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sneakerdoodle · 3 years

Text

"(Not) Alone", Chapter 2

Rated: K

Get some uhhhhhh friend times, winter outfits, background gays and existential crisis! Alternative summary:

"Miriam is like you're gonna' rummage through the contents of my heart? okay. what's in your drawers"

- @buttercup-bug <3 big thanks to them for their support and consultation too!!!!

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General warnings: states potentially resembling a panic attack; moderately graphic metaphors, including mentions of drowning; familial tension

- This time I see where I'm flying, at least, - Miriam mutters, seemingly to herself.

Kiwi, fiddling with the strap of the bag hanging behind them, thinks back to Miriam's first and latest visit to Chismest. The flight there is hard to remember through the blur of pain they were in, but they can vaguely recall their friend complaining about the smog through coughing fits, as well as the jerking movements of the broom as she would aggressively rub her watering eyes.

Now, the skies above Chismest are clear, and the frosted trees below are sparkling in the sunlight. It is quieter, too, without the incessant thud of machines that would vibrate through the atmosphere in a low vague hum.

- Still too hecking cold, - Miriam grumbles and clenches her fists harder around the broom to get the blood flowing.

Bard readily leans closer in, sharing whatever body heat they can. Their cheek smooshes against Miriam's back, and the next words come out slightly muffled.

- You must be glad we're packed! Want me to get your cape?

Miriam shakes her head emphatically.

- Nope, thanks, no bag-rummaging in the air.

Kiwi nods slowly, looking past their dangling feet, down below, to the town's edge.

Miriam brings the broom to a bit of a rushed stop, and it hovers in the air, gently swaying up and down. Bard straightens, pulling away.

- Well, we're here. Where to? - Miriam's head is turned as she examines Bard's face, questioningly and with a hint of suspicion.

- Down! - he chirps nonchalantly. Miriam rolls her eyes.

- Thanks. Great tip. It's too early to go to the Observatory, so down where?

Bard contemplates, sinking a bit into their shoulders, and watches the town below. It's changed, a lot. The streets are lighter, and the people are moving through them at a much more of a leisurely pace. There seems to be no shame about being out and about during daytime, no one is in a hurry to get from one place to another. From somewhere below, they can even hear what sounds like faint, soft music.

Bard smiles timidly, entertaining the thought of actually having a good time in their hometown.

- Let's go on a tour!

They land at the outskirts, and Miriam shivers instinctively as the snow crunches under her foot. Bard immediately dives into the bag Saphy has lovingly packed for the two and pulls out a warm woven cape and a wide magenta scarf, presenting them to Miriam with a shining smile. She takes them from their hands, begrudgingly, as if having a body capable of getting cold is something to be self-conscious about. As soon as the cape rests on her shoulders, however, her expression softens into one of comfort and quiet content.

Bard follows her example and wraps a similar long shawl around their own shoulders. It's soothing, both with its warmth and weight, and they close their eyes for a second, sitting with the calm. A long hand-knitted striped scarf follows, and Kiwi feels the most equipped for the cold they can possibly be.

The bag is still heavy on their shoulder. They reach in and pull out a warm and pointy winter hat – and can almost hear Miriam's defenses coming right up. She looks at them with a determined frown, fight-ready.

- No.

- Aw, come on, Miriam! - they try not to smile too widely. - You should stay warm!!

Miriam stares at them in ferocious defiance, unblinking, for a good ten seconds. With a groan, she finally caves in, snatches the hat out of their hands and puts it on. Her face goes red with embarrassment, and she promptly looks away and pulls the scarf over her mouth.

Pulled on in a hurry, the hat sits on Miriam's head slightly sideways, with ruffled hair sticking out from under it and getting in the girl's face. She puts one messy lock away in a jerky motion, tucking it under an ear flap before crossing her arms and looking down at her feet. Bard watches in unconcealed endeared amusement.

- How come you don't get one, - Miriam blurts out, in a tone that implies that she does not expect much of an answer. With an annoyed sigh, she grabs Bard by the sleeve and heads towards the town.

- Not a word to Saphy.

Walking through the streets of Chismest is... strange, almost overwhelming. The town is unexpectedly loud, with the voices of its residents bouncing from one corner to another, sounding from the windows that used to barely ever open. The distant sounds of music Bard heard from up on the broom are closer now, creating an uncharacteristically melodic ambiance. And the weirdest of all, there is so much variety.

Beth's diner is inviting people in to try Katya's new pastry recipe. The Gift House is no more, replaced by a general store. Tanya stands in front of it, fixing a sign that reads: “Next island fruit shipment: TUESDAY, 12 PM”. She notices the two guests and waves at them before going back inside.

Johann is standing in front of the ex-factory building, frowning at the timetable of various workshops, community meetings and the Astronomy Board sessions, apparently figuring out a scheduling issue with Elmer: the lesson on identifying local plants seems to be encroaching onto the public presentation of his newest potential enterprise.

Miriam lingers under the very lantern she would spend her time by back when she and Bard visited Chismest together for the first time. She looks at the large building that used to house the endless deafening machines. It is still slightly shocking in how it looms over the rest of Chismest.

- ...Weird, - Miriam says after a while. Bard hums noncommittally. Miriam looks at them, impatient for a more engaged response. - Very weird, right? I'd only been there for a week, and it still freaks me out to be around this... thing. How are they all just, getting on with it???

Bard is quiet for a moment, unsure whether anything they have to say is worth voicing, but Miriam's gaze is insistent, so they give it a try.

- They're taking it back?.. I think... it's always been their town, and now they can sort of... take it back for themselves?

Put into words, the thought surprises them. They reflect on it for a moment. Is that the reason they still aren't keen on coming back, even after hearing all about the wonderful transformations Chismest has gone through? Maybe it's never been their town, they way it has been for all its other victims, all these other people that were hurt by it but never left. Has it.. always been a question of belonging? Not one of finding a better life?..

She is pulled back out of her thoughts by Miriam's skeptical hum. The girl shifts her weight from foot to foot uncomfortably a couple of times before asking, unsure:

- Do you... wanna go in?..

Kiwi hurriedly shakes her head, and Miriam lets out a sigh of relief.

- Yeah. Me neither.

They continue on their way, approaching the Clocktower Pub, which appears to be the source of music tinting the town views a subtle but cheerful color. In front of the pub, a group of people is gathered in front of a samovar in a seemingly passionate discussion. Among them, Bard recognizes Elara. Like everyone else around her, she is holding a steaming mug.

Boris splashes some of his tea as he swings his arm to make a point.

- Zere is enough coal, no? Nothing iz broken, so why fix?

Elara wrinkles her nose and shakes her head, still calm, but more ardent than Bard remembers her. Before she gets to make her defense, Miles chimes in with a tired groan.

- Yeah, well, the Lights are right there every year, so why the hell not.

- But ze expenses...

- Why not think of it as an investment... - Elara starts, before noticing the two visitors approaching the group. She blinks in surprise behind her glasses. - Oh! You're here already.

Kiwi smiles awkwardly while Miriam waves her hand, then demonstratively hugs her shoulders. The next moment, a mug of tea lands in her palms, expeditiously passed from hands to hands from where the samovar is sitting on a large wooden table. Miriam looks down at it in surprise, startled into her special sort of quietness, processing the simple and natural act of kindness.

- We arrived early! - Bard replies, smiling gratefully at Miles who hands them another mug. - Just walking around for now!

Elara nods slowly.

- This place has changed a lot, hasn't it?

Bard pulls their lips into a smile. For a moment their gaze lingers on Elara, thoughtful. It's so different, seeing her as a part of the community, freely sharing her practical solutions, engaging openly rather than conducting interventions from the margins. She fits right in.

- Well, Winston will be waiting for you in the evening. I hope to stop by as well.

She turns to Miriam, who's been quietly sipping her tea and looking at the group from over her mug.

- You're going to need to have a night's rest before heading back, aren't you? You are welcome to stay at the Observatory, if you would like.

Miriam chokes on the tea and coughs, her cheeks growing pink.

- Oh, - she croaks out, - no, I'm good. Uh. Thanks.

Elara nods.

- Well, let us know. Now, if you excuse me...

She turns back to the group, where Miles' eye rolls are starting to get dangerously expressive.

Miram finishes her tea in a bit of a hurry, circles around the gathering to place the mug on the table and slips away, seeming slightly overwhelmed by the hospitable treatment. Bard follows, waving goodbye to Elara and the rest.

They catch up to Miriam and look around absentmindedly, eyes gliding over the fronts of multi-storey buildings. Ahead, they catch a smudge of orange and red – and slow down. Miriam slows her pace, too, and follows his eyes to where flowers growing in front of the window of his childhood home are nodding their colorful heads to the faint music.

Miriam stops with a quiet sigh.

- Are you sure about it all? - she asks, with the emphasis that is only natural, considering she has already had to ask this question at least thrice.

Bard tears their eyes away from the flowers and turns to her. They take a few seconds, then nod.

- Yeah 🎶, - they sing, low and quiet, and fidget with their hands for a second before continuing: - Just... for a bit there, can you...

- ...Yeah. - Miriam rocks back on her heels for a moment, gearing herself up, then steps towards Kiwi and takes them by the hand. Her expression is nervous and awkward, but she musters a small reassuring squeeze. Bard feels slightly less alone. - Come on.

Bard's hand sits firmly in Miriam's as they sigh before knocking on the door; Miriam does not let go once they are already inside, either, waved in by Kiwi's Mom.

- Sit down, now! - Mom coos in her customary enthusiasm. - I will brew you some tea. Are you and your friend hungry, muffin? - before Kiwi can mumble anything vague in response, she continues: - I have the lunch all ready! Too bad your father is on one of his walks. - Mom shakes her head with that signature vocal laugh. - What a restless man he is!

Bard's sigh of relief is so resounding that for a moment, they are scared Mom will notice. Luckily, she seems too busy rummaging through the cabinets. They look at Miriam, reassured, and loosen their fingers. Miriam's hold persists, however. She gives them a serious, meaningful look, an “I'm here, okay? So don't be stupid” that she can't quite express with her words. Only then, she lets go, but does not break eye contact. Bard's gaze drops down to their feet as they take a second to internalize the sentiment. When they look back up, their smile is timid and grateful.

- Are you hungry? - they ask in a dramatic whisper. Miriam shrugs, then shakes her head. - Thanks, - Kiwi says to Mom, voice slightly strained, - I think we'll just... hang around!

- Nonsense! - she titters in response, turning around with a tray already holding a tea set. - At least have some tea with your old momma!

Bard gives Miriam an apologetic look. She seems downright agonized at the thought of forcing more hot beverages down her throat so soon.

The tea break is the appropriate amount of awkward. Mom asks Miriam about the life in Delphi and the everyday routines of an average witch household, and Miriam grumbles her replies while doing her best drinking impression. The ruse is up once Mom goes to pour everyone another round and discovers Miriam's cup about as full as it was at the start. After having a proper laugh about “that curious friend of yours, muffin”, she finally dismisses the two of them, saying it is time for her to take care of some chores.

Bard plops down on their bed and sighs. They look at Miriam with a sorry little smile. She is standing in the door, looking around the room with a perplexed expression.

- I've never been here before, - she notes, mistrustfully, somehow.

- Oh! I guess you haven't! - Bard looks around the bare walls and minimal furniture. It's not much.

Miriam seems to arrive at the same conclusion.

- Doesn't seem like you, - she says, poking a bouquet of dried flowers.

- There used to be more, - Kiwi mumbles absentmindedly, resting their chin on their hand. - Miriam!! - they gasp with a jump as their friend throws one of the drawers of the bedside table open. Miram stumbles backwards, startled.

- Yeesh, sorry. I thought you weren't one for personal boundaries??

Bard sits with this fair observation for a moment, processing their own hypocrisy.

- W... well--

- I'm not pushing or anything, - Miriam grumbles, - just... surprised you're familiar with the concept.

Bard shrugs and hums an awkward inconclusive sound. They look over to the open drawer and shuffle closer to it to see what is inside. Miriam pointedly looks at the wall in a demonstration of her respect for Kiwi's personal space.

At the bottom of the drawer, there is a handful of crayons and an old notebook. They pick it up and leaf through it, an array of colorful drawings flickering in a quick succession. All the bright fantasies of their childhood are momentarily revived before them. A small smile tugs at the corners of Bard's mouth.

They linger on one page and giggle, then open the notebook wide and hold it in front of them, demonstrating. Miriam looks over and arches her brow.

- What am I looking at exactly?

- Me!, - Bard helpfully supplies. - As a witch 🎶.

And that is exactly what the drawing depicts. A younger version of them, with a different hairstyle, in a pose resembling an overexcited starfish, clad in dramatic dark robes and a pointy hat with a big glowing star on it.

Miriam stares for a good few seconds.

-....why.

- Because witches are cool!! - Kiwi exclaims, without a shred of sarcasm. The skeptic look on Miriam's face deepens. She squints at the drawing.

- Is... - she snorts, - ...is your hair pink?

Bard cracks up again, and Miriam shortly follows, the two dissolving into a duet of giggles.

Kiwi pats the space next to them, and his friend joins, looking over his shoulder at the series of doodles detailing Witch-Bard's magical adventures.

Hours pass effortlessly, in joint reminiscing, daydreaming and doodling.

***

- ...and once you're all set and sure of where it's pointing relatively to, uh, the Anchor, you use the finder to, well, find things!

Winston pauses his slightly nervous chirping and looks at his audience comprised of Miriam, struck into overwhelmed silence, and Bard, who is otherwise occupied.

- Did... did you get any of that? - Winston inquires with the same frantic smile.

Noticing the break in the background noise of thorough astronomical instructions, Bard finally looks up from giving Berry all of the most loving pets in the world – to see Miriam looking at them in quiet despair. Reading the look of blissful unawareness on her friend's face, she sighs.

- Can't you, like... write it all down or something??

Winston nods hurriedly, already on his way to the desk. From the looks of it, he has pretty much moved into the observatory full time, and happily. Bard watches him stick his hands into the pockets of the labcoat and make it flap against his legs, for about the tenth time in the past hour. They wonder why an astronomer would need a labcoat. Do they have to get one too?

Miriam walks over to Kiwi and watches glumly as they scratch Berry behind her ear.

- Aren't you excited? - Bard asks, noting the moody energy. Miriam hums in uncertainty.

- Just... - she gives another annoyed sigh and kicks the floor with the pointy toe of her boot. - Nothing. - She crosses her arms and averts her eyes, then finally shares in a low, muffled voice: - ...hate feeling stupid.

Bard looks up, blinking in surprise.

- You're not!! You know so many awesome things, Miriam!

She stands there silently for a few seconds, before crouching next to them. Bard readily scooches over.

Miriam slowly, nervously extends her hand towards Berry. Their four-legged friend sniffs the tips of Miriam's fingers before lovingly sticking her nose into the girl's palm and wagging her tail. Miriam exhales in relief and gives Berry a few slow, focused pets.

- Thanks. - There is another pause as she struggles with the words for a bit. - We're... gonna try together, yeah?

Bard flashes an enthusiastic smile.

- Yeah! 🎶

- ...Okay, - Miriam does not look away from the dog, who is leaning into the touch with half-lidded eyes. - Then… don't make me figure it all out on my own, - she continues in a more casual grumble. - Don't hang around here for too long.

Bard nods slowly, turning away from Miriam, back to where Berry has dissolved into a euphoric puddle.

- I... won't.

Winston returns with a small stack of papers scribbled over with a frantic hand and awkwardly shoves them in Miriam's vague direction. She just barely manages to get back up on her feet and not lose balance as the paper tumbles into her arms. Winston hurriedly withdraws, slapping his arms along his body, and laughs nervously as Miriam disgruntledly tries to keep the pages from raining all over the floor.

- Uhm, - Winston fiddles with his hands and avoids Bard's eyes when she looks up, questioning. - Is it... just you?.. I mean, joining the project...

- There are many!! - Kiwi rests their chin in their hand, thinking back to Delphi and recounting everyone who seemed excited about the arrival of the telescope. - Ryan and Mitzi, so Dani as well, Lena, Fredrick, Whit...

- Shockingly, - Miriam mutters from where she is still fussing with the instructions, trying to fit them into the overpacked bag. Bard shoots her a scandalized look, a trained non-verbal substitute for “Miriam, be nice!!”.

Winston marks each mentioned name with a nod, a wide thin-lipped smile on his face.

- I... don't know who any of these people are, - he concludes, finally, before turning away and marching back over to his desk. There seems to be a glimmer of genuine joy in his embarrassment, however. Bard thinks back to Elara's letter, inviting them to become a part of the mapping initiative.

“I would be proud to take credit for the project, were it actually mine. Winston is, undoubtedly, the heart of the operation. I told him his conception of it was outstanding - he seemed equally hopeful and horrified. I think he'd take great pleasure in that: making this sort of connection with so many new people. Finding... cohorts, if you will”.

Once the last final glare of sunshine dissipates completely, Winston invites his guests over to the observation deck, the telescope in tow. Kiwi and Miriam fumble with the stand under his fretful watch, but manage to fix the apparatus in place without breaking anything. Winston points out the Anchor star, once again, and fixes the telescope on it.

- Try the finder first, then--

- Yeah, yeah, - Miriam hurries to interrupt, and Bard catches the familiar notes of embarrassment in her voice. They gently bump their shoulder against hers in silent support. Miriam draws a steadying breath. - ...I think we got it. Uh, thanks.

She looks over at Bard, quietly tilting her head towards the telescope in invitation. They light up and step towards it, holding their breath. The most beautiful colors bloom in their mind, inspired by all the magical stellar landscapes pictured on the walls of the observatory. What will be the first shade of the whole rest of the Universe that they will see?

Bard puts their eye straight to the eyepiece (Winston whimpers somewhere out of view, forcibly choking the word ''finder'' back). They squint, trying to make anything out in the blur.

- Well?? - Miriam asks, antsy.

- Iiiii don't see anything! - Bard replies, hoping their disappointment is not too apparent in how hollow their usual casual tone comes out.

From the sounds of it, Winston is on the verge of unraveling as he is trying desperately to let the two figure things out on their own.

Miriam groans.

- Stupid overcomplicated glass tubes... Let me... - she steps towards the telescope cautiously, like it is a wild animal, and stares at it for a while. Then reaches for one of the lenses lined up at the end and moves it out of the way with an unsteady hand, looking deeply unsure and skeptical.

- Try now?..

Bard puts their eye back to the glass, trying really hard to not get their hopes up.

- Miriam, - they utter under their breath, - come look.

Through the lens of the telescope, they are seeing another world. It is distant, silent, seemingly unmoving. And yet, in the swirling pattern of stardust, they sense a spiraling dance, sweeping their soul away with it.

Pure, awe-struck exhilaration rises in their chest, all but bringing them to tears in a sudden crescendo – when suddenly, they feel their heart drop, endlessly, like it is hurtling through the dark suffocation of space surrounding the twirling stars.

The arms of the spiral galaxy, its overpowering gravity, remind them of the dark pull of the black hole at the end of time. And no matter how hard they try not to think about it, they know exactly what lies on the other side.

Bard all but jumps away from the telescope and stumbles backwards, instinctively throwing their hands up in front of them in a protective gesture. The familiar despair laps at her heart, and suddenly she feels so hopeless she could cry.

- Kiwi??

Bard blinks a couple of times and turns to Miriam, who is giving them the most concerned look they have ever gotten from her. Winston is hovering behind her, not even trying to conceal his panic.

Miriam steps towards them gingerly.

- Are you okay??

Kiwi draws a breath and tries to straighten himself up.

- I, uh... - they look at their feet, struggling to find any words that would sound at all plausible. But this time, they can hardly even convince themself to brush the overwhelming feeling off as unimportant, as their trained impulse commands.

Miriam takes another step and reaches for them, then freezes. She throws a quick self-conscious glance at Winston, one breath away from shriveling up. Winston seems to take it as a hint.

- Umm, I'll!!.. - he fumbles with his hands for a second before sharply turning around and marching over to the exit without another word, to descend back into the observatory.

Miriam remains frozen in place, stubbornly inspecting the patch of grate floor beneath her feet, until Winston's steps fade away; then throws her head up, looking at Kiwi with a concerned frown.

- What was that??

Bard looks down at the floor, uncertain, as if the needed words were scattered all around it in a chaotic pattern.

Miriam opens her mouth, seemingly preparing to speak again, but no words follow. She stops trying to catch Kiwi's eyes and lowers her own, crossing her arms.

Bard looks up to see her face overshadowed by a disheartened, lonely, distant expression, and feels a tug at their heart. Perhaps... Perhaps it's worth trying to talk about.

They lower themself to the floor, back leaning against the dome, and sigh shakily.

- Do you... do you ever get... scared?..

Miriam looks up, still lost, but apprehensively open.

- Like... in general?

Kiwi looks at their hands resting on top of the knees for a moment, trying to figure out what they are attempting to share.

- Of... the world, I think. Or... the universe... - they cross their arms and hold their shoulders. - How it's... really big.

Miriam's posture loosens and softens. She sits down next to Kiwi, hugging her knees, and looks at them expectantly.

Bard goes on.

- It's alright if there are a lot of people, - they're not sure this makes sense, but it's hard to talk about as it is, so they just let themself continue, - 'cause then together, you are something big enough? But if it's just you..., - they feel their mouth go dry and their body tense up with adrenaline, the vivid, unraveling sensations of the recent nights creeping up from the back of their mind. They swallow, hard, and grip their shoulders.

Miriam is silent for a good while.

- ...It's not, though, is it? Just you?..

Kiwi looks over to see her staring in front of herself with a concentrated, contemplative frown. Her words are coming out labored and strained, like she is unhappy with having to actually say them out loud.

Miriam's head sinks into her shoulders, just slightly, and her fists clench, before she speaks again, sounding almost fearful to assume:

- We're figuring it out together?..

Bard feels a crack at their heart, stinging and painful, breaking them away from the deep cold despair that's been filling it with steady certainty. They never meant to imply that Miriam's friendship is anything other than cherished, and comforting in every possible way.

- We are! - their smile comes out pensive, but somehow rejuvenating still, just like the fresh crack in their chest. He leans against Miriam's shoulder. - It's just.. - they take a second, trying to nail down the core of the overwhelming feeling that's been haunting them for the last couple of weeks, - what if we weren't?..

It's surprisingly hard to articulate what exactly is making Kiwi freeze with terror every night. This weird incessant pull, somewhere out of life, as if some part of them is trailing behind, threatening to bring them down with it, to drown them. Like some immeasurable weight their limbs are getting too numb to carry, slowing them down, making their legs give off, while everything else effortlessly speeds forward. They cannot find any context or explanation for it – not one they are ready to face, anyway. All they have is this overwhelming, overpowering, incomprehensible fear. What if they get left behind?

Miriam sits with the idea, silently. Her expression is difficult to read, but for a moment, Kiwi seems to catch a glisten in her eyes, and feels immeasurably guilty. They don't get to express their concern, though, before Miriam speaks up again.

- I... do get scared, - she takes a deeper breath, - of... being alone. Again. But I'm not. - The last words come out almost stubborn, like Miriam is arguing with a naysayer. - Things are changing, right?.. It... doesn't have to be the same.

Kiwi holds that thought: “Doesn't have to be the same”. They try to take comfort in it. A distant, neglected part of their heart aches and squirms at it, like a disturbed wound.

Doesn't matter. This can change. Everything else is.

The two sit in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, each rocked by their own waves of chilling thoughts. But – Bard has to remind themself – not alone. They are not alone.

- The stars are really cool, - they say quietly, with a small, meek smile. Miriam looks at them, glum and questioning. - You should try the telescope!

- ...Nah, - their friend replies after a moment of contemplation. - Whatever. - She rocks back and forth a couple of times in uncertainty before carefully suggesting: - ...Wanna go back inside?

Bard nods slowly.

- Maybe... in a moment?

Miriam wordlessly settles back in. Kiwi closes their eyes and leans heavier into the touch, focusing fully on the warmth of their friend's arm against their own, holding onto that feeling with everything they have.

They bring the telescope inside with them, already dismantled, and pack it into layers upon layers of protective wrapping with Winston's help. It is then hoisted up on Miriam's broom as she floats a couple of feet above ground, testing out if it would be possible to carry the instrument on her own.

Miriam slowly lowers the telescope to the ground and hops off.

- Should be fine?? - she says nervously, which does not at all reassure the sweaty and frantic novice astronomer. Winston gives her a shaky smile, nonetheless.

- Great! - he croaks out and rushes to change the subject. - Um!! If you're not in a hurry, Peter is coming over soon?? I thought it... might be good... - he trails off, looking at his guests in a silent plea to interpret the rest of the sentence on their own.

Bard and Miriam exchange glances. Bard certainly is not itching to go back to their Mom's... parents', home, and his friend does not seem to, either. Kiwi looks back at Winston and nods excitedly.

