two or three days ago talking to Ariel about her earliest memory:

”I always liked to think that my first memory was of Laon. I was three, maybe and we were playing. I don’t remember what, but we were hiding under a table and we had to be very quiet. The tablecloth was red and I think I remember his fingers against my lips.” “Is it real?” “Of course it is,” I said. I touched my fingers to my mouth, lingering on that memory, the vivid feeling of his skin against mine.

If she doesn’t even have her memories of Laon, what does she have??? What is true and what is a forgery? This is from her waltz dream the night before:

We were surrounded by faceless automatons, by soulless far, by mindless beasts. He was the last real thing within these borders, under this unreal sun.

So the Queen and her retinue depart. Cathy and Laon are not atm seeing eye to eye because he’s wracked by guilt for the carnal sin they’ve committed, and she’s wracked by guilt because she, you know, murdered Ariel. I’m not at all surprised at Laon, though—this is after all the man who wrote in his journal:

Sometimes this cross is heavy beyond endurance. I carry it in repentance for the sins of my heart, for that is the same as the sins of the flesh. To look upon a woman in lust is to have committed adultery with her already . I know this and I bear it. I feel that I shall bear it for all my days.

For all his days, he says—he’ll go to his grave loving Cathy and that’s the tea. But right now she’s hurting, and she more or less keeps to her bed:

He did not ask if I was going to leave the room or when; he recognized this childish habit already. I had done it after the funeral of Catherine Helstone’s sister when I was seven and a half, then again for a while after her father’s. I remembered counting the threads in the quilt, willing my world to be just that warm, soft embrace. He had taken care of me then … He still gazed at me in hunger when he thought I wasn’t looking. I yearned for that closeness, that reality, but I could not bring myself to deserve it. Day after day, I ate because he bid me to.

He has looked after her in her grief before and he does so again now. She spends the next few chapters avoiding his name and referring to him as “Catherine Helstone’s brother.” What jolts her out of her funk is, one day they crawl into the belly of a beached whale and catalogue the wonders contained therein. It’s an adventure, and she doesn’t initially go willingly:

Deaf to my protests, he had gathered me into his arms, deposited me onto the floor and proceeded to roll my outdoor stocking onto my feet. Despite my squirming and kicking, he persevered.

Lmao this is peak sibling interaction. Once they’re inside the belly of the beast, of course, it turns into something else:

He was standing very close to me and all at once I was all too aware of him. I forgot why I was fighting so hard to put aside our attraction, forgot all the reasons I gave myself for why I shouldn’t. Each memory seemed to lead me inexorably to this point where I was standing before him, slightly too close and far too afraid. I had not wanted to give name to this passion, not wanted to acknowledge it. I could have gone to my grave not knowing why I felt this ache whenever I saw Catherine Hailstone’s brother. I could have passed this life blind of my own longing and ignorant to his. I could have … He was simply there, too close, too real and too beautiful.

So OF COURSE they tumble into bed in Cathy’s tower room amidst their scribbled notes (they’re working on translating the Bible because “the mother tongue is the best missionary”) and the ink is blotted onto Cathy’s skin holy shit how appropriate is that. All those Greek and Latin texts they pored over as kids, the sermons he practiced on her, all of that was leading up to this: Cathy Helstone, the wife and helpmeet that Reverend Helstone DESERVES. I am strongly put in mind of two other stories stop for a second and hear me out: (1) Pygmalion, the tale of the sculptor who falls in love with his own creation and brings her to life and (2) Tam Lin, the ballad about a fellow who’s abducted by the Faerie Queen and whose ladylove rescues him through sheer grit and pluck—her trial is to hold onto him and not let go while he transforms into every dangerous beast under the sun. In the beginning it seemed like Laon = Tam Lin but now it’s Cathy who’s fallen into the Faerie Queen’s clutches.

we lay curled up against each other like the working dogs used to by the fire. He looked over at me and with a lazy, contented smile on his lips, he said, “Cathy—“

”Don’t call me that,” I said, cutting him short. Panic welled up at the back of my throat at that name. “I’m not —“

”Cathy,” he said again, pressing his face against the curve of my neck. I felt his warm breath upon my skin and giddy pleasure spread from those lips; I calmed. “Let the other be Catherine. And you can be Cathy. You will always be my Cathy and you will always be my sister.” I raised an eyebrow at that, and he had the decency to look sheepish. “And other things, true,” he said. “But either way, you shouldn’t think of yourself as less real. And I do have to call you something.”

”I’m not real.”

”You feel real to me.”

I love how her being “other things” to him doesn’t in any way negate her being his sister. Lord, that “you feel real to me” is everythinggggggg. At the same time I can’t blame Cathy for being assailed by doubt:

”it’s possible that no memory before I set foot on fae soil is real … I can’t trust my own mind.”

”I know my sister like I know my own mind. I would know if you —“

”You thought I was an illusion created by the mists to torment you.”

”I had imagined you so many times … I knew I had to leave, I wanted you too much … So, believe me. I did not doubt you because you are not who I know you to be. I doubted you because of my own weakness. You are the sister I are up with, the sister I have loved and love now. And that’s all that matters.”

Laon goes as far as to try to obtain receipts to prove her realness: They attend a Goblin Market where everything is for sale—for a price. He offers to sell an arm, a leg, a lung and an eye in exchange for Cathy’s memories??? It’s half of him for half her soul, I guess. Find yourself a man who looks at you the way Laon Helstone looks at his sister:

”Cathy, I love you.” Unlike his earlier declarations, he said it quite plainly as though it were an observation about the weather … “I’ve loved you, adored you, desired you for as long as I remember … As a sister, as a lover, it doesn’t matter … You doubt the truth of your mind and your memories, and if this can give you answers … Then I’m willing to pay the asking price for that.”

This speech absolutely melted me. She talks him down from selling an arm for her soul, but I mean, as far as God’s concerned the way she feels about Laon skates perilously close to idolatry:

For all that we had the books of our faith before us, he stood between me and every impulse of religion, even as he reached out to me with the promise of intercessory grace, he eclipsed such hopes of heaven. I had made an idol of him, and for all my excuses that this but a return to the childish hero worship I had once had for him, this went deeper. When he clasped his hand around mine in prayer, when I knelt before him, I thought not of God, that Lord of Hosts, nor of Jesus, the Redeemer, but of him, simply and eternally.

So to recap: Laon and Cathy are holding onto each other for dear life in this godforsaken hellscape of a ruined castle-manor where the weather has to be summoned with arcane spells and the flowers, instead of thriving or wilting naturally, have to be individually painted with the change of seasons. Come to find out, they are literally in hell. Not purgatory, hell itself. Which would explain how all Laon’s proselytizing has amounted to one (1) successful convert. That’s a piss poor track record by any metric. And their lone convert didn’t even accept Jesus Christ as his savior on Laon’s watch. It happened when the other guy, Reverend Hale, was here. What happened was Reverend Hale’s wife decided to take her Communion bread unsalted, and was promptly CONDEMNED TO HELL FOR ETERNITY because remember the first rule of Arcadia: Don’t eat anything unless you salt it. She is the madwoman in the attic, the “woman in black” that Cathy has caught glimpses of from time to time. It was an experiment designed to show that God’s grace extended even unto Arcadia. It didn’t work, but I guess anyone who witnessed this crazy stunt would have developed a newfound respect for humans and their faith. What this means is that the madwoman in the attic is not after all the original Catherine. She is not Laon Helstone’s sister, which was the working assumption of both Cathy and the reader up till now.

A fire breaks out in the kitchen. Cathy and Laon are unharmed by the conflagration. This is because in the house they are still protected by the geas — the one that is centered on Laon, the one that Cathy was told extended to her too because “Blood binds blood. And blood knows blood.” But the entire point of Cathy being a changeling is that she does not share Laon’s blood. Something doesn’t add up. A rider arrives with a letter. It’s dated months and months ago, from the London Missionary Society. Someone has been carrying on a correspondence with Reverend Helstone’s sister in their name, but it isn’t them, and they sure as hell did not sponsor Cathy’s passage to Arcadia. The truth hits Laon and Cathy at the same time:

My mouth was a grave of words, each thought dying there and it was their rot that I tasted, that filled me with gut-wrenching revulsion. He laughed, threw his head back and just laughed. His wide shoulders shook with his senseless mirth until his eyes too were filled with tears. “I thought you were an apparition to tempt me.” His beautiful mouth twisted cruel. “I thought the mist spat you out to make me sin, to pull me down, to drag me to hell. I thought I could outrun myself, my own sins, my own sister. I thought—“ “Laon, no …” I wasn’t sure what I was objecting to, but I wanted him to stop. I wanted myself to stop. “But they did better than that.” I flung myself at him, covered his lips with mine. Tear-stained hands cupping his face, it was not a kiss so much as a hard, stubborn meeting of lips. It needed to stop. Everything needed to stop, to silence. Gasping, he choked out, “You’re my sister.” My cheeks were against his face and my tears were his. We were broken mirrors of one another. “You’re my sister,” he said again. He did not push me away.

!!!!! SHE’S REALLY HIS SISTER AFTER ALL NOT A CHANGELING IT WAS ALL PART OF THE FAERIE QUEEN’S PLAN!!!! Here she is confirming it:

”My grand scheme.” She made a gesture towards the clockwork that framed her throne. “The sins that I have set in motion, the gift that I have given you. Had I not summoned you to Arcadia, would you have seen these wonders? Had I not placed into my own home, remade for your pleasure, would you have realized your love?”

And it wasn’t like she lied about it—the fae can’t lie, after all. That’s why they’re so deadly at weaponizing the truth. She just left a trail of breadcrumbs and let people (aka Ariel) draw their own conclusions, and spill those conclusions to Cathy. You have to admire how elegantly she sprung the trap. And certainly neither Laon nor Cathy appears to regret falling into each other’s arms. It’s just that once again Cathy’s whole world has been turned upside down:

There was an acidic taste at the back of my throat … Our love had been the last pure, real thing that I had clung to and it was slipping away … Every kiss, every caress that had passed between us came to the fore of my mind, now tainted by new, old knowledge.

Okay but you know here is what else Cathy has also said on the subject of forbidden knowledge (one of the oldest senses of the verb “to know” is to know someone biblically):

The world was made with words. If I looked hard enough, I could read those words still. They flowed in the veins of the world, written on their seams. They told me this tree would reach the heavens. They told me nothing was forbidden. They told me knowledge could not be a sin.

Being expelled from Eden was not altogether a bad deal for Adam and Eve. And we are talking Edenic parallels here, since it’s revealed one of the Faerie Queen’s names is Lilith, aka Adam’s first wife. When I was younger and thought myself very superior I was of the Phillip Pullman School of “it is better to know sin than to remain ignorant and innocent,” but it’s not that simple. Cathy and Laon came to Arcadia to save souls; now it looks like they’ve lost theirs. Laon has spent more than half his life wrestling with theology: he is a preacher, and singularly unsuited to doing anything else. I keep circling back to that image of words written on the seams of the world, and I think about Cathy’s waltz dream where she read her name on the book of Laon’s soul, and the masquerade ball before that where they encountered the too-close pair of siblings whose skin was actually branded with words??? Not tattoos actual words of fire. Cathy could only kind-of read them, not being fluent in the Arcadian tongue. Cathy and Laon have spent half this novel translating scripture. Words are the building blocks of reality. If you notice in the passage where she finds out they’ve been sinning this whole time, it opens with “My mouth was a grave of words.” Anyway, Cathy is all to pieces because a person can only sustain so many blows to their sense of self in quick succession:

Lantern in hand, I drifted through the castle, numb from new knowledge: I was human. I was in love with my brother. I was in hell.

She’d need time to process even one of those revelations, let alone all three at once. And in the end they decide to stay in Faerie and do missionary work together. Because, Cathy points out, if “the mother tongue is the best missionary” and here they are in Hell, it can only help their cause that they are both fluent in sin. GIRL, A+ LOGIC. If anyone wants to read a short (<2k) fic about Cathy and Laon embarking on the next chapter of their lives, I highly recommend this one, where the Author’s Note muses, “What's the biggest theologically-evocative Molotov cocktail I could throw in their path?” and the story goes with “Cathy gets pregnant” asddfggkgjgk.

Friends, I do not scruple to say that Jeannette Ng has written the perfect incest book for me. I still can’t believe it’s an unabashed love story. Where the main pairing is canon and also endgame. It all unfolds inexorably, and when I found out Cathy was a changeling it didn’t feel like a cop-out, unlike other stories where “they’re stepsiblings!” or “one of them’s adopted!” absolutely does feel like a cop-out. Because Cathy’s identity crisis is at the core of the story. When I found out she wasn’t a changeling that felt inevitable too. It’s just such a powerful meditation on memory, that most fallible of human faculties. It’s such a power move to saturate the narrative with memories of Cathy and Laon playing as children, and then reveal that even those fragments aren’t necessarily authentic:

We chased each other through the mists, like we were children again, playing on the moors … Was I imagining now how much i had relished his closeness then? Was it simply newfound desire that was igniting all past memories or had I always flushed warm under his gaze?

It’s unlikely had they remained in England they would have gotten together. The Fairie Queen had to pull out all the stops for this to be endgame. Can we all just ... RESPECT.

#cause of death #book review #under the pendulum sun

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dreadhaus-literature · 5 years

Text

{January Collection} #26 (Part Two)

Monster ... in the Mirror

A continuation of this prompt.

“Sunday dinner?”

The man known to outsiders as Sheriff Hoyt nodded, resting his forearm on the door to Monica’s motel room. “That’s right, sweetheart. Mama wants to treat ya to some nice southern cookin’ to welcome ya to town.”

Monica had no way of knowing Sheriff “Winston Hoyt” was actually Charlie Sawyer Jr., who had murdered the town’s last remaining law enforcement officer (the former Winston Hoyt) to protect Thomas Hewitt--who she really didn’t know...yet, anyway. No, she was left in the dark to make her decision on accepting good ol’ southern hospitality and there’s probably plenty of sayings about making decisions blind. She wasn’t hearing the warning bells around the Sheriff anymore, and the smile he was giving her was genuine rather than a creepy showing of teeth. She had no idea what had changed his attitude but she could get behind whatever it was, and beyond that, Luda Mae had seemed really nice. Monica took her eyes off the Sheriff, leaning a little out of the room to see if Luda Mae was nearby.

As if picking up Monica’s thought, Hoyt took a step back to show an empty porch. “Sorry honey. Mama’s already at home, cookin’ up a storm. She closed the store early, wanting to whip up somethin’ good for ya.” Hoyt adjusted his belt, rattling his ring of keys as he did so. “Hopin’ that’ll get’cha to consider our offer.”

Monica had no issue with telling people no, she rather enjoyed it given the right circumstance, but she couldn’t really think of a reason to do so at the moment. No, she didn’t know these people and it was entirely possible that taxi driver was going to tell her this was some murderous family of cannibals just waiting to invite her for dinner for her to be dinner, but when Monica locked eyes with Hoyt, she didn’t feel threatened--and no offense to this town or it’s people, but she didn’t think they’d be very good at hiding it if they were intending her harm.

“I...Up to you guys’s house?” Monica shifted on her socked feet.

“The Sawyer house, that’s right,” Hoyt nodded. “You said you wanted some research on small towns and the like, right? For yer book? You could pick our brains. All the Sawyers’ll be there, rich tapestry of folks for ya to talk to.”

That was enticing, and after another few moments Monica nodded with a small but genuine smile. “Okay, I’ll come.”

Hoyt let out a holler, slapping his hands together. “All right! Well all right, that’s great. How long does a pretty li’l thing like you need to get ready?”

Monica was actually already in her pajamas, having planned a long night of writing; her laptop was still out on her bed from when Hoyt had knocked on the door and interrupted--but she didn’t mind this interruption.

“Could you give me fifteen minutes?”

“Oh easily, darlin’, you take as much time as ya need.” Hoyt raised his hands, palm up. “Mama taught me not to rush a lady and you’re a lady if there ever was one. I’ll be in my cruiser parked out of the store again, you just come down when yer ready.”

Monica nodded, stepping back inside to push the door closed, unable to help her widening smile at how excited Hoyt had seemed by her acceptance. She didn’t know why but she could tell he’d been genuinely happy. For whatever reason, her acceptance of going meant a great deal to him and she didn’t get the feeling he thought he’d get lucky or anything. Maybe it was a small town thing, she mused as she walked over to her suitcase, propped open in a chair by the dresser. She didn’t know how long she’d be staying so she hadn’t put anything away in the dresser yet, but it wasn’t a problem to fish out a change of clothes--she didn’t want to put on what she’d arrived in, this seemed...special, and a secret part of her really wanted to wow these small town folks with a touch of her city girl sophistication. January, even in Texas, called for pants instead of shorts but she picked a more free-flowing top, the sapphire fabric a beautiful compliment to her brown skin. The shirt was sleeveless silk, slung lower on the sides and back, and she finished the look with a silver anchor necklace and matching earrings. Ankle strap heels showed off pretty painted toes and then it was into the bathroom to apply makeup that made her eyes pop and her lips look like syrup kissed peaches--since Hoyt and Luda Mae had likened her to one. Perfume was a kiss to her wrists and neck and she admired herself in the mirror as she loosened her short, honey-blonde hair. It was just long enough to style in a messy bun and she let the waves tumble free from the tie to kiss her petite shoulders. She turned this way and that in the mirror, eyes scrutinizing her own appearance but she decided against running a brush through it, opting to finger comb it to leave it a little loose and carefree. It seemed the perfect compliment to the rest of her outfit and she smiled, satisfied with her appearance.

Mirrors don’t always show the best sides of folks, though, and across the dusty Texas town a mirror was showing a man what a monster he really was.

The Sawyer House sat in the center of acres of plains and farmland, home to a multitude of Sawyers at any given time but it was always home to Bubba and Thomas, the latter of whom was glaring into the dingy mirror in the brothers’ shared room. He had his mask off, and he hated it. Thomas often thought himself better than Bubba when it came to his appearance; he thought he handled it better but the truth was neither of them did. The longer Thomas’s dark eyes lingered on his skeletal nose, the deep gouges in his cheeks, the angrier he got.

Bubba lumbered in from the bathroom, one large, pudgy hand rubbing a towel over his wet curls. He was maskless, too, fresh from the bath but he immediately side-stepped the mirror and kept his back to it as he went to his side of the room. Thomas watched him pass, that dark brow knotted at the center.

A grunt. ‘Ain’t you wanna look at yourself?’

A babbled reply. ‘No. I got me a face for tonight. Don’t need to see mine.‘

Thomas turned back to the mirror and immediately wished he hadn’t. He had planned on trying to be brave and go to this special Sunday Dinner without a mask on, but Bubba couldn’t even imagine. Their princess was gonna be there! He had to look his best! And the only way to look his best was to not look like himself! Bubba wasn’t the retard some of the townspeople thought he was; he was a smart boy who knew what he looked like. His nose had long ago rotted off his face, leaving a skeletal hole, and his lips were scarred. His brow bone was a little crooked and his teeth weren’t very pretty, either. He brushed them! Mama made sure he did, every night, but no matter how he pushed on them with his thumbs, he couldn’t get ‘em straight. Bubba also couldn’t...help taking a knife to himself sometimes, trying to cut skin off here and there, even up what the sickness had already done to him, so he had thick, pitted scars on his cheeks and by his eyes. Bubba wasn’t pretty, but he didn’t have to be! His princess was the prettiest of them all, and as long as she never saw how ugly he was, maybe she’d stay and be pretty for him.

Mama had been very clear with both boys; they could wear their masks but no skin, not until Monica was safely part of the family. Thomas and Bubba had been so distracted by learning the princess’s name they had almost missed what Mama said. Thomas felt his heart stammer at the sound and Bubba tried, oh he tried desperately to say her name. He repeated it so many times Mama had to shush him, and she’d made damn sure they both heard what she’d said.

“Now you boys know we love you, but this city girl ain’t used to how we do things ‘round here. Remember the puppy you found in the barn, Bubba? She’s just like that, she’s little and she’s new to us and how we do things, and she might be a little scared the more she learns but you be patient and she’ll love you good and plenty.” Luda Mae wagged her finger between her two hulking sons, her gaze serious. “No skin masks,you put on your Sunday best, and you know how big you both are. Ya gotta be easy when she’s here--and no. chainsaws. No matter what, you leave those in the basement. Y’hear?”

Bubba would have agreed to cut his arm off if it meant Monica would come to dinner, and Thomas was in the same lovesick boat. He liked to pretend he wasn’t listening when Mama was reading Bubba those fairy tales, but at times when he was working, his thick fingers splitting carcasses and stripping flesh from bone, he allowed himself to daydream about princesses, too--

Princesses who love monsters instead of princes.

Charlie, or Hoyt as Monica knows him, gave a deep wolf whistle as she came around the front of the general store, pulling his hat from his head to place over his chest.

“Goddamn, girlie, don’t you look like a million bucks? If you can do that in fifteen minutes you gotta be heaven sent.”

Monica gave a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Just wanted to clean up a little, it’s the least I could do for your family inviting me for dinner.”

Hoyt moved around the front of his cruiser, opening the passenger door for Monica with a cheek-splitting grin. “See, I like that. You got respect for family, and what it means. Mama’s right about you.”

Monica lowered herself into the seat, blinking at that semi-cryptic statement. They’d been...talking about her? On one hand it made sense, they had at least discussed her coming for dinner; still, that didn’t explain the statement away--but as Monica turned to ask Hoyt what he meant, she was met with the closing of the passenger door. She watched Hoyt pass in front of the headlights as he made his way to the driver’s side door, sliding inside with a muted grunt.

“Like I said, honey, the Sawyer house is a little ways outside of town and I’m real sorry, I can’t offer you the radio to listen to or nothin’ like that.” Hoyt shifted the cruiser into reverse, backing out of the spot without even looking--but as the sun was beginning to kiss the horizon, Monica noticed the sleepy, near deserted town seemed devoid of life. This was the main stretch of road and there wasn’t a single car to be seen on it.

“That’s okay, Sheriff.”

“Oh, now, no need to be so formal. You just call me Uncle Hoyt--or hell, Uncle Charlie’s fine.”

Monica’s smile was a touch shy at how forward the offer was, but some part of her liked that offer. It was genuine, and reminded her of his earlier offer to call him if anyone ever gave her any trouble. “Uncle Charlie? ...Think I can do that.”

Charlie’s smile showed teeth as he turned from the windshield toward his unknowing newest family member. “Glad to hear it, honey.”

The two started down the main stretch of road, and it wasn’t long before the buildings fell away and Monica was graced with Texas beauty--flat plains and whispering grass fields high enough to kiss her knees if she stepped into them. The night was balmy but not hot, and Monica was actually grateful there was no radio to interrupt the silence as the wind whipped past the cruiser. Charlie occupied some of the silence by talking, reciting little tidbits of history of the town and a lot more about his family. Monica learned there were dozens upon dozens of Sawyers that all still lived here, though some lived towns over, too. At one point he asked if she wanted to record him with her phone, and it sent a wash of relief through her that he hadn’t done something creepy like tell her to leave her phone behind. When she’d taken her phone out to record him, he’d whistled at how new it was, and when she’d said it was a smartphone, he revealed he was still using a flip phone--and that had been a recent “upgrade” for him. That was the end of the phone conversation and he hadn’t even made a move to take it from her. It further put her at ease that there was no harm headed her way, and the more she relaxed, the more she enjoyed the ride and the company along for it.

It was about twenty minutes before the plains broke and Monica watched a sprawling house settle in the center of them; it looked huge even from a distance, three stories tall with old southern plantation pillars in the front that complimented a nice screened in porch. The road leading up to the house was dirt, but it only added to the rustic feel of the place and as the cruiser came to a stop, Monica could only marvel at the people she saw in front. There were a multitude of boys ranging in ages from adult to under 10 years old playing football in the yard, while older women and men were sitting in rocking chairs and swings on the porch. All of them stopped what they were doing when the cruiser pulled up, one of the older boys winding up getting clocked on the side of the head with the football but he didn’t even seem to notice, too busy staring at the pretty girl in the front of Uncle Charlie’s cruiser.

Charlie gave the entirety of the family warning look as he crossed the front of the cruiser to open the door for Monica, and she could barely place her hand in his to let him help her out, stunned by all the attention she was getting.

“D-Don’t get a lot of visitors?” She tried for a playful laugh, too busy looking up at Charlie to notice some of the Sawyers smile just from the sound of her laugh.

“It’s way more than that, sweetheart,” Charlie led her away from the cruiser with a smile full of secrets. “But why don’t ya just take that it’s you lookin’ so pretty in your little outfit?”

Monica could hardly focus on his words; there were so many Sawyers! She counted over a dozen, between the kids in the yard and the adults coming down off the porch. She gave them a nervous smile, lifting her free hand to wave and nearly laughed at how adorable it was--all of them waved back.

“Hi pretty lady!” Near her waist, two twin boys who couldn’t be older than ten, dressed nicely but a little dirty from playing in the yard, stuck their hands up in excited waves, hoping to catch her attention. “You look like the ladies in the magazines!”

“Oh, t-thank you,” Monica gave them a smile, one that ended in a surprised noise as one of the boys grabbed into her hand, rubbing his cheek against the back of it.

“Soft,” he openly hugged her arm a second later. “You smell like candy!”

“Enough, both of ya.” Charlie leaned around, and Monica could tell he was an authority figure in the family immediately by the way the boys reacted, eyes widening and stumbling back from her so fast one of them fell over onto his butt. “Mama told you boys about behavin’ tonight.”

“They’re okay, U-Uncle Charlie,” Monica placated, and Charlie seemed to settle down immediately, his weathered face softening and he nodded, before turning to face the onlooking Sawyers.

“...Aight, well. Let that be a lesson to all of ya, Monica here has full authority to tell me if any of ya get up to shit, and you don’t want Mama or the boys to find out you’re messin’ with her, do ya?”

There were murmurs that sounded worried as the adult shook their heads, and the kids were too scared to even look up from the ground. Monica didn’t know how to take this; she still didn’t feel threatened, but this was a family who had a strange sort of hierarchy when it came to listening--as if there were severe consequences for not--and it was the second time she’d heard some alluding to “boys”. The first time had been what changed Charlie’s entire personality and now it left a yard full of grown men and women afraid of their own shadows. Who the hell were the boys?

“Ma says dinner won’t be ready for a little while,” one of the women spoke up, a blond baby on her hip. “Can we visit with Monica a little, before it’s time?”

“Well now, I guess I don’t see why not.” Charlie looked down at Monica. “You okay to talk to everybody?”