- Sounds great!! 🎶

Peter shows up about half an hour later, bringing his balalaika and, quite unexpectedly, a fruit basket. As Kiwi tries to process the dissonance between his ever-melancholic demeanor and the colorful bow on the basket's handle, Peter seems to be processing the presence of anyone but Winston at their meeting place. It doesn't take him too long, though. He silently hands Winston the gift, then turns to greet the two ex-co-saboteurs.

He shares a mutually awkward but overall amicable handshake with Miriam, then moves on to Bard and startles them once again, by putting a hand on their shoulder and sighing meaningfully.

- It is good to not be the only person of musical nature around here, - he shares. - I'm sure you are familiar with the longing.

- Sure! - Kiwi chirps out with a smile, not even trying to parse this.

The four of them settle down at the center of the large domed room, right on the floor, and Berry excitedly joins them, curling up between Winston and Miriam. The group passes the fruit basket around and shares the news from the last couple of months.

- Chismest is a changed place, - Peter shares solemnly while pulling apart a peeled orange. - People are no longer weighed down by the chains of numbing, thankless labour. We are finding joy in communal connection and personal power, once again. The need for manufacturable happiness substitutes is no more.

- Cool! - Bard looks at the small fuzzy kiwi fruit in their palms and considers the implications of eating it. - Langtree is sort of haunted now!

Winston produces a vague high-pitched sound in reaction to that, like a choking questioning laugh.

- Well, there were ghosts there before, - Bard readily elaborates, - because they were worried about their families before the... – a cold wave of terror washes over their heart, once again, at the thought of the end of their old universe, and they gulp, as subtly as they can, -...the world almost ending. And they did return to the Spirit World, at the end, but we can contact them through the songs they've left behind! And some of them just visit on their own. Mary always follows Woody around, so I guess... it's Woody who is sort of haunted now?

The room is silent, for a bit. Miriam absentmindedly nods along to the familiar story while picking berries out of her hand, and Winston and Peter are processing the mound of new information. At last, Peter nods wistfully.

- The world is healing at large, - he pronounces, chewing on an orange slice. - People are finding more ways to forge unbreakable bonds with those they meet and those they've lost. It fills me with great hope. I had to express it in a song, - he throws a somber, mournful look around the room, - it is in B major.

Peter strikes the first chord on his balalaika and closes his eyes, swaying slowly back and forth. Kiwi feels the familiar fizzy excitement of a life performance bubble up in her chest – along with a slight prick of jealousy: he never did get around to learning any instrument.

Peter continues his playing, the sound climbing up and up, reaching for some beautiful, exhilarating future that now, for the first time in many long years, seems to be just around the corner. The energy is moving and contagious, the waving melody pushing Kiwi's heart closer and closer to this sensation of unbounded hopeful anticipation with every strike against the strings.

Peter starts harmonizing, his melancholic voice blending with the movement of the music in paradoxical, enchanting ways. Winston joins in, his voice high and nervous, but bustling with genuine restless joy. For a while, it is just the two of them, singing their hopes and prayers for what tomorrow brings. They share a glance and smile at each other, a brief, shy moment.

Miriam, who's been nodding off for a while, is swaying softly to the rise and fall of the symphony with her eyes closed, hugging her knees. Then, there is a soft, unexpected sound as she quietly joins the harmonies, her voice gentle and raspy, as if she is simply muttering in her sleep. There is a small, hesitating smile on her face, lurking behind the hair falling in front of it, but visible enough from where Kiwi is sitting.

Miriam opens her eyes, leaving them half-lidded; her voice grows slightly louder. She looks over at Bard – and stops, the now so familiar confused, vaguely concerned frown setting in.

The sudden interruption on her part draws the attention of the other two, and now the whole room is looking at where Bard is sitting, back straight, extremely tense and hyper-aware of not having sung a single note.

There is a moment of deafening, unnerving silence as Peter stops playing.

Kiwi feels short of air.

They must look really pathetic, because the next moment, the music picks up again, mercifully, although without the same sort of blissful absorption. Winston and Peter return to singing between the two of them, as if conjuring an invisible screen for Miriam and Bard to communicate on the other side of. Miriam continues looking at Kiwi, concern growing deeper, grumpier.

Bard casts their eyes down and takes a shaky breath.

There is shuffling next to them, and suddenly they feel Miriam's hand on their own. They meet her questioning look once again, but she promptly averts her eyes, already feeling awkward. Instead, she squeezes their palm harder, passing on a bit of a reassurance.

They sit in silence for a while, one hand holding another firmly, until the song passes the bridge and returns to the final repetition of the chorus. Bard looks up at Miriam, and she looks at them. They find silent agreement in each other's eyes, and just as the first note of the chorus is about to break, they draw a synchronized breath and join in.

Bard's voice is quiet and unsure, and so is Miriam's, and there is comfort in that. It feels like mutual acknowledgment of something Kiwi isn't quite ready to put into words. And it's different from the high-spirited call of the song, but it belongs. And with every note shared in a low-key, tentative voice between the two, Bard feels a bit more secure.

The melody draws the two of them in once again, gradually and insistently, and at the end of the chorus, their voices sound firmer, brighter, conceiving of the same reassuring promise. The final note rings in the air, and the company shares a moment of sweet, comfortable, inspired silence. Then, without a word, Peter strikes the strings again.

The second time around, all four of them sing from start to end. Kiwi gives Miriam a grateful, timid smile. They settle into a comfortable volume, audible but private enough. There is still a slight tremor to it, and from time to time, it tumbles down, missing the high upbeat note. But Bard tries to find relief in the comfortable unity the group is sharing, and the others seem willing to accommodate. Through all the self-consciousness and hesitation, and the deep underlying fear of what it means to struggle with something so natural, Bard tries to focus on the swelling of the music, and lets it carry them wherever it wishes.

The door to the Observatory opens in the middle of the song, letting in the cold night air and Elara, looking tired but distinctly happy. She lingers at the entrance, taking the sound in, then slips past the group into her room, as quietly as she can - but leaves the door just slightly ajar.

Here and now, everything is alright.

***

It's like being dragged on a hook wedged deep into your heart. Your tired, aching heart, endlessly bleeding out into the nothingness around you.

The world is twirling in a symphony of color and sound, somewhere else, somewhere ahead, somewhere that exists. Somewhere with space to soar through in its triumphant spiraling dance.

It is a state you can never reach again. You are expulsed, empty, broken. The world chose light and movement. It chose to leave you far behind. The weight of you was never significant enough to make it reconsider its trajectory.

You were never significant enough to stay around for.

It's a cruel joke, to still sense it, constantly, hurled through space and time you are left on the outside of. The proverbial hook sits firmly in your beating flesh. Every turn of the unfathomable planet indulging in its endless dance out of sight, out of any conception to your lost, isolated mind, is another tug on your pulsing wound. Each of them reminds you of the life that goes on without you.

The elusive, torturous link drags you along, like an endless drawing punishment. You resent it for leading you on. Why keep any illusion of connection when you have already been severed, irredeemably, tossed aside like a rotten part threatening the whole? Why tether you to the existence that is no longer yours, if not to take sick pleasure in giving you false hope, and watch you agonize over every movement of the vital dance far beyond?

Life is malicious. It did not simply choose to leave you behind. It decided to never let you forget.

You're not giving it the satisfaction of making you hope. It will have to learn that you were never foolish enough to believe, even for a moment, that you are not alone.

***

Kiwi wakes up with a start and bolts upwards, hand at their chest, gripping the fabric of their pajamas. They are short of breath. Again.

Desperately wading through the panic flooding their brain, they attempt a breath, waiting for the tightness in their chest to soften and recede, bit by bit, letting her steady her heartbeat. Once they can fill their lungs again, they breathe in, deep, and pull their knees up to their chest to hide their face in.

The panic fades, leaving them one on one with the dull, isolating desperation. It sits at the center of their being, patient, waiting for them to turn their attention to it. And Kiwi tries his very best not to, but it's there, time after time.

They look up to where Miriam is asleep on the opposite end of the couch, her knees tucked up to her torso. She looks grumpy, even now – perhaps because Bard had straightened their legs in their sleep, again, not leaving her with much space to get comfortable. Or it might be the blanket that has fallen to the floor, leaving her open to the chilly atmosphere of a Chismest night.

Kiwi slides off the couch, as lightly and quietly as she can, and walks over to the fuzzy woven quilt. They pick it up and hold it in their hands for a moment. It's about as old as them, and worn, and the hastily mended patches look glaringly out of place even in the heavily dispersed light. Bard covers Miriam, as slowly and gently as possible, and hopes the threadbare blanket is enough to keep her warm.

They shrivel and hug themself, staying still for a moment, in the dark and quiet. Or... partial quiet. From their, parents', room, they can hear the quiet cooing that immediately transports them to their childhood, and the many sleepless nights spent with Mom peacefully dozing behind the closed door. Tonight, she is joined by deep, mighty sighs and an occasional cough, uncannily close to jingling chimes. Kiwi isn't sure they will be able to fall asleep again, with the new addition disrupting the more familiar ambiance.

She looks over her shoulder, to the window, behind which the colorful flowers are gently bobbing their heads in the quiet wind. That is familiar, at least. A splotch of color in the dark northern night, as she stands alone, barefoot, cold, feeling inexplicably lonely.

Bard leans into the familiar sensation of rough floorboards under their soles as they quietly make their way to the window. He climbs up onto the chair pushed against it and gently presses his hand against the frame. It opens, letting a gust of crisp fresh air in. Bard takes a deep breath, hoping the night chill sobers them up, soothes them, yanks them out of this quicksand of weird, confusing feelings.

The night tastes so disorientingly different. Breathing is easier than it has ever been around these parts, with the once ever-present tint of soot gone and all but forgotten. The air is pure and sweet, and the flowers blooming in it are shining brighter than ever.

Bard looks at them with distant eyes, feeling herself sink deeper into the sand. Their defiant colors used to be a source of greatest comfort. The many nights spent at the window, leaning onto the ceiling and looking out, endlessly waiting, passed easier with the company of the resilient blooms, still joyful and bright in this cold, suffocating place. When the flowers responded to Kiwi's song with a play of color, a new nightly routine took root. Bard barely thought about the wait, anymore. It was about the shimmering petals, the glow in the dark night saturated with smog, and the promise of greener pastures somewhere far away. It was a promise of a different place, full of sun and nature and song, where the world would respond to the melody of their heart.

Chismest is that place, now. Its own brand of it, and definitely falling behind Langtree when it came to daytime hours, but renewed, and welcoming, and singing. A redeemed and reclaimed environment, no longer poisoning all life it gives home to. And the flowers at their Mother's windowsill seem to celebrate that with every fiber, unfolding proudly and happily to drink in the fresh clean air. The world has changed for the better, and they healed alongside it, naturally, as its inalienable part.

...Can Bard still do the same?

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Just a simple song. One sweet song to share with their long-term friends, to join in on the celebration.

Bard exhales a note, low and soft as to not wake Miriam up, feeling around for the melody they sang not so long ago: Peter's new piece. Just as earlier, they are stumbling over the notes, which feel clumsy and wrong in their chest, like a puzzle piece that is being forced into a misshapen hole. But perhaps, that is okay, Bard reassures themself. It doesn't have to be perfect. It has always been enough to just sing from their heart.

They open one eye, fearfully, their face scrunched up into an apprehensive cringe.

The color does not shift even a shade. Notes fall flat onto the petals, not one of them moved even in the slightest.

Bard lets the song die away once their breath is exhausted. They look at the flowers, endlessly lost, searching for any hint of an answer. What had to even happen to take something so natural away from them? What could they possibly have lost?..

Something scary crawls up to the forefront of his mind, replacing the vaguely panicked confusion with a feeling of cold doom. He could try singing differently. He could sound the notes that have been ringing in his ear the past weeks.

Kiwi breathes deep. Singing the song would mean... something. Something big. It almost feels like on the other side of it, they might stop recognizing themself. But... if this is the only one they have left--

Over on the couch, Miriam grumbles in her sleep and fusses under the blanket, disturbed by the cold night air. Kiwi hurriedly pushes the window shut. Their friend settles a few seconds later, burrowing deeper under the warm cover.

Bard sighs and throws one final dejected glance at the unresponsive flowers on the other side of the glass. They curl up in the chair and hold themself tight for the rest of the night.

#wandersong #kiwi wandersong #the bard wandersong #there are also #miriam wandersong #winston wandersong #peter wandersong #elara wandersong #and co : )#(not) alone #my writing

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mimssides · 3 years

Text

Never Met You

Chapter 6: Nostalgia

Memories can heal and hurt. They fill their lives and form their opinions and growth. They shall give themselves time to remember.

After the ambush, the castle had been under high alert. The king’s meetings had been reduced to a minimum and he was to stay in his own now heavily guarded wing. It had been a relief to hear Logan simply agree with Janus’s proposal. Unlike Roman, who was anything but happy with the measurements Janus, Green and Virgil himself had come up with, Logan had seen the reason behind it and was following their instructions as well as he could.

Now Virgil had time to rummage through the castle and check it from bottom to top. While Janus was coordinating the court, he had begun to search for possible breaches, questioning his way through the servants, guards and the workers in the courtyard. Janus had sent Green to go with him. Despite the short time Green had spent here he had made a few connections already and Virgil could use all the help he could get when he was talking to people.

Socializing was just not his thing. He was a guardian first and everything else second.

Right now, they were training though. Virgil had wanted to see how fit Green was and got pleasantly surprised by his ability to keep up with him. Not many could do so and it made it easier for Virgil to let him be close to Roman. It was hard for him to let anyone close to Roman these days. Especially, after the whole assassination attempt.

“Not, hah, as good, hah, as yours,” Green panted and leaned forward to catch his breath.

Virgil smirked and shoved him just when he straightened up. He stumbled, caught himself and giggled like a child before he shoved Virgil back. They continued nudging and shoving each other as they walked to the edge of the racetrack and sat down. Virgil had two water bottles taken with him, one for Green and one with a straw for himself. With no comment he shoved the straw under his shawl and drank as Green did the same.

“Is it very hot?” Green asked looking over the training grounds.

Virgil fiddled with the hem of his shawl and stared just in front of himself. He knew what Green was talking about.

“I’m used to it. I know how I have to breath that it doesn’t bother me. Also, the snake has made them give me one which is lighter and easier to breathe through. So, it’s fine.”

In the corner of his eye, he saw Green nod. He shifted and spawled his legs in front of him and leaned back. Something told Virgil that he had dropped the topic and he felt himself ease up a little. He never liked to talk about his face. It was just a sore topic.

To get himself into a better mind space, Virgil decided to focus on something else. Quietly he went through the last few days, over what he had seen and learnt. Frustratingly, not much had come to light about the intruders and all possible points of entry had been guarded thrice as much as before. There had been no new breaches but in the light of King George announcing he would hold a meeting with Logan in two weeks' time, it might only mean that they are waiting for the outcome of said meeting. Logan had invited him for the meeting and offered to meet him at the boarder but the King had insisted of coming to Theana and meeting Logan there in person. While that meant a lot of preparations and much more nightshifts for Janus, it lightened Virgil’s worries immensely. Like this he knew that there was top security with no intention of harming their king or prince.

Green shifted next to him, pusing one leg under his butt and leaning forwards as he looked down to the green grass. He let his hands run through the single blades and smiled.

Two days prior Virgil had seen him for the first time together with Patton. The boy had excitedly run up to him when they were questioning a farrier. The second when he had spotted Virgil, he had stopped and almost toppled over because of his sudden halt.

Virgil was used to the reaction; many people were scared of his appearance and he did not expect this little child to be any different. And yet, when Green called for him, the boy had come closer and had watched Virgil carefully. Shyly, he hid behind Green’s leg and gave him a curt wave.

“He’s not dangerous, kid. You can say hi,” Green said to him in a voice so warm it could have melted butter.

And to Virgil’s surprise the boy came out of hiding and actually said hi to him. And after he had said hi awkwardly back and almost died of pureness this kid radiated when he smiled at him, Green had praised Patton fondly for being so nice and brave with a stranger.

Virgil wasn’t quite sure if encouraging this kid to talk to strangers was a great idea, but at the same time he could see how much Green cared and how close this boy was to him. He talked and acted like a father around him and in Virgil’s mind that rised a few questions.

Green did look quite unassuming in his white tunic and the brown trousers but he had an air of strength and might around him, which was hardly deniable. And yet he gave himself as a simple man who just liked feeling the grass on his skin.

“You like to get dirty,” Virgil stated.

Green looked up and with no hesitation responded: “Oh honey, you haven’t seen anything dirty of me until you have seen me in bed.”

Immediately, Virgil swatted him in the arm and Green cackled loudly at the way the tips of Virgil’s ears flushed. He was close to simply get up and walk away but did not do so as the curiosity was too big. He really wanted to know what Green’s secrets might be.

“No, seriously now!” Virgil insisted and punched him again for good measure. “Why do you enjoy the ground work so much? Most soldiers don’t mind getting a bit dirty and all, but you seem to thrive in it.”

Green chuckled and scratched his chin. It was stubbly and the moustache didn’t look nearly as well kept and pristine anymore as it had when Virgil had met Green for the first time. And yet somehow Virgil found that the work seemed to make him look happier and more alive than before.

“It’s gonna sound strange to you,” Green admitted after a few moments while looking over the training court, “but I didn’t get to get messy all that often as a kid. I couldn’t go outside and sit in the grass or role around in the fields. I was – preoccupied with other things. So, this is like a second chance for me and I’m having the time of my life doing this, quite frankly.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, I know it’s weird, you don’t have to rub it in, Brooding Beauty-”

“I didn’t- Brooding Beauty? I – What?” Virgil stammered at the nick name.

Again, Green chuckled and Virgil was considering to just walk away again. Yet he decided against it and took a deep breath before he looked down to his knees. It was always on his mind. Always something that kept his thoughts moving and one of the few things he could not talk about with Janus.

“You need to swear that this is going to stay between us, man.”

The rustling of the grass next to him told Virgil that Green had straightened his back and was now watching him closely. Somehow it felt familiar.

“Prince Roman said something along those lines when we first met.”

The wind was blowing his hair away from his eyes. Not far away from them he could hear the carriages being pulled around, people walking and talking. And yet there was no sound that could have given away Green’s presence next to him.

“I – I thought. I mean it’s said that he met you when you interrupted his carriage on his way to Sictes because you were chasing away some sheep thieves? When would the prince have had the time to say something like I just said?”

Virgil smiled. He looked up to the sky. The sky was a steely blue, no clouds but no clear sunlight either. It was like had been on that day.

He had run after the thieves because they had taken a lamb and he wanted to bring it back to its mother. On his chase he had crossed the road and apparently startled the horses on the prince’s carriage. He hadn’t even noticed as he ran through the underbrush. His focus was solely on the two men in front of him and as suddenly arrow after arrow was raining down on them. He barely caught himself from being hit as well. On was pinned against a tree as the other got hit in side and stumbled, dropping the poor lamb. Quickly, Virgil had shot forward and caught it barely before it could run away and possibly get lost mercilessly in the thick forest.

“And who might you be? Another thief? What are you doing chasing those buffoons?”

Virgil shivered. The voice was unmistakable and the tone harsh and cutting. He lifted his gaze, cradling the little animal closer to his chest and watched of all the people who he could have come across in the forest no other than Caroline Leto. A woman, no taller than 5 feet 2, black hair pulled back in a ponytail, greenish tunic and pants blending in perfectly in the background, a short bow in her hands which was pointed directly at Virgil’s forehead.

Even if Virgil had wanted, he could not utter a single word in that very moment, as someone crashed against his back from behind.

“Prince Roman had gotten out of the carriage the second it had halted completely,” Virgil continued to tell and finally looked up from his knees to meet Green’s gaze full of wonder. “He had spent more than a decade in the castle and it had been all too much. Too much of his parents, his responsibilities and his fate. He needed to get out, which was why he had agreed to the journey in the first place. So, when something happened that felt new and like an adventure to him, he didn’t hesitate for a single second. He got out to chase us, and out ran his guards with ease. I almost fell over when he crashed into me but caught myself and then helped steady him. I remember how he looked up at me, I think my – uh my scarf had moved down a bit and it caught his eyes. He didn’t look at me like other people did, with fear and disgust and all that. But with awe. And then he looked to the queen. And you know what he did then?”

Breathlessly Green said: “Did he smile at her?”

“That bloody bastard smiled at the so called ice queen and told her that her aim was amazing. She just raised an eyebrow and was about to threaten the both of us and he just kept being charming and friendly towards her. He stood in front of me to shield me from her arrow. And that had her finally convinced to lower her weapon and look at him more closely. I think she at first hadn’t recognized him, and only now realized who he might be. Since, you know, the Thea family hadn’t attended any public event in over a decade, so most people didn’t actually know how Prince Roman looked like as a grownup.”

Virgil paused for a moment, the flash of clarity in Queen Caroline’s eyes rushing through his mind. It was an image for the ages.

“She was surprised and said to him that she hadn’t imagined their first meeting to take place in a forest like this. And Prince Roman laughed and said he didn’t think so either but that he enjoyed it far more than a stiff and cold thrown room. And then they just chatted for a bit. As if no one hadn’t threatened the other with a short bow a mere moment ago. I was dumbstruck and couldn’t say anything, when Prince Roman asked me if I could help them getting the two thieves to his carriage so they could be dealt with in the next town. I just grabbed one and the prince took the other as Queen Caroline followed us and reminded the two thieves that they couldn’t flee anywhere with her weapon. They were then put in the carriage and Roman took one of the horses of his men as the Queen took another. They escorted me with the lamb back to its herd and asked me to come with them to the next village. On the way to there, I was walking next to Prince Roman and quietly listened to him and the queen talk. She was rather cordially and smiled quite a bit when she heard him speak. She praised his astute eye for her aiming skill and asked him if he didn’t mind that his clothing had gotten all dirty and ripped. And there it was when I heard the prince say that he didn’t mind his clothes getting soiled.”

“Muddy and ripped clothes are proof that one has walked the world, are proof that one lives and experiences things. They are testament to our lives and I until now I have been kept in a pristine little cage behind glass panes which kept all weather and wear away from me.”

Minutes of silence followed. Virgil didn’t mind. He could think that Green was letting that information slowly settle in his mind.

“You care for him.”

Green looked over to Virgil with wide eyes. Virgil stared back and continued: “J said that at first he thought you didn’t like Prince Roman, as you tried everything to avoid meeting him. But seeing how you act around him, after Prince Roman telling me himself that you were nothing but kind to him, I now see that J miscalculated. You care about him far more than you would like to admit. And I don’t know why but I am grateful for it.”

Green swallowed.

“You are?”

“I am, yes. He can need all the help and protection he can get. He’s can have a terrifyingly low sense of self preservation. J always says it runs in the family,” Virgil said and pulled his eyebrows up.

Green cleared his throat and laughed half-heartedly. With a grunt he stood up and Virgil did the same. It was time for them to continue with their day and get around to check the guard stations for unusual sightings.

***

I can go.

█████ was pacing around in his room. He knew it was the smart thing to do. He knew Roman was a better diplomat than him and he had a better way with words than him. It made sense to send him on this mission and not go himself or send Logan or Janus.

But Roman was his only ███████. He was the only one left in his family and letting him go for the very first time ever was not as easy as Janus and Logan made it out to be. Especially, not now. Not when he wanted to ask Logan-

“You wanted to see me?”

Roman had entered █████’s chamber. He was already wearing his outfit for the journey to Sictes and █████’s heart ached. Slowly, he turned around and closely looked him over. He looked cleaner and more put together than █████ himself did. He reminded him more and more of their Roman’s mother.

“Aww, look at fancy you!” █████ said teasingly but the wetness sparkling in his eyes betrayed him.

Roman sighed and walked up to him. They looked at each other for a moment and eventually █████ lifted his arms a little while shooting Roman a pleading look. Roman easily complied and pulled him into a hug.

The whole situation was hard on Roman as well. In all those years they never had left their homeland nor left each other's side for a whole month. This was new and scary for both of them but it had to be done. Roman had promised to help █████ as well as he could in his times of needs.

“I have to go, ███. You know I need this,” Roman mumbled into █████’s neck and he felt him pressing him even harder against his chest.

“I know,” █████ mumbled back before he finally let them part from the hug. “I know you have to. This place always haunted you more than me. And I’m glad I don’t have to deal with Caroline.”

Roman could not help himself but snickered at the comment and shoved █████ in the shoulder. They laughed for a moment before █████ guided them towards the sitting area and sat down with him on the divan. They remained quiet for a short while, just relenting their own thoughts and enjoying the other’s presence.

“You are sure you can do this, right?” █████ said in a small voice.

Roman bit his lips and took █████’s hand. He squeezed it, let go and signed: “I’ll be fine.”

Around █████ he dared to not talk and sign as much as he pleased and █████ was glad that Roman still felt comfortable enough around him to do that.