Monica glanced around the inquisitive, but oddly happy faces--they all seemed so overjoyed she was there, and she couldn’t help but attribute it to not having visitors often. She couldn’t accept Charlie’s explanation that it was because of her, specifically, that was too much and left her with nervous butterflies in her ribs.

“Sure,” she nodded with a demure smile, unaware it melted a few hearts in the enraptured crowd. “I’d love to get to know you all.”

The resounding excitement brought a little blush to Monica’s cheeks; they were so ecstatic just to get to talk to her! Even the kids crowded up onto the porch as the adults led her up the stairs, the little ones vying to sit on the floor by her feet to hear everything she had to say.

Charlie got her settled before he gestured toward the front door. “I’m gonna go check see if Mama needs any help. You remember what I said?”

“Give a holler if I need you,” Monica nodded, a little distracted by one of the women holding her hand, marveling at her manicured nails. She managed to give Charlie a smile. “I will.”

“Good girl.” Charlie gave a last warning look around the clan before he walked into the open front door, already smelling the feast cooking in the kitchen.

It was no surprise, finding Bubba in the kitchen beside his Mama, thick, nervous fingers chopping up vegetables for the stew pot simmering on one of the burners. Luda Mae was sweating over two other burners, and Charlie could smell a ham baking to a fine honeyed glaze in the oven below. It was definitely a special occasion when the Sawyers put aside their cannibalistic tendencies to appear more normal to impress someone, and Luda Mae’s words from earlier had resonated with everyone. This was a very special occasion.

“Monica’s here,” Charlie announced as he stepped inside the bustling kitchen; as he passed the threshold he finally caught a glimpse of Tommy ducking into the adjacent dining room, setting the table with Nubbins.

Bubba made a nervous noise at that announcement, his hands flying from the cutting board to his curls, smoothing them around the rubber Halloween mask covering his scarred face. It was pale and expressionless, but it fit his face well and he decorated it with a little bit of make-up--because that’s what you do when you wanna look pretty! In his fretting, Bubba forgot he was holding his knife and it got caught in his curls...which only distressed him further, leaving him blubbering and on the verge of tears. He was going to ruin everything with Monica right outside!

A sigh announced Tommy was back in the kitchen and he caught Bubba’s thick wrist, stopping the older male from harming himself. His other hand unwound the knife from those thick, shiny curls, freshly washed just for their princess. Tommy was the only one in the family tall enough to be of any help to Bubba; the two locked shoulders and shared the same muscle mass and it was lucky they got along so well, because no one had a hope or a prayer of stopping them if they got into it. But there was nothing to be had but brotherly affection between them, as Tommy smoothed a rough hand over Bubba’s curls, fixing them for his nervous older brother, before grunting.

‘All better. Be careful.’

Bubba nodded, babbling wordlessly behind his mask. ‘Nervous, I’m nervous!’

‘She’s not going to leave. Mama promised.’

Bubba fitted his hands to his masked cheeks. ‘What if she hates me? What if she hates us? No one ever stays, no one ever stays long.’

‘She will. Mama says princesses do what’s right.’

‘She can’t leave, we won’t let her leave.’

Tommy nodded once. ‘We won’t. She’ll stay.’

“Well shit, Mama, does that ever not amaze you?” Charlie rested his hip against the island counter, plucking up a strawberry from a bowl as he gestured between Bubba and Tommy. “They just...talk like that. Grunts and babblin’. Sometimes I think they’re more advanced than we are.”

“Because they are,” Luda Mae gave Charlie’s hand a smack as he reached for a second strawberry. “These are for the table. Stop bein’ a hog and go put your suit on.”

Charlie blanched. “Why I gotta get changed? She already done seen me in this and I look mighty sharp in my uniform, Ma.”

Luda Mae snorted, waving a hand as she turned back to the oven to baste the glistening ham. “I ain’t arguin’ this with you, git upstairs and change.”

Charlie grumbled, before stealing another three strawberries from the bowl under the watchful gaze of Bubba and Thomas. Bubba blubbered at him, before patting Ma’s shoulder to tattle; Tommy just stared.

“Charlie Sawyer Junior if you don’t git--”

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’! Goddamnit, woman.”

Luda Mae shook her head, before turning to look up at her sons, who were staring down at her. Some folks might not think they’re much to look at, but Luda Mae felt they cleaned up real nice. Bubba’s hair was something to be proud of; his curls were thick and dark, bouncy like his personality and his painted mask complimented his black suit. His white button-up shirt was immaculate and she’d seen him being extra careful not to spill anything on it, wanting to be his very best for Monica. This was the equivalent of the boys’ first date, after all, and Tommy may be more reserved of the two but it was apparent he’d done the same careful preparation. Tommy’s suit was brown, but he skipped the jacket and opted for suspenders instead, and a tan bow-tie matched the half-mask of leather that he only wore on special occasions. It allowed his mouth free for eating but kept his nose and cheeks covered and gave him the confidence to be okay meeting Monica face to face--even if his stomach was full of butterflies. Bubba’s entire torso was full of them, if anyone cared to know.

“You boys are gonna be just fine.” Luda Mae gave Bubba’s masked cheek a pat, before that same hand patted Tommy’s shoulder. “You two go sit, pick out a seat where she can sit between ya. The family’ll be comin’ in soon and you know Chop Top and Nubbins can’t be trusted not to try and take her.”

Tommy grunted in annoyance at that, nearly shoved into the hall as Bubba started for the dining room--he was not about to let that happen!

When Charlie came outside to collect the family for dinner, he found Monica was still where he’d left her, surrounded by the entirety of the Sawyer clan (a few more had arrived after they did but hadn’t even come inside, wanting to meet the newest member of the family) and Monica had one of the toddlers on her lap, the little girl all smiles up at Monica.

“C’mon, y’all. Time for dinner.”

Charlie was patient as Monica handed the reluctant toddler back to her mother, the baby making a few fussy noises and trying to cling on. As soon as Monica’s hands were free, the twin boys from before latched onto them, trying to drag her toward the door.

“Come on, you can sit with us!”

“No way in hell,” Charlie just about spat out. “You youngins are all sittin’ at the kid’s table, where ya always sit. Monica here’s sitting between Bubba and Tommy.”

Monica glanced up at Charlie even as the boys continued to drag her, not at all deterred by this news. Bubba and Tommy? She didn’t think she’d met them, though she’d met so many Sawyers tonight it would likely be hard to tell. Charlie just gave her a wink as he followed her in, the boys leading her to the dining room where the Sawyers were all talking and laughing as they settled around a large dining table. It was buffet-style long, designed to to hold a family this size, and though Monica could only glance around a little, she could see the house complimented it’s rustic country surroundings--but it wasn’t dirty. She could still smell the cleaning products in the air; fresh country air filtered in from open windows and coupled with everyone looking well-dressed (even Uncle Charlie had changed!) Monica could piece together they really had done all of this just for her arrival. She had...no idea why they had, but she couldn’t deny it made her feel special--a sentiment that only grew as the entire family stood when she entered the dining room. She was so distracted with the little boys clutching at her fingers she hadn’t noticed everyone else had gone inside, and she could appreciate the size of this family.

“Sawyer Clan, this is the little peach I was tellin’ you about,” Luda Mae, from her spot at the head of the table, gestured with a mother’s pride. “Monica. Monica, these are your Sawyers.”

The reception of her was full of boisterous cheers and hello’s, of clapping and excited smiles, so that Monica missed Luda Mae’s deliberate wording of your Sawyers. She couldn’t get the boys to let go of her hands to wave, they were stuck like glue to her, but she ducked her head with a smile. “N-Nice to meet you all. Thank you so much for all this, for inviting me over.”

Bubba and Thomas were rooted to the floor as Monica spoke, addressing their family but each man was fine to imagine she was talking to them alone. As she swept the room with eyes greener than summer sun through a gemstone, when she looked at them her gaze did linger. Bubba sucked in a sharp breath, steeling himself for her to recoil in horror, readying his heart to shatter, and Tommy braced himself to lumber after her if she ran--but she didn’t. She stared at them, questions flitting over her beautiful, expressive face but she didn’t recoil and she didn’t look at them with disgust. Her smile didn’t even waver; in fact, it deepened, and Bubba felt tears prick the back of his eyes. Tommy had to look down. He didn’t deserve such a pretty smile, but he wasn’t going to let it out of his sight again.

“Boys, take Monica to her seat, if’n you please,” Luda Mae gestured to the boys clinging to Monica’s hands and they nodded with a simultaneous--

“Yes, Grandma.”

Monica allowed the boys to lead her around the curve of the table, her smile showing teeth as she passed Luda Mae, who gave her an affectionate pat on the back. Every Sawyer went out of their way to move out of her way, gracious as they gestured or introduced themselves if they hadn’t had the pleasure to meet her outside, and Monica finally, finally got to know who Bubba and Tommy were as she was led to the empty seat between two...extremely tall, stocky men. The only two men at the table wearing masks. Monica glanced up between them with a nervous flip in her tummy but as she approached, the one in the full face mask immediately pulled her chair out for her and she caught sight of his hand shaking. Was he...Was he nervous? Monica couldn’t imagine what a man so big could have to be nervous about; the hand that pulled out her chair looked capable of driving a nail into a board with a single punch.

“Thank you,” Monica gave the little boys’ hands a squeeze as they finally let her go, but she had a feeling she’d be seeing them again before the night was over. They had certainly taken a shine to her. She then turned up to the man who’d pulled out her chair. “And t-thank you.”

“That’s Bubba,” Luda Mae called from her seat. “You may hear us callin’ him Jed, but he prefers Bubba.”

The male at her other side helped Monica into her seat, pulling her up to the table with one arm and Monica was once again left marveling at the strength these two hefted around with obvious ease.

“And that’s Thomas,” Luda Mae settled into her seat with that same motherly smile. “Can call him Tommy if you like. Charlie always does.”

Charlie shot Monica a wink from his spot to Luda Mae’s right.

“N-Nice to meet you, Bubba,” Monica turned her smile up to the male in the full mask, not missing the excited babble that drifted out from behind the latex.

“The boys cain’t talk much, but that don’t mean they won’t try.” Charlie laughed as he reached for one of the bottles of beer at the center of the table. “Bubba there’ll babble your damn ear off. Tommy just grunts.”

Monica turned to Tommy, nearly having to look away at the way he was staring at her. That half-mask was way more intimidating than Bubba’s mask; it reminded her a little of Hannibal Lector’s mask, but the more she looked at Tommy, the more his eyes softened behind the leather and she felt herself relax in turn. She’d already seen Bubba’s boyish brown eyes resembled a little boy’s under the mask he wore; despite their intimidating presence and appearance, the two didn’t seem to mean her any harm.

“T-Thank you, too, Tommy.”

Tommy nodded once, his eyes on her lips as she spoke.

“Well now, y’all go on ahead and dig in--boys, why don’t you serve our guest?”

Luda Mae’s blessing got the food started around, and Monica could only watch, a little speechless, as Bubba and Tommy both reached for a different plate; Tommy picked up the ham, serving her more than she could ever hope to eat--she had no way of knowing he thought she looked like she needed to eat--and Bubba was double-fisting two different plates of assorted vegetables. As the boys worked in tandem, Monica watched as her dinner plate, salad plate, and soup bowl were all filled to the point of over-flowing with hearty southern favorites sure to leave her way, way full and probably a little sleepy. To top the meal off, Bubba poured Monica a glass of pink lemonade from a pitcher, only spilling it a little on account of he was so nervous in front of such a pretty girl.

“Way to go, retard.”

Monica sat forward a little to look down the table at the culprit behind such an insult, locking eyes with someone she knew was called Chop Top. The insult had affected Bubba immediately; he nearly dropped the entire pitcher, only just managing to set it down, babbling incoherent apologies toward Monica for his mess. She couldn’t see, but he was beginning to cry beneath his mask, absolutely terrified him spilling a little lemonade was going to be the thing that ran her off. Princesses deserve perfect! Stupid, stupid Bubba!

“That’s not very nice,” Monica chided Chop Top, unable to stop herself from speaking up. It may not be her place, but she felt...not sorry, for the two men at her side, but she knew they didn’t deserve to be called names. “Haven’t you ever spilled anything in your life?”

Chop Top opened his mouth to reply--not to snap, but to give her a taste of Sawyer vulgarity at how many times he spilled himself earlier at the thought of her--but Charlie cleared his throat the head of the table and Chop Top’s teeth clacked together at how quick he snapped his mouth shut. He’d only insulted Bubba as an attempt to get Monica to notice him; he’d risked the folly of his entire family for just a little bit of attention. Was it worth it? ...Yeah, it was.

“It’s okay, Bubba.” Monica placed a hand on Bubba’s trembling hand; it was so much larger she nearly lost her train of thought. He was trying to clean up the lemonade around her glass, but his fingers were shaking so badly he wasn’t much use for it. “Here.”

Bubba went still as Monica gently guided his hand to dab up the spilled liquid and the entirety of the table fell away. All the Sawyers were busy talking, eating, but Bubba couldn’t focus on anything other than Monica was touching him. He’d held a flower once or twice in his life; he remembered the petals being soft, and that was what her touch reminded him of. Love at first sight was too weak a description for this boy; he was head over heels already, his breath coming in short gasps because he wasn’t used to what he was feeling. No one...no one ever touched him. He was starving for affection and had no way of knowing it until she touched him, and as the lemonade was cleaned up, she let go of his hand and he couldn’t stop the blubbering, desperate noise he made. She looked up at him in surprise.

“A...Are you okay?” Her hand replaced itself on his arm and he calmed down, giving her a nod. Her smile returned and she gave his arm a pat. “Good.”

“The boys ain’t retards,” Charlie spoke up from his spot, pride in his tone--nothing to do with the boys not being slow, and everything to do with Monica standing up for them. Luda Mae’s smile was wide enough to show teeth. “They got a little bit of a disease, is all. Doctors told us it’s name years ago, said it’s uh...” Charlie snapped his fingers a few times. “Oh hell, what was the word?”

“Generated,” Monty spoke up from the other end of the table, lifting a forkful of green beans into his mouth.

Charlie shook his head. “Naw, that wasn’t it. Close, but started with a D.”

“...Degenerative?” Monica ventured.

“That’s the one!” Charlie snapped his fingers, pointing to her. “Degenerative. S’why they’ve got those masks on, their faces just don’t look right. They ain’t pretty to look at, mind, but they’re good boys.”

Monica risked another glance up at Bubba, then Tommy--who paused with a bite near his mask...which had some errant mashed potatoes on it. She laughed lightly, taking her napkin from her lap to gently clean it off. He sat like a statue as she did, and she watched his eyes flutter closed.

He desperately, in that moment, wished he was a handsome prince--he hated that he couldn’t feel her touch his skin because of the mask he hid behind.

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Monica lowered her napkin, looking back up at Charlie and Luda Mae. “That can’t be easy, but...they definitely seem like good boys.”

Bubba made a happy noise behind his mask at the compliment, and Tommy gave her a small smile she could see behind the leather covering his face. This...was definitely the strangest dinner party she’d ever been to, but Monica couldn’t say she wasn’t enjoying herself and the company.

Dinner took nearly two hours before anyone was even remotely finished; conversations kept people from eating, too busy gabbing and wanting to be the one to tell Monica about this or that--and she had so many questions herself to answer that she could barely keep up. The Sawyers, especially Bubba and Tommy, were so interested in every single thing she had to say. Bubba had pushed for her to talk at length about all the books she’s written, and when Tommy found out she could draw, he had to turn to get his Mama to tell Monica he wanted her to draw him just a little something so he could keep it. Of course, Bubba immediately wanted one, too! Monica had laughed a little shyly, explaining she’d left her sketchbook back at the motel but that she’d be happy to draw them both something and bring it back? That seemed to make them both over the moon happy. She thought it was simply the promise of a drawing, but the fact of the matter was...it meant she’d be coming back to see them again.

“But...what would you like me to draw?”

Tommy and Bubba had exchanged glances, before Tommy reached out, pointing at Monica’s chest. She furrowed her brow, as Bubba seemed to nod and agree.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t--”

“They want a drawing of you, honey.” Luda Mae offered, her elbows resting on the table as she smiled. “Probably wanna hang it up in their room.”

Monica blushed prettily. “A-Are you sure?”

Tommy nodded once; Bubba hadn’t stopped nodding since he started. Monica could draw herself, she’d done it a few times before, but shyness was making her a little self-conscious--and in that moment, she realized she wasn’t the only one who was.

“How...How about I take a picture with you two? And I’ll draw it, and you can hang that up?”

Neither Tommy nor Bubba had had their photos taken since they were in diapers; at least, not willingly. Some mean tourists had snapped some photos of the pair when they were pre-teens, but that was the very last time. Bubba lowered his hands in his lap, wringing them nervously, and Tommy was staring at his plate. Monica’s assumption had been right; their self-esteem issues were through the roof, but she knew this could be helpful! And she didn’t know why, but some part of her wanted to help them.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! You can leave your masks on.” Monica gave Tommy’s hand an encouraging pat, turning to Bubba. “Your make-up looks so pretty, don’t you want to see what it looks like?”

Bubba nodded, blubbering quietly. He would have agreed to anything she said, really, and Tommy may seem stoic but he was in the same boat.

“Well lookit that.” Charlie whistled lowly, replacing the toothpick in his mouth with a fresh one. “Boys ain’t taken a picture in years.”

“They just ain’t had a good reason to.” Luda Mae gestured with a smile. “Why don’t y’all take it out on the porch? It’s quieter out there, and it’ll give us time to clear and get the dessert on the table.”

Monica nodded, and Tommy pulled her chair out for her, both men standing as she did; she hadn’t forgotten how tall they were, was difficult to when she’d been sitting beside them all evening, but they all but towered over her the moment they straightened up. It gave a curious stirring of butterflies in her tummy all over again, and she nearly forgot to grab her phone from her purse before stepping away from the table, following Bubba toward the front door, Tommy lumbering at her back. She didn’t pull away when he reached over to take her hand--whether or not it was forward, or appropriate, Monica found she couldn’t care about that. There was something about these two that seemed to subvert social norms; she wasn’t in a big city, she wasn’t needing to put on airs or worry about what was right or what was wrong. Tommy held her hand like one would a glass figurine, as if she were breakable, and there was something so sweet about that she just couldn’t care why he wanted to hold it in the first place.

Out on the porch, the Texas night was a blanket of darkness littered with starlight, and the full moon cast the plains in an ethereal gloom. The sun was long gone and took with it it’s warmth and Monica immediately shivered, unable to believe she hadn’t thought to bring a jacket--

Immediately, Bubba shrugged out of his suit jacket, slipping it around her shoulders with a soft, caring noise. His large, roughly calloused hands gave her arms a rub--a little roughly, as if he wasn’t used to being gentle, but Tommy grunted at him and his touch softened.

Monica gave him a smile. “Thank you, Bubba. It’s very warm.”

It smelled like him, too; like a home-cooked meal, still hot and ready, and it warmed her even as her skin lost some of it’s chill. Monica unlocked her phone, and was immediately aware of Tommy and Bubba curiously crowding close--she should have realized they...probably have never seen a smartphone before. She couldn’t be sure, she’d only caught a glimpse, but she was pretty sure the TV in the living room still had rabbit ears.

“Oh, my phone? Do you boys have a phone?”

Bubba immediately shook his head, babbling as he did so. Tommy was silent as he shook his, too.

“Well, maybe one day you’ll get one!” Monica couldn’t help saying that; she wasn’t...sure they could even read, but the way their eyes both lit up was worth telling them anything was possible. They were the biggest men she’d ever seen, but there was something so sweet and innocent about them, as if they were little boys wrapped up in a very tough, scary exterior.

Monica was so new, she had no way of knowing this was solely because of her. These two boys, while their family treated them well enough, most days, had never really known kindness. They’d been bullied out of school at a young age, so no they weren’t able to read or really write. They couldn’t talk, so most assumed they were retarded, slow--and their appearance made them ugly. Hideous monsters that hid out in their family’s basement, preying on passersby with chainsaws and gnashing teeth. They had their fair share of violence and death, they knew all of life’s hardships and had eaten at the table of suffering with seconds and some might even say thirds. What they needed now was exactly what every monster in a fairy tale needs--a princess. Someone soft, beautiful, angelic and kind, to chase away bad dreams from childhood torment and to make the monster in the mirror a little easier to look at. Neither Tommy nor Bubba were comfortable with the idea of showing Monica who they really were beneath their masks, not yet--but it wasn’t because they didn’t want to. She was the nicest person they’d ever met, and they’d gladly do just about anything she asked--they just couldn’t imagine she’d look at them the same way once she saw their faces. No one ever had, but these two were suffering from the same problem all monsters in fairy tales suffer from; a lack of hope from being let down time and time again. It had taken time to sow those terrible wounds, and it would take time to undo them. The boys were convinced Monica would be the one to do that...perhaps, sadly for her, she’d never have another choice. The moment they’d laid eyes on her it sealed her fate. The boys may not be slow, but they ain’t all there upstairs, either. Now that they were convinced she was the princess from their fairy tales, she’d never truly be away from them again.

But...maybe that wasn’t so bad?

As Tommy and Bubba bent their spines, resting their cheeks against Monica’s for a picture, Monica didn’t feel the least bit worried or scared. The picture came out beautifully; her smile was something neither of the boys could look away from, but all she could see was that, beneath their masks, Tommy and Bubba were smiling, too.

All fairy tales have to start somewhere, and not all of them are going to start, or even end, the same. That story, with the handsome prince on his faithful steed, that’s been done to death. Maybe it’s finally the monsters’ turn to get the girl of their dreams.

Yeah, that’s not so bad, after all.

#{theme} : for monica #{collection} : january 2019 #{character} : bubba sawyer #{character} : thomas hewitt #{ this came out way longer than i'd anticipated }#{ but it was so much fun to write }

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shirtlesssammy · 6 years

Text

13x22: Exodus

Then:

Gabe came back to save the day!

Now:

Sam’s alive! And Lucifer just wants to be part of the gang, and to get to know his son. Dean is in protective Mom mode and tells Gabe to kill Lucifer. All the anger and hostility causes Jack to fly off to safety.

To keep some semblance of order, Cas puts the angel warded handcuffs on Lucifer, while Lucifer tells the group that they have about 31 hours before the rift closes. Rowena’s holding down the fort, and not looking too positive about the whole situation. Also, Sam sets his phones timer for 31 hours. A: Won’t the battery run out before then? And 2: Shouldn’t you maybe set it for 29 hours or something just to be safe?

Dean checks in with Sam to make sure he’s ok, and he is. Dean just thought he lost his brother, and Sam just thought he died. This was a worthy hug.

Now Sam, can you at least clean your blood off your neck? Yuck.

Sam tells Dean that he will handle Lucifer.

Meanwhile, Jack’s off alone reeling from meeting Lucifer for the first time. He flashes back to the video of his mother (was this new footage or from earlier?), and Sam (so protective, so parental), and then to the security guard he accidentally killed and au!Kevin dying for the “cause”. Oh, sweet little nougat (at what age does he have to reach before we have to stop calling him our little nougat?).

Cas escorts Lucifer from point A to point B at the camp (like, where were they going?) Anyway, they take a pit stop so Luci can be snarky and Mary can punch the devil in the face (again). Yay!

Mary is 100% badass and I love her, but do you ever stop to think about how great it was for Sam to have Dean raise him and not Mary or John? They were a mess! Sam and Dean show up to tell Mary they need to start heading back to the rift to make it home in time. Mary tells them she’s not leaving. There’s work to be done here. She’s fought beside the people here. There’s too much to fight for. That goes over like a lead balloon. Sidenote: Mary’s makeup is on point in the AU. Maybe it’s not such a bad place after all?

Cas, Jack, and Lucifer parley and Jack wants to listen (UGH) to what Lucifer has to say.

Lucifer tells Jack that he can ask him anything. “Why does everyone hate you?” Lucifer makes some good points (and some icky rapey Buckleming points, ugh), but nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.

Back in Dean, Sam, and Mary land, Dean’s arguing against fighting the good fight, and asks Sam to back him up, but Sam being Sam, he agrees with Mary. “Wait, what?” Dean asks, incredulous. “Mom doesn’t want to leave these people.” Dean’s poor face. Sam suggests they bring them with, regroup, and come back stronger than ever. Just as Dean questions the ability to cram 25 people through the rift, a VERY dramatic Cas arrives to tell them Jack is now with Lucifer.

Lucifer has a one on one with Jack but TFW interrupts, trying to make it clear to Jack that they’re his family, not Lucifer. Jack then calls Lucifer his father (BIG UGH).

The group heads out to the basecamp.

Mary and Dean get some time to talk. Mary wants Dean to give Jack a break. Man, Mary’s conversation about Jack learning about Lucifer, and seeing him for who he is through his own eyes. Dean should be taking notes on how to think about his own childhood, and his own memories of John.

Gabriel, who was off scouting, comes running at the group alerting them to incoming angels. Battle stances commence, and then the angels just disappear into smoke. It seems the handcuffs don’t work in the AU and Luci just smoked them all, and then dissolved the handcuffs. Oops.

It seems the basecamp is Singer Auto Salvage --it’s not in Sioux Falls but it’s damn nice to see that sign again. And it’s not our Bobby (Goddamnit, where is he?? Andrew Dabb, how have you failed us on that storyline?), but he’s just as much a curmudgeon. Dean asks about Charlie and finds out Ketch and her went off to find an angel kill squad.

Lucifer and Jack continue the family reunion. Lucifer tells him all about the other archangels. Ok, Buckleming, you get one pass if you scripted that high five. It was funny and cute. I give 90% of the credit to Jack though. They meet up with Gabriel.

Gabe can barely hold in his hostility for Lucifer. GABE!

Charlie and Ketch find the angels, but it’s a trap! They’re captured.

Team Free Winchester try to convince the leadership at the camp to head over to Sam and Dean’s world. “You want us to follow you through some magic door that’s gonna blast us the hell out of here and into some fairy tale world where everything’s pretty?” DUH. Just do it, Andy!

The AU campers will talk about it. At the end of the meeting, Bobby comes up to tell Sam, Dean, and Mary that Charlie and Ketch were captured.

Ketch and Charlie are having a great time hanging with angels. Eating angel food cake, playing ring toss with halos. The whole nine yards. Or, urgh, Ketch is getting tortured and interrogated for the resistance base location. Ketch snarkily resists their efforts, earning my grudging respect. (Boris: Ngl, watching Ketch get tortured was kind of poetic. But he’s on his big redemption arc so I guess it’s also sad. Remember folks: Ketch killed Magda!) Then they bring in the big guns. AU!Castiel, complete with insane lip twitch. AU!Castiel does not look well, as evidenced by his non-floofy hair and rogue eye that's probably gone bad from incessant “reprogramming.”