A tap on █████’s shoulder. He looked over. Roman signed concerned: “Will you be fine?”

He took a deep breath and folded his hands in his lap. Would he be fine? There was Janus. He was like a brother to █████ at this point. He knew so well what was going on in his head, could predict so easily what others deemed to be unpredictable about █████. He would take care of Roman. He had promised so and █████ knew he would do anything to keep that promise.

And then there was of course Logan. Logan, who had accepted the position as his Military Advisor at first, later also the title of his International Relationships Advisor and even as his Council for the Education System. Logan, who was loyal, smart and lovely. Logan, who had begun to flirt back three years ago. Logan, who had finally kissed him the first time two years ago. Logan, who had told him that he loved him right after that first kiss.

“I think, I will be fine...” █████ said with a smile on his lips and he took something out of his pocket.

Roman watched as █████ fiddled with a box and suddenly realized what it was. He inhaled sharply and █████ looked up to him, his hands tightening their grip around the box.

“You’ll ask him?” Roman said breathlessly and stared at the little box.

█████ simply nodded and exchanged a look with Roman. They hadn’t been together for a long time. The burden Logan would have to carry as part of the royal family was huge and no one knew that better than them. They had lost their Roman’s parents because of that burden.

And yet Logan made █████ happy. Roman could see it every time they spoke together and, in every moment, when they managed to catch a glimpse of the other during meetings. They gave each other a safe place to retreat and a strong shoulder to lean on on bad days.

Roman began to grin and put his hand over █████’s to stop him from clenching his fist anymore.

“It’s about time. He’s certainly eager to finally spend every night with you!” Roman joked.

█████ simply grinned at the comment and fiddled a little more with the box. On other days he would have complimented Roman’s slightly suggestive jab but right now he was simply too nervous to do so.

“We both know that he will say yes. There’s no need for you to be nervous,” Roman reassured him as █████ didn’t say anything else.

█████ huffed and shook his head still staring at the box in his hands.

“I know,” █████ said bitterly, “he will. But – This is going to be so much on him and I – I’m thinking of making it even harder for him, Ro.”

Roman blinked and █████ looked at him seriously. They had the same thought.

“In case of your death you want him to become king in my stead, don’t you?”

█████’s lips were pressed together in a thin line and Roman let out a long breath. Then he let out a laugh and leaned his shoulder against █████’s side.

“He makes a better king than both of us combined me, ███. I’m not going to fight you on this. If anything, I’ll encourage it even,” Roman told him softly before he fixed █████’s unruly bangs.

█████ let Roman fuss over his hair some more. He truly had inherited their Roman’s mother’s elegance and warmth and █████ tried to indulge in it as long as he could until Roman would undoubtfully have to leave. And he knew that Roman indulged in it as well.

***

The rest of the day was rather uneventful. Nothing new had been seen and they had to head back as empty handed as in the last few days. Green was quieter during all of it and Virgil was questioning himself if it had been something that he had said this day when Green suddenly started to talk on their way towards his quarters.

“What gave you the idea that I care about the prince? What of my behaviour gave it away?” he asked rather quietly.

For a moment Virgil mused and then replied: “I think it’s a bit the same behaviour you show around the boy; you soften your tone and have the patience of a saint. Frankly, I think it’s your fatherly side that is coming through.”

The steps next to Virgil stopped abruptly. He stopped immediately as well and turned to see Green’s mortified face. His breath hitched, sweat started to build up on his brows. Virgil did not hesitate and after a short “Can I touch you?” which was answered with a nod, he pulled Green away from the street into the little room he called his. Slowly, so very slowly Virgil managed to get Green grounded again as he told him how to breath and had him drink two glasses of water. The first one he almost completely spilled due to his shaking hands but the contents of the second glass made it almost completely into his mouth.

Several minutes later, after the panting and shivering from Green had subdued Virgil sat down next to him on the bed. Green let himself fall backwards on the bed and Virgil watched him closely. To his surprise Green’s eyes met his and were clearer than he had expected them to be after such an intense stress reaction.

“What on earth gave you the idea that I could be a father?”

Virgil furrowed his brows.

“I told Janus that I didn’t have anything to do with kids-” Green spoke further but Virgil cut him off.

“J asked you if you worked with kids. At least that’s what he told us and that’s not the same thing as being a dad and the way you treat Patton reminds me of how J’s father treats kids. He is like the only good reference I have for a father figure and you check all the boxes. Sorry, I assumed wrong. Didn’t think you’d freak out that much but, uh, sorry, it’s – it’s fine! You don’t have to tell me anything about this. I was out of line.”

Green had closed his eyes. He threw his arm over his face and only his mouth was visible now. He began to grin bitterly.

“We were trying.”

It had been so quiet that Virgil had almost missed it. Almost. But he heard and his mind was racing.

These three words told him so much more about the mystery man than he had ever expected to find out. There was a we, a partner of sorts who was close enough to start a family with Green. But this partner was no longer in the picture. But why? How had Green, who fought quicker and harder than most people he had ever met, lost this partner?

And more importantly, how did Green cope with such a loss on his own? Looking at his still body, at the tenseness in his arms and the forced smile on his lips he wasn’t dealing well.

With a broken voice Virgil mumbled: “I’m so sorry, dude…”

A snort.

“Whatever for, Gloom and Doom? You’re not the one who took him from me. Took my life… It’s fine. Don’t tell Janus, the prince and especially not the king. They’ve got better things to worry about. They shouldn’t waste their time on some stupid no one, who is dealing with things that can no longer be changed. It’s fine.”

He lifted his arm and sat up.

His eyes darted down to his feet.

He lifted his gaze and met eyes with Virgil again. A little smile, sincere yet small.

“But for what it’s worth,” Green said and put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, “thanks for thinking I’d be a good dad. Didn’t think I’d ever turn out to be good enough for that.”

___

Link for AO3, Taglist, Masterlist, and next Chapters are in my first reblog!

#intrulogical #remus sanders #virgil sanders #background romantic anaroceit #janus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #fantasy au #Never Met You #theft #suggestive language #nothing too harsh but there's remus I guess?#eir writes #please reblog

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years

Text

Lace

(Hayffie ❤️🔥. Exploration of the potential of Effie and Haymitch through time using lace as metaphor. I spent several days channeling what I imagine of Effie as I tried to write this just so. It was worth the effort. NSFW. Sexual content toward the end.)

“I used to rummage around in my grandmother’s trunks trying to find them. I love the feeling of chiffon and lace.” — Stevie Nicks

***

Lace was Effie’s earliest gateway to a partially hidden self. Scallops, finely knitted with silk thread, swirled in her hands and opened a dream world. She stepped into it with great anticipation. Beneath white lace she could be a ghost. Not the ghastly kind that frightens the world, wailing the aches of an unfinished life. But the ethereal kind that floats through the halls, unencumbered by expectation. In her imagination, everyone would pause to gaze upon her. They’d all still to listen to the rustling of the fabric of her existence.

In lace, she could become whoever she wanted to be.

As a little girl, she dressed up in riches and regal innocence, draping herself in her Nana’s long pearl necklace and lace shawl. She served tea in painted porcelain cups to painted porcelain dolls. “Manners, children! Don’t slurp your tea. Curl your pinkies, and you’ll grow up to be great ladies.”

By 8 years old, she felt quite grown up herself, caught between innocence and incipient desire, crushing on the boy who’d just won the Games. She picked a bouquet of flowers from the garden. “I’m Proserpina now, goddess of fertility, agriculture, and wine...” She ate six pomegranate seeds, and pulled the shawl over her eyes as a veil. “...Someday I’ll be the bride of Pluto, God of the underworld and mineral wealth. He’ll love me like no other, and I the same for him. They call him Haymitch now, but I know his true identity. I’m the only one.”

She scooped up one of her dolls and wiped its porcelain neck with the corner of the shawl. “There. You’re pretty again, Maysilee darling. Those awful pink birds are gone. You’ll come with us to live in the underworld with diamonds and rubies and sapphires. Nobody there is ever really dead. You’ll be the princess, and I’ll be the queen.”

In lace, she worked through the trauma that existed in witnessing so much death.

“And isn’t that at its core what the princess fantasy is about for all of us?... ‘Princess’ is the wish that we could protect them from pain, that they would never know sorrow, that they will live happily ever after, ensconces in lace and innocence.” — Peggy Orenstein

***

There was lace between them the first time Haymitch touched her. The delicate gloves she wore met his fingers with surprising softness. He’d shaken hands with lacy-gloved Capitol women countless times. He’d pressed his lips to their knuckles when they presented their hands for kissing. He got that shit a lot, and most of the time it annoyed him. Those textures were predictably coarse.

The first touch of Effie was alluring. That silky fabric full of holes peaked his curiousity about the feeling of her skin. They’d just met, and he didn’t want to let go of her. Not yet. Damn. Attraction to an opulent Capitol girl was a complication he didn’t need.

“Nice gloves, sweetheart.” He couldn’t resist. The moment felt too good to say nothing.

Through layers of makeup, he could see her blush. Another surprise. She didn’t drop his hand. They held on until the spots where they touched infused with a shared warmth. It didn’t take long, with both of them wondering how it would feel to play with fire.

Flint struck steel, and sparks flew for years as they goaded each other with words and mannerisms. The burn was slow seduction. There are dualities to lace. It can’t decide whether it’s an angel or a devil. In those years of indecision, Effie touched him many times through gloves: curling her hand in the bend of his elbow, brushing against the back of his neck accidentally on purpose, skimming her fingertips across his forehead to push his hair from his eyes when he was drunk enough not to object.

She took to interlacing her fingers with his the moment one of their tributes was killed in the arena.

“Don’t.” He bristled at first. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?! I don’t want them to die. You know it hurts me too.”

She was getting too attached. She’d need to find a way to toughen up if she was going to keep doing the job. And he wanted her there. Holding her hand took a slight edge off the horror. He was getting too attached — to her. He recognized it.

“I’m not hurting.” His words were unconvincing. He took a long drink, and he didn’t let go of her until the flask was empty.

“Give me lace and whiskey.” — Alice Cooper

***

The system, ultimately fragile, was indeed brought down by berries — and blood. After the revolution, resources that Effie had always taken for granted were scarce. During the early years of reconstruction, she asked Greasy Sae to teach her how to mend lace. The old woman repaired it for resale using just an ironing board, straight pins, a needle, thread, and scissors.

“I ain’t gonna ask how your panties got ripped, dear.” She winked. “But I can show you how to fix ‘em.” Sae could fix most anything, and Effie enjoyed spending time with her. It was like rummaging again in her grandmother’s trunks, but finding treasure in pearls of wisdom.

Effie’s connection with Haymitch had caught fire when the world did. The timing made sense. One intensity begets another, like creation.

After learning on small items, Effie moved on to mending more precious swaths of lace like the heirloom tablecloth in her apartment. Haymitch sank into her sofa, and watched her work in a slip and an sheer robe printed with flowers. Her hair kept falling in her face so she pulled it back into a ponytail.

Her hair alone turned him on. He took swallows from a glass of Capitol liquor that he didn’t know by name, and he thought about holding onto that ponytail and fucking her.

She felt his eyes on her. “You’re suddenly fascinated with sewing?” she asked without looking up from the stitching.

“I’m fascinated with you.” The words weren’t playful. They pulled her heartbeat into her gut. Butterflies. They’d been seeing each other for over two years, and he could still tug at her without touching.

A smile lit up her face.

“Are you almost done with that, sweetheart?”

“Patience. When your leg breaks, you can’t rush the bone to fuse back together.”

“Are you planning on breaking my leg? Because I’ve already got another bone for you to fix.”

“Your ‘bone’ can wait for the sake of art.”

“...I’m gonna make you come, honey. If that ain’t art, then I don’t know what is.”

The flush of her cheeks and the swell along the axis of her body were distracting her, but she finished the task regardless.

She removed the pins, lifted the lace from the ironing board, tied a small knot in the thread, and clipped off the excess to finish. She sat with him on the sofa to inspect her work. Her stitches were precisely as tight as the weave of the lace. The fix was fairly perfect.

The tablecloth draped across her lap and spilled over her legs. Through the lace, he caressed her thighs, her knees, her calves, then back up again. She was too affected to nag him about being careful with her masterpiece.

“You like this,” she murmured.

Hell, yes. “I like almost seeing you through it... touchin’ you... You’re so fine, Effie.”

‘Fine’ was a word he generally used when they argued, when something wasn’t quite right and when he didn’t want to talk about it. This context felt different.

Shit. I’m into her. If I don’t keep this in check, I’m gonna be so into her. “...Can I...?” He asked in response to his unvoiced feelings.

“What do you want, honey?”

He stroked the apex of her thighs through the lace and her satin slip.

She moaned softly.

“You like this too.” His voice was thick with desire to swallow the sounds that escaped her throat. He’d start there, then move on to the rest of her.

“Hell, yes...” she sighed, sliding her fingers up the short sleeve of his shirt.

The tablecloth fell away and they clutched each other, as if she might dissolve into molecules, as if he might disappear. It was like that sometimes — grasping, clinging need.

Stay.

Please stay.

“I stare at her collarbone that’s framed with lace, the hollow of her collarbone, her shoulders that rise with each rise of the weight of her next breath. We’re fragile things. Our bones show through our skin. What would any god want with us?” — Lauren DeStephano

***

In the old days of the Capitol, lace curtains were a means to show off assets. In the Trinket family home, lace hung for years in the windows of the parlor, showcasing an antique grand piano and furniture made of mahogany and velvet. Less ostentatious and commonplace items were relegated to rooms cloaked in thick window coverings or not visible from the street.

Effie was raised in this manner, instructed in the duality of garnering attention and practicing concealment. Lace has the capacity to reveal, on occasion, something you might rather hide — whether when used to line your parlor, cover your body in a second skin, or partially cloak the contents of your heart. People take risks in lace.

Effie peered into her parents’ marriage and understood her own desires were different. “Did you love Father when you married?” she asked when her mother chastised her about spending so much time with the victor from District 12.

“This conversation is about YOUR future, not my past,” her mother responded without answering the question. “At your age, you certainly should be thinking about marriage, but for heaven sake not with a savage. Taking up with him is impractical. It will ruin your life.”

Effie worked to hold the lid on the pot boiling inside her. “He is not a savage. I ‘took up’ with him years ago, and my life is my own. I might move to 12, and I might never marry. Those are MY choices to make.” She resisted the urge to flinch. As a girl, being that frank with her mother would have prompted a slap in the face, but her childhood was long gone.

Her mother was stunned into silence, so Effie asked again, “Are you in love with my father?”

“...Are you in love with Haymitch?” Her mother again ignored Effie’s question, though her tone softened in curiosity. She at least acknowledged that she knew his name.

“Yes,” Effie answered without hesitation, hoping her admission wouldn’t pose a threat to him. She recognized the balance of power had shifted. The Trinkets’ curtains weren’t lace anymore. The contents of the parlor had been sold. Nothing was as it used to be.

“How do you know?” Her mother asked. “How do you know you love him?”

“I’ve always known.”

“Always?”

“From my early memories, playing that we were king and queen of the underworld. Playing with metaphorical fire, even then. ...I want to be with him. I love him so much it hurts.”

“Love shouldn’t hurt, honey.”

“How could you know?”

“Because I love YOU.”

“And how do you feel about what I’m telling you now?”

“You’re a grown woman, Effie. ...Though I can’t help but feel heartbroken picturing you in that life.”

“Love is a rock against the wind. Not soft like silk and lace.” — Etheridge Knight

***

Haymitch returned from the Hob to find his front door unlocked. Adrenaline shot to his arms and legs, and he unsheathed his knife before stepping inside. All was silent. Maybe he’d simply forgotten to lock it. Unlikely though since he did that reflexively, even when he was drunk. He misplaced his keys sometimes, but he never left home without locking the door.

Anxiety grew in the stillness. He checked every room downstairs, then tiptoed up the staircase. He found the *intruder* asleep on his unmade bed.

Effie was dressed — scarcely — in white stretch lace stockings hooked with garters to a matching top. He remembered her calling that kind of thing a bustier, though he’d never seen this one before. She was curled up on her side, and he saw in profile her naked hip and the smooth curve of her ass.

She’d said she had to work this weekend, so her showing up was a surprise. He sheathed his knife as the increased blood supply eased away from his limbs and flowed straight to his groin. From the rush of adrenaline and Effie’s sensual appearance, his heart beat like crazy. His mind was sharp despite lightheadedness. Fucking adrenaline. He knew it as well as anything else.

He quietly removed his boots, peeled off his clothes, and slipped into bed beside his girl. Her even breathing soothed his frayed nerves. He watched her chest rise and fall, and he took in more details of her attire.

The bustier pushed her breasts together, creating a hint of cleavage in a large teardrop-shaped opening between them. Two extra straps emerged from the lace above the peak of the teardrop. They passed over her collarbones, along the sides of her neck, and slid down her back.

Her nipples, soft in sleep, were visible through the lace. The fabric cupped her breasts then stretched to her waist. Everything below was bare — no panties, no thong, nothing but her. Then the stockings.

He had never wanted to touch someone so badly everywhere at once. He curled his fingers around her hip and plucked kisses on her forehead until she stirred.

Good morning, sweetheart; he tried to tease since it was already late afternoon, but the words must have spun in his lungs with his breath, because nothing came out.

Effie rubbed her eyes awake, like a child dressed up in the body of a goddess. “Hey, stranger...” was all she could say before he sucked the rest of the greeting from between her lips.

“What was the point in satin and lace if it didn’t make a man struggle to speak?” — Alexandra Ivy

***

Their reunion was ardent and greedy. He was all sinewy flesh, and she touched him every place she could reach with her hands, arms, legs, body, mouth... He reciprocated the contact with mutual intensity, barely taking care not to crush her. She was like a bird with lacy feathers. He pulled away long enough for her to sing...

“God, you feel good. You’re worth every mile of that infernal train ride.”

He inched down her body, tracing one of the bustier straps with his chin as he kissed along her neck, down her throat to the lace and the unexpected cleavage. “You surprised me.”

“I’m sorry. I’d planned to call out when you opened the door, but the bed was warm, and the sheets smell like you, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open.”

“I’m not complaining. I’m just feeling every ounce of adrenaline pumping now in my dick.”

Through the lace, he stroked one of her breasts with his tongue and the other with his thumb. When her nipples peeked through the fabric, he scissored one between his teeth.

Her jaw dropped open. She sucked in a breath and held it until he shifted his attention to her other breast. There was a moment of release, then she gasped again as the pleasure deepened. She exhaled in words, “I’ve got plans for you.”

Uneasiness crept in. “What plans?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll like it.” With a fingertip, she traced around the teardrop on her chest. “You want to fuck me... here?”

Sandwiched between her breasts with soft lace covering the head of my dick? “Only a fool would say no to that.”

She propped up on pillows. “Come here...”

He straddled her rib cage, taking care not to crush her. She held his hips as he slipped through the teardrop into the valley between her breasts.

Ahh, fuck...

She positioned her palms to accentuate the function of the bustier, squeezing him with her flesh. Then she entwined her fingers over the lace on top of his dick. “Is this good?”

His answer was obvious. He was already thrusting. “Oh, fuck,” he cried aloud this time, feeling the pressure, friction, and excitement of her sheathing him like a knife.

With each movement, his balls grazed the lace too. It was so much sensation. He ran his fingers along her scalp, threading them through her hair. He couldn’t think, and he was afraid of pressing too hard on her sternum and hurting her. “Are you alright?”

“Honey, this is hot as hell. Keep fucking my breasts for as long as you can hold out.” She tightened her grip.

His strokes quickened. “I haven’t got much left before... God... Effie...”

“Where do you want to come, honey? On my neck? In my mouth? Inside me with me coming too?”

He was close, so damn close. In a blink, he pulled out of the sheath and the teardrop, breathing hard. “Shit. Give me a minute. Don’t move and don’t say anything.”

She froze as requested, with her hands still on her breasts. The veil slipped, and she understood what was happening. He was choosing her — intimate connection and pleasure WITH her. She fought tears from welling up because she didn’t want to explain them. She just wanted him to make love with her, and she realized it was happening.

As if to prove it, he stretched out flush against her body and kissed her as before, like he couldn’t wait. “Inside you, with you coming too. That’s what I want.”

She wrapped her legs, esconced in lace, around him and drew him in. With each plunge he was swimming, feeling the waves as she clenched him deep.

“Slow down, honey. I wanna wait for you.”

Thrilling in his words, she had to force her internal muscles to relax and loosen their grasp.

He propped up on one arm and drew circles on her clit.

“Mmmm... Keep that up, and you won’t have to wait much longer.”

Gentle tugs and circling grew more insistent as his body was losing patience.

Her body clenched him again of its own volition. “Oh... I’m... Oh, honey... It’s so delicious....”

“Fuck, Effie. You’ve gotta... Holy shit...”

“Ohh, I can’t stop... Are you....”

“Yeah.” He grunted as the waves overtook him. “Oh, hell... This is it.”

As they climaxed together, the veil slipped, and he understood what was happening. This was more than adrenaline and far beyond fucking. He was making love with her. He was loving her more than anything they were doing in this bed. He loved this girl, HIS girl.

As their breathing slowed, he kissed her as if she was the most intoxicating drink of his life. And, damn it, she probably was.

“You waited.” Her tears welled up. She couldn’t stop those either.

“It’s like holding back wild horses, sweetheart.”

“Four black horses and an ebony chariot.” She said, thinking of the myth she played at long ago.

“Something like that.” Though the analogy was ominous. It reminded him too much of the Games, and he was already shaky coming down from the rush of adrenaline. He collapsed against her. She felt his tremors, and he felt her tears. What the hell am I supposed to do with all this feeling?

“Shh... It’s alright. We can do this,” she said to herself as much as to him. “We’re a team. Remember?” You’re not alone anymore.

She held him until the shaking stopped. All he had to do was let her.

“What can I do with my happiness? How can I keep it, conceal it, bury it where I may never lose it? I want to kneel as it falls over me like rain, gather it up with lace and silk, and press it over myself again.” — Anais Nin

***

The little girl had reached an age when everything in existence was a discovery followed by a question. With all her might she dragged a small cedar chest from the corner of the closet. “What’s this, Nana?”

“It’s buried treasure, Baby Doll. Would you like to open it?”

The little one clapped her hands in anticipation and lifted the latch. Though the springs had worn out long ago, the girl was strong enough to lift the lid without assistance. It fell back onto its hinges, revealing the contents within. She peered inside with eyes wide open.

“Those treasures are old and precious. Most are very fragile. Will you promise to be ever so careful?”

She nodded with serious intent, then rummaged inside to pull treasures out. One by one, she took them to her Nana in the rocking chair...

A lace shawl, a long strand of pearls, two porcelain tea cups, and a porcelain doll with a painted face. A dried bouquet of flowers in a locked wooden box with a glass lid. Golden lace gloves knitted with silk thread. A sheer robe printed with flowers. A yellowed lace tablecloth. A purple corset and a white lace bustier. Plus many sentimental trinkets including a paper card with birds on the front and an inscription inside. The girl was too young still to read.

“What’s it say, Nana?” The little one climbed into her lap and waited for the words.

It reads, “Effie and Haymitch. I wish you happiness. Love, Mother.”

“That’s you and Grampa!”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Where’d all this treasure come from?”

Effie thought a moment.. “it comes from smiles and tears, laughter and fits of madness. From a life full of diamonds and rubies and sapphires — not the kind you dig up from an underground world, but the kind you carry in your heart.”

“It would take a giant heart to carry all that!”

“That’s why we share our lives with the people we love. So we have more than one heart to hold all that treasure.”

The girl rubbed her eyes and snuggled against Effie, “Nana, tell me a story.”

With her arms around her granddaughter, Effie began... “Once upon a time there was a girl who lived inside a rainbow. She’d reach for the colors around her, but her hands were always empty because the rainbow wasn’t real. So she filled her hands with love, and she painted a real life in all the colors she used to live within but couldn’t touch...”

Effie’s granddaughter clutched the old lace shawl as she fell asleep.

“Concealment and revelation. A veil and a shroud. Chastity and wildness. Fragility and resilience. Complexity and simplicity. Curiosity and knowing. Teasing and fulfillment. Thrill and comfort... These are my hopes for you, Baby Doll,” Effie whispered.

Lace becomes what we need it to be.

“Hopes were wallflowers. Hopes hugged the perimeter of a dance floor in your brain, tugging at their party lace, all perfume and hems and doomed expectation. They fanned their dance cards, these guests that pressed against the walls of your heart.” — Karen Russell

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travelleroflands · 4 years

Text

My review of Virginia’s Woolf’s ‘To the Lighthouse’

Out of all the extraordinary gifts that books bestow upon our lives, the one that awes me the most is their ability to preserve thoughts, sentiments and ideas and safely ferry them across the expansive reaches of time to stimulate our own minds in a process that seems almost magical. Especially when, while reading a certain book, you cannot help but think: How can this author, born more than a century before the shape of me was even conceived by the universe, know what is in my heart, and know it so well? How do her characters articulate so many feelings that were, until now, ineffable to me? And once you have had this thought, your wonderment can only multiply. You might highlight numerous paragraphs, and still feel as though you haven’t highlighted everything that truly mattered to you in the story. You wish you could highlight every single word, because they are all equally impactful. You are torn between rereading each chapter and setting the book aside to mull over all that you read, all that seemed to overwhelm your mind and flood your senses. And when you have finished, you know that attempting to thoroughly articulate every emotion that you feel is a futile endeavor.