In the resistance camp, TFW interrogates the human that betrayed Charlie and Ketch. I only picked up on this in the rewatch, but Dean nods to Cas to start and stop his mind meld on the guy. I know this can be seen as teamwork but I'm sort of super duper gutted by that. I keep remembering how Cas oftens sees himself as a tool and I feel like he's in that role right now – an instrument of torture wielded by Dean Winchester.

Anyway.

shudder

Cut to Lucifer whining to Gabriel about how boring it is to wait for an attack. Gabriel is quietly amused at Lucifer's desire to rush out and be big and heroic to impress Jack. “I've known you since the stars were made,” Gabriel tells him and he thinks Lucifer’s full of shit. “Humans are innocent and beautiful,” Gabriel says (while I whisper to him that I suddenly really really love him). Lucifer’s motivation for his corruption of humanity was down to jealousy, plain and simple. Lucifer pulls a single man tear which... Whatever, Luci.

Back with AU!Cas, he hones in on Charlie. “Everyone has a breaking point,” he tells her before he tries to suck her mind out of her head. (I'm definitely NOT thinking about how AU!Cas hit his breaking point. He's broken. Shattered. A sharp blade of pain.) There's a ruckus outside, saving Charlie momentarily. It's Mary and TFW! They bust in and defeat the angels guarding Charlie and Ketch. Outside, Castiel confronts AU!Castiel.

Cas tells Castiel that he's grown used to humanity and that he prefers humans to angels. Despite this, they both agree that they're the same, and then Cas kills AU!Castiel. I have a whole headcanon about this scene. Ready? Okay. AU!Castiel is broken, tortured by Heaven into existing as a mere weapon. Cas sees this and recognizes his fate, his horrible scars and terrible weaknesses. He sees the soldier. He sees the broken person. And he kills him easily because he views it as both mercy and necessity. AU!Cas is irredeemable, so damaged is he. Now, all he can do is rest eternally in the Empty.

Let's take a hug break.

Cas shakes it off (OR DOES HE?) and everyone reunites at the camp. Bobby announces to the Winchesters that they're all planning to head back with them. Super! It's time for a PARTY BUS! Dean fixes a school bus (Natasha fans herself) and everyone piles onto the bus to head out. Sam runs after Jack and tries to keep him from fulfilling his promise to kill Michael. Sam wants them to regroup and plan a good attack and Lucifer agrees. Jack...listens to Lucifer and then calls him “father.” Yikes, Jack.

The vehicles, packed full of many of my favorite characters, head down the road to the rift. Eek! I sure am glad those rifts mostly only open just off of roadways. When they arrive Sam sees the rift is starting to close.

Rowena's exhausted on the other side, desperately trying to keep the rift open. Everyone files in and through. “About bloody time,” Rowena greets Castiel breathlessly. On the other side of the portal, angels zoom in. Michael arrives with an impressive wing display.

Lucifer and Michael begin to fight while Sam, Dean, and Gabe just....stand around picking their noses, I guess. Until Gabe decides to start fighting Michael. Michael pulls out his archangel blade and they fight. We're feeling pretty good about it until Gabriel gets knifed. NOOOOOOOO every time!

Sam angrily pushes a weakened Lucifer away from the rift and then jumps through. The rift closes behind him leaving Michael and Lucifer behind in the AU.

In the bunker it's a PARTY. Sam thanks Rowena. Charlie and Ketch have forged a friendship (odd but I’ll allow it). Dean and Cas share emotional stares a.k.a. an “eyefuck.” Jack is sad.

Bobby gives the troops a rallying speech and everyone experiences warm and fuzzy feelings. I mean, I certainly do. Look at all their friends! Take that, Team “All My Friends are Dead.”

Back in the AU, Gabriel lies apparently (possibly? definitely?) dead on the ground with charred wings. Lucifer and Michael plot together to get back into the Winchesters’ world and strike a deal. Lucifer will get his son and Michael gets the world. Booo bad deal.

Party Quotes:

What do we do about Lucifer?

You are who you choose to be.

I am not your “sport”

That may be the dumbest friggin’ idea in a landfill of dumb ideas.

You want us to follow you through a magic door that's gonna blast us the hell outta here and into some kind of fairy tale world where everything is pretty?

For whatever reason, I got a good feeling about you two.

See you on the other side, bitches.

And you’re an ass clown.

Way to go, DAD!

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn 13x22 #exodus #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #lucifer #mary winchester #jack kline #au!bobby #au!charlie #arthur ketch #rowena macleod #au!castiel #au!michael #gabriel #wow everyone was in this episode #supernatural season 13

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italiancherrybombs · 7 years

Text

Two Twins and a Beanstalk

Fandom: Hetalia

Characters: America, (Nyo!)Canada, (Nyo!)Finland, Sweden (hinted), Sealand

Notes: This was meant as a school assignment where you had to write a fairy tale, and I decided to do a crossover of Hetalia and Jack and the Beanstalk. Originally, this was supposed to be 3,000 words long but being the novelist I am I’m closer to 5,000... >.> So yeah, this is pretty long. But hey, it’s still pretty heckin’ cool. Hope you enjoy!

((the ending is pretty rushed, I know, but I needed to finish it so I could turn it in on time sooooo yeah))

Two twins looked up at the gigantic beanstalk before them. One was awestruck. The other was concerned.

“See, I told you those beans were special,” Alfred pointed out, gesturing to the beanstalk and grinning.

Madeline just continued staring. Honestly, she was just appalled at the fact that the stupid beans Alfred had brought home last night grew this fast, this high, on the sandy beach.

Alfred squinted. “You can’t even see the top of it,” he whispered. “See, Maddie? I told you getting those beans were worth it.”

“You traded our only cow, Alfred, our only cow, for some beans that can grow a lot faster than normal. They were worth it, you’re absolutely right.” She kicked the base of the stalk. “We can’t even eat a beanstalk, Alfred.”

Alfred wasn't listening at this point. He took a few steps back as if to get a better view of the top. "You think there's anything up there?"

Despite herself, Madeline looked up too. Bedtime stories of giants in the sky and merfolk in the ocean made her reminiscent of the days their parents were alive, but she shook her head and the memories away. “Damn it, Alfred, I don’t have time for this,” she snapped. “I’ll have to work extra hours at the bakery because you can’t sell a cow properly.”

“Hey! The old guy said that the magic beans were worth a fortune!”

“Well, it’s not as if they’re worth anything now. They’ve grown.” Madeline gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m going to change for work. Earn more gold, maybe. Please don’t destroy the house while I’m gone.”

Alfred stuck his tongue out at his sister before returning his attention to the beanstalk. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a great idea to sell their only cow for a few beans of questionable origin. And maybe it wasn’t the best idea to throw the beans out the window during a night that heralded storm clouds. To be fair, no plants had rooted themselves in the sandy beach beside their house for years, so how would they know that the beans would grow?

He heard Madeline close the entrance door to their house.

The man did say that the beans would grow to the sky when planted. At the time Alfred thought the old guy maybe exaggerated a little in saying that, but the old man was true to his word. And didn’t the man say that adventure and fortune awaited those who planted it?

When Madeline had walked a good distance away from the house and wouldn’t be able to spot Alfred from the distance, he jumped and climbed on one of the thicker tendrils of the stalk. Swinging, he landed on one of the broader leaves. It held his weight.

Well then.

At that, he continued climbing.

Halfway during his climb, it occurred to Alfred that he didn’t eat breakfast. Nor did he bring a coat for the cold temperatures. Blisters started to appear on his hands, and his feet were sore from standing on his tip-toes at times. Twice he had almost fallen, and once he actually did fall; fortunately, he grabbed a stray vine just in time and almost wrenched his shoulder.

Otherwise, the climb was going great.

Soon enough, he could see the tip of the beanstalk. It poked itself over a hole between the clouds for a few feet before stopping. He determinedly scrambled the rest of the way up, only stopping when his head poked through the clouds.

Alfred had always thought that the area above the clouds looked a little like heaven, with angels flying about, areas where you could look down at the earth below, and maybe a few paved roads of gold too. A place that mirrored earth, except fewer troubles.

Not exactly the barren land Alfred saw now.

Alfred didn’t think twice when he jumped from the beanstalk to the cloud-like ground. White puffs stirred when he landed, like ethereal dust. He scanned the immediate area, looking for signs of life, but there was nothing.

He was about to climb down in defeat (so much for adventure and fortune) when he spotted a large house in the distance.

A house? In the clouds? Well, a house meant people, which meant life, which certainly meant adventure!

It took a while, but eventually, he reached the house. Now that he was closer, it seemed a lot bigger than before. Bigger, as in it made castles seem like stones in comparison to this abnormally large cottage. The steps leading to the entrance were as tall as Alfred himself, and he struggled in climbing over them to reach the door. When he pushed the door open — unlocked, he noted — he snuck inside.

The inside looked to the other cottages down in the village below, if not for the gigantic proportions. Everything seemed to be fashioned out of wood, which was strange since Alfred didn’t see any tree outside the house, whether large or regular sized. He strolled over to the kitchen area, where the tallest kitchen counter and table he had ever seen towered over him. The pantry, which was open to view, held various items that were at least twenty times larger than their normal sizes. Alfred then caught a whiff of something overpowering; was that bread baking in the oven?

He climbed onto one of the chairs surrounding the table. If he could get on the table, he would be able to get a better view of the area and find another place to explore. However, when he had clambered over the table and laid his eyes on an oddly colored bowl filled with butter, all thoughts on exploration disappeared. He hadn’t had butter since forever. Slowly, he walked towards the bowl in a sneaky matter, just about to scoop some in his hands—

He didn’t even hear the footsteps nearing the kitchen.

“How strange,” a gentle, unknown voice remarked. “I didn’t know we’d have guests.”

Alfred froze. His hand was still in the process of scooping butter, and his upper body was balancing precariously on the rim of the bowl. Slowly, he turned his head to see an abnormally large woman stare with mild shock at him. A moment later, however, she started to advance. Alfred tensed up; he was going to die wasn’t he? To think, he was going to die before he had even seen a glimpse of treasure, all by the hand of a giant.

He yelped when he was lifted by the back of his shirt, flailing in the air until he was eye-level with the giant.

“Curious. I didn’t think the little folk visited anymore,” the lady-giant chuckled, an easy smile on her face. She cupped her other hand and placed Alfred down, which was a little more comfortable for Alfred but not at all less scary. “Did Peter leave the door unlocked? Silly child. He can never remember to lock the door when he comes home.”

The lady-giant wore something similar to Madeline’s work clothes: a robin blue dress with an apron tied in the back. She seemed like one of those old ladies that sat in rocking chairs and sewed dresses for the little girls. The idea made Alfred relax a little.

“I saw you reaching for the bowl of butter. Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” Alfred replied without hesitation. If Madeline was here, she would’ve berated him for being so rude. His stomach pushed the notion away quickly.

Another chuckle. “Just a moment, then.” The lady-giant set Alfred back down on the table and hurried to the oven. She stuck in a bread paddle and, slowly, slid a steaming hot loaf out of the oven and on the counter. Waving steam away with her free hand, she set down the bread paddle and took the hot loaf — with her bare hands! — and set it on a cutting board. “You’ve caught me at a good time, actually. My husband’s out and my son — Peter, the dear soul — is still in bed. If he saw you now, he’d liken you to a plaything I bet!” She took a glance at Alfred for a moment, then turned back to the bread and took a large knife. “Although, you will want to be out by the time Peter wakes up. Easier to explain a bit of loaf missing than a small folk.” When the lady-giant cut the end piece of bread, the sharp sound of metal on wood sounded like thunder. She gasped. “Ah! I haven’t even introduced myself!” Placing the small slice of bread on a platter as big as a bed, she set it down before Alfred. “My name is Anya. And you?”

“Alfred.” He could feel the heat radiating from the bread. “And— Thanks for the bread.” The slice was half his height and twice his length, and after mustering his courage he took a handful of bread and ate a little. It was the best bread he had ever tasted.

Anya nodded in satisfaction before slicing up a larger piece of bread. “Now, little one. Do you mind telling me why you’ve come up here?”

Alfred explained everything, from the twin's tight living conditions to the beanstalk. He might've embellished the tale a little, but otherwise, he spoke the truth. Anya grew increasingly concerned as the tale went on, and when Alfred had finished she looked deeply worried.

"Dear me... Is that what you all have to suffer through?" She asked, her hands firmly in her lap.

Alfred shrugged. “I mean, not everyone... But Maddie and I do. We’re kind of used to it at this point.”

Anya’s perturbed look stayed for a moment longer before she excused herself from the table. When she came back, she placed a full sack as big as a flour bag in front of Alfred.

“Consider it a gift,” she said. “My husband may call me a bleeding heart, but I know when someone’s in trouble. It’s not as if we’re in desperate need of gold anymore.” She smiled. “I’ve missed you tiny folk. You always bring such interesting tales.”

Alfred couldn’t believe his eyes. A whole sack of gold? Just for him? He opened it a little to see that it indeed was filled to the brim with gold coins. How rich he and Madeline would be! He was about to thank Anya for her overflowing generosity when loud stomps interrupted.

“Muuuuumm! Who’re you talking to!”

Anya whirled towards the voice. “No one, dear!” She then faced Alfred. “Come, dear; into my pocket.” Before Alfred could even stand up, Anya plucked him by the back of his shirt and placed him securely in her apron pocket. “Stay quiet.”

Alfred could barely move in the starched pocket anyway. However, his hearing wasn’t as inhabited; he could hear more stomps — now down stairs — and more excited hollering. Briefly, Alfred felt glad that he wasn’t meeting the son face-to-face.

“But I swore I heard you talking to someone!” The boy shouted. “Was it a new friend? Of mine or yours?”

“I was practicing voices for bedtime stories,” Anya lied smoothly. “You didn’t hear anyone.”

“... Oh.”

“And why are you still in your night clothes? I told you that you should be changed when you eat your breakfast.”

“But Mum—”

“No buts! Off with you.”

There was a moment of silence before Alfred heard the son’s footsteps retreat upstairs.

Alfred felt himself being plucked from the apron pocket, and he gasped for fresh air. The pocket, while cozy, didn’t have the greatest smell. He noticed Anya picking up the sack of gold as well.

“Right then. You should probably go now,” Anya noted as she snuck a glance behind. “Peter is a fine boy, just... Not when he’s playing.” She pushed the door open and gently dropped both Alfred and the sack down. “Will you be okay carrying this?”

“I’ll be fine! Thanks!” Alfred laughed. Ohh boy, Madeline’s going to be amazed when she sees this.

"That's good." Anya stepped back inside, smiling. "I wish you well," she said, and with that, she closed the door.

Alfred grinned. Now that was an adventure.

When Madeline first saw what Alfred brought home, she accused him of stealing the gold at first. But after some convincing, she eventually let it be used and the twins lived comfortably on the gold.

Soon, however, their funds started dwindling again.

“Well... We could go back up there,” Alfred suggested as he glanced out the window. The beanstalk could be viewed outside their window, and while it blocked a good portion of the beach, it didn’t obstruct the view much.

“You couldn’t. The lady-giant would recognize you, and how will you explain yourself this time?” Madeline sighed. “If anyone is going up the beanstalk, it’ll be me.”

“Wait, you?” Alfred asked, incredulous. “Why you?”

Madeline glared. “Would you rather it be a milkmaid?”

At the end, they both agreed that Madeline would climb this time. Not only would she be a new face, her thin stature let her hide a lot easier from the giants’ son. After changing into more suitable climbing clothes and bidding her brother a quick farewell (and a promise for more fortune), she started to climb.

Bold as she was, Madeline had more difficulty climbing the beanstalk than her brother. However, that was only because her arms weren’t as built up as Alfred’s, so she relied on the leaves rather than the vines. Eventually, she was able to climb up to the top easily enough, and she only hesitated for a moment before swinging onto the cloud ground.

When Alfred first told her about the giants, she was skeptical. Even if the sack of gold was living proof that they existed, Madeline took Alfred’s words with a grain of salt. But as she neared the same colossal cottage Alfred spoke of, she had to admit that Alfred might’ve spoken the truth. She approached the tall set of steps leading to the entrance and noted with displeasure that they were too high for her to climb. There had to be another way in.

On the far side of the house, there indeed was another entrance. A wicker basket stood beside a low window, which had what seemed like laundry spilling over the brim. The material of the weave dug into Madeline’s hands, but she was able to climb over the rim of the basket and onto the windowsill. She then stepped down over the various piles of clothes onto the ground.

Madeline strained her ears to hear something, but there wasn’t even a whisper in the air. Slowly, she crept behind more baskets and more piles of clean linens (a whole room dedicated to laundry, what a concept) as she kept her eyes and ears sharp. Where was the lady-giant Alfred mentioned? Madeline bit her lip; pity she didn’t end up in the kitchen like her brother.

Soon, she exited the laundry room and into a section of hallway. Madeline could see the parlor and the stairs to the right of where she stood, but no kitchen. In the hallway in front of her, there were two doors: one was securely shut with its doorknob to high for her to reach while the other didn’t have a door at all. At first glance, there was nothing in the room, but as Madeline neared it and snuck a peek inside she realized that it actually served as a playroom.

The room in of itself could have fitted a whole castle. Toys ranging from wooden figurines to upside-down tops to open books scattered the ground. A multi-colored (yet faded) quilt that served as a rug laid underneath over a wooden floor. There were no torches, but two windows provided adequate lighting to the room. Madeline counted four chests in total, with one of them tipped over and spilling more toys on the ground. She walked to the middle of the room, where the toys gathered the most, and picked up a puzzle piece three-quarters her size. If this was a child’s puzzle piece, how big was the actual child?

“Who’re you?”

Madeline gasped loudly, whirling around and dropping the puzzle piece. What startled her, even more, was the fact that this childish, feminine voice didn’t belong to any of the inhabitants of the cottage, but instead a bear.

Other than its alarmingly winter-white fur and tame demeanor, the bear looked like the ones that lived in the forests. Or, at least it looked like one of the adolescent bears Madeline had seen in pictures. Its large, black eyes stared up at Madeline in awe, as if it hadn’t seen a normal-sized human in its life. The bear slowly crept up to Madeline, echoing its question: “Who’re you?”

Madeline gulped. “I’m— I’m Maddie,” she choked out. Why she was responding to the talking bear, and even with her nickname, not even Madeline knew.

Satisfied with the answer, the bear lumbered closer to Madeline, sniffing profusely, until it nudged at the bag tied around Madeline’s waist. “Gold,” the bear muttered, nudging. It looked up at Madeline again expectantly. “Gold.”

Confused, Madeline opened the bag the bear was nudging at and reached in. She took out two gold coins that were sitting at the bottom, the pay she had received the day before and forgotten all peek. Madeline stared at the bear in surprise.

“Can you... Sniff out gold?” She whispered at the bear.

The bear didn't respond but instead licked the hand that held the two gold coins. Her hand loosened, and the bear bit one of the coins. Madeline almost gave a shout at that until she took a closer look; somehow, there were now three coins in her hand, as if the bitten coin had split into two.

“... Oh,” was all Madeline could manage. She offered one of the split coins. “Can you split this one?”

It shook its head, mentioned “fresh”, and ignored the offered coin to bite the other unbitten coin. Like its twin, it also split into two.

Madeline laughed at the discovery. With this bear, her and Alfred’s savings would double. And, if the bear really could sniff out gold, they could be even richer. She stroked the bear under its chin. In return, the bear purred.

Now, Madeline thought, to find that lady-giant and ask permission to keep the bear—

Footsteps rang with thunder, and both Madeline and the bear jumped. The bear scampered behind one of the toy chests, and Madeline joined him. She pressed herself to the wall as she listened to a conversation:

“Papa, I can’t find Kuma!” A boy shouted. The son that Alfred talked about, Madeline guessed.

Deeper, indistinguishable mumbles responded. The father, maybe. Madeline would’ve inched closer to the source of the voices but the bear stubbornly stayed put.

“I told you, she wasn’t in the toy room! She wasn’t in the storage room either! You have to help me find her!”

Madeline frowned. At first, she was inclined to think they were talking about her, but the boy had mentioned a "Kuma". Who on earth were they talking about? —

“You know Kumamarie always does this! She doesn’t like me; she only cares about eating your gold!”

Kumamarie was the bear.

Madeline stole a glance towards the bear — Kumamarie. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but it looked like Kumamarie was frowning.

Madeline put a hand on the bear’s shoulder. “You don’t like it here, don’t you?”

Kumamarie gave a high-pitched grumble.

Madeline scanned the room. The closest window to them had a chest sitting underneath with its lid partially open. If Madeline could stack some blocks, she could easily get Kumamarie and herself to climb through the window. But how would they get down...? The curtains? It was the only option.

After waiting to hear the boy’s footsteps retreat upstairs, Madeline broke into a sprint.

The wooden blocks were lighter than she realized; she still couldn’t lift them, but they glided easily against the wooden floor. She pushed two blocks that were already stacked first, then pushed three other single blocks to surround the stacked ones. Kumamarie slowly ambled over to Madeline just as she pushed the last block in place.

“Come on, Kuma — can I call you that? — we’ll get you free,” Madeline guided, stepping up on one of the blocks.

Kumamarie soon mirrored Madeline, doubtful.

The two slowly climbed their way up the blocks, on the lip of the chest, and soon on the chest’s lid. Kumamarie had gained more assurance as they climbed higher, and the bear jumped to the window sill first before Madeline even had a chance. Using the curtains, the two latched on tight as they shimmied down.

Madeline heard the boy again: “Don’t say that, Papa! Kuma couldn’t have run away! You make it seem as if you want her to be gone!”

Kumamarie snorted in response.

With Kumamarie and her special abilities as a new member of the household, the twins were able to live comfortably for the first time in years. Kumamarie not only did her job well to find gold and double it (Madeline reasoned that they only double half of their income, so as not to draw suspicion) but made a fine job as a guard and a companion. It took Alfred a while to get used to a white bear living in the same quarters as he was, but soon enough they were friends.

They didn’t think much about the beanstalk until a month later.

“We should cut the beanstalk down,” Madeline noted with displeasure after dinner.

Alfred raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Aww, but why?”

“Because we don’t need to go up there again,” Madeline explained. “We got our adventure, we got our fortune. We have Kuma. Why do we need to keep it?”

“We could always visit the giants!” Alfred explained. “I mean, Anya seemed like she’d want to see us. And you didn’t even meet her! You could have a chance to meet her!”

“The beanstalk blocks the view.”

Alfred groaned. “Well, do we have to cut it now?”

“Maybe not,” Madeline shrugged. “But we really need it gone; it’s not as light here.”

The two stayed silent for a moment. Kumamarie strolled up to Madeline’s side, and she scratched the bear under her chin.

“... Maybe we can go up again?”

Now it was Madeline’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “What’s the point of that?”

Alfred grinned. "You know! We could go back up there for one last adventure! Say goodbye to Anya, maybe meet her husband, or even explore the house more! Neither of us has been upstairs, have we?"

Kumamarie gave a little whine when Madeline stopped scratching her to readjust her seat. “Even if I wanted to do that, when would we? The bakery wasn’t as appreciative of me skipping work last time, and I don’t want to risk asking for a day off.”

Alfred bit his lip in thought. “We... could go tonight,” he suggested in a low voice.

“Tonight?” Madeline echoed.

“Yeah, tonight! I mean, we won’t stay the whole night, just a quick visit. After that, we can cut down the beanstalk, no complaints.” Alfred’s eyes twinkled at the plan. “What do you think?”

Madeline pondered on the idea for a bit. A little adventure did seem fun, and maybe she could formally ask if they could keep Kumamarie. She then nodded in consent.

Kumamarie was stationed outside as guard, and after assuring that they had everything, the twins climbed onto the beanstalk for the third time. The climb went a lot faster since they knew where to climb and they could assist each other at times. It took them no time to reach the top.

“If they’re asleep, we don’t bother them,” Madeline hissed as they hiked along the trail.

“Oh, come on. They’re probably going to be awake, there’s still some light out.” Alfred argued, shrugging. Madeline just sighed in response.

They entered the same way Madeline did since that entrance was closer to the stairs. There was more folded laundry than before, so the twins were able to drop into the laundry room easily. Alfred was tempted to light the lantern to see better, but it stayed by his hip. The twins couldn't hear anything as they took turns boosting each other up the stairs.

But just as Alfred boosted Madeline up the final step upstairs, Madeline kicked Alfred. “Put me down!” She hissed urgently, and he lowered her quickly.

“Why’d you kick me?” He hissed back, rubbing his arms.

Madeline jabbed a thumb above the step. “The son. He’s there.”

“... Boost me up.” Madeline put her hands together and Alfred used them as a stepping stool to see above the step. He peered closely at the sight of a boy in some sort of sailor’s uniform sitting on the floor with some toys. He played by a desk of some sort, which held a lantern that gave an orange glow. Other than two beds and a window, nothing else decorated the room.

Alfred squinted. “... Is he alone?” He muttered, trying to climb over the step. Madeline had to yank him down to get him back down. “Hey, I was being careful!”

“We’re getting out,” Madeline fiercely whispered. “Kuma didn’t like the boy because he played too roughly. That’s what she said. How do you think he’ll treat us?”

Alfred bit his lip. “But if we meet Anya, she’ll protect us!”

“Anya might not even be here! Or, if anything, she’s downstairs. We’ll meet her there, how about that? Come on, let’s go back down.” Madeline was about to slide down the step when she stopped, frowning. “... Why is it getting lighter?”

Alfred made a face. “What do you mean? —”

"Oh! There are mice down here!”

Both Alfred and Madeline whipped their heads towards the source of the voice. Towering above them was the young boy, holding his lantern high and proud.

He grinned. “You two would make great playthings! Can you play with me?”

No one moved for a moment, before Madeline shouted, “Run!”

Alfred dodged the boy’s hands as he followed Madeline down the stairs. The boy didn’t chase them at first, perhaps startled by Madeline's panicked shout, but soon the stairs shook as the boy gave chase. “Come ooooooonn!” The boy hollered. “Play with me!”

Madeline and Alfred ran for their dear lives when they finally touched the first floor, heading for the parlor. The boy stumbled when he reached the bottom step, which gave the twins more time to dive under a table with a quilt draped over. Alfred and Madeline panted hard as they collected their breaths.

“How did he hear us?!” Madeline whispered. She leaned on one of the table legs for support, her face red.

“I think— Giants— Good hearing— Haaaah...” Alfred said between gasps.