Virginia Woolf’s exquisitely woven modernist story ‘To the lighthouse’, masterfully employing stream of consciousness and free indirect discourse to provide an insight into the rich inner lives of her characters, is indubitably one such book. Effortlessly, she explores complex themes like love, life, mortality and even the agony of artistry. In her capable hands, she manipulates time, expanding brief moments and contracting long years. By magnifying the minutest of details in the lives of the Ramsay family and their guests, she illumines the intricacy of relationships between woman and man, wife and husband, children and their parents and even her characters’ perceived relations with the world itself. Against the eternity of the cosmos, she highlights both the despair and the beauty of ephemerality. The lighthouse, the waves tossing in the sea, the sand dunes in the distance, the wind, geraniums in an urn, a lone shawl flapping in a deserted house, all convey some greater meaning. There is beauty, there are treasures of meaning buried deeply within each word that Virginia writes, enough to pierce one through the chest and clench the heart with force enough to induce profound emotion. As one reads, one soon becomes a part of the Ramsay household, goes down to the beach with their guests and anticipates a visit to the lighthouse.

With her beauteous prose, Virginia establishes the distinctiveness of each of her characters. Mrs. Ramsay, the paragon of loveliness, the reservoir of sympathy and the conductor of familial harmony. She is honoured for her strange severity, her extreme courtesy, like a queen’s raising from the mud a beggar’s dirty foot and washing it. She has the power to influence everyone she knows, directly or indirectly, and generously lends a piece of her own vitality to them. But, beneath it is all dark, she contemplates, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by. Her horizon seemed to her limitless. There is so much about her that the world does not see, that which gives her boundless liberty when she manages to snatch a moment of respite in her life, from all the roles that she must play. Even when she does not wish for time to pass quickly, and to take from her all that she values, she finds solace in the fact that even if the moments she cherished would soon pass, they would live forever as pristine memory in her guests’ minds. And this belief of hers is validated when Lily Briscoe, one of her guests, reminisces about her years later, the clarion image of her beauty, her powerful presence and the impact that she had on everyone still persisting in her thoughts.

Lily Briscoe is a painter, an artist who agonizes over the inadequacy of her art, which she views as a formidable, ancient enemy of hers- this other thing, this truth, this reality, which suddenly laid hands on her, emerged stark at the back of appearances and commanded her attention. She is insecure, and uncertain about her own talent, an uncertainty that is compounded by others’ estimation (women can’t paint, women can’t write) and her own belief that her work would, anyhow, end up hung in a servant’s bedroom or rolled up to keep underneath a sofa. It will not, she thinks, make much of a difference. It is through her point of view that the author gives voice to every artist or creator’s dubiety and misgivings. It is also through her perspective and her thoughts that Virginia contemplates love and its numerous forms- Yet, she said to herself, from the dawn of time odes have been sung to love; wreaths heaped and roses; if you asked nine people out of ten they would say they wanted nothing but this; while the women, judging from her own experience, would all the time be feeling, This is not what we want; there is nothing more tedious, puerile and inhumane than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary. Or even, It rose like a fire sent up in token of some celebration by savages on a distant beach. She heard the roar and the crackle. The whole sea for miles round ran red and gold. Some winy smell mixed with it and intoxicated her, for she felt again her own headlong desire to throw herself off the cliff and be drowned looking for a pearl brooch on a beach. And the roar and the crackle repelled her with fear and disgust, as if while she saw its splendour and power she saw too how it fed on the treasure of the house, greedily, disgustingly, and she loathed it. But for a sight, for a glory, it surpassed everything in her experience, and burnt year after year like a signal fire on a desert island at the edge of the sea, and one had only to say ‘in love’ and instantly, as happened now, up rose Paul’s fire again. She also ruminates over the meaning of existence-The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one. This, that and the other………In the midst of chaos, there was shape; this eternal passing and flowing (she looked at the clouds going and the leaves shaking) was struck into stability or What did it mean? Could things thrust their hands and grip one; could the blade cut; the fist grasp? Was there no safety? No learning by heart the ways of the world? No guide, no shelter, but all was miracle, and leaping from the pinnacle of a tower into the air? Could it be, even for elderly people, that this was life? Even the creative process is given unique form in her musings- All that in idea seemed simple became in practice immediately complex; as the waves shape themselves symmetrically from the cliff top, but to the swimmer among them are divided by steep gulfs and foaming crests. Still the risk must be run; the mark made………And so pausing, and so flickering, she attained a dancing rhythmical movement, as if the pauses were one part of the rhythm and the strokes another, and all were related….

People, and how one views them, and how one attempts to estimate their merit, are also inextricably entwined in her thoughts.

Mr. Ramsay, who is venerable and laughable at one and the same time, searches for, reaches for greatness he knows he can never hope to find. He wishes to make a tangible impression upon the world, and yet finds himself unable to make any great progression in thought beyond what he has already attained, the gradations of which he likens to the alphabet. What is the point of the journey he made, he thinks, if he couldn’t even immortalize his name? What was the purpose to all that he had done? His own frail luminosity would soon be extinguished, or swallowed up in the presence of some bigger, greater star. Even at the pinnacle of his achievement, he feels like he hasn’t done enough, and his desolation and hopelessness prompt him, from time to time, to seek solace in the all accepting sympathy that Mrs. Ramsay has to offer to him. He demands sympathy, devours it almost, to the extent that it makes Lily loathe him for it. His reliance upon her for that which only she can truly give him both exhausts and exhilarates Mrs. Ramsay. Mr. Ramsay, who seeks truth with the coldest clarity, still needs his wife to soften the blow of reality, and even as he scorns her, or looks down upon her, he reveres her and respects her. Similarly, even as she pities him, she admires him. It is through the multi-layered dynamic of their relationship that Virginia Woolf explores the interdependence of woman and man.

With characters as convoluted as these, and vast themes that are applicable even to the seemingly simple, Virginia takes her readers on a journey that colours their perspective and stimulates the depths of their own thoughts. Just as the lighthouse in the story is both a silvery enigma and a stark white entity to James, all that Virginia writes can be interpreted in more ways than one, with each meaning replete with its own significance. For, nothing was simply one thing. Reading this book can be likened to a treasure hunt of sorts, where gold nuggets of understanding can be extricated every time one rereads a sentence or revisits a chapter. Virginia’s descriptions, that bear her own sui generis style, are delightful to read. In my opinion, it makes her work singular and unlike anybody else’s. It is also what, in addition to her skilful use of stream of consciousness to connect readers to the core of her characters’ motivations and actions, made me love this book so much. I do not think any amount of praise or recommendation adequate to express my love, but I truly hope that everyone who reads it finds all that I found, and much more, to take away from it.

Note: Excerpts from the book in italics.

#book #bookreview #book review #virginia woolf #to the lighthouse #books #modernist #novel #story

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ohvalleyofplentyyy · 4 years

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Life, Death, and Between

100 Followers Celebration One-Shot

A/N: Thank you so much for the love and support! I will be posting chapters to Chamomile and Merlin’s Blood soon but wanted to make something special for this milestone :)

p.s, i’ve linked specific words like flowers and outfits so you can see what i was picturing if you want or if you don't know what a specific flower is :)

male reader insert here!

master-list

Life, Death and Between

“Jasky Baby! Geraaaaaaaaaaalt! Get up!”

You yelled running up the stairs of your cottage with a newfound spring in your step. The boys were both snug in the two beds you had set up in the attic once you figured they would be staying for a while.

You lived right at the bottom of a huge mountain that was surrounded by a very dense forest, how these two idiots were able to stumble upon your home in the middle of the night three years ago still befuddled you.

You pulled the blankets off the musician first, then the giant monster hunter and finally ripped open the curtains, letting light stream in.

Jaskier moaned and put his pillow over his head to shield his eyes. “Y/N, why are you doing this to me?!” He whined.

“Come on! You have to get out of bed and see this!” You said excitedly. Geralt slowly sat up and watched as you ran amok through the room, throwing clothes at them trying to speed up the process.

He chuckled and eventually got out of bed, grabbing the pillow off of Jaskier and whacking him with it. “Come on, we better go before she decides to roll you out of bed through the window.”

Once the boys were fully dressed (though Jaskier’s shirt was buttoned through the wrong holes making it crumple a bit at the bottom) you ran down the staircase and zipped out the door. “What’s up with her?” The bard mumbled, trying to tame the creature that was his hair.

They came ou the front door and you appeared in front of them wearing a flower crown made up of daisies, baby’s breath, and pink kinnikinnick.

In your hands were two extra flower crowns that you quickly placed on the boy’s heads and then motioned for them to follow. The two followed you until you stopped at a small body of water that a waterfall ran into from the mountain.

It was a sight to behold.

The water was a serene blue, and the light danced upon it like stars in the night sky. Small water Nymphs skittered on the surface, moving what appeared to be small boats to the center of the pond. These boats were made of wood branches, large leaves and some were mushrooms flipped over.

But the best part about them was the fairies sitting in them.

All at once, fairies seemed to appear at the pond. So many colors and types, some wore petal clothes and others wore nothing. Wings varied in size, ranging from the size of Geralt’s hand to nail on your pinky.

The three of you watched in awe as a special ceremony was performed on the water. The fairies lined up in two rows on each side, making a pathway from the edge of the pond to the center. In the center, the boats had been enchanted and now floated in the air, sparkles of the pixie dust making them shimmer in the light.

Then all the chattering from the fairies ceased and they turned to the water's edge and watched the treeline as something emerged. It appeared to be a floating carriage made from an old bird nest and flowers. Sitting in this carriage was the most ethereal fairy you had ever seen. She had long flowing lilac hair that flowers were embedded into.

Her dress was made of rose petals, mostly white, sans the bottom hem that was purple tulip petals. It trailed over the carriage side it was so long, making it appear like a wedding veil, floating behind a bride.

Her wings though were the most gorgeous you had ever laid eyes on, they weren’t very large, about the length of your palm to your index finger. But they seemed to be translucent, the only way you would know they were there is if the light reflected through them, creating a small rainbow effect on the other side.

Once at the edge of the pond, faint music started to play, you looked over to the source and saw several fairies with miniature versions of violins, lutes, and a flute. As the queen of the fairies crossed over the water, the others started to bow as she passed. You immediately did as well when she glanced over to the three of you. Geralt slowly bowed his head and Jaskier did a full bow when you tugged on his tunic.

The band of fairies died out as the queen flew up from the carriage. In a somber voice, you heard her speak.

“Thank you all for coming today, this ceremony has been long overdue since many have treated our kind unfairly, we have had no reason to have it. But now, a true friend has stepped forward and offered their unconditional love to us. It is with great honor that I present our new Guardian of the Forest.”

Jaskier whispered to Geralt, “Do you know who it is?” With a small smile, Geralt answered. “Yes, I do.”

This greatly intrigued you, so you bent over, “Who is it then?” Geralt made a motion to look forward.

There were two small fairies in front of you, one of them lime green and the other an ivory color. They both wore white tulip tunics and were holding a long shawl out. It was very thin and resembled the queen’s wings. There were small symbols etched into the edge all around it with pixie dust.

“It’s you.”

You watched in awe as the fairies draped the shawl over your shoulders and led you to the edge of the water where the pathway of fairies floated. You took a step into the water, the sweet cold tickling your bare feet and soaking the bottom of your skirt. But it did not matter, as you walked down the path of magical creatures.

You noticed others that had come to watch the ceremony. Some deer with on the opposite side of the pond, small hummingbirds flitted to a branch overlooking the water. Even butterflies flew around, watching the scene unfold.

Once at the center of the pond, the queen flew down to you and bowed her head.

“Thank you for always doing what is best for the forest. Your caring nature has shown us that there are still humans worthy of knowing our powers. You shower us with loyalty and never ask for anything in return, only a friendship. Now that you have proven yourself to be a true friend, it is with great honor that I bestow you, Guardian of the Forest and Creatures.”

With a wave of her hand, a flower crown made of twine, lavender, baby’s breath, poppies, and everlasting floated over and took the place of your other crown that two fairies took off your head. Then, with a kiss to your forehead, magic flourished.

You fell into a small slumber as Geralt and Jaskier watched in awe as you were lifted by magic from the water. The fairies flew upwards and circled around you, dancing and singing a magical chant.

Oh, our Guardian,

Protector of all

Loves and cherishes

Anything big or small.

Oh, our Guardian

Whom we adore

Let us celebrate

This moment they are reborn.

As they sang, the water rose from the pond and encased you in a sphere of magic. Lights flashed through it and sparks of pixie dust sprinkled down from the circle. It was like fireworks were going off inside this magical womb made from the water.

The faires chanted and sang until the water started to tremor and then bursted out in every direction.

Light flooded the area, coming from you then simmered down. Gently, you were lowered down to the pond’s surface, only this time, you were able to stand on the top and not sink through. Your once wet clothing was now replaced with a new outfit.

The fabric flowed down your body like ripples of water. It was a white dress that had puffed flowing long sleeves that stopped at your wrist and moved in the wind. The bodice came up and around your neck, various designs in lace and jewels coating the front. It went down from your waist to the water, the trail behind it sitting atop the water just as you were.

You now had small baby’s breath woven into the braided crown of hair. The braids seemed to hold with no ties or lacing, only the sparkle of magic showed beneath the sun's rays.

But was most awe-inspiring, were the new wings that adorned your back.

Beautiful blue morpho wings now fluttered out from behind you, stretching and glistening in the light. It was surreal, you touched the wings as they curled around you, now another piece of your body and mind.

The queen smiled at you. “Thank you so much for trusting in me.” You said to her. You brought your hand up to her and she hugged it, making you grin.

“Y/N!!! Y/N!!” When you turned, you saw Jaskier jumping up and down on the side of the water, Geralt smacking him up the back of the head when heads turned to see the commotion as the bard quite reasonably freaked out.

“You may go to them, you are now the bridge between the fae world and humans.” With one last smile to the queen, you walked on the water’s surface until you stepped foot on land. Jaskier bounded over to you followed by a fast walking Geralt.

You floated a few feet off the ground and spun for them. “Well, what do you think?” The bard gasped, “You, you! You’re a spirit now! You, you, you have wings!!!!!” He spoke very quickly, trying to process his thoughts and emotions on what had just conspired.

As you lowered to the floor, Geralt took your hand and gave it a small kiss on the back of it and then did an elegant bow in front of you. “She’s the Guardian of the Forest, not a spirit you idiot. We wouldn’t be able to see her if she was.”

You chuckled, “I can see so many things now that the human eye cannot, the world is so beautiful! There are so many lives that we cannot see with the naked eyes, it’s amazing.”

Jaskier walked around you and trailed a finger down your left wing, “Well, if anyone was going to watch over the forest it would definitely be you. You spend every day tending to nature and it’s inhabitants.”

“Including us.” Geralt added, leaning against a tree.

With a wave of your hand, the train of the dress hooked to the back of your waist and you took each of your friend’s hands, walking back to the cottage.

As you walked, Jaskier asked questions. “Will this change everything? Will you leave and live in the forest? What happens now?”

“Oh Jaskier, I’m not going anywhere. I’m the bridge between fae creatures and humans remember? I’ll always be here for you, now I just have a broader approach to the world around us and some added abilities. I understand that I will have to live up to my title as Guardian and sometimes leave to protect the creatures I love, but I’ll never be gone forever. I’ll always come back to my dearest friends... if they want me too.”

Geralt put an arm around you, “Of course we want you to.”

You gasped, “Is the great Geralt of Rivia saying that he wants me around? Gee Jasky, did he wake up this morning feeling ill? This is very peculiar for a Witcher…”

Jaskier threw back his head and laughed, Geralt just shook his and smiled.

Then you got a bright idea, “Hey, now that I’m not just another damsel in distress for Geralt to protect on journeys like Jaskier—“ “Hey!” “—maybe I can come with you guys when you leave for adventures!”

“Are you sure that would be safe Y/N?” The Witcher asked. You nodded, “I think that maybe the fates led us to each other because they knew we would be able to help each other. It’s destiny!” Geralt groaned, “Don't say that word.”

You nudged him with your shoulder, “I’m not such a bad destiny to have am I?”

“No Y/N, you’re the best destiny to have.”

With that, the three friends walked through the forest, back to your cottage.

Some say that many songs were created that day, the day Life and Death and Between came to be friends for eternity.

Toss a coin to your Witcher

O’Valley of Plenty

O’

The tales of three are whispered

In the dead of night

As Life and Death, became friends

And joined the quest to fight.

To save mankind from its horrid greed

Greatest of friends, and seldom foes

A human also accompanied thee.

Toss a coin to your Witcher

O’Valley of Plenty

O’

And a friend to the Guardian of humanity.

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tag yourself for future writings here

tags: @stretchkingblog97 @alienemilyyyy @angelic-kisses13 @alwayshave-faith @holyhumorliteraturelight @emilyhuynhhh @holychic

bolded are tags that didn’t work.

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt imagine #geralt x reader #jaskier x reader #jaskier #the witcher #the witcher x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt fanfic #the witcher fandom #plentyyywrites #100 followers #:)#fairies

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freyannalynnburke · 4 years

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I Could’ve Danced All Night

Freya giggled as she gave a twirl, the incredible length of her skirt swirling around on the floor as she admired herself in the mirror of Andrea’s dorm room. The younger of the two girls had offered to help get Freya ready for the ball, a slight bond having been made between the pair. It had started when they’d gone shopping together, just the two of them, going to little shops in Hogsmeade as they searched out regular clothes for Freya and a dress for Andrea, who was now old enough to attend the ball for the first time. They had spent the morning giddy and giggling, going from one shop to the next, Freya’s purse more than full enough for the both of them. Oh but if her parents had only known what she was spending her pocket money on! They would not have been impressed at all, but for Freya, it was less worrisome and much more fun than she’d had in a very, very long time. She had new things she’d never before owned in her wardrobe. Skirts, t-shirts, a hoodie, and even a pair of jeans! Jeans! She hadn’t gone too overboard, not wanting to gather more than she could hide in the bottom of her trunk when summer time came. Andrea had shown her what things paired nicely together, how girls of the modern world wore their clothes and, how to properly tie the pair of sneakers Freya had hugged close to her chest. They were red, simple canvas things with high tops that would match the hoodie she’d gotten. She hadn’t worn any of it yet though, spending most of her time in her school uniform… that, and she wanted the first thing Max saw her in other than her usual garb to be this amazing dress.

The skirt on the light blue dress remained mostly untouched, but the top… Oh the top. When it had arrived in the mail from home, Freyannalynn had grimaced, the awful high neck and long sleeves overwhelmingly old fashioned. She’d shown it to Andrea who had stuck her tongue out in disgust while Freya explained that they might need to go shopping again. Of course, the blonde had been expecting this, but she hadn’t anticipated the dress being as bad as it was. Andrea had made another suggestion though, and with her and a couple of her friends, they had managed to transform the top of the dress to something astoundingly beautiful. And even if they had screwed it up, well, Freya would just have dragged Andrea off shopping to find something much more acceptable… Something she wanted to be seen in. Specifically by one particular Slytherin boy.

Now Freya stood, her chest and shoulders completely exposed for the first time in… well, ever. Her minimal breasts were pressed upwards beneath a pretty lace sweetheart neckline, two bands of ruffled fabric acting as sleeves hanging halfway down her upper-arms, more decorative than useful to be honest. Her back was bare from the shoulder blades up, and the skirt… it was so full and fluffy, trailing across the floor despite the pair of heels Freya wore beneath it. It was made up of a massive load of delicate tulle and twined with beautiful flowers. If Freya had been any less graceful than she was, any less capable of walking in heels or unused to dresses with such long flowing skirts, she might have been apt to trip over the damn thing several million times before the night was over. The Ravenclaw had grown up with such dresses though, she knew how to navigate them, her steps careful but determined.

Blonde locks fell down Freya’s back, curled loosely to bring out their natural need to swirl upwards, the front pulled to the back of her head and held in place by a large delicate clip shaped like a butterfly, blue gemstones places into swirling silver wings. Andrea had been gentle with Freya’s make-up, knowing her brother didn’t like it when girls were too overly done. She kept it natural. Pink lips, mascara, delicate eyeliner and a misting of sparkles. By the time she was done, Freya looked all the world like she belonged in a fairy tale. Something that was going to be wasted upon her actual date, but that they both hoped Max would approve of when he came to join them. He’d promised, after all, that he would go to the ball. Freya was saving him a dance… and this was for him. This girl in the mirror. Not for her date who she was set to attend with out of duty and respect for her parents.

“You’re done, get going already.” Andrea pressed at Freya, tossing the thin shawl the older girl was wearing over her shoulders. It was blue, like her dress, and covered up the exposed skin, giving her an air of mystery as well as modesty. Freya nodded, gave Andrea’s hand a squeeze of thanks, and then headed out, careful not to trip over her dress as she headed through the castle to meet up with her date. They’d agreed he would pick her up in the Entrance Hall and it was with a frown and sigh that she greeted him, taking the offered arm and allowing herself to be led into the Great Hall, her blue eyes trailing, searching for the familiar head of black hair she hoped would be here.

This was how Freya spent most of her night. She danced with her date, drank from the beautiful ice fountain, watched her peers have fun and run about giddily. She could see Eveleen, twirling rapidly about in a velvet gown with that same redheaded girl Freya and Max had run into at the shack, both of them laughing brightly even as a small blonde girl reached out to grab the redhead away from Eveleen. The brunette didn’t seem the least bit phased, giving them a wave before spinning back around and being caught up by the tall boy called Coal. It seemed they had resolved the issue of having to keep their relationship hidden if they were here together. Freya smiled at that before her date was snapping his fingers to try and get her attention back and she turned her head away from the dance floor to look up at him. He drawled on about the new summer home his parents had just purchased in Italy and perhaps she would like to visit sometime this summer? Freya simply nodded to be polite as she sipped at her drink.

Where was Maximus?

The longer the dance went on, the more and more saddened Freya became. He had promised her he’d be here, to share a dance with her. Freya kept her shawl on the whole time, never removing it, her eyes constantly flickering to the doorway and back again, wondering if she’d missed him entering. She shot Andrea a look of questioning when she spotted her, but the younger girl shrugged and shook her head, not seeming to know where her brother was either. Her date kept going on and on… she couldn’t take it much longer.

“I’m afraid I’ve grown quite weary.” Freya stated, offering her icey glass up to her date. He took it, staring down at her in confusion. “I do believe it time to retire for the evening. Thank you for a lovely time.” She smiled, but didn’t ask him to walk with her as she shifted away from him and the table they were sharing with some of their other peers. Freya was able to disappear into the crowd then, making her way for the door before looking over her shoulder to make sure the table was completely out of sight before she moved deeper into the room again, skirting around the opposite edge. Maximus had said he would come. Freya didn’t want to stay with her date any longer, but she also didn’t want to leave in case Max came. He would… he’d promised! And Max… he was honest. He wouldn’t go back on his word like that, would he?

Desperate, Freya found herself loading up a plate of food and grabbing a couple glasses of punch before she was looking around the room again for a place to hide away for a while. There was a mostly empty table near the fountain… the table cloth was long and she was small. So, with little regard for her dress at this point, the Ravenclaw lifted the cloth and crawled her way beneath the table, careful of her plate and skirts. She settled onto the floor, able to stay without being seen by her peers. She reached up, tugging cushions off chairs to make the floor a bit more comfortable as she picked away at her plate with her fingers. She’d grabbed things that looked appealing but new, like chicken wings coated with some kind of delicious peanut sauce, several desserts that included strawberries, and a large piece of pecan pie. Freya remained under the table for a long time, eating and drinking and listening to the dance going on around her. She laid down eventually, able to peek out from under the cloth to people watch. The music flowed continuously along with laughter and the chatter of voices. Not one bothered her, and soon, Freya found herself filling with a sense of dread.

Max wasn’t coming. He would have been here by now.

Heart breaking at the thought, Freya wrapped her arms around herself and gave a small sniffle as her eyes began to water. Tears fell rapidly down her cheeks and nose, but she did nothing to stop them as they streaked her face, running a bit black from the make up Andrea had so painstakingly put upon her. She curled tighter, the cushions beneath her keeping the floor soft and warm as she began to sob properly. The table cloth lifted and there was a girl there, one of Andrea’s friends. Freya shooed her away, not wanting to be bothered as she reached out, snatching up one of the strawberries from a dessert and shoving it into her mouth. The girl dropped the table cloth, leaving Freya be as she continued to cry. She closed her eyes, chewing away at the strawberry, and eventually, wearing herself out. This ball had been a bust. Why had she even bothered coming if Max wasn’t going to be here after all? What had she gotten all dressed up for, worked so hard at teaching him to dance for… It was all for naught. With these thoughts running through her mind, the Ravenclaw succumbed to sleep, face a mess of streaked make up and strawberry juice.

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rosemallowss · 4 years

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How I Imagine the Different Songs In An Animatic:

Though I think my doodles are pretty adequate, I’m not good at drawing anatomy, proportions, backgrounds, or conveying the emotion I really want to show in art. However, I can describe them, and hope that one day a truly talented artist/storyboarder will bring my ideas alive for me. Or my future self will have at least made progress in her art skills & help me out. CAUTION: This is extremely long. Some songs are missing, I know! But I mainly wrote about the songs that I imagined the MOST vividly!

With Him Around Me:

The sun is setting, so the sky is an orangish yellow. Feda is at a cliff, singing out into an enormous valley below with a gentle, close eyed expression. The camera pans to reveal the beauty of this location. We see enormous hills that stretch on for miles. His smile is calm as he sings. His arms hug himself softly as he sings the final, my mind felt a gentle peace, and we see a transfixed Paiman in the background, star struck.

All That I’ve Known: Paiman is alone at the location from the prior song. He looks lost in thought. (Due to him pondering a question Feda asks him in the scene between the songs) He’s strict, and he’s brutal, but I know that he protects me- Paiman’s expression changes a lot within this. It goes from upset, eyebrows pinched, then they soften sadly and his arms hug himself. He looks up into the distance and sings He’s all that I’ve known with a melancholy look. He turns around away from the view, eyebrows pinched again- He wants, he’s demanding. Soft expression again and he curls into himself, hugging tighter- but it hurts when he rejects me. His head lowers to the ground, closing his eyes and eyebrows displaying his sad expression- he’s all that I’ve known. Cuts to a memory during this next lyric, Paiman tucking in his knees, trembling behind a couch- When he comes home, I hide out of fear- then, light changes, as if it is night time, and Paiman’s face is troubled, on the verge of tears, looking to the side, as if waiting for something- Then sometimes I miss him when he isn’t here. Scene cuts again to present Paiman on the mountain. He’s again looking off in the distance- He’s tough and it’s clear who he wants me to be. Paiman’s expression shifts to one of understanding, his head lowers slightly- but he needs the affection. His eyes open and sad and eyebrows lift to show as if he is pondering something, his arms are in front of him, bent and fingers as if grasping the air softly- or maybe that’s me? His hands drop, and his head lowers and he looks at the ground or drops to it with his knees, eyes closed and a defeated, broken expression, teeth clenched painfully- Now he doesn’t want me anymore. He looks at the now dark valley, city lights shining ahead and his face once again confused and sad- but how can I go? He’s all that I’ve known. Closes his eyes, stands, eyes squeezed shut as he shouts into the distance and his fists squeezed with emotion by his sides- That’s all I know! He lowers his head, preparing to tip it up further and shout at the the sky and this time his palms are spread out, and the camera pans a little away from him standing at the edge of this cliff- that’s all I know! Camera further pans out, birds eye view, spinning slowly to show how his voice carries throughout the valley, and this time his arms are spread out, eyes squeezed shut, shouting with emotion the final- that’s all I know! Ends

Into Your Hands: Music begins, Feda is smiling in front of Paiman whose eyes gently shut. They are in an area full of abandoned items on the mountain sides. It cuts to a vision where we see misc people walking into a room, Feda is beginning to narrate the beginning- Guests arrive, they’re so polite. Feda gestures to them looking around with happy grins- they form lines as they wait to see you. Then cutting to Feda’s hands fixing up Paiman’s outfit, we only see Feda’s hands and then his concentrated face; this is a closeup, obstructing Paiman’s outfit first as he sings- you’re king for a night. The camera cuts to a full view of Paiman’s outfit, (it is the same outfit Paiman wears in A Song He Never Chose Finale) Paiman’s face and pose appears comically lost and adorable- wearing clothes a rich man would. Feda is next to him and Paiman looks at him while Feda sings- And you know all the guests are staring- Cuts to just Feda spinning around, then posing to point at Paiman with finger guns & a wink and smile during -cause you’re looking good! Cuts to Paiman looking down at his outfit, pulling at his collar and smiling with a slight blush- You think so? Feda’s face falls to a playful glare, and he goes to mess up Paiman’s hair, in which Paiman smiles bashfully and hits away Feda’s hand, resulting in a grin from Feda- Don’t let it get to your head! Cuts to Feda appearing next to a crowd of awestruck men, gesturing- You look like someone men look up to. Paiman is now in front of these men, Feda still gesturing to them, and Paiman stares at him with some intensity- Guess the clothes have their effect. Feda is next to Paiman, puts his fingertips on Paiman’s face to tilt it toward the men and stare at them- just think about how great it feels. Paiman’s eyes close as he tries embody Feda’s words- to have respect. Camera spins around Paiman, and suddenly he is in a living room with standing people, and he looks around, lost- You enter and then everybody stands. Paiman looks at Feda, who is suddenly next to him, still singing- when you take your life into your hands. Feda tilts Paiman’s head to look ahead, staring right at the camera, and Feda’s face appears slightly serious; Scene cuts to a figure underneath a shawl, sitting on a couch, face is obstructed- Then, there’s her. For a moment, Paiman moves, and then the scene cuts to him sitting tightly next to this obstructed female figure underneath the shawl, and his expression is troubled- You sit close beneath a shawl. His face is visibly uncomfortable, the imagined female figure is still and unmoving because the focus is all on Paiman- It’s the first time you’ve ever met her, or seen her at all. Cuts to Feda simply singing, explaining- You’re afraid- Then, cuts to a scene where a handheld mirror covered in cloth is held out to Paiman- It all feels new. The cloth is pulled off, and we see Paiman and Feda instead of the obstruced female figure sitting closely together underneath the shawl in this mirror while Feda is singing and Paiman is simply staring at the reflection with a concentrated expression- Then you look at her in the mirror, and see she’s scared too. The scene cuts to both Feda and Paiman underneath the shawl, Paiman looks at Feda and Feda is singing to him with a lovely expression- And hopefully you’ll feel this feeling, like a magic inner light, Cuts to Paiman’s face under the shawl, appearing awe-struck at the appearance of Feda- The kind of thing you always feel, Scene cuts to Feda still under the shawl with a gentle, calm and happy smile, his hand gesturing, singing When something’s right. Scene cuts to Feda’s hand on Paiman’s heart, and Paiman looks down at the hand on his chest, still with that awestruck expression- A message that your heart just understands. Scene pans to both of them underneath the shawl, this time we are back in reality in the junkyard where they are sitting on the ground, and Paiman is in his usual outfit, not the imagined formal outfit; Paiman is just staring at Feda, while Feda’s hands are together, as if cupping the air- When you take your life into your hands, into your hands. Still the same scene, Feda’s eyes open at the sound of Paiman’s voice, and Paiman is blushing, smile and expression bashful (evident in his eyebrows- You know, I’ve heard abt all this before, but I never felt it like I do now. Cuts to close up of Feda, nodding with a gentle smile- Me too. Cuts to Paiman, averting his eyes and still smiling- You’re a good storyteller. You’ll do well as a singer. Feda smiles during the music before the next lyrics. Then, they’re both back in that imagination with Paiman in his rich man’s outfit, sitting on the couch again. Scene cuts to droplets of unknown liquid- drops of henna Cuts to Feda’s fingertips touching Paiman’s palm, gradually lifting away to reveal henna tattoos on his hand- mean it’s done. Cuts to Paiman staring down at his hand, Paiman’s face staring in awe- it’s a mark that can mean forever, and to become one. We cut to a scene with the two of them again, Feda looking toward Paiman- And something deep inside you changes, it’s not major you’re still you. Cuts to Paiman staring at Feda- but somehow there’s this little part that’s strange and new. Cuts back to Feda, expression suddenly awestruck and cheeks tinted while watching Paiman, singing (as he realizes the lyrics apply to him as well)- You suddenly forget your thought of plans. Feda turns his head, showing his side profile, looking thoughtfully ahead of him underneath that shawl with a soft smile- When you take your life into your hands. Cuts to Paiman staring gently at this side profile- Into your hands . . . As the music drifts off, the camera slowly distances itself from the two, first with Paiman and Feda staring at each other, still sitting on the couch and Paiman in his rich man outfit, then with them back to reality; Paiman and Feda staring at each other on the ground with the shawl draped over them and both in their regular outfits.

A Boy of My Own: Feda’s expression is shocked and horrified, standing with clenched fists as Paiman sits on the floor, appearing defeated; At the end of the lyric he goes to sit next to Paiman- I don’t care how old I get! I would never treat my dancing boy this way! Feda looks at Paiman’s injured face; black eye, bruised cheek, bleeding lip, with one of sadness as he begins singing- When I have a boy of my own, Cuts to Feda looking angry and gesturing frustratedly with his hands- I won’t scare him- Cuts to his eyebrows narrowed angrier as his hands are thrown up and his teeth clenched- or beat him Cuts to his hand gesturing off into the distance, and he looks up still with narrowed expression- or treat him unfair. His expression softens then, closing his eyes as his hands lower and he slowly begins to smile thoughtfully- from the day that I find him. Feda wraps his arms around himself, still with that closed, soft expression- I’ll hold him and I’ll remind him how deeply I care. He opens his eyes, arm reaching toward something- I’ll be there, Then, we a small boy in front of him, face obscured and Feda’s expression is soft as he reaches toward the boy in his imagination- When I have a boy, The imagination dissipates like a cloud as Feda’s hand closes in a fist; he closes his eyes again with a soft smile on his face, and we see Paiman standing in the background, blurred as the camera’s focus still remains on Feda’s daydreaming face- Of my own. When the violins starts, Paiman’s standing figure is now in focus, then Feda’s eyes snap open in surprise, and turns his head toward him once Paiman begins to sing, day dreaming like expression- When I have a boy of my own, Cuts to Feda sitting while watching with a concentrated face as we see Paiman look distractedly off into the distance- I will let him keep dancing. Cuts to Paiman watching a little boy, posing as if he were finishing a dance; the boy is in the foreground while Paiman and Feda are in the background watching- no matter the price. Cuts to Paiman; hand gesturing, and very expressive as he does so- I’ll NEVER command him! He looks toward a carefully watching Feda and explains with a sad expression- I’ll just understand him. Paiman looks back toward the boy, And give him advice. Paiman kneels down, and is now seen hugging the imagined boy with a loving look on his face- I’ll be nice! He squeezes his hug, causing the boy to disappear like a cloud, then opens his eyes with a forlorn look, When I have a boy of my own. Cuts to Feda appearing determined & passionate, with a clenched fist- He’ll feel wanted and talented! Cuts to Paiman looking back at Feda, just as determined- He’ll feel warmth and security! Feda looks back, and they move toward each other, Feda’s expression soft- He’ll feel special. Cuts to Paiman, eyes closed, Cause I’ll make let him know. Cuts to Feda, replying- Yes I’ll let him know! Cuts to a shot of them side to side looking fiercely determined as Paiman sings- How sometimes your dreams can come true! Then, we see a little boy appear in front of Feda again, and it looks as though Feda is singing to him while Paiman looks as though he is singing to Feda with a look of longing- He’ll know how much I worship him, he’ll know how much I’d give for him. Transitions to Paiman’s face still appearing longing, as if wanting to get Feda’s attention- He’ll feel special. Paiman’s face looks forward, eyebrows cinched to represent the determination and buildup he has before singing- Cause I’ll make him feel. Cuts to Feda still looking elsewhere and not at Feda, smiling and repeating- Yes I’ll make him feel, Then Paiman’s looks toward the ground, expression suddenly fearful- The way that I feel around you. Cut to Feda’s expression changing to one of shock, and the imagined boy in front of him disappears as he turns his head toward Paiman to say- What? Then, Paiman’s body turns further away from Feda, expression shameful and scared, as if he is preparing to run- I’m sorry if it’s not something you can say, but it’s how I feel. Feda quickly reaches forward and grabs his face with both hands (one hand is wrapped in a gauze) gently to turn him around- Wait! Paiman looks up at Feda, expression still scared and expecting. Then, cuts to Feda’s face, soft and a gentle, crooked smile- When I have a boy of my own. His eyes avert elsewhere, still same expression- All his steps will be quiet and subtle. The scene cuts to Paiman’s face, cradled in Feda’s gentle hands, and his eyes are gleaming, very hopeful and mouth slightly agape- Like yours. Then, Paiman softly smiles, removes Feda’s hands, then camera cuts to him standing and he sings, Well then mine will be fearless. His eyes look down for a moment, and he turns away from Feda, then looks up, like he is daydreaming- With dancing that every man in the world just adores. He turns back to Feda, a bashful expression as he cocks his head and gestures toward Feda- Much like yours. He pulls his hand in, then sings- When I have a boy, Cuts to a shot of them side by side, singing- [This part here is blank in my mind for now lol] This part of the song gets intense and passionate, but what mashed together in my head is something similar to that of dancing in the stars like in “La La Land” as well as imagined appearances of what the City Boys believe they look like together as adults in front of them, and they both reach out toward that image- He’ll stay with me for many years after he’s grown. Then, when we reach the ending after they hold out those notes, of course it ends in a passionate kiss.

Denying The Sun: Though my imagination for this song is not really complete, but I will write what I know for sure goes on in my mind during this: The Unknown Man’s expression is determined as he stares down at the knife in his hands, almost shouting- Bury it now! Camera pans as the scene cuts to a little boy speaking to him, that same knife in his hands- Father, what is this? The Unknown Man’s expression is pale and scared- Where did you find that!?) Cuts to the little boy looking guilty for a moment before he stares down at the knife with a look of wonder- Sorry father, it was under your bed, Cuts to a view of the knife where we see a carved spinning dervish on the handle- Why is that man flying? The Unknown Man closes his eyes, almost painfully- He’s not. Cuts to the little boy still staring wondrously at the knife- When I grow up, I’d like to fly like that. His expression changes to one of determination- Then no one can hurt me- Cuts quickly to the man running forward to the boy- Give that to me! When music crescendos we see the man “fall” forward, and the camera spins as the vision of the little boy dissipates and we are back in the present, The Unknown Man falling to the ground with the knife in his hands, and he pauses with a wide-eyed expression on his face; during this brief moment of silence in the music, his eyes squeeze shut, as if pained and teeth gritted. Suddenly, his eyes snap open, and camera pans away from him as we see the man on the ground, knife in his hands and expression lost or transfixed as he stares off into the distance- Sing so the mountains can hear it. Transitions to a faraway longshot of City Boys on their cherished mountain side; Feda sitting and stroking Paiman’s hair as he lays on his lap- Sing like you know you belong. The scene transitions to a better shot of them, Feda with closed eyes, head tilted up as he sings into the sky, into the valley while continuously stoking Paiman’s hair; Feda’s hand is wrapped in a gauze; and Paiman’s face is calm, peaceful; his cheek has a giant bruise, scratches, and he has a black eye, yet his sleeping face appears at ease and content- Sing so the tune is filled with spirit. Cuts to Feda’s peacefully singing face- So deep, and true, and strong. Cuts to Paiman’s sleeping face- Then all the world will follow. Cuts to the both of them on the mountainside and Feda lowers his head- Your song. As the music begins again, the scene fades back to The Unknown Man, appearing pained, and he stands with a solemn look on his face as the song ends.

In The City: It is sunset, Paiman is preparing to leave and is leaning on his crutch. The bruises on his face are still present as he sings with a solemn look at the ground- I had asked for a new life, I could see it when I’d pray. He looks out toward the open window, watching the sky change colors while singing, his expression lightens when thinking of Feda- We both wanted a new life, His expression turns hopeful and happy, and he limps with his crutch further toward the door- Now freedom might not be so far away. He is standing outside now, smiling, holding out his gauzed hand- Like some great surprise, He looks up, That’s sent from the sky. He brings his fist to himself, If I close my eyes, Cuts to scene that is focused on his face, and slowly closing his eyes- I can see it. Fades to black during the pause of the music. Suddenly, Paiman appears on a sidewalk, men walking about and his expression is one of surprise, he bears no injuries and is wearing clean clothes- I could get a job! His head turns left and right, as if considering every single shop he sees on the street- It doesn’t matter what. He smiles, eyes sparkling- There are tons of shops, so much there to do, I could choose! Suddenly, he appears in a well furnished apartment, again, look of surprise on his face- I could get a place! He walks toward the window of his apartment- He could live nearby, Paiman leans out toward the window, giddy and looking above the city until his eyes catch on Feda, smiling at him and waving, just across the street in an apartment as well- I might catch his glance. Cuts to closeup scene of Paiman waving back, smiling even bigger and lovestruck- Perfect views. Cuts to then Paiman walking somewhere, twirling with his arms out while walking- I’ll have a wonderful life, Suddenly he is surrounded by cheering men in some place while Paiman is twirling in costume- Where I can dance at night. His eyes are gleaming as he continues to move and sing- Finally free, And suddenly, the crowd is gone as he stops and stares off into the distance with that same hopeful grin- Now it’s just a few days walk, and right out of sight. Scene smoothly shifts to Paiman twirling in a different costume, performing in front of people, dancing in front of a fire with a kind crowd, Feda can be seen at the front, watching and applauding with love, Paiman glances at him, beaming happily during his dance- In the city, they will let me dance and I won’t have to hide! Scene shifts to him standing, with the view of the city before him and he is awestruck by the busyness, the amount of people, the shops and farmers- In the city, there is always more to see. Cuts to upclose shot of Paiman with determined expression- I bet you in the city- scene expands to a shot of him holding hands with Feda, looking at him passionately as people walk around them and pay no attention- no one stops to stare. Scene cuts to close up of a passionate Paiman- and each passing prayer is just waiting there. Transitions back to a close eyed, injured Paiman who still has a hopeful, dreamlike expresson and leaning on his crutch- in the city, I can find the place for me. During this beat of music, the scene shifts over to Feda in his home, packing things like food and various other important objects into a bag all the while with a hopeful gleam singing- We could find a spot. He looks up, hopeful, smiling, and beginning to daydream- Hidden by a wall, no one else around, His eyes close- Just for me and him, all alone. Cuts to Feda’s own fantasy, him holding hands with an uninjured Paiman, leading him as they crouch underneath a wall, bringing him to a view similar to that of their spot on the mountainside- We could go at night. Cuts again to the boys overlooking a beautiful view, Feda’s arms wrap protectively around Paimans chest, Feda’s eyes closed, chin resting in the crook of his neck peacefully, while Paiman lays out in front of him and Feda’s mouth sings, and his expression is clear that he is in love with this sight- he’d lie in my arms- Feda’s eyes open and Paiman and him look at each other with determination- We could plan a life of our own. Their heads turn to see someone walking, looking at them with a friendly expression and they wave kindly- even if someone sees, The person walks off, and we see Paiman and Feda smile contentedly- Well maybe they won’t care. The two look off into the distance- they all have lives, everything will work out fine- Feda smiles into Paiman’s hair, hugging him closer- once we both live there. Cuts to a scene where Feda is on a raised platform, singing to an audience and earning money just like he wished for; the camera moves around him as he moves with passion, just like how he always dances, and engages with the crowd- In the city, people like their homes and know they wanna stay! He stops, expression wide eyed and beaming, like he is distracted by something in the crowd, but continues singing, as camera is a close up of his face- In the city, The scene cuts to what he is is staring at, and we see Paiman at the front of the crowd, cheering, clapping, with a look of love in his eyes- there is always more to see. Cuts back to Feda, turning and continuing his song- I bet you in the city. Scene cuts to somewhere on an empty streets, beautiful street lights lighting it up as Paiman and Feda sit alone, stargazing- streets are filled with light, Feda looks at Paiman lovingly- even late at night, His hand gracefully cups Paiman’s face- we’ll be treated right. Feda closes his eyes gently, and grins happily as he sings- In the city, I can find the place for me. Cuts to screen split in half, back to reality, where Paiman is looking out into the distance thoughtfully with his bruised face on one side, and Feda looking out with a determined smile singing, pretty much the same as their expressions in the recording studio at this scene- In the city, there’s an airport if you need to get away, in the city feeling safe’s a guarantee, I bet you in the city, we can go a lot to our favorite spot where we won’t get caught, in the city, Scene suddenly cuts to Feda looking extremely excited, hands clenched together and stars in his eyes as the camera twirls around his figure, arms stretched out as he belts- I can find the place for me! Scene cuts to the fantasy world again- In the city, Cuts to a busy crowd bustling in the city, but both of their faces are prominent, and the scene is cutting back and forth from Feda’s point of view of seeing Paiman, and then Paiman’s point of view of seeing Feda on the other side of the street- Even in the crowds, he’s all I ever see The two run to each other, grasp each other’s hand as they sing- In the city, we’ll have so much to discuss! The boys and running hand in hand, excited and happy, running through the crowd- I bet you in the city, somewhere safe from view I’ll feel something new! They surpass the busy crowd, stop, and look at each other with love in there eyes- and he’ll feel it too. Their expressions are the happiest they’ve ever been- In the city, we can find the place for us! The camera pans up to the blue sky, then the scenery changes to that sunset orange to show that this is no longer in the fantasy world, and pans back down to Paiman’s limping body as he happily walks out of the home, toward their meeting place- I know in the city, in the city! Cuts to Feda slinging his bag over his shoulder and singing- In the city. Cuts to Paimain again smiling and looking up- In the city. Screen splits in half again, showing both of their perspectives- In the city, there will be a place for us! Cuts to Paiman- A place for, Cuts to Feda gleefully shouting, Us! Quickly cuts to Paiman again- Us! Then cuts to Feda standing determined, holding his bag and staring out as we see the figure of Zemar lurking behind him, and it cuts off to black. (This scene happens extremely fast)

I Can See It: Jahandar is in abandoned marketplace, holding an oil lamp as he closes his eyes and sings in bliss- Look ahead and the road’s unclear, look around and the world seems dark, look again, Jahandar’s eyes open- and you might see a spark. The camera pans to a view of Jahandar’s version of a utopia of Afghanistan, power, and rubble rebuilt. Quickly, Jahandar opens his eyes, and his expression is sad- just one spark doesn’t seem like much. He moves, holding his oil lamp over rubble and dirt- just one spark will begin to grow. Camera pans to his once again hopeful expression, just one spark, and the world begins to glow. His eyes close as he smiles giddly. However, the scene cuts to Paiman, waiting nervously at his meeting place and the sky is dark- And I can see it, Paiman looks up, ahead, and the camera captures his worried profile- through the darkness, He looks down toward the path he came from- a burning vision, We cut back to Jahandar, he holds the lamp close to him, raising it above his head that it illuminates his face and he sings- like a star. He reaches ahead of him, grasping at something- in the distance, pulls his hand into his chest, then much nearer, somehow clearer. He waves the lamp over a large can of fuel- just one spark makes the turbines spin, then over another, one that is spilled- Just one spark makes the fuel- cuts to Jahandar covering his nose at the stench- ignite. He moves away, looking off with a wandering gaze and singing- just one spark will become a grid of light, our world connected. We cut to Paiman, struggling to walk down a path in the darkness- I can see it, He looks up, expression fearful- through the darkness. Scene cuts to a view of Feda’s home- a burning vision. Scene cuts back to Paiman’s scared face, in which he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and attempts to put on a determined face, within his bruises, though he is terrified- an ancient star. Cuts to Jahandar again, his eyes are closed, and then he opens it, clearly waiting, then looks out of the window of the military base- In the distance, then much nearer, somehow clearer. His face contorts- people only think of what they want. Quickly cuts to Paiman’s face appearing, opening the door to Feda’s home- Feda? Scene cuts to Paiman in Feda’s living room, trying to find Feda- self involved, stumbling through the dark. Paiman is in the middle of the room, leaning tiredly on his crutch, and we see a figure appear behind him- People never see the greater plan, Then he speaks into nothingness, and his expression is scared- Why weren’t you there tonight? We cut back to Jahandar, hands spread out, toward the distance- Unaware, but it’s there, right out there. Scene cuts back to where Paiman is, turning around as Zemar’s figure stands before him, quickly cutting to his dark expression- And I, Cut to Paiman, his face engulfed in fear as he says, Zemar?. Zemar stands before him, expression greedy, a blindfold is visibly clutched in his hands- And I. Cut to Paiman, backing away- Please. Paiman is staring on, Zemar is still inching toward him- And I. Cuts to Paiman’s expression for a split second, and then suddenly Zemar tightens the blindfold around Paiman, and grabs him as his crutch clatters to the ground- No! Cut to Jahandar, still fantasizing, an imaginary Utopia in his hands as he sings- I can see it! (Rest of song continues like this, until the very end, when solemn music begins) During the end of the song, we see Paiman’s crutch lay abandoned on the floor, then camera pans to a defeated looking Feda, tears streaming down his face, sitting in the abandoned mountainside full of abandoned objects; there is torn paper next to him, it is the poster of the boy singers; representing his ripped up dreams of living in the city. End

Paiman’s Dance: (This setting is unclear to me, but I believe at this point this is the morning after, and Zemar has left to find Jahandar. So I decided that Paiman left the home, then up to the the cliff with the view of the valleys and objects as I’d imagine after living through that fear, one would want to leave instantly after waking up) Paiman walks limply, then misplaces his steps and clatters to the ground with a cry. Paiman hoists himself on an elbow- The boy clings to the strength he had, he mumbles to himself- tells himself it’s not so bad, Paiman’s face is twisted in agony as well as twitching between that and determination-- but of course they can make you. Paiman closes his eyes, face pinched- bruised and daunted, they had used him for all they wanted. He opens his eyes, lifts himself higher on his elbow and narrows his eyes and mouths- but he tells himself, “You cannot let them break you.” During this instrumental, he struggles to stand, but after the guitar strings come in, he stands, albeit a bit awkwardly and leans on his crutch. There is a pause in which he tries to steady himself, but once the guitar plays again, he falls, but not before getting back up quickly and breathing out. He then throws his crutch, trying to balance himself as he walks with the music. A pause happens again, and his face twitches, then relaxes as he simply moves silently. Once the music comes back in, he begins to gracefully move his body to the tempo but there is still an awkwardness to his moves and he falls yet again, and rolls to the floor when the guitar riff occurs, but then stands up quickly with a disgruntled expression. The piano starts to play faster, and during this he is moving faster, dancing as gracefully as he can to this, expression constantly changing, sweating and giving more determination as the piano moves and he twirls beautifully right as Paiman’s theme rolls in, and suddenly the scenery changes to that of a fantasy, and Paiman is smiling, dancing in the sky like he is flying, dancing and twirling as beautifully as he can to his childlike song, and at one point we cut to Feda who has come up the mountainside at one point, but he is so transfixed by this sight, then does not want to interrupt, and hides away. He sings to himself- Sing so the mountains can hear it. And the scene once again cuts to Paiman, still smiling and dancing in “the sky” to the music- sing like you know you belong, sing so the tune is filled with spirit. Cut to Feda singing to himself again, pained expression- so deep, and true and strong. Then all the world will follow, your song. Cut to Paiman finishing his dance, and he slowly opens his eyes, staring out at the horizon as the song ends.