The boy's footsteps slowed, and then stopped altogether. "Oh, mice! Won't you play with me? Ooh, and I’ll show you two to Mum and Papa! They’ll like you very much!”

Madeline lifted the quilt a little and blanched at the sight. “He’s looking for us, oh God...”

Alfred took a deep breath. “Ohh-kay. How are escaping out of this one?”

Madeline dropped the quilt. “We—” She stopped, then moved closer to whisper in Alfred’s ear. “We wait until he’s closer, then we run under his legs and to the laundry room.”

Alfred frowned. “Why not the entrance?”

“It might be locked.” Madeline stepped back to lift the quilt again and pointed towards the direction of the laundry room. Alfred also lifted the quilt in a different corner, and the two waited with bated breath.

The boy was still between the kitchen and the parlor. He took a peek inside the kitchen before he turned to trot to the parlor.

“Mice...” The boy called in a soft sing-song voice. “Mice... Come here, come here...” His face then brightened at the sight of Madeline, and then Alfred. “Oh, there you are—”

Both twins dashed around the boy’s legs, startling him. The boy grasped for Madeline, but he barely missed her as she wove out of reach. Giving an indignant cry, the boy stomped after the twins into the laundry room.

Alfred climbed onto the shortest pile of clothes, and Madeline followed him closely. With Alfred always a pile ahead of Madeline, they ascended the tower of clothes and linens. Once Alfred reached the window sill, Madeline reached for his hand—

— beanstalk

Both the twins gasped, Madeline from the loss of standing ground, Alfred from the sudden weight. They dangled for a moment before Alfred pulled Madeline up and they fell back into the wicker basket outside.

The boy gave a high-pitched whine. “Oh, come on, now I have to clean that—”

Neither Alfred nor Madeline heard the rest of what he had to say as they sprinted further, further away from the giants’ house. Once they reached the beanstalk, they paused to take a break.

“Well, that was an adventure,” Alfred airily laughed.

Madeline nodded. “Quite.” She gave the beanstalk a withering look. “You okay with chopping the beanstalk down now?”

Alfred grinned. “... Yeah.”

#aph #hetalia #aph america #aph canada #nyo canada #aph finland #nyo finland #aph sweden #aph sealand #nyotalia #cherry writings #oneshot

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andrewuttaro · 4 years

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New Look Sabres: GM 28 - NJD - Birthday Wish

7-1 Win

The Buffalo Sabres are normally on the receiving end of tremendous beatings, at least for the last decade or so. Last night we got a rare taste of what it was like destroying a team by a lacrosse score line. It was something else. Less than seven minutes into the first period it was probably over. I was thinking about the future of several players careers… Devils players! The consensus on Sabres twitter seems to be this game came at just the right time. This club had the roughest of Novembers but had the points in the bank from October to make up the difference. They spent all those savings and as Thanksgiving came and went they began to find their footing again. After a promising home-and-home with the Leafs a convincing win to solidify the gains of a decent stretch of games was needed. A convincing win that was in fact a win in regulation against a team you should handle. New Jersey came knocking asking if we remembered the Home Opener. Whether it was the 50th Anniversary jerseys or 1970s figures present at the game that jogged their memory, the Buffalo Sabres remembered. That game, the second one of this season, was a rout. But this rout makes that rout look like herding cats. When I said this game was over in seven minutes earlier, I mean it was pretty well over in seven minutes. But before we pile on the Devils I thought I’d share with you some thoughts I had about some great players on their roster whom this game made me feel for. Will Butcher: you passed up Buffalo for what you thought would be better. It was for a time but here we are. PK Subban: I love you bud… but this game showed that scary trend is real. Your advanced numbers are garbage, I hope your next destination helps out. Wayne Simmons: Dude, please don’t retire after this. You deserve better than this awfulness. Taylor Hall: well… huh… we both know you’re not going back to Edmonton. When you go win a Cup with Colorado this June please don’t pass the Cup to Nazem Kadri or Nikita Zadorov. For some reason Sabres twitter loves to roast itself during that part of the Final and those two guys minus well be BBQ Chefs. Let’s get down to business.

The Buffalo Sabres came out aggressive. Yeah, I say that a lot here in the second paragraph of postgame; but this time the New Jersey Devils also came out aggressive, AGGRESSIVELY BAD! The Sabres had two goals before the Devils had a shot on goal. That’s right: let me clear my throat played twice before Linus Ullmark was even tested. To be exact the shots were 3-0 Buffalo five minutes in and that was good for a 2-0 lead. Unreal, right? The first goal was right after a Sabres powerplay ended and Jack Eichel was all alone in front of Louis Dominque and just tapped it against the guys pads. It trickled in and everyone was surprised. Hardly two minutes later New Jersey just could not make a clean zone exit and Jeff Skinner had the puck one-on-one with a now annoyed Dominque. Skinner tucked it in far side with a quick little slapper and there are your two goals against zero shots. Up next, not even two minutes later, Jeff Skinner’s third or… whatever non-numbered line we’re calling it, hauling Larsson and Sheary behind like a Christmas tree on a punch buggy mind you, pull off a goal you are more likely to see in the All Star game when all the guys are just trying trick shots they joked about in college then in a real NHL game. Jeff Skinner skates into the zone backwards with speed because the Devils did not know what they were doing in their own zone and crosses the gut of the ice like a figure skater to shoot the puck backwards at the net. That shot didn’t go in because this isn’t a video game, Jeff. However Louis Dominque blocked it with a pad and the resulting rebound was punched in by a Conor Sheary halfway onto his ass. It’s now 3-0 and I think this was the part where Dominque got pulled. No that wasn’t until the first intermission.

After goal three John Hynes and the Devils coaching staff took a time out to try and stop the bleeding. They did for a little bit. It was about ten minutes later when the Devils had finally figured out this shots on net thing but were still giving up D-Zone turnovers juicer than a holiday ham. Conor Sheary just takes a pot shot from a shite angle and Dominque gets his stick glove on it sending it up in the air. Carter Hutton must have watched this play on the bench thinking he’s not alone anymore. The puck goes straight up, and Dominque even watches a little bit of it’s hangtime. Then it just lands in the goal behind him like a letter delivered by a carrier pigeon. What a game already: its 4-0. Sheary skates the bench in celebrating with a “Idk, it just went in” look on his face. All you Monday night folks who paid for the cheapest Sabres tickets of the season so far got your money’s worth and more. But wait, there’s more! We’re in the last minute of the first period. Folks are filing up the stairs to get to the pisser before others and what happens. Casey Mittelstadt just dumps a puck off to Rasmus Asplund in the offensive zone and Asplund just goes “whatever” and one times it like he’s friggin Alex Ovechkin. It went in: 5-0 because this was Buffalo’s night evidently. That was Asplund’s first NHL goal. The kid who just got called up because of injuries and looked like an NHLer gets rewarded faster than maybe any other recent callup. And so the first period ends… *laughs in disbelief* 5-0 Buffalo.

This game was Founders Night. They had family of the Knox Brothers, the founders of the franchise, in attendance for a pregame ceremony. Apparently there was a giant birthday cake and birthday guard. Fun trivia: 50 Years ago on December 2nd the NHL formally granted Buffalo an expansion franchise. The club wouldn’t get named the Sabres for a little over five months but that’s a birthday even if there wasn’t a name. Perhaps the birthday wish was for lots of goals because 5-0 in the first period was not the end by a longshot. Three minutes into the second period PK Subban and Colin Miller have a little spat and the resulting penalties make it 4-on-4. I don’t know how to put this for children: Victor Olofsson sent a puck to heaven. Olofsson unleashed a slapshot that may soon be outlawed by the Geneva Conventions. The broadcast team didn’t know it went in until the horn went off. Ben Mathewson did a 60 frames per second (fps) replay of the goal and there isn’t really more than a couple frames between the slapshot and McKenzie Blackwood realizing the puck had gone in. It was the hardest goal any Sabre has shot this season. 6-0 Sabres and I really want to apologize to the Devils fans in attendance. This had to be embarrassing. I am so sorry. It wouldn’t be a shutout though guys. Zemgus Girgensons got called for tripping and New Jersey made the most of the powerplay when Nico Hischier sauced in a rebound past Linus Ullmark. 6-1 Sabres, the shutout is gone but the Devils are still angry evidently: Casey Mittelstadt is tripped by Kyle Palmieri, the ref blows it against him and before Mittelstadt is up Palmieri launches the puck at him in a temper tantrum. Mind you the Devils are now out-shooting the Sabres 2 to 1 but the Sabres are locking it down. This was the performance we needed. This was our birthday wish for the Sabres. The Sabres made Palmieri and the Devils pay for that trip and Henri Jokiharju fired a laser from the blue line to make it 7-1 for the home team. At this point we just crossed the halfway point of the game. Buffalo has scored a touchdown and Josh Allen didn’t even throw for it. This game was so good 71-year-old Mike Robitaille was telling 51-year-old Rob Ray that advanced stats are just splendid on the broadcast. It was a savagely beautiful disarming of the trap Ray had set. The Sabres were dunking on the Devils and Boomers were dunking on Boomers about advanced stats. This was such a wildly fun game we’re going to look back on it in two weeks and think it was some collective dream we had.

And it seemed meant to be like some kind of fairy tale! The third period had its scary moments, a couple Devils powerplays and a handful of defensive lapses for the home team but the end result never really seemed in question. Buffalo won in regulation 7-1. This game was everything. Jack Eichel’s point streak continues, he now has 38 points in 28 games on pace for a 111-point season. If he doesn’t make the all-star team we can rightfully conclude this league is rigged against Buffalo. Victor Olofsson probably deserves to go as well. Not only is he scoring at 5-on-5 now but he is leading the team in multi-point games; yes even more than Eichel. Friggin Johan Larsson had a career night: he got three points in a game, all on assists, for only the second time in his career. Think about every shocked or mother-of-god meme you got: that was this game. It was memeable! I can’t imagine they dominate like this every night but like, comment and share this blog to join the fun. Sabres After Dark returns Thursday night for a game in Calgary. I want some revenge for the Thanksgiving Eve myself but by that point my end-of-semester crunch week will be winding down, so I’ll probably settle for just some enjoyable sex puns. I got a pair of those oven mitts they gave away for the Thanksgiving Eve game, let’s hope the Sabres stay hot so I need them! Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. I don’t think the Bills catch New England for the division but let’s just savor the fact they’re one game back and that such a scenario is a realistic possibility at all. Just enjoying being a fan, I don’t think they catch em either but I’m going to enjoy this well it lasts!

#buffalo sabres #Hockey #NHL #blog

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tumblunni · 7 years

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Some more random thoughts and stuff for Completely Undeveloped Monster Petshop Game/I might end up calling it Moncrafter but I still don’t know if that sounds dumb or not. I NEED MORE NAME IDEAS!

* Monster Artisan? Monster Studio? Maybe try and think of other stuff that’s related to the alchemy crafting factor...

* And maybe there should be a catchy name for the monsters, rather than just calling them monsters? It kinda strikes me as something that’d make it TOO much of a Monster Rancher spiritual successor, yknow. That game kinda stands out in the genre for not having a name for the monsters! XD And I’ve decided that the origin of these guys is that they’re alchemically created familiars invented by rich folks with too much time on their hands. So maybe I should try and think of a more catchy way to say ‘homunculus’? Holms? Collect your holms! Craft your holms! Holm shop! Holm hugging! It could work! Also it’d kinda have a bit of sentimental attatchment for me, cos one of the hostels I used to live at was in Holmsdale Street. Homeless to holmfull! That place seriously saved my life. Alternatively, maybe ‘poppets’? Cos that’s cute sounding but it actually means the thing that pop culture calls a ‘voodoo doll’. They don’t really exist as part of vodoun religion, it was just a stupid stereotype that’s ended up engrained as common knowledge. Poppets were actually part of european and british superstition, so it sucks that nobody remembers this and you have people in those countries thinking of it as a big ol scary thing of someone else’s religion..

* I’ve been thinking about the creation methods for the holms, and thinking about it, and thinking about it SOME MORE, and seriously i’m practically writing actual petcare books in my head about these fictional critters!! I’m a lil grumpy tho cos we developed stuff a bit more and decided the plant dog would indeed have to be grass type, it’d be better to have something else be the main water type and just use the seaweed variant of the dog as the dual type crossbreed. Because it was REALLY CUTE imagining that idea of how you create them! Stirring a cauldron of magic potion until it clumps together into moss, and then refining and sieving it until you have a tiny barking marimo~ I can imagine that just a more traditionally elementally aligned version would be less endearing. Like a water type just pops out of the water and the rgass type grows in a regular plantpot. It doesn’t seem as fun as having to grow a sentient plant in a lil aquarium for dogs. ITS TWO THINGS! ITS TWO GREAT THINGS! So actually this makes me think about maybe if we make more of the creation spells involve different elements? And that could be like a positive set of elemental matchups, opposed to the negative ones in battle. So you could use your monsters to help make new monsters! And maybe the new baby dog picks up a good influence from its water type godparent, even though they don’t have any direct relation. Like, if you add fragments from parent monsters to the mixture, you get a fusion monster, but then the godparent could maybe add one extra skill inheritance, or maybe influence the stat build or personality values...?

* I was thinking that the maohs/whatever else I decide to call the grumpy fire fairies, well duh they’d be created from fire. So the alchemist crafts a candle with a special recipe, or maybe you have to write a spell in super small print on the wick? Yeah, that’d be cool, it’d be neat if they all had wildly different creation spells that all require different skills outside of just being good at magic. Hire a wandering calligrapher to assist in your pixie baking! Oh, or maybe with the positive elemental variations thing, perhaps light type monsters have really good calligraphy cos they’re the most Intelligence-specialized breed. Oh, or perhaps they’re good at helping to create dark types, cos they can cast more powerful shadows? BUT YEAH I imagined the fairy holms hatching in a weird cute way! The flame on the candle would burn continuously for several days, with the shape of the fairy growing in the centre. It would remain microscopic for 99% of its development, and then in the last hour or so the fire would blaze up to it’s full size! Keep sure to protect the workshop from this three minute doom bonfire, while also stoking it with coal so the baby grows up big and strong! By the time it subsides, you’ll have a fully formed child-sized monster, and probably half of a table left. :3 Also: imagine them chewing on logs instead of pacifiers!

* I had the odd idea that light types are created through song. Usually the holms require physical ingredients and some sort of recipe, but these ones get their reputation as holy creatures from the fact they come from nothing. There’s special hymns to summon them, and they have to be sung with enough skill, conviction, and purity of heart. So it still takes as much effort as other methods of alchemy, even though theoretically anyone could do it. Its even theoretically possible that you could summon a holy homunculus through ANY song, not just the special ones designed for that purpose. There’s tales of singing priests that’re just SO GOOD that holy beasts appear whenever they open their mouth! So they hold a vow of silence and only use this power in times of need. Though it could be considered a curse in other places, it’d suck to be a random opera singer and suddenly lose your career as a swarm of monsters divebomb the audience! And the even rarer ultimate tier legend is of the man who spoke words of such beauty that an angel appeared without even the need for song. Nobody has any record of this really happening, but it’s an enduring myth. The idea of finding that one perfect sentence that convinces gods to bend their will to you...! Or, on the other side of things, there’s the thought of someone whose intentions were so pure that even their most humble, inelegant plea for help could make the heavens cry. So yeah, a lot of potential in this idea of musical monster making~!

* Oh, and I think that after your song actually summons a light monster, they still go through the same ‘kinda like an egg without the egg’ phase that all the others do. Instead of being inside a candle or a cauldron, they’re just kinda... slowly phasing into our laws of reality. You can tell when a song summons a holy beast cos there will be a little glow in the air, like a snowflake frozen in mid-fall. And then it’ll slowly turn into a translucent outline of the monster, and then it eventually gains solidity and becomes fully aware. So they can be a little annoying because it’s completely impossible to move the egg once it’s appeared. You’re just stuck with this intangeable glowy blob that gets brighter every day- sucks if it appeared in the middle of your office! And it also means that it’s easier to accidentally create a monster. You might just not notice a speck of light that happened to land in an awkward place after your seemingly failed summoning. Then the poor lil thing hatches under the floorboards or something, and ends up wandering out all confused and becoming a scary stray monster in the woods! Homunculi aren’t really designed to be independant in the wild, they’re not merely domesticated but literally CREATED to serve humans... T_T

* OH and also the purpose of holy type holms is to be a ‘guidance’ familiar. They were crafted to be like an artificial computer that could potentially grow more intelligent than humans, and answer the great questions of the world. (Though, I mean, the equivelant of computers in an ancient magical civilization that has no idea what computers are!) These manmade angels are meant to be able to see into the future, and commune with the will of the real gods, and calculate things that aren’t humanly possible. They would be given seemingly high roles in society as advisors to great kings, with their opinions valued higher than any human in the country. But they had no real freedom, living their lives in cages with their only exposure to the outside world being their extensive programs of constant unceasing lessons in every discipline imagineable. Many of them would eventually snap under the pressure, leading to a reputation of the species as fiendish tricksters that live outside the boundaries of human morality and NEED to be restrained or else they’d be dangerous. This is likely why the rumours started of them being able to be summoned any time anyone speaks ANYTHING, with the implication that they might have existed forever and humans never really created them... So... yeah, they’re one of the few species of monster that’s actually seen some benefit from the art of alchemy becoming a hobby of the idle rich! Nowadays they’re just one in a million monsters that’re bred for status, with both their ‘holy’ and ‘demon’ reputations being long forgotten. And they get to see what it’s like to be pampered pets ^_^ Unfortunately, holy types are one of the longest living homunculi, so some elderly ones still remember those bygone eras and hold resentment towards humanity. Their secondary purpose of acting as living relics to the past... its kinda backfiring... (random idea for a boss battle, lol!)

#monster shop game

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coaldustcanary · 7 years

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2016 Fanfic Masterpost

I’ve seen some posts from folks I follow in a number of different fandoms doing a bit of an end-of-the-year writing roundup, and I really like that idea, so here we are.

I’ve been fannish for a long time now - over 20 years at this point, which is more than a little terrifying to consider, let me tell you. But my fannish writing has been very intermittent over those years for the most part, and my participation in fandom was relatively narrow, particularly when I was working on my PhD. Through 2014 I wrote, on average, one fanwork a year for the previous 5 years, as usually I could be counted upon to participate in at least one A Song of Ice and Fire and/or Game of Thrones fanfic exchange, but not much beyond that. I also wrote a smattering of fic prior to 2009, much of it lost to the ages besides some random pieces I managed to get up on AO3. (I really need to take some time to go back and properly back-date those older works, oof. And dig up a few more on LJ communities that I couldn’t find when I did my original looking, if I can.)

But in the past year and a half or so I’ve come back to fandom in a much more enthusiastic way than I have since I was a teenager, thanks to falling hard for the Dragon Age games and then faceplanting into Once Upon a Time fandom. And in the past seven months I’ve written if not a lot of fic, definitely more than I have in a long, long time. It’s been a trip, in both good and bad ways, but I’m glad to be doing it.

The master list in chronological order with brief commentary:

Always Already (Dragon Age: Inquisition) Incomplete Planned eventual M rating, nothing above T in the current chapter tumblr link, AO3 link, 6025 words The Academic Conference AU that started it all this summer. I just could not let this headcanon go until I wrote this first chapter. I haven’t touched it since then for a variety of reasons, but even if I never get back to it I’m pleased with the chapter that exists and it got me back writing. It’s meant to be a massive DA:I ensemble AU, with this particular multi-chapter story involving some eventual Female Trevelyan/Cullen Rutherford, but mostly I just want to finish this particular arc so I can just write snippets in the AU every time I need to say something cathartic about working at a university.

Hunger (Dragon Age: Origins) Rated G, Gen, Alistair & Female Brosca friendship tumblr link, AO3 link, 1835 words A short, introspective piece about one of my Dragon Age OCs. When you grow up without enough food, hungry all the time, what happens when the effects of blood magic make you even hungrier? Natia thinks about her life and her choices and finds common ground with her fellow Grey Warden.

Before a Fall (Game of Thrones) Mature, Yara Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen, GoT 6x09 post-ep scene tumblr link, AO3 link, 2698 words Written for the Game of Ships Seven Hells Challenge based off of the prompt “Pride”. I watched 6x09 on the Sunday night when it aired and swooned over Yara and Dany’s interaction. I wrote this intimate encounter the following Monday evening in one sitting. I ship Iron Dragon so very, very much. This fic took only about a month to become my most commented and kudosed fic ever on AO3, and I’m pretty happy with it.

Savior Fair - Princess (Once Upon a Time) Rated T, Captain Swan tumblr link, AO3 link, 2501 words My first OUAT fic, based on the August 2016 OUAT positivity challenge that tlynnwords put together. (I put all my pieces for this in a single work on AO3 called Savior Fair, since they’re Emma-centric.) Fluffy CS pillow talk set post-S5 before I’d much looked at S6 spoilers. I like this fic’s premise and flow, but I totally missed the mark with Emma’s voice in it. Her voice is tough for me, but I think I’m getting better.

Savior Fair - Smile (Once Upon a Time) Rated T, SwanFire tumblr link, AO3 link, 938 words My goal with the OUAT positivity fics was to focus on the best parts of Emma’s relationships with other characters. I think Neal is a fascinating character (and though I don’t ship SF, I’ve been a fan of Michael Raymond-James for a long time and I think he brings a lot of interesting nuance to the guy) and I think a lot about the time they spent together and what it would have meant to 17 year old Emma to have someone smile at her and mean it.

Savior Fair - Heart (Once Upon a Time) Rated T, Captain Swan, 4x12 missing scene tumblr link, AO3 link, 1274 words I needed a scene to bridge the gap between the conclusion to the showdown in the clock tower and Emma replacing Killian’s heart in his chest. Just a little feels-laden ficlet. (Apparently the original script had a line in the latter scene with Emma saying she felt strange holding his heart, and Killian replying that she’s already held it for ages, though I didn’t know that until after I wrote this bit, and it tends in a similar direction.)

Savior Fair - Trust (Once Upon a Time) Rated T, Emma & Milah, 5x14 missing scene tumblr link, AO3 link, 1647 words The last of the positivity prompts I got to (August is a tough time with the semester beginning, so much for my ambitions) and the one of which I’m the most proud. I have A Lot of Feelings about Milah and the way she’s treated in a many corners of OUAT fandom, and I’m still really mad about 5x14. Emma and Milah needed more time to talk. So they mostly talk about what they have in common. (And, honestly, Killian is only a small part of their similarities.) I am certain they would be friends, given the chance.

Steadfast (A Song of Ice and Fire) Rated T, Stannis Baratheon/Davos Seaworth, canon divergence/future fic AO3 link, 4071 words I did three fanfiction exchanges due in September this year, and I wrote this fic for thedevilchicken for the Game of Thrones exchange. Despite the name, this one is open to both book-verse and show-verse fics, and this one is an AU of the former. For some reason I seem to really like writing Stannis-as-king future AUs with a Davos POV, and nothing says Stannis/Davos loyalty than a retelling of a shockingly sad Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale about a broken toy that is loyal to his distant and unattainable love until he’s melted into scrap. (Spoiler alert: This version has a happier ending.)

Distracted (Dragon Age) Explicit, Anders/Karl Thekla AO3 link, 3094 words Smutty roleplaying with spanking written for green_sphynx for The Black Emporium, a Dragon Age rarepair exchange. Playful and porny PWP set sometime well before everything was terrible in Dragon Age 2.

Starstruck (Agent Carter/Doctor Who) Rated G, Gen, Tenth Doctor & Donna Noble, Peggy Carter & Angie Martinelli tumblr link, AO3 link, 3425 words Written for Grey_Cardinal for the Crossovering exchange. Ten and Donna cause a bit of a scene at the restaurant where Angie works. I quite like the premise of this fic and it was fun to write, though I really ought to have come up with more for Peggy to do in it.

Spectator Sport (Once Upon a Time) Rated G, Gen, Hooked Queen friendship, future fic tumblr link, AO3 link, 1063 words After having a really crummy day a few months back, I asked for some fic prompts (pairings and a word/idea) to take my mind off it and my lovely friends delivered. This is just a little vague future fic based on mryddinwilt’s prompt for Hooked Queen + parenting. However much they viciously snark at one another, I think they understand one another pretty well, too. And the mental image of them enduring discomfort to watch Henry’s high school soccer game was too good to pass up.

Wrapping (Game of Thrones) Rated T, Yara Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen, University AU tumblr link, AO3 link, 1379 words Written for the Game of Ships “Until Hell Freezes Over” holiday/winter-themed event. I’m actually the advisor for a service learning club at my university, and those valiant students get run ragged as they try to finish up the term and also do good for their communities. Somehow I imagine that Dany would be that kind of overachiever, and Yara would just as clearly be her dubious but devoted girlfriend. I’ve been leery before of writing student AUs because I’m a teacher and it feels a bit odd, but I liked this AU a lot and might come back to it for writing more Iron Dragon because I’m sure canon is going to be a shit-show next season.

Clarity (Lucifer) Rated T, Gen, Linda Martin & Mazikeen friendship, 2x07 missing scene AO3 link, 2785 words I participated in Yuletide for the first time this year (yes, I know, I’ve somehow been in fandom for-freaking-ever and never done it before) and I matched on one of my newish fandom delights, Lucifer. Though this fandom is growing and probably won’t be eligible next year, sign-ups were before most of the season had aired, and my recipient, Lenore, requested Linda and Maze having a conversation about Heaven and Hell. Well, without getting too deep in to spoiler territory, canon pretty definitively implied that such a conversation occurred sometime between 2x07 and 2x08, so I decided it needed writing. Linda is my favorite character on Lucifer, and Maze is an utter gift. Writing this was a bit stressful (I was making last-minute edits the night before reveals from a hotel room) but I’m happy to have written it and received some lovely comments from folks, including the recipient.

So, all told, per my AO3 stats page I wrote 32,736 words of fanfic this year, which is far more than I’ve ever written in a year before. I also am starting to get a grip on what my strengths and weaknesses are as a writer, which is pretty wild but also motivating. My general approach to writing has long been “use deadlines as motivation, panic at the last minute, write frantically, throw it at the world like a grenade and take cover” and while I’m a good enough writer for that not to be as terrible as it sounds, I know I could be a lot better if I continue to change my approach to writing and write more frequently and steadily. Honestly, because I’m an academic by trade, this applies to my professional writing as well, and fanfic is good practice for me to refine my writing habits, which have vastly improved this year, even if they’re still not where I want them to be in the end. Here’s hoping I can keep it up in 2017.

#my fic masterpost #fandom is my fandom #on writing #my fic

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