A Song He Never Chose (Finale): Essentially, throughout the entire time The Unknown Man is singing, the boys are running, and end up at the abandoned indoor marketplace where Zemar and Jahandar usually resided in between scenes. Fuel tanks surround them. The boys are arguing, Feda is shouting with a lantern in his hand but he mainly looks pained and sad when he does, and Paiman looks extremely passionate when he argues back. When the gun shot sounds, the two look off, startled, and then both just look scared. Below them, there are the sounds of the angry crowd. Feda grabs Paiman, he looks absolutely crushed and tears are beginning to fall from his eyes as he holds Paiman’s face, then shakes his head- They’re almost here. Do you understand me? There’s nowhere on earth we can hide!) Scene cuts to Paiman, he is already crying and says, Then maybe we won’t stay on his earth. He pulls away from Feda’s hands. Cuts to Feda for a second who looks agonized, and then cuts back to Paiman who pulls out the knife with the dervish on the handle. He stares at it, expression already defeated and lost as he speaks, closing his eyes as his tears fall down- You once told me about a dance that could lift you off the ground and bring you closer to God. The camera shifts back to Feda, who is shaking his head in disbelief as tears flood down his cheeks. He tenderly grabs Paiman’s arm, pleading with him as Paiman looks up at him- No, I don’t have anything to lose! You’re different, you could still have a life! Shifts back to Paiman shaking his head back- not without you. Suddenly, Paiman steps back and stabs one of the fuel tanks with the knife. He turns around singing as Feda watches him, eyes wide and nonstop flowing- I never felt lonely with him around me, and wherever we’d go, my mind felt a gentle peace. They sing together, smiling sadly and holding hands until the knocks on the door startle them again. Feda lifts his lantern, expression determined- Get a chair, prop it against the downstairs door. Paiman steps toward him- I’m not leaving, we do this together! Feda then shoves him, and his expression is sad, yet determined and his smile does not quite reach his eyes- Go! I promise I’ll wait for you. Paiman nods, kisses Feda, and leaves. As the music crescendoes, Feda looks at the wreckage, stares at the hole in the fuel tank that is leaking fuel. He looks over his shoulder, waiting until he is sure Paiman is downstairs, and then at the music’s final crescendo, Feda closes his eyes, right before the explosion sounds and then insert a heartbeat track, in which each heartbeat consists of a happy moment of Feda and Paiman; one of their first meeting, one of their cut palms, one of their first kisses, one imagined scenario where theyre in the city, and then silence; Feda’s eyes close, then it cuts to a black screen where it consists of just words- “Paiman . . .” then cuts to the next black screen, “I love you”- then the explosion occurs.

Feda’s Song: I already generally explained how I imagined this song in my last post! His Song: I feel like the trailer with this song has given me enough imagery. Though I suppose an animatic version would probably a summarized version of the entire musical.

#The boy who danced on air #tbwdoa #city boys #paida #feda #paiman #nikhil saboo #troy iwata #can you tell how much i love this show?#my brain is working really hard to imagine things if you cant tell #i thought the boys needed an 'i love you'#this is just my interpretation lol

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devinisagirlsname · 4 years

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OCtober Day 1

Prompt: Sunrise

I’m posting this today without any proper editing or beta reading or anything. This month is going to be an exercise in me writing every day and posting so I get over the idea of people possibly seeing my work. Please, if you do read this, keep that in mind.

Also, these will all just be snippets from the larger story. If anyone is actually curious enough, feel free to ask me any questions about whatever.

On her first morning in Farland, Aisling discovered that her brand new home faced East. A burning slice of the new day broke past beautiful but functionally useless curtains to wake her. Aisling groaned and attempted to turn away from such an early morning, but that only served to alert Blue, who had been sleeping heavily at her feet. The monstrous white hound stood, stretched, and trampled his master's knee on his way to ask for breakfast.

"Blue!" She shouted, sitting bolt-upright to stop her familiar from moving from her bruised knee to more delicate lungs. Blue gave a single bark, jumped off the bed, and happily thundered to the kitchen to await breakfast. The bedroom settled back into quiet dawn, but sleep was successfully driven away.

Aisling kicked and stretched her toes to find her slippers before she pulled herself from bed. Though piled with rugs, the floor of the cabin held the night's chill as if the foundation sat on ice. Aisling hesitated in grabbing her housecoat- a thin red thing that clashed horribly with her copper hair, but it was a gift from Mother Kathleen during her first winter festival in the capital. For the warm and dry of Alterhart, the robe served Aisling well. Now, it was clearly not up for the blustery winds of the coast.

Still loath to admit she was awake so early, she topped the housecoat with one of the many extra blankets from her bed, and patted out to the kitchen. Small creaks in the wooden floor reminded her that she was no longer in the dormitory she'd grown up in, no longer surrounded by other girls with the same goals, same gifts.

Blue sat by the front door and threw his head back to look at her as she left the bedroom. It caused him to give a floppy upside-down smile before he righted himself and scratched the door with a sturdy 'thunk!'. Clearly, a stronger force than breakfast was calling to him.

"I guess we'll need to add a flap to the back door for you," Aisling mused, adding the chore to her growing list. Her hand reached for a light switch, hitting empty wall, and she was reminded of the fact that the previous owner used lay lines for all the electricity. This was the home of a Mother, after all. The most gifted magic users, sent to help communities as hands of the Grande Matriarchs.

Talented. Gifted. Magical.

Blue barked.

"Right, sorry sir," Aisling unlocked the heavy door and a gust of wind assisted her in opening it. Blue ran out immediately, jumping the stairs of the deck and bolting after something small that shook the bushes nearby. Aisling tucked her hands under her arms and shivered, but she couldn’t help but be awed at the sight that greeted her.

The cabin's location had been troublesome to reach the night before, while she was weary from travel and stressed from meeting the local leaders. A winding path with uneven, ancient wooden steps to lead you up the mountainside made her trip and stumble. Thick pine meant it was easy to get lost if you stepped off the dirt trail, and even with a guide it took nearly half an hour to drag herself to her new home.

She hadn't taken time to look back at the town once she finally made it to the front door.

The deck had box seats to a perfect view of sunrise in Farland. The yard had been planted to have shorter shrubs line the front gate, nothing that would grow so out of control as to cover the sight of the town square. The sun painted the white stone of the fountain orange, reflecting off the ever-flowing water like crystal. The sparkling effect spread all the way behind the storefronts and homes of the main town to the docks. Aisling could see a couple of small fishing boats coming back in, a few more anchored still on the horizon.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?"

Aisling threw herself back so fast she nearly cracked her skull on the doorframe. Her hands were up- still wrapped in her blanket shawl- prepared to fight before she recognized the sweet voice.

Sunflower was sat on the half-log bench, politely trying to hide her laugh. Her braids were tied back at the nape of her neck, hanging over her shoulder in a much more casual style than Aisling had seen the night before. She stood and Aisling saw she wasn't even in her Sister robes now, but in street attire of trousers and blouse, something that Aisling remembered being disciplined for back at in the dorms. A Sister was always meant to wear the uniform of her station, especially when meeting with a Mother.

"Mother Bernadette and I would meet for breakfast," Sunflower explained. A mournful look passed her dark eyes before she chased it off with a smile. "Since it's your first day, I was hoping you might keep tradition with me. Mrs. Romae will treat you to fresh coffee and bacon if you help her open the shop."

Aisling's stomach gave a whine before she could properly answer. She felt her ears redden and could no longer meet Sunflower's kind and open face.

"I'll need to dress," she finally mumbled. "I have to unpack my robes and-?"

A hand was on her shoulder, but Aisling didn't feel like she was being trapped. Instead she finally met Sunflower's eyes.

"Sunflower Addams," the sister started, her voice taking on a gravely edge and she wrinkled her face as she spoke. "This is breakfast, not a sermon! If I have to put on all those layers and chains each time I go to buy butter I am never leaving this house again!"

Sunflower un-scrunched her face and chuckled, apparently pleased by her own impression of the late Mother Bernadette.

"I used to take it all very seriously, you know," she explained. "It's what the capital tells us, that our gifts are great blessings and that we should hold up the honor of the Grande Matriarchs." She gave a heavy sigh and Aisling felt at that moment like Sunflower was truly trying to reach her for…something. "Farland isn't Alterhart. Yesterday you met everyone has Mother Harkin, I think today it would be best for you to introduce Aisling."

Blue chose that moment to come bounding back, dragging a branch the length of his body in victory up the steps. He sat at Aisling's feet and dropped it, giving the two women and tail wag and floppy smile. Aisling felt her shoulders relax, a stress she hadn't noticed suddenly leaving. She smiled.

"Then let me grab my boots and trousers. Maybe in town I can get a proper coat; Farland truly isn't Alterhart."

#my work #my writing #OC-tober #I hope this properly posts with the read more #I wrote this in three hours after I remembered I was supposed to start today #words are words I guess

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audreycritter · 4 years

Note

May I respectfully request some al gholsen content during this long and hard winter

You absolutely may, anon.Here is part one, with @tajmah ‘s wonderful art. Here is part two:

A Slow and Steady Dance

chapter 2

jimmy olsen/talia al ghul

tw: blood, OC assassin deaths, violence

***

“James? You said your name was James?”

The exclamation came out with a shower of cheese puff dust.

“My name is James! I panicked, okay?” Jimmy defended helplessly. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

“Oh my god.” Jon Kent flopped back on the bean bag chair and slapped a hand over his eyes. “James.”

“Listen, pick up that controller and fight me,” Jimmy said, pointing at the abandoned console controller by Jon’s feet. The brawling game was paused.

“Uncle Jimmy,” Jon said, laughing and coughing. Jimmy nudged the tub of cheese puffs away from Jon’s reach. “I think I know why you’re single.”

“Hey!” Jimmy said, kicking at Jon’s socked feet that were floating in the air. “Listen, you twerp, when did you get so mean? Where’s the sweet Jonno who thought I could do no wrong?”

“Middle school,” Jon’s giggle turned into a grumble and an exaggerated sigh. “It makes ya grow up too fast.”

“Cheers to that,” Jimmy said, raising his can of Zesti. He took a long swig and muttered, “I have to get better drinking buddies than ten year old.”

“I’m eleven!” Jon crowed. His feet settled on the carpet again and he licked his fingers off and dried them on his jeans before picking up the controller. “So. Are you gonna go?”

“Go where?” Jimmy asked, mashing a series of buttons.

“Uncle Jimmy,” Jon said flatly. “I saw the paper in your bag when you told me to get the pop and candy.”

“You’re a little spy,” Jimmy said. He paused the game to tap the back of Jon’s head with his elbow. “You’re as bad as your mom and dad.”

Jon ducked from the teasing blow, laughing.

Jimmy sighed. “It depends on a couple things, like if your mom gets back in time. And even if she does I’m not sure, because you’re practically still in diapers and don’t need to know.”

“So yes, but I gotta pretend I’m dumb if anyone asks,” Jon said. He unpaused the game. His onscreen character flipped Jimmy’s off a floating platform in a blur of blue and orange.

“No,” Jimmy said, with a chuckle. “It means you don’t know. Remember when I used to win sometimes?”

“You mean when I used to take it easy on you?” Jon looked sideways with a sharkish grin.

They played a few more rounds that Jimmy soundly lost, even if he would have argued it was because his head was someplace else. They were in the middle of a match Jimmy was winning because Jon’s fingers kept slipping on the controller when the sound of a key in the lock jerked both their spines upright.

“Your mom,” Jimmy hissed. “Bed like you’ve been there for an hour, go, go, go.”

A whoosh of air sent the cheese puff tub wildly spinning and Jimmy slapped a hand on it to get it to stop just as Lois tossed her stuff on the entry table and rounded the corner. Jon was nowhere in sight.

“It’s a school night, Jimmy.” Lois sounded unamused.

“He’s in bed,” Jimmy said, keeping his attention pointedly on the screen while he jumped around. The other character, unmanned, merely bounced in place under a flurry of kicks.

“Mhmm,” Lois said. “You’re just playing two player all alone.”

Jimmy paused and rapidly quit the game, rising to his feet. “No, it’s a CPU, I think the system’s just buggy? It’s been acting weird all night.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate you watching him last minute,” Lois said. She ran a hand through her hair and kicked her shoes off at the edge of the room. “I do. Appreciate it, I mean. You’re a lifesaver. Clark’s got some thing in…”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said quickly. “No problemo. See you at work tomorrow?”

“What’s up with you?” Lois leaned her head back out of the kitchen to fix him with a piercing gaze. “You usually try to stay and talk my ear off for an hour.”

“Nothing!” Jimmy said, grabbing his messenger bag. “I just, I’ve got plans, maybe. Maybe a date.”

“Jimmy. It’s midnight,” Lois said, an eyebrow raised. She disappeared fully into the kitchen, her voice disembodied as she called across the space. “I didn’t make you late, did I?”

“Nah, I’m not late yet,” Jimmy said. He tipped the Zesti Cola back to finish it off and somehow managed to miss his mouth— half of it sloshed onto his button up shirt. He stared glumly at it. “Aw, cheese and crackers.”

“There’s a stain stick in the laundry room,” Lois said.

“How did you…”Jimmy tipped his head back and sighed at the ceiling. “You can’t even see me. Are you sure Clark isn’t rubbing off on you?”

Whatever Lois mumbled under her breath from the kitchen was something he thought he probably didn’t want to hear, especially since it was followed by a snort of laughter.

“It’s fine,” Jimmy said.

“Sorry. I’ve been up too long,” Lois said, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth as she came around the corner. She raised a wine glass to him. “Have fun. Be safe.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy said. The shirt he could work around. He had time. He smiled. “Tell Clark I said hi.”

“Mhmm,” Lois said. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime,” Jimmy assured her. “He’s a great kid.”

“Jimmy,” Lois said. “Take the stain stick.”

***

Fifty-seven minutes later, Jimmy Olsen knocked on the door to Room 638 on the sixth floor of the Metropolis 3rd Street Hilton. The door was propped open by the flipped security latch. He pushed it, tentatively. It opened on an empty standard double room.

“Hiya?” he called, stepping in.

His sense of danger had perhaps been dulled by years of working with Superman a yell away, because he felt no alarm stepping into the room that very well could have been a trap.

The room was definitely empty. He knocked on the bathroom door, and then pushed it open to a dark interior. Also empty.

Jimmy stood in the middle of the room, rubbed the back of his neck, and let the bottle of wine he’d brought dangle in his grip. He sighed.

“Aw, beans,” he mumbled, feeling stupid.

It had been a joke, certainly. Getting someone to prop open the door was the easy work of twenty bucks or so. He sat on the edge of the bed and tugged at his bowtie and crisp collar of the clean shirt he’d put on, then fell back onto the smooth duvet.

“You, Jimmy Olsen,” he said to the ceiling, “are a chump.”

The bedside phone rang. It rang again, and again.

Jimmy propped himself on one elbow and stared at it. It rang a fourth time and he snatched it off the receiver and held it to his ear, the coiled cord that still survived in hotel rooms stretching out across the floor.

“Hilton, room 638,” he said.

“Mr. Olsen,” the accented voice said calmly over the line. “You came.”

Jimmy sat straight up, his back rigid. He swallowed, hard, with a cough of nervous laughter. “Yep. On time, even. Are you, um, running late?”

If the wall had been close enough to bang his head against, he might have considered doing just that. He wished he could sound smart for a whole two minutes while talking to a gorgeous woman.

“No,” she said, unruffled. “Come upstairs. Room 4201.”

The line went dead. Jimmy held the phone until the disconnected tone jarred him into motion– he set it down with a plastic click, and stood, feeling dazed.

The ride up on the elevator was a long, silent minute where he smiled at the other occupants, a man in a tuxedo and a woman in a red gown with a fur shawl. The man glared at him in return, but the woman looked disinterested and avoided eye contact. They stepped off a floor before his.

“Have a good night!” he called after them. They ignored him and he shrugged, jamming the button for the 42nd floor again for good measure.

The elevator doors opened on a hallway with geometric-patterned carpet in stark black and white. The doors were further from each other than on the lower floors, but he didn’t have to walk far to the left to find 4201.

He took a deep breath, raised a hand to knock, and froze.

There was a crash from within the room, the crack of breaking furniture, and shattering glass, a scream. His worry about a date fled, and he pounded his fist on the door.

“Hello? Are you okay? Talia?”

There was a muffled snap and then the knob turned. Jimmy stepped back, unsure of who or what was opening the door. The gap that appeared was only a few inches, and Talia’s face was visible, but her head was ducked down.

“Mr. Olsen,” she said, still calm as a lake in fair weather. “It’s a bad time, after all. Perhaps another evening?”

“What?” Jimmy exclaimed, bracing a hand on the door before she could shut it. “Who was screaming? Are you alright?”

“I’m–” Talia began, her head still bent.

“You’re bleeding,” Jimmy said, staring at the dark bead of blood on her cheek. “Who hurt you? I have a friend who can help, just tell me who did this. Is he still in there?”

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Olsen,” Talia said. Rather than icy, she sounded amused. “I doubt there is anything you could do that I haven’t already taken care of alone.”

There was an unspoken implication there, about Jimmy’s ability to hold his own in a fight. He heard it and ignored it– it was a familiar dismissal, one he’d lived with most of his life.

“At least let me make sure you’re okay,” Jimmy said.

“You’re worried. You needn’t be. The threat has been dealt with.”

“Okay,” Jimmy said, fingers tightening on the neck of the wine bottle anyway. “You’re still bleeding. I can get some ice, find a first aid kit.”

“You are persistent,” Talia observed. The door had never opened more than those few inches, but she raised her chin and studied him. There was a cut by her eye, already swelling.

“Tell me to buzz off, and I’ll get lost,” Jimmy said, hoping she wouldn’t. Whoever had been in the room had done a number on her, and he didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone. “But I’d feel like a heel not staying to help, if you need anything. Gee, that looks bad. Gimme your ice bucket. I’ll run to the machine and bring it back. I don’t even have to come in. Want me to call the police?”

“No,” Talia said. “Wait.”

The door closed, and Jimmy waited, frowning at the glossy silver numbers on the polished wood. There was the clink of a sliding chain and then the door swung all the way open.

“There’s ice in the fridge,” she said, with a dip of her head in that direction. She was walking ahead of him, her back to him, and still in the green dress from earlier. “I’m going to change.”

The hotel suite was large. Plush carpet ran the full length of a long living room, lined with floor to ceiling windows on one side. The view overlooked the glittering, neon city– the Daily Planet with its spinning globe lit by bright white, the glowing blue strips up the corners of the LexCorp building, the dark reflective glass of the First Federal Bank tower lit up like a laser show.

Jimmy stood staring at Metropolis, taking it in, before starting and turning to find the kitchenette. Some of the sleek living room furniture was tipped over, a coffee table broken into a thousand shards in the carpet. A couch was slashed, cotton batting sticking through.

“Holy moly,” he breathed, picking his way around the mess.

The kitchen wasn’t a kitchenette– it was a full kitchen, with a stove and oven and refrigerator. There was a marble-top island, a few drawers pulled out and one broken off it’s tracks.

One of the open drawers held a little box of plastic baggies. He set the wine on the counter and plucked a baggie out from the roll, and went around the island to open the fridge.

There was a body on the floor, a knife sticking out from its throat. A mask obscured the face, and any horrified or pained expression he might have been making.

“Talia?” Jimmy called, feeling sick.

“Yes, Mr. Olsen?”

“It’s Jimmy, actually, you should just call me…Jimmy,” Jimmy said, swallowing hard. He couldn’t take his eyes off the knife, the pooling blood, the stained handle. “There’s a body in here.”

“Yes,” she called back. “It’s nothing to worry about. They’re dead.”

“I…okay. Dead. Dead isn’t the worst.” Jimmy tore his gaze away and pressed the bag against the ice dispenser in the fridge. He sealed it, mechanically, and stepped over the body, trying very hard not to think.

He wandered toward the door Talia had disappeared behind. It wasn’t closed, but he rapped gently with his knuckles anyway.

“Ice delivery,” he said, the words sounding hollow to his own ears.

There was a sniff and he leaned forward, quickly, just to see Talia wipe the corner of her eyes with the back of her hand, the first joint of her first finger. She took in a sharp breath and turned fully to face him, with a placid expression. Her makeup was a little smudged.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the ice.

“Are you…are you okay?” Jimmy stammered. “It’s just, there’s a body in the kitchen, and uh…did he attack you?”

“Just the one?” Talia asked, raising an eyebrow. She paused by him, and put a hand on his cheek. “You’re upset. You aren’t used to blood?”

“Uh, no,” Jimmy said, shaking his head. “I’ve, well, I’ve been Lois Lane’s photographer for a while. It’s not the blood so much as what comes with the blood.”

“What is that?” Talia asked, brow creasing.

“Suffering,” Jimmy said bluntly. If she hadn’t touched him, maybe he wouldn’t have dared, but he raised his hand and rubbed his thumb along the skin near the cut on her face. “Blood usually means suffering.”

Talia smiled, thin and uncertain, and raised the ice pack to the swelling cut. She slipped past him into the messy living room. Jimmy turned, to watch her, and didn’t notice the feet twitching behind the second low couch until she stopped behind it, standing over someone.

She hissed something low, crouched down out of sight. A rough voice, thick and gurgling, murmured something in return and then there was a wet snick. Talia rose, with blood splatter on her face.

“We have to go,” she said.

Jimmy turned and threw up in a decorative vase.

When he righted, she was looking at him.

“You should go,” she amended.

“No, I’m okay,” Jimmy said. “Just needed a second, is all. Gee whiz, did you just kill that guy?”

“He knew the price for failure,” Talia said evenly. “It was a death with honor.”

“Failure to do what?” Jimmy gaped at her. He stumbled a step sideways, tracking her movement across the room, and reached for a camera that wasn’t there. He just wanted to hold the familiar straps in his hands.

“To kill me,” Talia said, as if this were perfectly reasonable.

“Who’s trying time kill you?” Jimmy demanded. “Why?”

“It was a test. I thought my father trusted me enough that we were beyond such tests, but that was foolish on my part. The lesson has been learned.”

“Your father,” Jimmy exhaled, sitting down on the torn couch. “Your father sent…assassins…to kill you…”

“Yes,” Talia said. “And now I must leave. If you would like to avoid trouble, I advise you do the same.”

“Won’t the police…aren’t there prints? Everywhere?” Jimmy asked, looking around. Talia was standing in front of a mirror in the living room, wiping blood off her face.

“No,” Talia said. “My father’s people will be watching the ones he sent. They will come to clean everything, and if we’re still here, one might try again in hopes of securing his favor.”

“I don’t know what kind of father you’ve got,” Jimmy said. “Mine didn’t like me that much, but he didn’t want me dead.”

“Mr. Olsen,” Talia said, with a pitying smirk. “It isn’t because he wants me dead. It’s because he wants me to be the best. I am, or I’m not. It’s that simple. If I can’t handle a few assassins, then I don’t honor him by being alive. These men would not have thanked me for sparing them– Reznyek pled for an honorable death, and nothing more.”

Jimmy thought she sounded like she fully believed this, but it also sounded recited, like some sort of long-rehearsed creed. He decided not to bring it up in conversation at the moment.

“Did you give him one?” Jimmy asked, his stomach rolling again, hearing the snick once more in memory. He convinced it to calm down.

“Yes,” she said softly, not looking at him. “He failed, and he didn’t deserve it. But I gave it to him anyway.”

“Why?” Jimmy asked. He didn’t know why he was asking, anymore than he knew why picking up a camera filled him with joy, or why following Lois around while she dug answers out of stories was one of the most satisfying things in his life.

“My father may not be right about all things,” Talia said. She flicked the cloth she’d been using onto the remains of the coffee table.

Jimmy got to his feet, and squared his shoulders.

“Well. Have you eaten since the gala? Can I buy you dinner?”

“You want to buy me dinner,” Talia said, raising an eyebrow. Jimmy got the impression she was looking at him with real interest for the first time. “I will not be having sex with you, Mr. Olsen.”

“It’s Jimmy,” Jimmy said, blushing. “And I’m not asking for…that. Just some burgers, or whatever you want. You’ve had a rough night.”

“You don’t want to run screaming?” she asked, with a teasing glint. He trailed her into the kitchen, where she found a first aid kit. She rummaged through it while he spoke.

“My life is pretty weird,” Jimmy said. “I’ll give it a few more hours.”

“I will accept dinner, on one condition,” Talia said, spreading cream on the cut near her eye.

“Sure, name it,” Jimmy said quickly, taking a bandaid and ripping it open. He handed it to her.

Talia pressed it into place and then looked him full in the face. “When you regret this in the morning, you tell no one.”

“Easy,” Jimmy said, while he was screaming inside and as certain as the sky was blue. “I won’t regret it.”

#jimmy olsen #talia al ghul #rarepair ship #shitpost becomes realpost #listen it was a crack ship and i accidentally got invested #let jimmy grow up #dick grayson got to #al gholsen

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kaitycole · 5 years

Text

The Secret (My Best Friend’s Wedding: Part Five)

This is the fifth installment to My Best Friend’s Wedding which you can read or catch up on here.

Summary: Whispers are going around the Brooks-Walker wedding about a secret kept from Drake by Riley and Liam. Here’s a flashback to all those years ago, before Riley and Drake left Cordonia during the middle of Liam’s engagement tour.

Word Count: 1913

I am so sorry that I have been MIA. Life has been hectic and a whirlwind between graduating with a BS, to starting graduate school as well as running my own business! I hope this makes up for the radio silence!

Tag List: @liamxs-world @lynn1214 @mynameiskaylabella @meswalkers-blog @drakelover78 @gardeningourmet @zilch3 @speedyoperarascalparty @umccall71 @mrsdrakewalkerblog @hopefulmoonobject @sleepwalkingelite @annekebbphotography @jared2612 @indiacater @lodberg

“Liam, you know I couldn’t accept this.”

“Yes, you could. You’d be a fine duchess, maybe Olivia could give you a crash course.”

Riley rolls her eyes, “They’d be just as painless as Bertrand’s.” Liam laughs at the sarcasm lacing her voice. He loves this woman with all his heart and he knows she feels the same.

The limo finally arrives in front of the dutchy and when the door opens, Riley can’t help but gasp. “Liam, it’s beautiful.”

“Just like the future duchess.” He smirks.

“We’ll see. Before I decide I think I need a tour.” She smiles flirtatiously. The two seem lost in each other until Riley’s phone breaks it.

“Hana or Maxwell?” Liam laughs.

She smiles as she checks it – DRAKE – her cheeks redden, “Just Hana asking if we made it okay.”

“I do love how much she cares for you. Glad you could make a friend while here.”

“As do I.” She quickly opens the text message.

Miss you, Brooks

She smiles before replying.

I’ll be home before you know it!

*ping*

Still don’t know why you went in the first place.

She knew that Drake knows she had to make it appear she was still interested in Liam until she could talk to Liam about it and away from court was her best option.

I’ll make it up to you when I get home.

*ping*

Oh? What did you have in mind?

Riley tries to conceal the devilish smirk on her face from Liam as she hurries a reply. Wouldn’t you like to know ;)

I have to go, talk soon!

“Ready for your tour?” Liam asks.

Quickly she turns her phone off and tucks it away, “I think so!”

The pair follows the caretaker around as they get a tour of the dutchy. Riley is in awe at the different rooms and the immaculate decoration that covered the walls.

“And this is the master suite.” She opens the door and motions her arm for the two to walk further in. There’s a King size poster bed with a lavish canopy hanging above it, giving the room a regal look. Liam exchanges a look with Riley, whose face is bright red.

“I think this is our stop,” he politely smiles at her.

“But there’s…oh…” The caretaker quickly excuses herself and hurries out.

“Why’s this the stop? I was promised to see a stable.” She smirks as Liam’s lips crash with hers.

“We can finish the tour later, I’d rather show you something only I can.” They back up until Riley falls back on the bed. Liam quickly slides her up, kissing down her neck as he unbuttons his shirt.

She lets out small moans as his hands trail up her legs, stopping at her hip before raising a brow.

“I got tired of always acting like a lady,” she bites her bottom lip mischievously.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” Liam says as he pulls off her skirt.

“At least you could die a happy man.” She goes to smirk but lets out a quick moan when she feels his tongue lick her clit.

Liam quickly pulls her legs to his shoulders and spread them wider and his tongue begins to explore the lips below her waist. As he drives his tongue inside her, Riley responds in a string of moans and he begins to softly rub her clit.

Her hands grip the sheet tightly, her hips lift off of the bed as each stroke of the tongue brings her deeper pleasure. He can feel her getting wetter and lets her legs slowly slide down his arms as he slides his right hand up her leg. She shivers with desire and lets out a deep moan while thrusting her hips as he pushes two fingers into her.

He slides them in and out a few times before places a finger on her lips which she quickly opens and sucks her own cum off of it.

Liam lets out a deep moan, “I love when you taste yourself.”

She raises a brow and winks at him while he pulls her legs, bringing her to the edge of the bed. He gently taps her hip twice, commanding her to roll over on her stomach.

She can feel the plush carpet beneath her feet, standing tippy-toed, she wiggles her toes into the carpet.

He runs his hands down her sides, stopping at her hips. He presses firmly on her hip bones as he grabs ahold of them, pulling them up slightly. The pressure of his palms causes her to gasps.

Riley feels him reaching behind her before he slides inside her.

Drake…She thinks to herself, immediately she begins feeling guilt. They had talked about telling Liam, that’s why she was here, yet there wasn’t much talking going on.

He thrusts into her soaking wet core while he spits on his fingers, rubbing them between her cheeks, peaking her interest. She instantly loses her breath, moaning into the bed sheet as she feels dual pleasure.

She can feel the sheets under her are completed wet from her pussy which just adds to her deep moans. Liam grabs one of her hips and starts violently thrusting into her, causing her to groan but it wasn’t until he slid a finger to her ass, that she begins screaming his name.

She’s never felt this pleasure before, it wasn’t entirely her first time but it was the first time he went complete in. He alternated his thrusts, hardly giving her time to recover after each one.

He pulls his finger out, causing her to suck air through her teeth and he begins to pound into her as hard as he can, pounding out any guilty thoughts she may have had. Her screams, mixed with his quickening thrusts cause them both to reach the edge. She moves her hand underneath her and begins to rub her clit, “Oh god, fuck.”

He can feel himself losing control, his thrusts become sloppier and he can feel her begin to lose her footing, her legs becoming weaker as he pounds his cock into her. He thrusts deep and hard into her, causing a scream before he feels her juices spill down his cock her body going limp beneath him. Liam thrusts up into her once more, filling her with his cum before gently pulling his cock out and lying next to her.

Riley rolls over and cuddles up to his side before the two end up falling asleep.

* * * * * *

The pair finally emerges from the bedroom after an hour-long nap and a quick round two in the shower. They are escorted to the dining hall for an early dinner, at Liam’s request.

“This is lovely, King Liam.” She winks as the servers’ finish placing the meal in front of them.

“I’m glad you like it Duchess Riley.”

Her lips curl into a smile, “I haven’t accepted that title just yet.”

“Just trying to show you what you could have is all.”

* * * * * *

“Drake stop pacing please, you’re making me dizzy!” Maxwell pleads.

“I just don’t understand why she isn’t replying.” He finally stops and flops down on the couch.

“Maybe the cell service is bad up there?” Maxwell offers.

Drake glares at him, “I’m sure the king wouldn’t go anywhere they couldn’t reach him.”

“Look at me, she loves you. I’m sure she’s just busy.” Hana places her hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

“What if…”

“Don’t even finish that thought, Drake. You know Riley, she wouldn’t do that to you.” Hana says with a sympathetic smile.

“It’s just…” His voice breaks.

“She’s slept with him but not you. That doesn’t mean that’s what she’s doing now.” Maxwell says, slightly inconvincibly.

Drake stands up quickly and marches out of the room before either can change his mind. Stomping to the stables, his whole body relaxes when he sees Jameson, his prized horse.

He pulls out the velvet box from his pocket, rubbing his thumb over the lid, “I guess it’s still just going be you and me for a while.”

* * * * * *

The crisp evening air wraps around them as they stand on the balcony, looking across the land of Valtoria. Riley drapes her shawl over her shoulders as Liam takes her hand into his.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

Riley blushes, “Thank you.”

“I had an alternative motive to bring you here, it wasn’t just to try to convince you to take it.”

Her eyes widen and her smile stretches across her face, “And what would that be?” Her face slightly drops when she sees him get down on one knee.

“Riley, will you marry me?” Liam asks, kneeling on one knee.

“I can't marry you. I'm in love with someone else.”

“…What?” He takes a step back from her, unsure he heard her correctly.

“I came here for you…but found someone else along the way. I’m in love with Drake.”

“…Drake?”

“I know it’s probably a lot to take in…He’s your best friend.”

Liam’s face turns red, “What exactly can he offer you?”

Riley knits her eyebrows together in confusion, “…I’m sorry?”

Liam’s face continues to turn red, “I can give you a whole kingdom, a duchy, a really good life, basically everything you could ever want. He can give you, what, a stable and a worn-down cabin?”

“I honestly can’t believe you’re saying these things! He’s your best friend!”

“You claim to love him, but look at what’s happened today!”

“I..I..can’t…” She’s unable to make a complete sentence.

“That’s what I thought.” Liam walks away, bumping his shoulder into her as he passes.

Six Weeks Later

Riley slams her hands on the sink, I can’t believe this.

“Ri? Where are – there you are!” Drake pops his head in the doorframe, kissing her on the forehead.

“Oh uh, hi.” She places the hand towel over a box on the sink.

“Are you ready? We are supposed to go to the palace for an engagement tour dinner.”

“Yes, I’m ready.” She smirks, “I had a pretty great idea.”

Drake stops in his tracks, “Oh yeah? Well I think all your ideas are great, what’s this one?”

It’s now or never Riley. Now or never. “I was thinking that we should move to New York and start a life there.”

“Silly, we are moving to New York. After the engagement tour is over, we already talked about this.”

“I know, I just think it would be better to go now. You know, the sooner the better.” She shrugs, “Plus this whole tour is really taking its toll on me, Drake.”

He scrunches her face in confusion, “What’s the difference in another three months, Ri?”

Everything, she thought. “Please Drake, I wouldn’t suggest this if I thought I could wait. Plus, I think it would be better for us to get a jump start on everything.” “Oh…well I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” He rubs the back of his neck, “When were you thinking? Next month?”

“Actually, at the end of the week. I already have an apartment lined up as well as a few job offers for you along with the tickets purchased!”

“Did I even really have a say?” Drake says with a chuckle trying to mask his annoyance.

She kisses him as she walks passed him, “Trust me, it’s what’s best.”

Best for who? Drake wonders.

#the royal romance #choices the royal romance #liam x riley #mc x liam #drake walker #mc x drake #trr hana #trr prince #trr drake #trr maxwell #Riley x Liam x drake #liam rhys #riley brooks #TRR Riley #fanfic #choices fanfiction #Choice fandom

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aswithasunbeam · 5 years

Text

Reminiscences of Mrs. Alexander Hamilton

One of the contributions to volume 78 of the Atlantic Monthly, published in 1896, came from an unidentified woman who in her youth had stayed as a guest with Elizabeth Hamilton and her daughter in Washington, D.C. during the 1850s. Over games of backgammon and nights by the fire, she was treated to intimate view of Eliza Hamilton in her old age. Her full account follows:

“When I was a child of twelve or thirteen, I spent the winter in Washington, and had the good fortune to know Mrs. Alexander Hamilton, whom I remember to this day with vivid interest and love. It was probably pleasant for her to have a young person about her, and for days and often weeks at a time she and her widowed daughter would have me with them. General Winfield Scott lived in the house next Mrs. Hamilton’s, and I became familiar with his soldierly figure, and remember how eagerly I watched for him on New Year’s Day, when his six-feet-and-four was arrayed in all the glory of full uniform for the President’s reception. I had my own idea of the God of War, but not Mars himself could have filled it more gorgeously than the general as he crossed the broad sidewalk in a dazzle of gold and color, with waving plume and clanking sword. Bur there was no prancing war-horse, and I had a miserable sense of flatness when all that splendor was swallowed up in a rusty hack and jolted away in the most commonplace manner.

Mrs. Hamilton’s favorite room in her house, which was on H street, near the site of the Presbyterian church, was the front room of the English basement, the dining room being back of it. There, by the window, in her own particular chair, she sat for hours, either looking out, or weaving mats on a small frame with pins along the sides. No longer able to read or even knit, this work was a great resource to her who had always been full of activity. Precluded from any social exertion by her great age (she was then ninety-five), she often seemed pleased to turn to me for amusement. I would read to her, or sit near and sew my bits of work while she was in a talkative mood; or, in fine weather, I would walk with her. Leaning her right hand on a stout cane, and her left arm upon my arm, she would walk several blocks, generally to a florist’s, for she was passionately fond of flowers; and always there was from her a cheerful little stream of talk, either of reminiscences, or of observations of nature, or of philosophical reverie, when everything else seemed to be forgotten. In stormy weather there were her mat-weaving and backgammon, of which she was very fond. I would have to tell her the number on the dice, because she could not see; but she would play for hours. I asked her once if she had always like it. She replied: “Yes, always. When I was young, Mr. Franklin taught me to play. He visited my father’s when I was a girl, and was very kind to me.”

One of her reminiscences that made a deep impression on me was the story of a great gathering of the Indians of eastern New York at Saratoga, which was then only a log fort. All the chiefs and greatest warriors of the Six Nations had met in solemn council, row after row of fine specimens of manhood standing silently around an open space, where a bit of greensward gleamed in the sunshine. Although they were dressed in all the barbaric pomp of war-paint, there was peace on their faces as they stood awaiting the approach of a small group of whites,--one or two officers in full uniform, and a tall commanding man in the prime of life, leading by the hand a slim girl about thirteen, dressed in white, with uncovered head and half-curious, half-frightened eyes. This man was General Philip Schuyler, whom the Indians honored as they did no other white man; and they had met to offer him a tribute of devotion. At a sign from the great chief of their ranks parted to admit General Schuyler, who advanced into the open space, still leading his little daughter. There, with many ceremonies, the child was formally adopted by the Six Nations, the chiefs ending the sacred rites by laying their hands upon her head, and giving her an Indian name meaning “One-of-us.” This incident as told by Mrs. Hamilton was the more impressive because she herself was the little maid thus adopted.

I recall one of her reminiscences of General Washington, because it gave me a new idea of him. She had been talking of men of bodily strength, and she observed that Washington was a very strong man. She then told an incident that must have happened soon after her marriage, for she was at the time at headquarters with her husband. Washington was writing in his office, a room on the second floor of a farmhouse. The farmer’s wife, who was washing clothes, suddenly discovered that the shed-roof was on fire. She rushed screaming into the house, and Washington came bounding down the stairs, picked up one of the large washtubs full of suds, ran upstairs with it, got out on the roof, and emptied it on the blaze; then he ran for another tub, and still another, before he succeeded in putting out the fire.

After dinner, it was the custom for Mrs. Hamilton, if well enough, to spend an hour or so in the large parlors on the first floor, where every evening there were many visitors, friends and strangers. Generally she enjoyed their calls, taking part in the conversation and showing a lively interest in current affairs; but sometimes she was unable to make the exertion. She did not make calls herself, but once I remember she went to one of President Pierce’s receptions. When it was known that the widow of Alexander Hamilton was present, she became the attraction of the evening; and the President, anxious to do her honor, left his place, offered his arm, and escorted her around the East Room.

Her dress, always black, of wool in the morning and of silk or satin in the evening, had been made after the same fashion for years. She wore a plain full skirt, and a plain, rather short waist folded over (not under) a muslin kerchief. Around her neck was a broad, finely plaited ruffle fastened behind, and a small soft shawl was laid over her shoulders. Her face, with its fine features, was framed by a plain snowy cap edged with finely plated ruffle, and tied under the chin. Some of the fire of youth still shone in those dark eyes, as she sat and talked with her guests, or, when they had gone, she slowly walked about the large rooms, leaning on her cane, pausing at one old bit or another of furniture to tell me its history. These rooms were crowded with relics,--swords, books, china, pictures, and many other things whose history I would gladly recall. The side wall near the entrance door was almost covered with a large half-length portrait of Washington, who sat to Stuart for it, and gave it to Hamilton. Under a large handsome centre table in the front parlor was a great silver wine-cooler, also a gift from Washington. I remember nothing more distinctly than a sofa and chairs with spindle legs, upholstered in black broadcloth, embroidered in flowery wreaths by Mrs. Hamilton herself, and a marble bust of Hamilton standing on it pedestal in a draped corner. That bust I can never forget, for the old lady always paused before it in her tour of the rooms, and leaning on her cane, gazed and gazed, as if she could never be satisfied.

She always called him Hamilton. One night, I remember, she seemed sad and absent-minded, and could not go to the parlor where there were visitors, but sat near the fire and played backgammon for a while; when the game was done, she leaned back in her chair a long time with closed eyes, as if lost to all around her. I never heard her complain, and I loved her with a reverent love that made me feel awed as the long silence was broken by the murmured words, “I am so tired,--it is so long. I want to see Hamilton.” What thoughts must have come to her from the past!—for she had griefs and losses beyond the usual grievous lot of woman. It is told in history that her oldest son, Philip, fell in a duel before his father met a similar fate; but it is unwritten history that the oldest daughter, a lovely young creature, was so shocked by her brother’s cruel death that her reason fled forever. In a private asylum she lived to be an old woman.

When Mrs. Hamilton died, at the age of ninety-seven, although an interment in old Trinity churchyard in New York had been for years a forbidden thing, her last request was granted. Quietly, at night, that frail little form was laid to rest there by the side of her beloved and illustrious husband. “

#eliza hamilton #alexander hamilton #eliza hamilton holly #benjamin franklin #backgammon #franklin pierce #winfield scott #washington d.c.#1850s #history #hamliza #historical hamliza

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eclecticminded · 5 years

Text

First Time x4

anonymous asked: I love the polyamory relationship. Do you have plans to write about the first time sex with each of the men x reader? You write each of the characters so well and true to their personality that we know from the show. I like how each relationship is different, but all equally important and respectful of everyone. Excellent work!

Part One and Part Two and Part Three and Part Four and Part Five and Part Six and Part Seven Part Eight and Your Wallet

Thank you thank you! I try really hard to be canon while still bending them to my will. Hope you like this!

Word count: 3,039

The first time you have sex with Nick, Sonny, Rafael, and Sonny & Rafael.

Warnings: Sex obvs. Food mention. Rough sex.

Tags: @southsiderepresent @glimmerglittergirl @madpanda75 @southern-magnolia @katmstanton @esparza-army @sweetsummertime99 @obfuscateyummy @lifeisbetterwithbarba @lyssa1385 @hux-me-up @bowieisawizard @sleepylunarwolf anyone else ask!

Also I have a Kofi (link in blog description) if anyone wants to donate!

The first time you had sex with each of the men in your life, each experience was vastly different. With Nick it all started with a fight. Over what, neither of you remembered. You’d fought in his living room and went to bed not speaking, but still pressed close to each other. The next morning you woke up first and only made enough coffee for yourself. That was enough to start the fight up again.

“Really,” Nick sneered and made a fresh pot.

“What,” you snapped back, drinking your coffee and staring him down.

“You used an eight cup coffee pot, to make one cup,” he glared as he poured sugar in a mug.

“Yup,” you made the p pop and widened your eyes in exaggeration.

“Inmadura,” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh I’m immature,” you slammed your mug down and got up,” which one of us got on the sofa to yell?”

“At least I didn’t throw pillows across the room,” he glowered and followed you, his coffee forgotten.

“Nick Amaro,” you snapped, coming to a screeching halt, you turned on your heel, jabbing him in the chest, “getting on the sofa didn’t scare me. You don’t scare me!”

“I wasn’t trying to scare you,” he bolstered his chest, “I wanted you to listen to me!”

“And getting on the sofa did that how,” you jabbed him again and stomped off.

“I don’t know,” he threw his hands up exasperated.

“What are we fighting about,” you spun around again.

“The coffee,” Nick stopped to ponder, “I think?”

“What about yesterday,” you looked down at the floor trying to remember.

“I don’t remember,” he shrugged sheepishly.

“If we don’t remember,” you crossed the space between you, shoving him against the wall, “Can we make up now? Because you look really hot when you’re angry.”

“So do you,” he growled, spinning so you were pinned against the wall beneath him, “You’re so fucking hot when you’re angry,” he nipped at your bottom lip.

“Fuck me Nick,” you postured yourself so your chest stuck out.

“Gladly,” he growled, ripping your shirt open. The buttons popped and spilled across the floor.

“Nick,” you protested but he cut you off with a rough kiss and hand resting on your throat possessively.

“It’s my shirt anyway,” he nipped at your neck and you moaned.

“Do we have plans today,” you panted as he kept up his sucking and biting, your toes curling against the hardwood as his teeth sunk into your flesh.

“No,” he kissed back up to your lips.

“Then right now, I want you to fucking ravish me,” you bit his earlobe, “then we can enjoy each other all day.”

“Deal,” Nick hastily rid you of your panties and lowered you down to the floor. While you squirmed and fingered your wetness, he scrambled to the bedroom for a condom and came sliding and slipping back. He jerked his pants down to his ankles and rolled the condom on, kneeing between your legs.

“I’m ready Nick, you’ve had me all worked up,” you lifted your hand and showed him the juices, he sucked them and rolled his eyes back in his head.

“After this I’m eating my fill of you,” he lined up with your entrance, “but for now let’s do this.”

“F-F-u-u-uck N-nic-c-ck,” you moaned as he slid into you, filling you so completely.

“Shit you’re tight,” he gritted his teeth and started moving slowly, “when was the last time you were fucked.”

“Over a year,” you blushed.

“So I’m the first of us tha—“

“Yes Nick, don’t get a big head,” you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t. Roll. Your. Eyes” Nick accentuated each word with a hard thrust. Before long he was slamming into you, the only reason you stopped sliding across the wood floor was the rug. His mouth was back on your throat biting into the tender spots, making you moan and cry out.

“Shit. Nick. Baby.” Your fingers rubbed at your clit and before you knew it his perfectly placed thrusts to your gspot had you cumming. You saw stars and didn’t realize you were scratching his back until he yelped.

“Easy there tiger,” he slowed his thrusts, lowering his mouth to yours. His tongue probed and explored your mouth. As he got close, he dropped his head to the crook of your shoulder and you sucked his pulse point. He came with a growl and frantic pattern of thrusts.

“Fuck. I missed sex,” you nosed him until he was kissing you again.

“Breakfast,” he stood up and pulled the condom off and his pants up, “then more?”

“Oh I am absolutely game,” you pinched his ass and skirted past him to the kitchen. The day of carnal indulgence was only getting started. After breakfast and showering, he laid you out on the bed and ate you for damn near an hour before you had to tap out. You replenished your fluids, and took your time edging and teasing him. He came down your throat and you kept sucking for what seemed like an eternity until he was hard again. After round two you napped and started over.

The first time you had sex with Sonny, the experience was very different. He picked you up in his truck, bringing flowers to your door, and took you to a nice restaurant, one that Rafael hadn’t even taken you to. The whole time you felt a little out of place, but Sonny’s sweet eyes calmed you.

“This is really fancy,” you whispered over the candlelight.

“Rafa shouldn’t be the only one spoiling you,” he winked. After your fancy meal, you stopped at an ice cream shop for cones to go and ate them in the truck. Sonny got some on his chin, so while he drove you licked it off. At a red light your cone dripped onto your chest and he leaned over and licked it off.

“Sonny,” you giggled, “that tickled.”

“Oh that tickled,” he started tickling and pinching your sides as he drove one handed.

“I give I give,” you held your hands up in surrender, “please just drive.”

“I’ll stop for now,” he winked at you and turned back to his ice cream. Once back at his place he made you wait in the living room. You kicked your heels off and dropped your shawl on the couch.

“Sonny where are you,” you pouted, “I’m lonely without you.”

“Here I am,” he came back in with only his slacks and unbuttoned dress shirt on.

“Wow,” your jaw dropped.

“You like what you see,” Sonny winked and scooped you into his arms.

“Where are you taking me,” you giggled while he carried you to the bedroom. The bed was covered with rose petals. His dresser and nigh stands had candles all over them. Soft jazz played over a speaker.

“Too much,” he grimaced and set you down.

“No Sonny,” you stared in awe, “It’s perfect.” You threw yourself against him and pulled his head down to kiss him slow and sweet.

“You like it,” he blushed.

“I love it Dominick,” you kissed his chest, “the most romantic thing I think has ever happened to me.”

“Really,” he ran his hands through his hair.

“Really,” you turned to face away from him, “undo my dress please honeybear.”

“With pleasure doll,” he unzipped your dress and it fell to pool at your feet. Now it was his turn to stare in awe. You stood before him in black thigh highs and garter belt and matching red lace panties and bra. He licked lips and his jaw fell open.

“Like what you see,” you twirled and he nodded fervently.

“My god doll,” Sonny gripped your hips and guided you back to him so he towered over you, “you look incredible.”

“Thank you,” you rose to your tip toes and sloppily kissed him. He groaned and picked you up again, this time setting you down on his bed. He hastily shrugged his button down off and tugged his undershirt off over his head. You watched as his muscles moved and danced while he undressed, it was like a show he didn’t know he was putting on.

“C’mere,” he sprawled on top of you when he was down to just his boxers. Sonny’s kisses started at your lips and trailed down your torso, he looked at you like he was unwrapping a Christmas present when you let him slip a hand under your bra.

“It unclasps in the back,” you murmured down to him.

“I want to leave the thigh highs on,” he nipped at the top of your breast, helping you sit up to remove your bra. When you lay back down, Sonny tenderly sucked each of your nipples until your chest was heaving under his touch. He continued kiss down your stomach and each stocking clad leg. A chaste kiss was placed to each foot then he was at your center, nosing the wet spot.

“You did that,” you smirked at him and he bit his lip. With great care, he lifted your hips and tugged your panties down with his teeth. You blushed and threw your hands over your eyes.

“Don’t hide from me,” he pulled your hands down, “Lemme see that blush.”

“Okay,” your cheeks burned and but his stare of appreciation was worth it. Gently Sonny opened your folds up and lapped away at the wetness he found. Your whole body convulsed at his expert tongue.

“You okay,” he chuckled and licked faster. Between the perfectly curved fingers inside you and the tongue rolling your bundle of nerves, you came in minutes. You half moaned half shouted and Sonny smirked at how he made you come undone.

“I’m perfect,” you stuttered and sat up reaching for his cock.

“Not tonight, this is about you,” he laid you back down and dropped his boxers, rolling a condom on.

“But tomorrow I can suck your cock,” you licked your lips at the thought.

“Yes,” he shook his head in laughter and positioned himself between your legs.

“I’m ready,” you answered his unasked question and Sonny slid in slowly. You each savored the feeling of you stretching around him. He moved painfully slow, building a slow burn in your stomach. Your lips, once joined, didn’t part except to gasp and moan as he slowly pumped in and out of you. He came with a whimper into our mouth and the look on his face sent you over the edge again.

“Damn doll,” Sonny rolled off you and threw the condom away, pulling you close against his chest.

“I know honeybear, I know,” you kissed his sweat sheened chest and he the top of your head.

“I need to wash this makeup off but so tired,” you yawned.

“Come on,” he led you to the bathroom, lifting you to the counter. With a wet washcloth and face soap, he washed your wakeup off. He tried to brush your teeth for you but you took over and he brushed his own.

“Thank you,” you whispered into the dark, safely and contently tucked against his chest.

“Anytime doll,” he kissed your forehead and snuggled closer, he could never get close enough.

With Rafael it happened one night after work. He’d had a bad day at court and you’d come over and cooked him dinner. He was still stressed and you could visibly see the tension in his shoulders. You made him turn to the side and started massaging his neck. As you worked the shoulders and down his arms his began to relax. By the time you reached his lower back he was noticeably calmer.

“Thank you cariño,” Rafael pressed a kiss to our temple.

“Anytime sugar,” you cocked your head to the side, “you’re not fully relaxed yet.”

“Hmm,” he raised an eyebrow.

“You still look stressed,” you motioned to his face, “I think you need a blow job.”

“I’m not gonna turn down a blowjob,” his eyes flashed dark with lust.

“Then sit back and prepare to have your soul sucked out,” you lowered to your knees, “actual quote said to me in college.”

“Oh I’m prepared,” he fumbled to undo his suspenders while you undid his belt and helped his pants down. When his cock sprung free you gasped at how beautiful it was. He had a pornstar dick, it was practically perfect with well-defined veins.

“Fuck,” you licked your lips and set to work, licking him from base to tip. Your tongue swirled around the head and he moaned softly. Hallowing out your cheeks, you began bobbing up and down. Your hand fondled his balls while you quietly choked. His large hand rested on your head to guide and before long he had to pull you up.

“Breathe before you continue,” he teased, the drool running down your lips to your chest. Once your chest stopped heaving, you began jacking him with sucking, matching your movements. You choked louder and he grunted, pushing your head down to choke again. He pulled you up, letting you breathe, and then shoved you back down.

When he grew tired of the game, Rafael let you go and allowed you to work his shaft on your own. You swallowed his cock expertly, pulling off with a pop and going back down. It took practice before you could take the whole thing, but when you had he pulled you off him again.

“Either I cum in the pretty mouth,” he traced your lower lip with his thumb, “or I fuck you good and rough. Tomorrow can be for gentle.”

“Does this answer your question,” you dug in your purse and threw a condom at him. While his eyes bore into you, you flipped your skirt up, dropped your panties, and bent over the armchair.

“It does,” he cleared his throat and rolled the condom on. A quick check with probing fingers to be sure you were adequately wet, and he was shoving into you. Rafael gave you no time to adjust before he was pounding into you mercilessly. All you could do was grip the cushion and try to keep your feet on the floor. Your clit was rubbing against the edge of the chair and you shamefully came hard enough it caused Rafael to fall out of you.

He growled and pushed back in, fucking you harder than before. This time his fingers seered bruises into your hipbones as he came grunting in your ear. Even when he was done, he pumped a few more times before pulling out and throwing the condom away. Carefully he pulled you to your feet and kissed you, dipping you low.

“Thank you,” he smiled when he righted you.

“There’s that smile I love,” you giggled, “Can I stay here? Don’t think I can walk downstairs.”

“Of course,” he chuckled as you stumbled towards the bedroom.

“I think I needed that as much as you,” you stripped and put on the shirt he handed you, it was Sonny’s.

“Maybe you did,” he kissed you and changed into sweatpants.

“I think you want me to wear Sonny’s shirt because you miss him,” you teased.

“Maybe I do,” he pouted playfully, “Or maybe I want to smell both of you.”

“Fair point,” you yawned and snuggled closer until your forehead rested on Rafael’s, “Maybe we can see him tomorrow.”

“We’re having lunch, come along,” he whispered as he drifted off.

The next day you surprised Sonny at lunch and he was so happy to see you that you didn’t feel bad about intruding. It was a small hole in the wall diner and you were smooshed between them in a booth. The waitress pointed out there was another side and you glared at Sonny when he tried to move over there. You stayed perfectly trapped between them while eating. Elbows clashed but you didn’t care. They held hands in your lap and I made you feel all warm and fuzzy.

Shortly after lunch you were back at your place, again sandwiched between them but this time on your sofa. Rafael was peeling your leggings off to get to your dripping center while Sonny turned his sights on your bosom. Between the mouth on your overly sensitive nipples, and the tongue flicking your clit, you came too many times to count.

Sonny carried you to your bed and you watched as they undressed each other, trying to catch your breath. Rafael sucked Sonny’s cock until it was hard enough to roll a condom on. Sonny’s bobbed up and down briefly on Rafael until he moved to the bed. They flipped you onto your stomach and propped your hips up with pillows.

Rafael fed himself into your mouth until it was all you could focus on. His gentle thrusts and labors, the taste of his precum. You didn’t even notice Sonny sliding into you until he bottomed out and you moaned around Rafael. They found a matching rhythm, and slowly, oh so slowly, made love to you from both ends. When one pulled out the other pushed I, the sensations overwhelmed you and you were cumming again.

If not for the pillows under you, you would have collapsed. They kept going, picking up their pace, letting you relax while they did all the work. Rafael cum first, salty and sweet down your throat. Just like his personality, you thought. He continued to pet your hair until Sonny came, grunting and moaning. In a tangle of limbs, you piled into the bed. As usual you were in the middle with Sonny wrapped around you and Rafael’s forehead resting against yours; they held hands on your hip.

“Naptime already,” you yawned.

“You’re always falling asleep after sex,” Sonny teased.

“You do this with Nick too,’ Rafael chimed in.

“You three wear me out,” you huffed, “would you rather I be cranky or well rested ready to go again when I wake up?”

“Well rested,” the nodded in unison.

“Alright then,” you closed your eyes and they snuggled closer, “see you in an hour or two.” They liked to tease about your napping habits, but they were growing accustomed to napping with you when they could. Nick too. Any excuse to be close.

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celestialarcana · 5 years

Text

Night Terrors

Author’s Note: So I started this well over a year ago when I first got into The Arcana, but as all things go I fell out of it for awhile. With the promise of an upcoming Lucio route though, I felt like I finally had to finish this piece of him and my fan apprentice.

Takes place Pre-Route, but after his wedding to Nadia. Let’s just say these two have a long history together.... that I might actually fully write out one day...

Hope that anyone who reads this enjoys!

Standing barefoot in the doorway of her shop, Catherine blinked away the sleep in her eyes as she yawned deeply and took stock of the people who had come banging on her door in the middle of the night. She had a good guess as to who she would be opening the door to, and upon seeing the infamous uniforms of the palace guards she just sighed, looking at them expectantly as she leaned on the doorframe and ran a hand through her hair.

“I’m needed?” She said without a hint of any emotion as she tightened her shawl around her shoulders.

The shorter of the two guards quickly began to speak, asking that she immediately come with them to the palace. She sighed as she turned on her heel when the man spoke up again, the tone of his voice shifting from informative to vaguely threatening with his declaration of, “It’s not wise to turn away. You do understand who invited you, correct?”

Catherine whirled around then, her eyes wide and alert as if that statement immediately woke her up. She took a step towards them as she appraised them, realizing that she had never seen this shorter guard before. He seemed to falter under her gaze, causing her to smirk as she looked him over again, turning to the taller guard that she had recognized from other visits. “It’d be wise to train the new guards on who I am,” she said as she placed her hand on the door, staring at him authoritatively as she continued, “So that the next time they don’t try to intimidate me with their meaningless threats.” Yawning again, she quickly said, “I’ll be out in 10 minutes,” and closed the door on them, the short guard’s eyes widening in fear, or awe, she couldn’t tell, as he turned to his partner.

She had said ten and she stepped out in eight, a new outfit on and her bag packed with various bottles, trinkets, and other things that she might need for the duration of her stay. As she walked towards the carriage, the short guard bowed his head as he opened the door for her and she slid in, the other guard inside to keep an eye on her, as if she needed the protection. As the door closed and she felt the carriage shift from the man settling down in the seat, she quickly asked, “What am I tending to tonight?”

There always seemed to be something that he was convinced only she could fix; a restless night where the horrible deeds he’d performed would play on a loop interrupting his sleep, a random pain where his left hand used to be that he should not have felt, a black eye from rough housing with Mercedes and Melchior, the reasons she had been called through the years varied from the ridiculous to the severe. She could fix these pains, she could cause him to fall into a deep sleep, these were easy to remedy.

“The Count’s mother is rumored to have been seen in the neighboring kingdom,” was all that the guard said before he turned away and looked out the window, ending the conversation.

Catherine stiffened at the blunt declaration and turned in silence to look at the city passing her by as she took in that information.

This was not simple, this wasn’t an ailment that could be easily fixed.

Fear is a powerful force. It drives people to edges they didn’t know existed, forces them to examine their own lives, and can overwhelm even the most powerful.

It isn’t something that magic could just fix, and as she sat silently in the carriage she felt slightly numb herself.

“How will I even be able to care for this?” she’d wondered as they pulled up to the palace which seemed even quieter than it usually did at this hour. Usually when she was called there would be a small brigade of servants waiting for her, all curious as to what the magician was going to do to “fix” the Count but this time she was greeted by silence, Nadia not even making the trek from her wing to escort her to the Count’s.

The same two guards silently led her through the palace she knew like the back of her hand, even with the renovations that had happened since she had left, and upon entering the Count’s wing, the halls fell even more silent. As they walked down the hall she felt her heart starting to race, starting to feel the oppressive power coming from the room she assumed he was in, and when the guard unceremoniously stopped and opened the door she felt a rush of fear, pure unadulterated fear for the future and the unknown that is death pour out of the room.

Nodding to the guards, she entered the room and waited for Lucio to address her as the door closed behind her, used to his hysterics when sick, but unsure how to act in the face of this. The room was dark, the only source of light the light of the moon that fell in through a window and a slowly dying fire, but she could tell that things had been knocked around, items shoved out of place and other objects of great value strewn across the room with abandon. She felt a pair of eyes on her and as she scanned over the room her eyes fell upon a pair of heeled boots and she paused, knowing that she had finally found him.

He was seated on a couch in a darker corner of the room, far from the window and the waning fire in the fireplace nearly covered in the dark of the night.

“You’re late,” he sneered from his perch, not making a single move towards her as he stared her down.

“Can’t be late if you don’t give me a time to get here,” she said as she walked towards him, knowing that he fully expected her to, stopping a few feet away from him as she sighed, putting her hand on her hip. “And to be frank, calling me away from my home in the middle of the night usually means I get here in record time.”

“You should always be ready. I can call you whenever I want you know,” he said, head tilting back a bit as he closed his eyes before quickly opening them and resuming his gaze on her.

She looked at him, eyes narrowing as she took in his crumpled shirt, his unkempt hair, and his golden arm, the outer fixture stripped off, taking away some of his seeming cruelty. There seemed to be something more human to him when he was no longer bearing the claw that at least to him represented power, control, the ultimate object to fear, and was simply stripped down to what he was, a man who had lost his arm in brutal combat and had to live with that memory for the rest of his life. Ignoring her thoughts and own memories of that, she dropped her bag on the nearby ottoman and walked closer to him, looking down when her foot kicked something hard. An empty wine bottle rolled across the floor and towards another one, knocking that down only to reveal that it too was empty. Once again she simply sighed, “Doesn’t mean I have to come.”

They looked back at each other, her with an impassive look and him with a glare only reserved for those that truly crossed him. He opened his mouth, ready to throw a sharp barb her way but she simply rose a finger to her mouth and he immediately shut his, holding back whatever he wanted to say as she approached him. She didn’t need to use magic on him, she knew that he would listen to her without the threat of a spell. As she approached, she leaned over him and plucked the nearly full third bottle from his side and the glass that he had recently poured and moved it to the table on the opposite side of him. He went to protest again but she simply shot him a look and he shut up, looking away annoyedly as he muttered something about how that was his wine that she didn’t respond to.

She sat down next to him, took a large sip from the glass she had just confiscated, and looked over to him, her gaze softening as he turned to her and she crossed her legs and leaned back, taking yet another gulp before she set it down and spoke again.

“How are you?”

He sneered and looked away again, the smell of wine reeking from his as he began to speak. “Who does she think she is, approaching my domain? I should have her hunted down and killed for this.”

“What good will that do though?”

Lucio scoffed, almost as if she had offended him by simply asking. “She’ll be gone Catherine,” he said, drawing out the ‘gone’ as if he was explaining to a child, or talking down to someone in his court. “She’ll be dead and I won’t have to worry about her ever again. Hell, I could even take my claim as the rightful heir to the tribe.”

“Again, what good will that do?” she asked yet again, just as calmly as before as she leaned on the arm of the couch, eyebrows raised as she finished the wine in the glass and turned to pour herself another.

Lucio’s eyes widened as he stuttered, “W-why you! You know what that will do! I can continue on with my life, I can reach my full potential, conquer more than she ever could!” He lunged towards her, arm reaching out before she turned towards him at lighting speed and quickly lifted her leg, pushing against his chest with her foot and effectively knocking him down with one move. “You brat!” he shrieked as he sat up, staggering as he did so, from his drunkenness or the force of her kick he would never admit.

“Before you say another word, I’m going to tell you to not call me that. Also, you’re drunk, I’m not letting you have anymore,” she said, leaning towards him as she brought the full glass to her lips. Staring him down, she lifted it up and drank the full contents of it before she let out a satisfied ‘ah’ and put the glass back on the table. Leaning back into the plush couch, she looked back to him and rolled her eyes as he stared at her confused. “I know you weren’t aiming for me, just another drink to try and dull whatever it is you’re feeling.”

He mumbled as he shuffled around on the couch, turning his back to her before he quickly dropped his onto her lap and threw his legs over the edge of the couch.

“Ah! Warning!” she said as she quickly tried to readjust herself so that he wasn’t crushing her.

“No,” he said back, perpetually a spoiled child as he turned and nuzzled his face into her stomach. “Pet me.”

She looked down with a grimace only to see him looking up at her with a blank look. She hesitated for a moment with her hands hovering above him before his gaze turned into one of begging the longer they sat there in silence. She slowly lowered her hands to his hair, running her fingers through it a few times to break up the styled pieces covered in product that already weren’t messed with causing Lucio to let out a contented sigh as he closed his eyes and smiled. “This isn’t so bad, is it Catherine?”

“You didn’t need to summon me to do this,” she muttered as she took in his features, surprised as always to see how his features softened when he laid there with his eyes closed, when a small smile spread across his lips.

“But I want to. And even though you said you don’t have to come you always do,” he said smugly. She removed her hands and his eyes shot open but it was her turn to smile down at him as she reached over and poured herself another large glass, emptying the entire bottle. “Ah, you must be feeling it already if you’re this eager for more,” he teased, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner as she rolled her eyes, taking a sip before dropping one hand back to his head and resuming her small actions.

“Shush,” she chided as he pressed into her fingertips, slightly hissing from the pressure being applied. As the sound escaped his lips a small frown dropped on hers. He acted as if he hadn’t been touched in years, as if he hadn’t felt any sense of affection in years. She lowered her hand from his head and pressed it against his cheek, causing him to open his eyes wide as she leaned over him, closing her eyes as she took a large breath in.

Fear. Pain. Anguish. Panic. Confusion. Longing.

The emotions came flowing from him into her and they raged through her in a rush causing her to let out a shuddered breath as she opened her eyes and looked down to him. He was looking up at her with a slight frown, and she gave him a lopsided smile as her thumb grazed his cheek. “Sorry, I promised I wouldn’t use that on you, but I can’t help you if you aren’t open about what’s going on. This isn’t something magic can fix.”

“I hate when you do that,” he said as his eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms tightly against his chest.

“What good would come from you killing your mother?” she asked again, her voice softer this time as she kept her hand on his face.

He looked away, but she could tell he was thinking over her question this time instead of pushing it away. “I won’t have to be constantly looking over my shoulder. I could sleep easy, not wondering if she’s going to somehow end up in my room and kill me in my sleep. I mean it when I say I could be a better ruler than her, I would finally have done something she hadn’t, I would be the last one standing, I would show her that I’m no weakling.” Dropping his voice, he muttered something under his breath, and with a soft,” Hm?” from Catherine he sighed out, “I would finally be free of well, a lot I guess. Maybe I could finally leave the confines of this city’s walls. Maybe we could.”

He looked back up at her. His eyes, usually prideful and full of contempt for those around him infinitely softer than she had expected, and she turned away from him, taking a sip of her drink as she thought about what he had just said. “You’re drunk,” she whispered, taking another sip to try and now drown out her own confusion, tinged with anger towards him for even suggesting that.

“And soon you will be too,” he countered. He uncrossed his arms and brought his hand, the one of flesh and bone that he always reached out to her with, to the one that had just left his face. Grasping it gently, he brought it down to his chest and closed his eyes. His heartbeat slowed down the longer they remained in silence, him coming down from the frenzy he always threw himself in when stressed. She continued to drink, downing the glass faster than usual as they reversed roles. Her heartbeat only kept rising as she thought over his statement to her, one that only a fool would even suggest. But if he was a fool then she had to also be one, since for a fleeting moment as she finished the glass she entertained the idea of them leaving Vesuvia.

They could go anywhere, be anyone. She wouldn’t be “The Count’s Magician” and more importantly he wouldn’t be “The Count”. Well, unless he intended to always return to his title, his riches, and his people who adored him despite the state parts of the city were in. That was always a thought in her mind- would she be able to escape that title, or was she relegated to it for life? Still unable to look at him the glass was emptied quicker than she thought it would be she could only place it on the table, letting out a deep sigh as she felt her head to begin to swim and her thoughts continuing to stray back to the past.

Breaking the silence, she let out an angry laugh, “Guess you were right about being drunk.”

“I told you so,” he said in his usual pompous tone as he looked up and gave his trademark smirk to her. “You should stay the night, you can’t go back to that shop of your’s in this condition.”

“I can with your carriage.”

“Well, you can’t use it.”

She let out a frustrated sigh as he continued, his words now slurring as he tried to look at her seductively, but failing miserably, “We should move to my bedroom.”

“Not happening.”

“Alright, your room.”

She startled and looked down at him, a questioning look on her face as she muttered, “My room?”

“You think I would get rid of that? You’re still the Count’s Magician, of course it is still there. And we should move there now.”

“Same answer; not happening.”

Here he turned pouty, letting go of her hand and crossing his arms as he looked at her indignantly, “Fine then, we’ll go to a guest room.”

“One last time Lucio: Not. Happening. You’re married.”

“And you know that means nothing.”

She sighed as she herself crossed her arms, her own words starting to slur as she began to regret drinking that much wine at that speed. “But you know it means something to me. I won’t do that even if others have no problem with it.”

They both fell silent again before their arms fell slack and her head tilted back and sank into the cushion of the couch. Her eyes closed and Lucio took his time to take her in, having not been able to see her in this state for years now. She had always been able to fall asleep wherever she was, one of her better talents she used to claim, and she looked peaceful as her breath slowed down and her hand started to grasp the hem of his shirt, fingers twisting around it delicately before she stopped, her fingertips a ghost of a whisper on his waist.

Lucio smiled to himself and turned back to her, wrapping his gold arm around the back of her waist and bringing his other towards her hip. Shooting up she looked down at him and he remained there with his head in her lap and back to resting towards her stomach. “We’ll just have to stay here then,” he said, satisfied with himself for coming up with a compromise.

“I shouldn’t,” she started but he tutted at her and laughed.

“You’re drunk, and already able to fall asleep, and I would be a horrible host if I didn’t give you a place to stay. And since you’re oh so adamant that we shouldn’t go anywhere else we will stay here.” He smiled smugly as he tightened his grasp on her.

She went to speak but was interrupted by his quick “Oh!” Rubbing her face she looked down again as he proudly proclaimed, “And you can’t even tell me this couldn’t be comfortable for me. You know this arm can’t fall asleep.”

Pausing for a moment, she let out a drunken snicker before it turned into a full laugh. Lifting a leg that he rested on, she hooked the edge of the table on the toe of her shoe and pulled it closer, kicking her legs onto it and reclining a bit more into her seat. She let one hand fall to his hair and the other remained close to his hip, and he pulled her closer to him, grip tight and unyielding. With a wave of her hand, the curtains were drawn, covering them in the darkness of the room as their breaths slowly fell in synch with the other’s.

#count lucio #count lucio x apprentice #fan apprentice #count lucio x mc #the arcana lucio #don’t be mean hahahah #the two of them have known each other longer than even lucio’s known julian #And while she doesn’t know everything about him and vice versa she knows a lot of the horrible things he has done for power #but the strings of fate keep them here like this #yah I should give more details hahah #my writing

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